The Parallels
FIVE

The world around me spins as the pain returns.

“There’s always someone who tries to be brave!” Camus’s shout erupts from behind me.

My tunic has been removed, leaving my back completely exposed. I’ve been bound so tightly to a post that my hands are purple. The metallic taste of blood still coats my mouth. Camus should be dead which means that one of the prisoners must be a healer.

“Let’s not forget what happens to bravery.” He yells from behind me.

Crack.

My knees buckle as the first strike of his whip blazes across my back.

Crack.

The leather slices through my skin. My stomach lurches and its contents splash onto the ground. He was right, I would wish for the perpetual abyss of the Fade by the end of this.

Crack.

Hot ribbons of blood pour from my lacerations. The morning air fuses with my wounds. I wish for peace. I look up through the fiery strands of my hair. A golden ring breaks through the violet haze of morning.

Crack.

I scream into the sunrise. Golden hues of ribbon light like the Icendious flowers growing around our cottage.

Crack

Pale blue dotted by swirls of milky white clouds.

Crack

I close my eyes and focus on the shade welling up behind them. A heaviness pours into my body. I plummet deeper into the dark tranquility until someone yanks on my hair.

Camus’s voice slithers into my ear. “Bainesroot, goldeneyes. Keeps my men awake for days which means there’s no chance you’ll pass out.”

The salt from his fingers fuses with my wounds. I scream again. “Begging won’t help you now, this is too much fun.” He whispers, smacks his lips and walks away.

The snap of the whip. A promise of pain. I brace myself. Nothing happens.

I wait.

I wait.

I wait.

My bounds are cut. I fall onto the blood-soaked ground. A new voice rises like an untouched winter morning before the forest awakes. My favorite time of day.

“This will help with the pain,” it says. A small prick on my neck then beautiful numbness. I moan in relief. The new voice booms. “What good is an injured prisoner? Someone, please tell me now!” His question is met with silence.

“Heyth!” He yells. Footsteps approach. The sky starts spinning. “Get the others under shelter. We don’t have time to treat hypothermia nor do I wish to present our buyers with weak property.”

A tiny caterpillar crawls across the grass, unaware of anything but the warming sun and wet ground. I wish for its simple life.

“Camus!” The voice shouts. More footsteps. “Since you’re so keen on breaking the rules, perhaps you’d like to nurse her,” he kicks my feet, “back to health.”

Camus mutters inaudibly. Something falls to the ground beside me. I turn my head. Camus’ unconscious body lies on the ground next to me. A large bloody gash paints his face.

My eyes feel impossibly heavy. The caterpillar crawls over Camus’s face. I’m lifted from the ground and slip into the gentle nothingness.

I move against the pervading fire burning through my back, but someone holds me down.

“Settle, settle, you’re safe.” It’s the voice from before. I’m lying face down on a makeshift bed. “I’m going to give you a fresh salve coating, but I need you to stay still, can you do that?”

If he wanted me dead I would be already, so I grunt which I hope he interprets as yes. “Good.” He touches my haggard back and I bury my cry into the blanket. “No, don’t stifle that.”

Through my tangle of hair, I see him walk away, taking note of the small limp in his left leg. There’s a clicking sound and then he’s back at my side.

“Better they believe I’m hurting you,” he says.

This time, when he touches my back, I scream until my lungs are empty. The smell of wintergreen fills my lungs when I take my next breath. I blink a few times, waiting for his feet to reappear by my bedside, but they do not. My back is entirely numb save for a dull ache that’s settled into my muscles. I’m naked save for a heavy blanket that’s been draped across my lower half. My wrist tingles with the familiar sensation of gentle vibrations. My bracelet is still intact. Before I can lift myself from the cot his voice comes again, this time from outside the tent.

“That was it.” He’s outside the tent. “The coating should last a day or two before I’ll need to apply more.” Crackling wood and the promise of warmth await outside the tent. “Fresh clothes are right next to you and there’s a hot meal waiting outside.”

“Thank you.” My voice is wool.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he murmurs.

I roll onto my side. Thank the Mire for whatever he’s used on my back—only the fresh memory of pain resonates now. I swing my legs over the side of the cot, surprised by their weakness. My wrists are bandaged but it doesn’t cover the web of burgeoning bruises encircling them. There’s a fresh pair of pants and a backless tunic at the base of the cot along with my hip belt, but no weapons. I open the secret pocket located on the belt’s inner seam. The Everberry and Laurel’s necklace rest safely inside.

When I’m finally dressed, I step outside and am relieved to replace the camp momentarily empty. A small bubbling pot hangs low over a smoldering fire. The tent backs up into a large rock wall whose point disappears into a cluster of gray clouds overhead. Beyond the fire lies equally tall trees so thick that even when I squint I can’t see past their interlocked branches. Given the lack of vegetation around the camp and worn pathway leading away from the fire, he’s camped here before. The hollowness in my stomach draws me to the fire where two wooden bowls and spoons await.

“I can fix more.” I jump back like a frightened animal and then take pause, realizing how ridiculous I must look.

I wipe my hands on my pants as if they’ve suddenly been dirtied and stand tall, squaring my shoulders before I turn around to face him. My surprise must register on my face because he smiles slightly. He’s a regular man, no more than a few years older than me. It’s only when he raises his eyebrows that I realize I’ve cocked my head to the side and said nothing.

I tear my gaze away from the depth of his stare and pour the remaining contents of the pot into the second bowl. When I stand again, his shoulders have slackened, and his right hand no longer hovers over the concealed dagger that I’m certain is strapped to his forearm. I extend the bowl toward him, but he doesn’t move.

“I have no weapons, what harm could I possibly do?” I ask. There are precisely two ways I could gain the advantage, three if I fight dirty.

The hint of a smile slices through his stoic features. My knees wobble for just a moment before my own hunger wins out over pleasantries. I place his bowl on the ground and plant myself across the fire. He appraises me while I eat, likely looking for my weaknesses. I want to tell him that he won’t replace any, but I’m too famished to make conversation. Finally, after several moments, he breaks the silence.

“Tomorrow we’ll leave this camp.” His voice is deeper than I remember. “You’ve been out near three days and your wounds are only temporarily healed.” His brow furrows, highlighting the dark circles under his topaz eyes. “The whip was laced with more than Bainesroot,” he continues. “Camus added Starflower to it as well.”

I nearly choke on the stew. Starflower is a rare plant that grows in the Barrens, where no other life can exist. When properly prepared, the petals produce a lethal poison that works its way into the blood, slowly shutting down and rotting the body from the inside out. That would explain the dull, aching sensation I felt when I awoke. The poison has already started attacking my muscles.

“How long?” I ask.

“Two moons from now the poison will run its course but you’ll wish you were dead long before that happens.” A soldier’s reply. I appreciate his frankness.

“Where are we going then? Everyone knows there’s no cure for Starflower.” I gesture to his dagger. “You’d best leave me with a blade, so I can grant my own Passage,” I say.

A few moons back, Oreya brought a woman to the apothecary after returning from Fewth Falls. She presented with flu-like symptoms, but after a few days with Veda’s best remedies, her symptoms worsened, and changed. First, she lost weight despite eating as much as I do, which is saying a lot.

After a few days, her appendages began to blacken as if she’d been out in the cold too long. By then, Oreya knew she’d been poisoned. She granted her Passage with a quick stroke of her blade. As her ashes floated to the Mire, Oreya resigned herself to teaching us about Starflower.

“Thankfully, it won’t come to that.” He rises, takes my bowl and replaces it with a slab of cheese and stale bread. “We are going to Stilarst Lake in the outskirts of the Woodsea Forest. I know someone who possesses the cure.”

Finally, I ask, “How long will that journey take?” With my body satiated my mind now hungers for answers. “Where are we exactly? And how is it that the Herrings obeyed you?”

His mouth forms into a thin line again before he responds. “Just a week’s journey from Woodsea Forest.” That means we’ve covered nearly two hundred spans in two days.

I quickly swallow the last of the bread, reading my bracelet just in case. Even the best soldier couldn’t cover that distance in three days.

“How is that possible?”

He reaches into the bag at his feet and holds out a black, oval stone. “It’s a transference stone. It’s used for traveling quickly between places, and there are only two in existence.”

He pauses, and I recognize a lie forming behind his gaze just by the way his eyes flicker over my face. He’s looking for the right words to say. Sensing my uncertainty, the cassiterite slinks its way down my arm and I wrap my hand around its warm hilt.

“Why did the Herrings obey you?”

Shame paints his face. “My name is Darius,” he says so low I can barely hear him, “commander of the southern battalion of the Herrings.”

I’m on my feet in an instant. He does not counter, instead, he remains seated, staring up at me. The Herrings wouldn’t be led by a man, especially not one who looked as though he’d just passed into his twentieth year.

“So you have some familiarity with magic?” His eyes drift down to the dagger.

I ignore his question. “Explain.” I command in disbelief.

His eyes flicker from the dagger in my hand to my face. Instead of answering my question he holds out yet another loaf of bread.

“You need to regain your strength,” he says. I don’t move an inch and neither does the blade.

“Fine,” he says. He sets the bread on the ground. “If you eat, then I will tell you what you want to know, and maybe you can tell me about that bracelet.”

I assess the weakest areas of his body—the small limp he tried to conceal while tending to the fire, his proclivity to use his left hand instead of his right. I envision the five steps it will take to immobilize him, but something in his eyes stops me. There’s nothing predatory about the way he stares up at me. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. He looks exhausted. I notice the myriad of lines extending outward from the corners of his eyes and disappear into his sun-laced skin. My dagger slips back into a bracelet as if it’s made up its mind about him even before I have. I curse Oreya for giving me a weapon as strong-willed as I am.

“A truth for a truth.” I take the loaf and sit.

“I am a veiler. I’ve been posing as a Herring for as long as I can remember. My parents were mages.” He sighs. “I lost them during the Great Purge. I saw what resisting the Purists got my family and my village, so I decided to rebel against them in a different way. It took me years to create the veil, to make sure no one could see who I really was.” He stares into the flames. “You’ve seen the Herrings, they’re not like us.”

Camus’s taut face and yellow fangs flash before my eyes. Indeed, they weren’t human looking once they revealed themselves.

“They’re Jotnar.” He finishes.

“But that’s impossible!” I exclaim. Pictures of animal half-breeds and giant grotesque figures from childhood tales flash before my eyes. “The Jotnar died out long ago, ages before the Parallels were even unified. They’re myths.”

“That’s what I thought before I saw them with my own eyes. They’ve been serving the Purists since the Breaking, but I still haven’t figured out how they’ve come to be. I veiled myself over ten years ago and grew up with them. As my magic grew so did my veil. By the time our previous commander rose ranks, I was named his first officer and acted in a way that left no doubt of my authority.”

I don’t want to know the price he paid for infiltrating the Herrings. “Until his death, the commander oversaw the southern regiment. For years, I’ve tried to subvert their attacks by using the transference stone to travel ahead and warn anyone who would listen.” When he looks up there is more pain in his eyes than I’ve ever seen one person carry.

“What’s happened to those you’ve helped?” I ask.

“Once I’ve helped them escape, I leave. I can’t risk letting them know who I truly am.” He doesn’t have to finish. We both know what would happen if he were caught.

“But they called you Commander, you just said you were the first officer…”

A shadow falls over his eyes. “I couldn’t let the former commander keep…” he shakes his head as if trying to free himself of his thoughts. “I didn’t know the price I’d have to pay for trying to change Lanel.” His voice drops to no more than a whisper. “I couldn’t stand by and let him continue to enslave and murder, so I didn’t.” He closes his eyes and presses his palms to his forehead the same way Silas does when he’s trying to block out his memories.

“How is it that you can help me now? Where are the others?”

“I command several small packs, one of which you met four nights ago,” he says.

Rose’s tiny body buried under a magic-thirsty beast flashes before my eyes. “What happens to the others, the ones who have been captured?” I ask in a whisper.

“They’ll be taken to the Twin Frontiers Post and given to a group of Herrings that manage the post and its dealings.” By dealings, he means the sale and purchase of people.

“And the Herrings? What will they do after that?” I can barely look at him without thinking about all those who’ve been captured, tortured no doubt, and then sold like property.

“They’ll keep tracking mages,” he says softly, then pauses. “I warn as many as I can before I report to Fairvale. I take as many as I can away from our path.” He slaps the bag containing the transference stone. “Why do you think the Herring sightings have increased recently? Why do you think they’ve been so desperate for mage blood?”

There’s something about the way he says this that makes me think he had something to do with the disappearance.

Mages are rare and rarer still when they’ve been warned and taken to Northpoint before the Herrings can capture them.

“The Herrings are ruthless in their search for mages now,” he continues. “It’s part of their mission.”

“Mission?” I ask.

“We’ve been told there’s powerful magic rising in Lanel. The mission is to replace the mage who wields it.”

“And what makes it so powerful?” I ask.

“We’re only the muts,” he says disgustedly. “Our orders are to bring the mages to Fairvale and that’s it.”

“Whose orders?”

“Blackthorne himself.” He spits into the fire as if the name itself tastes too foul to say.

The irony is that Blackthorne himself is a mage and a powerful one at that. But he was a Primary and that’s all that mattered. Blackthorne was the reason mages spent their lives in hiding. He was the reason I’d grown up fearing the Herrings. He was as hated by as many who revered him as the savior of Lanel.

I wring my hands together just thinking about it. “What happens to the mages once they arrive at Fairvale?”

Darkness settles over his features, causing him to appear even more anguished than I had thought possible. “I don’t know. Once they’re brought to the Blackthorne estate we are ordered to leave. I’ve never seen Blackthorne myself, though the stories about him grow increasingly fantastical with each year.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Do you know how people like Blackthorne stay in power?” he asks. I shake my head. “Fear,” he says. “Every now and then a Herring would be summoned by Blackthorne only to return disfigured. His way of reminding us of who holds the power. You see, the Jotnar despise mages. Their entire race would have been killed off during the Great Wars by Gethin Stone,” the mention of his name makes me shudder, “had they not fled deep into the mountains of Saritite.”

“So why are they serving a mage now? Why come out of hiding after all this time?” I ask.

“I don’t think they were given a choice. I think Blackthorne forced them out of the mountains and whatever magic he wields strikes fear in the hearts of even the wildest beings.” He tends to the fire.

I thought of myself as a fierce and capable soldier all my life, but sitting across from Darius, who’d sacrificed his own childhood to protect Lanel, makes me feel like a naive girl who’d lived a sheltered life. We both shared the belief that Blackthorne’s reign must end, but I had no idea just how far it had spread. I’d heard stories about the Jotnar told as mere fables among our kin to scare us into staying in our beds at night, but Darius had lived among them.

He’d seen the things I’d only heard about, only imagined as I lay sleeping in my warm bed.

It’s clear that I know no more about Lanel than I did when I was a child. As Darius cleans our dishes, I realize I can’t go to Northpoint. I can’t spend the rest of my life preparing to protect my people when I can protect them right now. I won’t hide away in the mountains of Northpoint when I have the chance to change the history of Lanel, even if only for a few.

“How long is the journey to the Twin Frontiers Post?” I ask.

“About two weeks’ time if they keep the same pace.”

“And once they arrive?” I ask.

He holds my gaze. “Those with magic will be transported to Fairvale in no less than two days. Those without will either remain there or be sold as personal companions to the highest bidder at auction in Fairvale. Since I’ve become Commander, they haven’t managed to transport any prisoners to the post. They’ve always had enough time to escape.” His shoulders slump in defeat. “But not this time.”

He doesn’t have to say what we’re both thinking. My attempt at bravery would cost the others a lifetime of imprisonment.

“Darius,” I start, hoping that the sinking feeling in my gut is from the poison and not from what I’m about to ask. “If you’ve always been able to thwart the Herring’s raids, then why didn’t you stop the Herrings from capturing the prisoners you found me with?”

He tosses another log onto the fire. “I’d heard about a mass migration in the Qyis province, so I went ahead of the pack and warned them.” He brushes the soot from his pants.

I’d never been skilled at hiding my emotions, which would explain why Rhian could read me so easily. I suppose Darius needn’t be an Emotionalist to see the concern spread across my face.

“And, did you?” I hope my kin heeded his warning.

Darius’s brow furrows as if he’s finally understood. “Ay,” he nods slowly, a strand of his dark hair falls loosely over his eyes. “I intercepted one of their scouts, a shadow that came upon me in the dark. She said she’d regroup and warn the others. She asked if I wanted to join them and go to Northpoint.”

Of course Oreya would offer her protection, after all, Darius would have looked as he does now, a young man alone in the woods.

“I directed her to reach Fewth Falls by way of Amber Road. It’s a mage route seldom used and impossible to track from the road,” he says.

“They’re safe?” I ask.

He nods. “They’re your kin, aren’t they?” he asks.

I stare into the flames. “Ay.”

I think about my men reaching Fewth Falls and telling Oreya what’s happened. She can’t afford to reallocate soldiers to replace me. The village must arrive at Northpoint before the first snowfall closes the pass. I imagine Laurel’s face as Oreya tells her of my disappearance. I imagine her responding as we’ve been taught to respond and then only later, when she’s alone, letting herself feel the full weight of the news.

And then Rhian’s face flashes before me as clear as if he were sitting beside me. His face is hopeful because he, more than anyone else, knows me. Instead of thinking the worst, Rhian would cling to hope and that would be enough. He’d insist on personally breaking the news to Levain and Silas. He’d probably start accompanying Laurel on night patrol if only to wait for my return. Rhian’s faith in me would never break and that would be enough to prepare me for the plan already taking shape in my head.

“We can still help the others,” I say. Darius stares back at me blankly but I continue. “You’re the commander and for all your men know, I’m your prisoner. We go to the Twin Frontiers Post, replace where they’re keeping the others, and use the stone to take them to Northpoint.” I push further. “I’ve spent my life training for this, Darius. I can make a difference and help them.” My shoulders drop in desperation. “I have to do this, don’t you understand?”

I meet his gaze and know that despite the conflict brewing in his eyes, that he does. If he responds I don’t hear it. All I can hear are the echoes of Rose’s screams and whistle of the whip as I trudge back to my tent and collapse into sleep.

The waves roll onto shore.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

I place my hand over my brow to block out the radiant sun, and that’s when I see her. She stands beyond the break facing me. The fabric from her pearl dress billows out onto the water’s surface, rolling along with the tide. Her hair is red fire dancing to the ocean’s lament.

The sand beneath me gives way and I fall into the abyss below.

Two golden eyes just like mine. Deathly beautiful.

He smiles, revealing razor-sharp teeth.

My scream ends as his hands wrap around my neck.