Phoenix
Chapter Two

I blinked against sudden brightness. Disorientation rolled through me and I felt as though I did not know where I was, though I did. Everything about this moment was routine and ordinary, waiting for the guards to throw open the brass-bound doors to the Hall. Lexia squeezed my hand.

“Are you well, Brother?” she asked, her silver eyes raking over me.

“I am,” I replied. Squeezing her hand in return. “I just seemed to have…” But I could not think of what to say next. The doors opened.

We entered the feast in the usual manner. Lexia, dressed in white, Eremil trailing two steps behind. Gilt glittered in the candlelight and music shimmered above the murmur of voices. Lexia’s hand rode mine like a dove on branch as I led her in, and the soldiers stood with the sound of chairs scraping and metal clanging. Father stared at us before he stood as well.

“My son,” he announced, raising a cup in my direction. “The hero.” The assembled survivors broke into applause.

The sound ripped into me, attacking my soul as the enemy had attacked my body, but I had not the heart to silence them. Too much to despair clouded these days, and any moment of joy, false or not, was sacred. The dining hall was full, though not nearly so full as it should have been. This war would destroy us all if it went on much longer. Our friends had turned on us, attacking the walls they vowed to defend. But yet my heart ached for the missing faces. Where was brave Gandron of the Vale? Where was noble Vecansian? They were now but smoke, drifting on winter’s chill winds.

I flexed scarred fingers and the candlelight brightened, the fire on the wide marble hearth climbing a bit higher. What kind of war was it when the only enemies were our allies? How could we celebrate surviving the day when our survival meant the deaths of our friends? Still, Father pretended joy, so must I pretend. So must I bear the weight of things done, of those killed, and be named ‘hero’ for it.

“It is remarkable that in these last days, magic would resurface in my children,” Father said, addressing the party. “The strength of Eloria is not yet spent. “ He chuckled at that, but I could not. Magic was wondrous, true, but it was a burden I would wish on no one. Lexia looked at me then, her silver eyes carrying the same sentiment. As heavy as the yoke of magic weighed on me, what must it be to be her? To know the thoughts and hearts of all? To be the only one equipped to fight the actual enemy and not just its emissaries? As difficult as it was to carry the weight of those dead by my hands, I could not wish a different course. The walls of Eloria yet stood. The Scepters guarded deep within her stronghold remained safe.

That was all that mattered.

I guided Lexia down the length of the table, placing her to Father’s left before I took my place at his right. Eremil took his place beside me and I waited for Father to sit and guide the rest into repose by his example.

“To victory,” Father said, raising his goblet. The assembly echoed his toast and then sat, nearly as one. The servants began their dance, serving the party from golden platters and filling goblets with the clinking of crystal. Firelight colored the Hall, dancing with gold. The murmur of conversation blended with music. In the comfortable din, wise Lucius leaned forward to be seen around Eremil’s bulk, catching my attention.

“How did you know they sought to turn against us?” asked Lucius. “Your strike seemed nearly preemptive, my Prince.” I nodded as I sipped from my own goblet, trying to replace words to respond. Lucius knew what it was to bear the weight of magic. In a time when magic had all but died out among the elves, he was a Soultraveler. Able to project his soul into the realms unknown and visit realms about which others only dreamed, Lucius’s quiet, unobtrusive magic lacked the destructive nature of my own. He used his magic as a surgeon used his blade, jumping from one body to the next, shoving the occupant’s soul aside and taking control of the body to do what good he could. He seemed unaware of my envy and his kindly face shone earnest and pure. Whatever hold the Darkness had in the land, it had not touched him.

I envied him for that. And I hoped he would understand when I spoke.

“I knew,” I answered, knowing it was no answer. I simply knew, as I knew I must breathe to live. There was no indication, nor warning. Only a feeling that filled me such certainty I knew I had to act. I struck our friends with my power, my magic, in the instant their actions proved them false. Vecansian and his lancers, scorched to ash as they turned from the defense of Eloria’s walls to charge my pikes. Gandron and his archers made snowy soot as the first arrows fell among us. I felt the flames destroying them, felt them screaming and disintegrating. I recalled each moment of the burning, the way their essence gave life to the fire.

Mercifully, Lucius nodded. Not pressing me.

“How should we continue in our alliance, my Prince?” spoke Teragdel from across the table, “Knowing that at any moment, you might simply know that we have fallen to the Darkness?” Eremil stiffened next to me, and the din quieted. The other elves, generals from their provinces, soldiers of great renown, waited with baited breath for an answer to Teragdel’s impertinent question. Even the ladies quietened. Teragdel himself watched me with eyes the color of new spring grass, and his hand shifted from his goblet to the knife at his belt.

“Despair and division are tools of the Darkness,” Lexia said. “If we are to survive to see the Dawn, we must continue in faith and hope,” replied Lexia. Calm rolled out from her, like a cloying scent. But it did little good.

“How are we to know if the Darkness takes him?” Redinaw said to the King. In brocaded velvet, he sat beside Lucius. “We sup tonight with the kingdom’s greatest weapon. He can destroy us all if he chooses.” Murmurs rippled. In anger, I stood.

“The Darkness has no hold on me!” I shouted. I would not let her. Not again. Lexia stared at me in alarm, her eyes searching my face. But my sister did not speak. “Do not forget why I wear these scars, or how my power came to be. I will know her if she comes for me, and I will not give in.”

“The Darkness is dead,” Father added. He rose from his seat, his fists pounding the table with his words. “I killed her with my own sword. I watched her die. How many times must I say it?“

Heat swelled in my chest, nearly uncontrollable. The candles flared, brightening the hall so as to make it seem dim only moments before. Fire roared on the hearth and elves took notice, moving away from the heat. Father wiped at his brow with his napkin but did not acknowledge my part in the heat.

“Quarrel no more,” Father implored, sliding back into his seat and his goblet. “Let us rest this night.”

Silence ensconced the assembly.

“Tell us of the other worlds, Lucius,” Eremil asked, bravely turning us all from our path.

“Yes,” the gathered elves echoed, excitement chasing tension away. The music began again, the servants carried on with their task. Golden light bathed us all.

Eremil smiled, encouraged. “Tell us of roads of fair starlight,” Eremil urged Lucius. “Speak of great machines that pull themselves through the air, and of people who sing beneath the waves.”

Lucius chuckled softly. “Your imagination is broader than my experience,” he said. “But I will tell you of a land where people live in peace. Where magic is called science, and anyone who desires to learn it can. It is a land of wonder, a place filled with hope.”

“Is there war there?” Eremil asked, his face alight with wonder.

“There is,” Lucius said, nodding over his goblet. “Nothing can exist without its opposite. It is the kindest world, and the harshest. It is the smartest, and the most naïve. Mostly they strive for peace, though they fight amongst themselves. But, let us speak only of the wonders. Let us think only of the good.”

“Yes, Lucius,” Father said into his wine, “The good.” Lucius eyed him for a moment before continuing, as though doubting his words.

“They have but one moon which waxes and wanes, pulling the ocean tides with it,” he said. His plate was nearly empty now, and the candles burned down. “They believe they know their world, that none of it is mystery. But they have not yet begun to understand it, or themselves. If there was ever a world ready to embrace deception, it would be that one. One might live one’s whole life believing they were somebody else entirely. They are all human there and elves are but a myth.”

Eremil stiffened, leaning back. He was the last human left in Eloria, though he was a half-breed. The Darkness had destroyed them first, since she could not control them as she did the elves.

“There are many worlds,” Lucius went on. “Worlds where men have wings of fire and…”

Eremil leaned toward me, distracting me from Lucius’s tale. He pointedly tugged at his high collar with a finger.

“Could you not do something about this blasted heat?” Eremil asked. I took a deep breath and required the fire to diminish. The hall grew dimmer.

I looked back to Eremil, searching for approval. His blue eyes studied the dark contents of his goblet. A square corner peeked out of his coat pocket. “You have been reading,” I said. Eremil sat up a little straighter, slyly pushing something deeper into the pocket as if to hide it from me. “It is a wonder you replace the time.”

“One always replaces time to do that which is important,” Eremil replied.

Lexia’s tinkling laugh carried us away then, giving us one of those sacred moments when there was no fighting. Her laugh gave us a moment of joy and we rode it deep into the night, until the feast played itself out and all in attendance left for their beds.

Lexia, Eremil and I were the last to leave the hall. Lexia and Eremil strolled along arm in arm, as I followed behind.

“Tell me there is still hope,” I said. “This war, this confusion, cannot last forever.” Lexia turned to look up at me and I saw the merest glint of my red hair reflected in her silver eyes, like a flame seen through a frosted window pane.

“The world stands waiting for magic wielders to bond to the Scepters,” Eremil said. Lexia pulled him to a halt and stared at him with raised eyebrows.

“How do you know that?” Lexia asked.

“What?” he said, turning to look pointedly at me. “I read.”

“Then have you also read that the magic of the Scepters can only awaken and bring about the Golden Dawn of the elves when they have bonded to magic bearers?” she asked him, continuing her stroll. He moved along with her, step for step.

“Everybody knows that, Sister,” I said. “Just as everybody knows that there are only three magic bearers left in Eloria and none of us has been chosen by the Scepters.”

“Four,” Lexia said. She paused before a tapestry next to the huge double doors which would lead us from the Great Hall. She reached up to touch the fringed edge of the tapestry, her eyes traveling up to the scene it depicted. A woman in chains stood surrounded by soldiers in armor. Her face might have been beautiful if not for the hate stitched so carefully into the fabric. An elf in familiar golden armor stood poised with his sword to her throat and an ominous black cloud rose in the distance. I had to look away from it. The Fall of Sominette was too close to my heart to look upon it depicted on a wall. “There are still four,” Lexia said, taking her hand down and drawing Eremil through the doorway.

“It frustrates me,” Lexia went on, “to know so very little about how one is chosen by a Scepter. Mother was so sure she could make one accept her. So sure.”

“Do not call her that,” I snapped. “Call her Sominette. Call her the Queen of Eloria. Call her the Darkness, if you will, but do not call her Mother. My heart cannot bear it.”

“But Phoenix,” Lexia protested, “She was. Our mother.” I rounded on her, flames jumping to life all around my fists.

“What mother would do this to her son?” I asked, holding my hands so she could not avoid seeing the scars. “How could she burn me? I might have died.”

“But you did not,” Lexia said. “The fire awakened your magic, searing itself into your soul and awakening the magic resting there. In some ways, I cannot blame her. She saw that our world is ending. It was ending then, it is ending now. The elves are failing without magic. We are dying. The only hope we have is for the magic wielders to appear in time to bond to the Scepters. The Darkness knows that. It was what she was trying to bring about. The Golden Dawn.”

“My lady speaks of something which may never come to pass,” Eremil said, patting her hand on his arm.

“It has not come to pass,” she said, her eyes drifting over her shoulder to meet mine. “Not yet. The Golden Dawn of the Elves has been promised since the beginning of time.”

“The war will be over soon,” I said. “We will kill each other off and there will be no elves left to see the Dawn, even if it did appear.”

“The Darkness must fall,” Lexia said standing in front of me, forcing me to see her. “The Scepters will bond with the magic bearers and magic will be restored to all the elves.”

I did not see how it could be possible, but Lexia was sure the Golden Dawn would come to pass.

Sominette had been sure too.

I gave my goodnights to Lexia and Eremil and climbed the tower to my room.

Hours later, the rising sun crowned itself in pink clouds at the horizon’s curve beyond my window. My leg searched for King, but no huge dog body lay beside me to keep me warm.

I stretched my arms above my head, trying to work the stiffness from my shoulders. My flame-scarred hands caught my eye, and I looked at the ridged skin running from my thumb to my pinky across the back of my hand.

The scars were far from beautiful, but they marked me as what I was: a Pyromancer. Lexia was right. Fire had been etched into my soul, seared into my flesh.

King? I thought, mulling over my earlier impulse. I knew who King was, but at the same time, I did not know.

A dog. A really huge black dog.

“My Prince! My Prince!” Eremil cried. He barged through my door, splintering the wood with force. His broad, half-human face twisted with concern. It seemed to me that somehow I had seen him, fully human, a smiling boy picking up a card from a table between us.

But that was just a dream.

The exhaustion of yesterday was nowhere in Eremil’s countenance. Eremil was up and girded about with his ever-present axes while I was lying abed, nursing my fatigue. Thick-shouldered, burly, and full of sheer brute strength granted him by his human half, Eremil could lift me with one hand if he tried. In a contest of endurance, my elven body would prevail. Or, at least, it should prevail. Eremil’s visage made suspect the common knowledge that elves, though incapable of bearing great weight, were superior to humans in every other way.

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up. The bed creaked beneath me.

“You must come,” Eremil huffed, entering my chamber and seizing trousers off the floor. Offering them to me, his piercing blue eyes beseeched me. “Hurry.”

Quickly I dressed, shoving feet into boots. I trailed Eremil down through spiraling stairs. Deep into the castle we hastened. With each step, my stomach grew tighter. There was but one thing was stored in the depths of the fortress.

“What is it?” I asked again, pulling Eremil to a stop with my flame-scarred hand. “What happened?”

Eremil’s lower lip rolled in under his top teeth. His sharp blue eyes evaluated me and he shook his shaggy head.

“You must see for yourself, my Prince,” he insisted, seeming unable to say more. His broad shoulders turned to lead the way again.

“Then let us move,” I said, taking the lead on light feet. Eremil ran behind me, sounding like a whole army moving. The half-human’s weapons clinked and jangled on their various straps.

“How am I to protect you if I cannot catch you?” Eremil called. I slowed to let him pass me. He clenched his strong jaw.

“I cannot help being the faster,” I said. He grumbled in response.

We descended deeper into the fortress where darkness ensconced us. Eremil slowed and looked to me expectantly. My flame-scarred hand held before me, I called upon the magic that had been seared into my soul. Fire enveloped my fist, dancing orange and red against the cold stone walls. Something this small required little to initiate. Once started, it could rage out of control if I failed to maintain the necessary concentration. The fire would build if there was fuel to consume and progress naturally until it burned out--unless I willed it otherwise. And now, I willed the flames to exist around my hand, where there was no fuel save air.

Eremil and I arrived at the Scepter Room’s antechamber. The broken and torn bodies of elves lay before it like a child’s broken toys, discarded. I picked my way through the corpses, desperate not to see the ways in which they had killed one another. No outside foe had done this. Dead hands still grasped weapons shoved into guts or lodged in necks. The smell of demise hung heavy in the cold damp air, and I stifled the desire to retch. The Scepter Room’s heavy brass-bound door lay in pieces on the grey stone floor, shattered.

Eremil shadowed me.

“How did this happen?” I lamented. Pain and anger hissed through quiet words. These elves should not have died like this, here in the dark. Not after surviving yesterday’s battle.

At least I did not have to kill them.

Eremil’s skin paled and his eyes haggardly darkened. He motioned to the hole where the door once stood, inviting me to go first.

My boots stuck in puddles of drying blood as I ventured into the darkness. The flame flickered before me, knowing I did not wish to see what I searched for. Another Scepter would be missing. I knew it.

The flame illuminated Hope’s empty crystal stand, as expected. Strength glowed red in the light of the flame where it stood in its iron stand. Knowledge glowed coolly on the silver plinth. My eyes involuntarily moved to the next stand, which had been crafted of the finest gold. I knew before I saw it that Light was gone.

Light was gone.

Without Light, there could be no Golden Dawn. Magic would dwindle and die, and with it, so would the elves. My heart broke in despair. We had lost. We fought all who came against us. We destroyed our enemies. When the enemies were decimated, we fought against the allies turned against us. Now that we were the only ones left alive, we were killing ourselves, deceived by the Darkness. Despite the fighting, despite all our sacrifice and our vigilance; despite everything my people, my kingdom had endured in the keeping of the Scepters, it was all for naught. We had not been able to keep the Scepters safe. Elves would never again speak to the trees, or sing to the waters. Our race would diminish until it was gone. The fate Sominette had so feared was now brought to pass by her own doing.

I wanted to be sick. Eloria was lost. All hope for the future of the elves was lost.

I turned to leave the violated chamber and Lexia stood before me. Her silver eyes mirrored the light emanating from my fist. The blood of the dead stained her flowing white dress.

“Light is gone,” she said, her voice panic-tinged and grief-stricken.

“It is,” I said. She fell to her knees as though her legs lost their strength.

This was all my fault.

“Is there—“ Eremil choked. He adjusted his weapons belt and cleared his throat. “Is there nothing to be done?”

I shook my head.

“It is over,” I said. They were the only words left for me to speak. Yet then, from the corner of my eye, I saw Lexia tilt her head. She studied the blood, and tilted her head, listening for something I could not hear. Rising smoothly to her feet, she paid heed to neither Eremil nor me. That tilt to her head, the way she moved about the room.

Perhaps there was something to be done. Hope surged in me.

I found my feet again and Eremil came to stand by me.

“What is she—“

I put my hand on Eremil’s shoulder and he turned halfway around to look at me.

“Shhh,” I whispered. The best thing we could do to help was not distract her.

Lexia’s face grew ever more troubled as she felt along the walls, along the floor.

“I feel her here,” she said quietly, her voice shaking as though she was in pain. Lexia’s face crumpled as her slim hand passed over the empty stand. I knew the pain she felt. She loved as deeply as I the one bent on the destruction of our world.

“The Darkness was here,” she whispered, her eyes still closed. Her shoulders heaved as though she could not draw breath. “Her presence pollutes everything.” Her head moved side to side, tilting to listen to that which I could not hear. Lexia followed her hand toward me, running it along my body without touching me. “She touches everything.” Her hand floated before my forehead for a moment before she placed it on my shoulder and opened her eyes.

Her silver eyes peered into mine, rimming with tears.

“The Darkness is in your mind, brother,” she said. I shook my head. It could not be so.

A chill ran through me. I knew the Darkness well. More than the others, I understood the power Sominette had achieved in death. I knew she was behind this war that was not. I knew her corrupted soul still existed and strived to destroy the world she once hoped to save. She could not exert power over me.

Could she?

You’re dead. I heard my voice in my head. I remembered saying these words to Lexia. But I had never before spoken such things.

Had I?

Willing myself to show more confidence than I felt, I smiled at my sister. But I could not deceive a Mindwalker, any more than she could create a flame. A tear crept down her cheek, and she scrubbed it away.

“Light may be retrieved if we can replace the Darkness,” she said, looking at me and then Eremil.

“How do we replace a ghost?” Eremil demanded. “It creeps as it wills. Give me direction, Princess. I would fight for our country and our people.”

“Brave friend,” Lexia said, turning from me. She ran her hand across Eremil’s wide shoulders. “The ethereal Darkness takes many forms. You may look directly at her and know it not. She cannot be fought in the manner to which you are accustomed.”

“If I cannot fight her, Princess, then I will defend you from all foes I can fight,” he promised. He stood straighter, larger, and his broad hand rested on the haft of one of his axes. She smiled at him.

“What do we do, sister?” I asked. Her pale face turned to me again, her silver eyes intense.

“We hunt the Darkness,” she said.

“Of course,” I said. Cold gripped my heart. But I knew it was true. “We can do nothing else.”

“Fear lingers here now that the Darkness has gone,” Lexia said. Her hands pressed into the stone wall as her head hung down. “I feel it,” Lexia said, turning to face us and wrapping her arms around herself. “The magic remembers what she did. The feel of it eats at me. What will she do with Light?”

“She will destroy it,” I whispered. Elves had ever been able to use magic to see, to create, or to destroy. One had to be born with the innate ability to use magic, but once that ability manifested, one could learn other magic. Sominette had been born, as Lexia had, with the ability to see into the minds of other elves. She had asked me once to help her learn to create, and I had refused. With our allies dead, It seemed that Sominette, the Darkness, had learned to destroy as well as she walked minds. Light would not bond with her, I knew. So she would destroy it.

“Stars above,” Eremil cursed. He moved to Lexia, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “How do we stop the Darkness?” Words abandoned my tongue. Even death had not stopped her. “What will we do?” Eremil asked. He was alight with energy, wanting to spend it and replaceing no outlet. He could not pace for the bodies littering the floor. He could not fight for lack of foe. He seemed ready to explode. “You said we cannot fight the Darkness. How will we get the Scepter back?”

“I do not know,” I said. “But we have to try.” Lexia nodded her agreement. “We hunt,” I said, not knowing if I meant the Scepter or the Darkness.

Together we climbed the stairs to the castle’s upper levels. As we emerged from the darkness, we came upon a servant busily cleaning a rug. He jumped up from his hands and knees, standing with bowed head. Lexia stared intently at him, and the boy’s eyes came up questioningly.

“The Darkness’s power is all around us,” Lexia warned. “Evil is coming.” The boy’s scrub brush dropped to the floor. He flung himself at us, snarling, possessed.

Eremil freed his axes, stepping forward. Before he took a second step, the boy fell to the floor as though his bones had dissolved.

“Princess,” Eremil said, looking from the motionless boy to my sister. “You are a little scary sometimes.”

“You have not seen me be scary yet,” Lexia hissed, taking her skirt in her hands and lifting it away from the fallen boy.

The next two servants we passed bowed to us before leaping for our throats. Lexia rolled her eyes, breathing out a sigh as she felled them.

“The Darkness makes her power known,” Lexia said, looking tiredly at the fallen servants. “Anyone could be her minion.” With the servants incapacitated, the great hall was oddly silent. It bore the feeling of waiting that had previously belonged only to the Scepter Room. The castle had become as empty as the forests surrounding Eloria.

“She is not in the castle,” Lexia said. “The Darkness has fled. And we must follow. Provisions,” she said to Eremil. She turned to depart up the stairs to her room, and Eremil moved to follow. “Go with my brother,” she said.

“But Princess,” Eremil objected. “I have promised to defend you.”

“I can defend myself,” Lexia said, her blood-stained dress trailing up the stairs behind her.

“And I,” I said to Eremil, bouncing a flame from finger to finger, “cannot.” Eremil smiled at me, shaking his head. I bumped his shoulder, nudging him up the stairway that led to our rooms.

“Of course, my Prince,” Eremil said, jaunting up the stairs. “You are as helpless as a lamb.” We climbed silently after that and the weight of the responsibility we undertook enshrouded us once more by the time we reached my room.

“Be ready on the quarter hour,” I told Eremil. He nodded. I moved to shut the door to my room, but he leaned forward, his face serious.

“I am ready now, my Prince,” he said, motioning to the curve-bladed axes at his belt. He was imposing, as always, with his broad shoulders and thick arms.

“Do you not have some small item you wish to take?” I asked him. “A small, stuffed bear--”

I pulled the door to right before a “thu-chunk” shook it. I opened the door a crack. The blade of Eremil’s curved axe was buried in the fine-grained wood, the haft quivering. Eremil tilted his head to the side, his jaw clenched. His blue eyes bored into mine and red suffused his cheeks.

“I suppose you are ready,” I said, pulling the door shut again. “Go see about the provisions.” He was gone when I opened the door to check.

I tore through my wardrobe and dressers, feeling only a little chagrin about the mess the maids would have to clean up later. Assuming, of course, any person survived this day. Within moments, clean shirts and trousers, a pair of spare boots, and sundry items were tucked into the saddlebags I kept in the deepest part of my wardrobe. After ensuring that my spare bowstrings were in my cloak pocket, I pulled on a thick sweater which hung halfway to my knees and placed my cloak on my shoulders. My strung bow slung over my shoulder, the string slanting across my chest. All was in readiness.

The air in the castle weighed heavy as though the walls themselves knew what had been stolen. I entered the Great Hall just as Lexia and Eremil emerged. Eremil and I crossed the courtyard behind Lexia, following her to the stables. She had traded her flowing white gown for a ranger’s leathers and heavy, draping wool. Winter was upon us and there could be no chance of warmth beyond the castle’s walls. Something was amiss as we approached the stable, the heavy feel of it permeating the air around us.

The stable doors flew open and a soldier burst through. Silver stripes on his collar marked his rank, but no recognition marked his eyes. The sergeant came toward us, his blade bared. Eremil leapt forward, crossed axes pushing the sword aside.

“Stand down!” I ordered, but the words proved pointless. The rest of the squad emerged from the stable, blades bare. Boots scuffed dust into the air as they marched forward. They knew us not, just as Gandron, Vecansian, and Medaron had not. I nocked an arrow. I selected target after target as the elves advanced, but I could not loose. How could I? They were my brothers in arms.

Eremil rushed forward, advancing where I hesitated. The steel of his axes met the silver blade of the sergeant, shoving it aside and throwing the elf to the ground. The next elf joined with Eremil, and the next.

“Any time now!” Eremil growled through clenched teeth. He struggled to keep the blades of a whole squad from his skin, and he managed, if just barely. He glanced over his shoulder at me, waiting to see what I would do. I held the arrow with trembling fingers. Like the dead elves in the Scepter Room, these were my men. My flame-scarred hands tingled, anticipating the power that would flow into them with these elves as fuel.

I loosed the arrow and winced as it took an elf in the thigh. He did not flinch, but turned from Eremil to pursue Lexia and me.

“Lexia!” I shouted. “Do something! I do not want to kill any more of my own men!”

Her hands came up to place fine fingers at her temples, focusing her magic.

The soldiers fell as though they were puppets with their strings suddenly cut. They lay motionless, and Lexia leaned forward, breathing hard with the effort Eremil cautiously approached the closest soldier and nudged him with his boot. Though his chest still moved with breath, he did not stir.

We walked carefully into the stable where we found Princess. Dust motes hung in the weak sunlight pouring through the high windows. The red mare turned to look at me. The white blaze down her face glowed in the light.

Fat, greedy Princess.

Lexia had delighted in the name she gave the horse, laughing every time the soldiers addressed her by her rank and asking them if they were speaking to her or the horse. She was not laughing now. Our father came toward us down the breezeway.

“Father,” I breathed. My voice trembled. Somehow, I never thought I would see him again. Here he was before me, tall and strong despite the gray sprinkled though his blond hair. He was just as I remembered him. I heard him screaming in my mind, and remembered the smell of smoke. I shook my head. I waited for Father to speak. I glanced at Eremil; he bore an axe in his hand. I waved him to stillness.

But Father advanced, his wise, generous face made unrecognizable in its expression of hate.

“You must die!” Father said. His lips drew back. He advanced on Eremil and me, golden sword drawn. Lexia danced between us, taking Father’s face in her hands. He struggled against her, dropping his sword to grasp her wrists in his hands. She stared intently at his eyes. He strained to reach her with his teeth, snapping and foaming. Lexia held on, her mouth going white with strain and Father’s expression slowly changed from hate to horror.

“The Darkness lives,” he said, releasing Lexia’s wrists. Father’s eyes stared wide, darting from Lexia to me. “Sominette stood before me, as real as the day we met. She carried Light in her hand. I wanted—I was going to—But it is not real. Can you not see? It is not real.”

“It will be well, Father,” Lexia said, sinking down to sit on a barrel of horseshoes and rubbing her wrists. Weariness drained the color from her face and her mouth made a thin line across her face.

“I am. . .not. . . myself,” he said. His tall, proud form stooped before me, turning itself into a shadow of the memory I held of him.

There was fire. And screaming. Dad and Lexia. Both of them. Screaming. My fists pounded a wooden door, broke through it. And burned. Then I screamed too.

“The Darkness has taken your mind,” Lexia said to our father, but she looked to me, her silver eyes glistening.

“You must ride,” Father said, lunging at me and grasping my cloak at the shoulders. Eremil moved to stop him, but I shook my head. “The world depends on you,” he said, looking up into my eyes. For a moment, he was there with me, connected to me. Then his face changed again, hate rising to the surface, making him seem more monster than elf. The humble form straightened and he reached up to place his hands around my throat. “You will fail! You will die!”

Lexia cried out and I struggled for breath. Eremil jumped on Father, lightning-quick, shoving him away from me, shouldering his way between my father and me. Father fell backward onto the straw-littered stable floor.

“I am so sorry,” Father sobbed, his face changing, softening. “You must ride. Quickly. You must retrieve the Scepter.”

“Sleep,” Lexia commanded. Father fell, just as the elves in the courtyard had, limp and helpless. Lexia fell exhausted from her seat and Eremil gathered Lexia in his arms as though he would share his strength with her.

I took Lexia’s saddlebags from her shoulder and saddled her horse. Princess stood quietly while I snugged the girth and secured the saddle bags. By the time I was done, Eremil had released Lexia, though with obvious reluctance. I affected ignorance regarding what transpired between those two, but they certainly made it a difficult façade to maintain.

Might waited for me in his stall, his bulk all but filling the space. He pawed the straw with his white front foot. The world teetered on the brink of destruction, and the horse’s universe remained unchanged. He knew that we were going and he was impatient to get on with it. No amount of danger, or world-saving would change that.

“Easy, Might,” I soothed, stroking his shoulder. The big horse turned his nose to me, sniffing for butterscotch. I fished a candy out of my pocket and gave it to him. He thanked me by slobbering on my hand. It was strange to go through such familiar motions with a squad of elves lying in the dust of the courtyard and my father sleeping in the straw. But the work was there to do.

I hefted my saddle onto Might’s high back, and secured the breast plate and girths. My saddle bags went on behind the saddle just as Lexia’s had. After I bridled him, I pulled Might’s head toward me, arching his gigantic body to keep him from moving, and put my foot in the stirrup. Once, when there was still magic in the world, the connection between elves and horses would have made the bridle, the saddle unnecessary. When the magic was still strong, the connection between me and the horse would have been so strong he would have knelt for me to mount. Now, he moved a few steps forward, just as soon as my other foot left the ground.

“Ho, Might,” I chided, swinging my leg over his back and wiggling my foot into the other stirrup.

Lexia and Eremil waited atop their horses, their faces mirror images of anxiety despite the difference in their features. Anxiety on my sister’s face was sharp and beautiful, like the sun. The same emotion on my friend’s face was still and impassive, like a mountain.

I urged Might between their horses, trying not to see the bodies all around. Princess jutted her nose forward, determined to lead the outing despite having to take two steps to every one of Might’s.

It was odd to ride from the castle with no ceremony. The Crowned Prince of Eloria and his sister did not venture forth with only Eremil Half-Elf. I felt the lack of fanfare. There were no elves hanging from windows to catch a glimpse of us, no trumps to sound our passing. I missed the ceremony of the honor guard, the fluttering pennants. Riding through empty streets with only Eremil and Lexia felt amiss. I could almost imagine it was a dream.

Like the place with the cars, I thought. Had not Lucius spoken of cars and great machines?

“Lucius,” I said, drawing rein. “He should be with us.” Lexia’s Princess stopped as well and Cinder tossed her head in anticipation.

I booted Might forward, the sound of his hooves ringing loud in the empty streets. Had everyone died? Or did they sleep? Was it Lexia’s doing or the Darkness’s? The thoughts churned like Might’s legs, only the thoughts carried me nowhere. Eremil and Lexia followed, catching me just as I drew rein outside of Lucius’s house.

“Where is everyone?” Eremil asked. “I feel as though every empty window is the eye of the Darkness staring down at us.” His shoulders hunched and he held a ready axe. Cinder danced beneath him.

I dismounted and pounded on the door.

“He is not here,” Lexia said. “Neither body nor soul.”

“What happened to him?” I asked, turning away from the door.

“The Darkness has Light now,” Lexia said. Having no need of reins to guide her mare, she had idly braided the horse’s mane as she rode. Strands fell now, righting themselves. “We cannot worry about Lucius. Come, let us ride.”

I swung up on to Might as he walked and heeled him to a gallop through the silent streets beneath the empty windows. We bounded forward through the open, unguarded gate and thundered across the drawbridge before slowing. We galloped until the castle dwindled behind us. I drew rein and Might slowed readily, happily dropping into place behind the mares. My sister held her hands before her again, seeming to draw in the feel of everything around her.

I followed behind the red mare, behind my sister, watching. Eremil moved his mare beside Lexia’s, a quiet hand resting on the cantle of her saddle. He was ready to catch Lexia if weariness overtook her. I could do nothing except follow.

I hated feeling so powerless.

Never before had I wished to trade powers with my sister. Mine was a magic of creation and destruction, burned into to my body, forced to become a part of me. My magic drew life from anything it consumed and fed that power back into me. Lexia’s magic was intuitive, connecting her mind to everything around her. But it used her energy to power itself. Never before had I wished to trade powers, but as we followed for hours, never knowing which way we were to turn, I wished it.

As the day wore on, we ate food from our saddle bags. When the sun fell toward the distant mountains, Lexia allowed a halt in a stand of trees near a stream. My back and knees ached and I lay on my stomach across the saddle, letting blood flow freely through my lower body before dropping to the ground.

Eremil rummaged through the panniers, muttering to himself. He unloaded most of the supplies before lifting the panniers from the horse’s back.

I unsaddled Might and Cinder and rubbed them down with dry dead grass. Eremil came leading the stripped pack horse and handed me two sets of hobbles. I secured the horses’ front legs and turned them loose to graze, though the winter pasture was sparse. Lexia turned Princess loose without hobbles. She had no need of them.

Eremil laid out sleeping rolls with our saddles for pillows. I gathered firewood and laid it out in a ring of rocks. When I had enough, I created fire from the magic burned into my soul and lit the wood, feeling energy surge into me. It burned bright in the night, popping and crackling.