The Parallels
EIGHT

I hang limply between two posts. The echo of shuffling feet fills the chamber as two lines of prisoners are hauled in and form a circle around me. Most try to shield their eyes against the flickering torches as if they’ve been in the dark mines all their lives. The rags they’re clothed in hang loosely over their skeletal frames. The youngest is no older than Rose.

I barely notice when the back of my dress is cut away, too lost in the sunken features and taut skin of the prisoners. If this was the cost of fighting for magic, then it was too high a price to pay. The Herrings have created their version of the Fade right here in Lanel and at its helm is Camus who emerges from a tunnel like a greedy insect.

“We have a surprise for you,” he says. The prisoners flatten themselves tightly to the wall. When I don’t answer he storms over and yanks my hair upward, so I’m forced to look at him. I spit in his face. He breaks my nose. Our dance begins. “Look.” He commands, yanking my head up once more.

My gaze tracks over his right shoulder where a figure stands in shackles. My knees threaten to buckle. Darius, the real Darius, thrashes out against the Herrings that carry him toward me. Before I give myself away, I heed the advice I so blindly raged against when the Herrings attacked Rose: don’t let them know you care. Darius does the same, dropping his head to the ground without so much a glance in my direction. Thank the Mire he’s a mage, as no harm would come to him yet.

“He’s a friend of yours.” Camus lifts my chin upwards. “I can tell, goldeneyes.

“Never seen him before,” I say blankly.

Before he can test me, a half dozen more Herrings emerge from the tunnels, including the guards that Darius drugged. Camus drops my chin and turns around. As if sensing its opportunity, the cassiterite bracelet morphs into a blade and settles itself between my skin and my bindings. I silently send it praises. With one stroke I can cut myself free and finish what I started.

Camus takes center stage. “Seems as though we’ve a traitor in our midst.”

The Herrings are deathly quiet as Camus speaks. “This one here,” he points to Darius, “was found roaming around the tunnels, likely trying to escape with the others. The commander’s already tracking the escaped mages. My task,” he looks toward the two guards standing apart from the pack, “is to return order to the Post.” He relishes in his temporary authority.

I look sideways at Darius who’s now staring fixedly at me. The Herrings don’t know that their beloved commander and the prisoner they’ve captured are one in the same.

Camus gestures to the floor and the two guards Darius drugged drop to their knees in unison. “And you two,” he crouches down, “didn’t do your duty to your brothers.”

They tilt their chins upwards. “Death before dishonor, blood before betrayal,” they murmur.

Camus unsheathes his knife, and with one quick movement, they fall to the floor. He remains kneeling. The rest of the pack bow their heads. Camus wipes their blood from his blade and straightens his tunic as he stands and directs his attention back to me with murderous intent. I was responsible for their deaths; that fact is not lost on me as Camus sheathes his blade and a whip unfurls to the floor.

“Now I know the commander is fond of you, but neigh he’d turn a blind eye considering what you’d done to these men,” he gestures to the Herrings laying in a pool of blood on the floor. The Herrings erupt into shouts of agreement. “Sides’ there be plenty of wild things in Lanel for him to tame.” His vicious snarl bounces off the chamber walls. “And you boy,” he snaps at Darius, “your mage blood saved you for now.” He closes the distance between them and leans in close to Darius, who lifts his head. “but her screams will ’uant you ’til you’re begging Blackthorne for Passage.” He slips between us, dragging the whip across the ground like a snake.

I look back to Darius just as the whip snaps and my back splits open. He thrashes out against his bounds, helpless to save me. I fixate on his blue eyes now stricken with immeasurable pain. My blade flashes white hot, comforting me with its familiar warmth.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. I’m the reason we’re down here. I turn my head and face the prisoners as the third strike lands, this time across my calves. Pain erupts inside me but not from the whip.

Pressure pounds against my chest, threatening to crack my ribs. My knees buckle as another cascade of pressure wells up near my heart. The whip sings through the air again, but I don’t feel it land - all I know is the pain in my chest, it’s overwhelming and ravenous with its need for freedom.

“I’m sorry!” I scream for my kin, for my best friend lying cold and lifeless underground. “I’m sorry.” I drop my voice to a whisper as the burning sensation in my chest rises closer and closer to the surface.

My blade vibrates loudly, singing its lament through the tunnels to the deepest parts of this terror-filled underground labyrinth. Camus brings the whip down again and cracks it on the floor close to my feet. He’s so enveloped in his sick game that he doesn’t notice what the rest of the chamber sees. A faint light settles into the air right over my heart. The Herrings have taken notice too. I close my eyes.

Juliane. The voice from my dreams calls to me. I probe deep into the dark shade behind my eyes and there I replace the promise of sanctuary from the pain scorching my body. There’s nothing but a quiet stillness.

The whip connects with my back again, but I feel nothing. The world around me falls away as I probe deeper into the darkness. Soon, I hear nothing of the chamber, the whip, the Herring cries. It’s as if I’m somewhere else entirely. Suddenly, a figure comes into focus and part of me recognizes the etched curve of his lips, the strands of pale hair tied back to highlight unwavering cheekbones. Something deep within me stirs.

I reach out to him, but his hands replace me first. He wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me to his chest. I succumb to the odd feeling, like a memory that’s lapping gently against my mind like the edge of a lake.

“It’s time,” he whispers, stirring a seductive heat that flares from the depths of my being. It tethers me to the certainty of a forgotten history I’m on the verge of remember. I try to understand how I know this man, but I needn’t remember because when he brings his lips mere inches from my ear magic remembers for me.

“Anam Cara,” he murmurs.

Fire explodes from my chest and anarchy unfurls with its flames. I give into the gentle prodding I feel at the base of my neck and bend the fire to my will pushing it outward to the Herrings.

Beautiful tendrils of flame bridge the space between the Herrings and me. I relish in their screams as the fire licks at their flesh and wraps itself around them like a lover.

Magic floods my senses, and I dig deeper into the well within me, intoxicated by its power. I look over my shoulder; only the bloodied whip remains so I send forth flames in search of Camus like wolves on a hunt. When the Herrings are nothing but ash, the bright red spires fan out toward the shackled prisoners who are trying to claw their way free. In a panic, I will the fire to return but it’s too late. It’s already jettisoned across the courtyard walls and crests outwards like vines up the stone columns.

My screams are drowned out by the trapped cries of the prisoners that have nowhere to run. I bring my hands over the spot where the flames erupted hoping to call them back, but the fire continues to burn and I’m not longer in control.

“STOP!” The cry comes from Darius who’s still bound to the post, watching in horror.

I look at him, and the flames withdraw. They snap back from each of the tunnels and form a small circle around me. We’re the only ones left alive. The air is dense with smoke, and I collapse onto the floor coughing. I try to speak, but my throat is raw.

“Jules!” Darius coughs. “We have to leave.”

I push myself from the floor and hobble toward him. I cut his bindings with my blade and look back at the iron shackles on the floor.

“How can we escape?” I ask in a daze.

“Follow me, the stone is well hidden, but we don’t have much time. They will have regrouped by now.”

I reach out for his hand, but he yanks it back. He takes off down a tunnel to our left, and I have no choice but to follow despite the agony in my back. After a few more turns, he stops abruptly at a lantern and pushes his hand against the wall. Stones grind against each other, and the wall gives way, revealing a tiny alcove. Darius gestures for me to go inside. It’s smaller than a broom closet and almost dark once the entryway is sealed.

“No one knows about this hiding spot. I hid the transference stone here once I heard the screaming. I planned to replace you as the commander and pretend I was taking you back to my chambers” His voice drops off. “Stirlarst is the safest place for us now,” he says.

My head spins. “Did you make it to Northpoint?”

“Ay.” He whispers. He offers nothing more.

I rest my back against the cold stone. “Then why are we going to Stirlast?”

His hand covers my mouth just as the echo of footsteps sound from beyond the wall. His breath is hot in my ear. “Camus tested your blood; I don’t understand.” His hand presses harder into my mouth. “Mire help me. What happened back there?” I shake my head and wish I had the answer. He removes his hand but doesn’t back away. “Your people are safe.” His voice is strained. “Miriam will know what to do.” Before I have time to protest he’s already grabbed my hand, and the darkness gives way to the quiet woods of Stirlarst.

“Eat,” Miriam says. She sits across the table watching me as if I will burst into flames at any moment.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Eat,” she says again.

After we returned, Darius exchanged words with Miriam, then disappeared into the woods. I haven’t seen him since. Miriam looks across the table at me as if I were a puzzle, and maybe I am. When I shut my eyes, images from the tunnel fill my vision. Laurel’s lifeless body. Camus’s dagger lodged in Oz’s chest. The terrified prisoners helplessly bound as they burned. Fire consumes me just as it did in the caverns and soon all I can see is a wall of flames. Screams of the innocent flood my ears. I drop my spoon and throw my hands over my head to block out their anguished cries.

A hollowed sob bursts through my mouth. “I killed them!”

“You’re safe.” Miriam is already by my side, rubbing my back. “Come back. It’s over,” she whispers. “You’re safe.”

I fold forward, letting the pain spread over my body. I welcome it as repentance. I repeatedly retch until I’m dry heaving so hard my ribs feel as if they’ll crack. The memories give way to a peaceful nothingness. Miriam’s touch, her words, they all slip away.

I close my eyes and push myself into the darkness, into the safety I felt just before the fire erupted. My body starts to feel lighter, as though I’m falling into its depths.

Julianne. His voice comes to me.

Just as before, my mind wanders into the shade, to the place where I hope to replace him. My body remains where it is but another

part of me wanders into the vast expanse of darkness. The answer to whatever happened in the cave rests with him. I reach toward the voice in my mind and fall deeper into the dark’s quiet reprieve. Somewhere in the remote distance, Miriam calls to me, but the need for answers is overwhelming.

Come and see. His gentle whisper urges me closer.

His voice is carried on a warm breeze that loosens my hair and caresses my skin. I move forward, surprised at the assuredness I feel with each step. The edges of my vision blur and I glance to my left. Shadows watch me from the edge. Shadows I know. Shadows I command.

“I’m home.” The words slip from my lips, but my voice sounds like another’s.

From the darkness comes the smell of evergreens and cold winter mornings. I snarl, then cover my mouth with my hand, surprised at my visceral reaction to this scent. I feel a slow tug in my stomach as though it comes from above. Something about it feels safe, and suddenly the shadows around me feel anything but. In fact, the darkness now has a bitter chill to it. Again, I feel the tug and eagerly move back to it.

My eyes flutter open and Darius is kneeling at my side. The smell of evergreens and winter hang heavy in the air around us.

“What am I?” I choke on my words.

Darius brings my arms around his neck and lifts me from the chair. Miriam opens the cabin door, and together, they lead me to the lake. They work in unison to remove my singed clothing and guide me into the water. Miriam whispers something to Darius, and he leaves. She takes a cloth and begins to scrub away the layers of ash and blood that cake my body.

I cry out in pain as the fabric glides over my heart. When she pulls the cloth away, an ornate design of unfurling gold and amber lines spirals outward from the spot where the fire erupted. The marking fans out over my breast and collarbone, ending near the base of my shoulder.

Miriam stares at it. “Jules,” she gently squeezes the cloth over the marking, washing away the dirt.

“What is this?” Miriam asks.

“After Oz died,” his face flashes before my eyes, “my skin was on fire. I thought I was burning alive.”

I hold Miriam’s gaze. Images of the prisoners fill my vision, and I focus on the lake before me. “The fire broke free from here,” I say, running my fingers along the marking.

“It’s alright,” she says.

I lose myself in the song she hums as she scrubs loose the physical remnants of the tunnel. The dirt and ash circle around us, until the water carries them from my sight. I wish the memory of what I’d done would be carried away as well.

When I’m clean and dressed, we sit under the setting sun on the lake’s edge. The trees cast elongated shadows on the placid water, and a comfortable silence falls over the forest. Miriam’s gaze is on me, but I don’t have the energy to begin to explain something I didn’t understand myself.

Instead, she says, “let’s talk about your nightmares.” It’s the last thing I expect.

“How do you know about those?” I ask.

“To put it simply, I can enter dreams,” she pauses, “but yours are impossible to see.” I assumed she was a healer, given her ability to extract the Starflower.

“You’re a mentalist?” I ask.

She nods. “The same magic that ran through my family’s bloodline.” Her voice drops off as she stares out onto the darkening lake, but I take note of her use of the past tense.

“Are you able to enter others’ dreams?”

“Ay,” she says. “Most folk’s shields are down during sleep, but not yours.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Shields?” I ask.

“When the Parallels opened, and magic flowed freely from one Parallel to the next, people eventually learned

about all kinds of magic, including the kind that could penetrate the mind.” She taps two fingers on her temple. “Eventually, shielding became necessary and then second nature.” She takes a stick from the ground and draws a series of circles, each encasing the next.

“The mind is layered. The innermost layer is all that you are and ever were in this life.” She points to the smallest of the circles that’s surrounded by the others. “The outermost layer, a shield, is like a barricade protecting it. And everything else—your memories, mannerisms, and thoughts—exist within these other layers.” She taps each separate circle.

“So, a shield is the layer you create to guard the rest?” I ask.

“Exactly.”

I stare at the drawing. “Wouldn’t it be exhausting to have to always maintain it?”

She smiles. “No, not at all. Children were taught to shield just like they were taught to talk and walk.”

“It was a natural part of life,” I finish.

She nods. “The only time the mind is vulnerable is during sleep. A shield is always present of course, but it’s easier to penetrate when the mind is at rest.” She pauses in consideration. “It takes several years to create a shield strong enough to guard the mind at its most vulnerable moment. My guess, and correct me if I am wrong, is that you never learned to shield.”

I shake my head. “I’ve never even heard about it until now.”

She presses her lips into a thin line and taps the stick on the ground.

“What does that mean then?” I ask, watching the circles disappear with each thump of the stick.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she says plainly. She stares at the scar above my breast. “But I do think it has something to do with your ability to use magic.”

“Do you think the shield could have hidden my magic?” I ask.

She faces me. “No. Magic is too much a part of your soul to ever be hidden. Whatever blocked your magic was something else and something powerful.

“I don’t think this is the first time I’ve used magic.” I mutter quietly.

Her head snaps back in my direction. “You’ve harnessed fire before?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Not fire. It was naught more than three weeks ago, on the night my village celebrated my birthday. My friend is an emotionalist and when I touched him,” I stare out onto the water, “something happened. For just a moment, I felt a flash of my kin’s emotions like I was experiencing them myself.” I meet her gaze. “But how is that possible?”

She squeezes my hand reassuringly. “I don’t know, but someone else might.” And with that, she rises.

“Wait!” I draw my cloak around me as I stand. “Where are you going?”

She motions for me to follow her back to the cabin. “I’ve got some traveling to do,” she says over her shoulder.

The sun has all but disappeared behind the line of trees. “Tonight?” I ask.

Traveling in the dark was risky even without the threat of a Herring raid. She opens the cabin door, and we’re met with a wall of warmth. A roaring fire crackles in the hearth, but the cabin is empty. She takes her cloak from the door and fastens it around her before retreating to the tiny bedroom, leaving me standing in the cabin’s entryway.

“There are fresh clothes in the bedroom,” she says, shoving a large scarf into her handbag. She strides back to where I stand in disbelief and soothes my hair. “Darius will return soon.” She takes my hands in hers. “Something in Lanel is shifting. I don’t think it was a coincidence that brought our paths together.” Sadness pools in her eyes, but she quickly blinks, and hard determination replaces it. She squeezes my hands then drops them, crossing to the open door behind us.

“Miriam?” I spin around, facing her once again. She pauses in the doorway. “How did you know? If my mind is shielded, how did you know about my nightmares?” I ask.

Her expression softens as she crosses to me. “You scream in your sleep.” She shakes her head as if trying to rid herself of the sound. “Every night. It’s the reason why Darius has slept outside. Can’t say I’ve slept through one night since you arrived.” She pulls me close to her. Her voice sounds far away when she brings her lips to my ear and whispers, “when the time comes, remember the reason for everything and all will be clear.”

She’s gone before I can ask what she means. I stand in the doorway, running over Miriam’s words until all that’s left is the sound of the crackling fire and dusk’s lament.

A short time later, when night blankets the cottage and I doubt Darius’s return, the door swings open. He pauses in the doorway, carrying a large basket in one arm and a bottle of what I can only guess to be mead in the other.

“Where’s Miriam?” he asks.

A question I’d like an answer to as well. “She said she’d return soon.” Now that I think of it, she mentioned nothing about returning at all. He looks at me suspiciously, and then I remember the shield, glad that he’s not able to read my thoughts.

I break the uneasy silence threatening to fall over us. “Dinner?” I ask.

He exhales heavily. “Braised duck with sweet garlic cakes and buttered rolls from the markets of Fairvale.” He kicks the door shut and sets the basket down on the counter. “I thought you might want something other than stew.” He takes two plates from the cabinet. I cross to the kitchen and begin unpacking the basket. I don’t miss the dark circles that have settled under his eyes, or the sagging weight of his frown. I gently touch his shoulder, and to my surprise, he doesn’t pull away.

“I’ll take care of this. Pour us whatever’s in that,” I gesture to the jug.

“I can’t promise I’ll be good company tonight,” he says with a yawn. I gently push him toward the chairs and empty the basket onto our plates. We eat in a comfortable silence, each of us too exhausted to deal with pleasantries. After I clear the dishes and refill our mugs, I curl my feet under me and sink deeply into the chair furthest from the fire.

After some time, I finally ask what he’d implied by bringing me here instead of to Northpoint.

“I can’t return, can I?”

His silence says it all. I’m as much a threat to my kin as the Herrings. Whatever magic pulses through me is dangerous, that much is clear. They’re safer without me. Images of Northpoint, a place I can only picture in my head from the stories I’ve heard, flashes in my mind. I imagine Levain and Silas creating a new life without me, Rhian coming into his magic, and Laurel. I close my eyes, the threat of reality crashing down.

After a few deep breaths, I open my eyes only to replace Darius watching me closely.

“Will they be okay?” I ask.

“I’ve left them with another veiler who mentored me for years.”

I push away the images and try to revel in the certainty of their safety. “How did you come to be here?” I gesture to the cabin, changing the subject.

Darius leans back and hoists his feet onto the table. “I met Miriam when I was just a boy. The Herrings had just attacked my village. My parents handed me the transference stone and told me to repeat Stirlarst Lake over and over.

When I arrived, they said I would meet someone who could protect me. I hid in the woods surrounding it for days until I realized no one lived here. After the third day, when hunger near killed me, I ventured into this cabin. It was as if someone had left in the middle of their life. For the first few weeks, I snuck in and out of the cabin like a mouse, always afraid of being caught. After a month, I called it my own. Nearly six months went by before I saw anyone.” He drinks deeply and rests his head against the chair. “I fell asleep fishing at the lake one day. When I awoke, Miriam was standing over me. The first thing she said to me was ‘looks like you caught our dinner’ and then walked away.” He smiles. “I was just a lonely kid, and this was the first person who hadn’t tried to kill me, so I followed her into the cabin, and that was that.”

“Did you ever go back home and replace your parents?” I ask.

A shadow passes over his face. “I was so young when I left I don’t even remember their faces.” He looks around. “Once, a few months after I’d been here, I tried to return, but couldn’t.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“Magic prevented me...as if my parents knew I’d come looking for them and they wanted to keep me safe.” He takes a drink. “Miriam and this place became my home” He closes his eyes.

“How did they know about this place then?” I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders. “They must have visited here before, when I was just a babe.” He turns his head. “A truth for a truth?” I nod. He doesn’t drop his gaze when he asks, “did you know you could do that?”

“Not at all. I’ve never done anything like that.” Like kill innocent people with magic I never knew I had.

“Your parents, were they mages?”

I shake my head. “They were killed in a Herring raid when I was just a child. I grew up with a couple, Levain and Silas.” I take a drink. “Many of our villagers come from all parts of Lanel, all misplaced from raids. Levain and Silas found me after the Great Purge when I was just a child.” I sink deeper into the chair, seeking its comfort.

Darius brings his mug to his lips and holds it there before saying, “I’ve seen most magic that’s left in Lanel, but never an inert who can wield fire, yet bears no magic blood.” He drinks deeply.

We sink into a contemplative silence. Seconds slip into minutes. He finally rises and walks to the bedroom door.

“Darius?” I ask before he shuts it.

“Hmm?” His voice is heavy with sleep.

“Do you remember what you said about the Herring’s new mission?”

“Ay,” he says sleepily.

My hands tighten around my mug. “Do you think the magic I have is what Blackthorne is searching for?”

He doesn’t turn around to face me, but I can tell by the way his shoulders fall that he’s thought about this as well. “Ay,” he says softly, “I think it is.”

I am seated on the edge of Stirlarst Lake. A dense fog hangs low over the water and sparkles like sunlight.

“Jules.” I look over my shoulder to replace Miriam standing by the oak tree. “We don’t have much time.”

I stand up and go to her. “How are you in my dream?”

Subtle vibrations pulse underneath my feet. Light breaks through arid rock below. Miriam doesn’t seem to notice as she appears to float over the ground toward me.

“You must wake Arthin. Darius will know where to replace her.” She holds my chin in her hands, looking into my eyes again. “You’ll have to show her the world is worth waking up for once again.”

“I don’t understand.” My voice sounds small as the vibrations grow stronger. Miriam begins to get fuzzy around the edges as the vibrations crawl up my legs.

She takes my hand in hers. “My gift to you.”

My skin under her hand burns and I scream in agony as the golden light envelops us.