Citadel of Fire (The Ronin Saga Book 2) (6 page)

Ayva spoke. “The stories say there are infinite types of creatures within Farhaven. They say the elves attempted to name them all long ago, but it was just as easy to name all the stars in the sky—there’s simply too many. These beetles glow when feeding, and they sustain themselves off the very air and magic of Farhaven—that glowing dust you see sometimes. But normally they dwell in caves and have no glow. I read once that their light is a defensive mechanism, but if you touch their feelers in just the right place…” She touched it gently, and sure enough, the insect’s glow vanished like a flame winking out. Ayva smiled, but then a grave look crossed her face. “Just as surely as there are creatures who are innocent like this one and feed only off the magic in the air, it only stands to reason that there are a thousand creatures out there who feed off more than just magic and are much more dangerous.” Again, she touched its feeler, and its glow returned. The frost bug flew away into the black abyss.

Gray whistled through his teeth. “How many books
did
you read?”

She smiled. “Too many and not enough. But none of them ever prepared me for the real thing.”

“What else?” he asked, sensing that wasn’t her main question.

“What are you training for?”

He shrugged. “That’s obvious enough, isn’t it?” Ayva looked away, staring into the darkness. And he could tell she was avoiding something.
Gently, he grabbed her chin and pulled her gaze to match his. “Tell me. We’re friends. You can tell me anything.”

“I…. I don’t know what’s going to happen when we reach Farbs,” she said. “Karil told us that we won’t be able to get into the Citadel, this place you’re from. I’m not as afraid of the dangers from outside as I am from within. I heard you talking to yourself. I’m worried about what will happen to you when we get there. Maybe your old self will return. Maybe you’ll realize that it was bad, or perhaps it will even overtake you.” Ayva gripped his arm, eyes narrowing. “Or worse yet, I fear you left that place for a reason. What if they are waiting for you to return, only to kill you as soon as you enter?”

He sensed her fear, her vulnerability, and he even felt his own. Something rose inside of him. A long moment passed. He felt his heart beating harder and harder. Looking down, he felt Ayva’s fingers graze his hand, and he gripped back. He gazed up, staring deep into her blue eyes. The silver glow from his sword illuminated her features, small nose, freckles, and soft, pink lips.

At last, Gray cleared his throat, finding his less-than-steady voice. “I guess, in the end, we’ll just have to watch out for each other.”

“Agreed,” she said, holding his eyes.

The moment lingered, and Gray felt his heart wanting to pounce from his chest.

“Well,” Ayva replied, suddenly rising, and, despite the deep night, he thought he saw her cheeks color and her voice sounded breathy, but he might have been imagining it. For when she spoke again, it was clear and confident. “I suppose if I have the next shift, and since Darius took
both
my shifts last night, I should get some sleep or the fool will never let me hear the end of it.”

Gray nodded, standing as well, though a part of him missed the warmth of her.

They faced each other.

Again, his heart pounded against his ribcage.

“Goodnight,” she said with a smile, moving away.

Grabbing his sword from the ground, he watched her retreat back into the darkness. His fingers tightened, feeling its glassy smooth handle. Gray realized he was grinning like a little boy who’d just won…
something.
As always, it was difficult to connect his youth to things when he didn’t have memories. He wiped the silly look from his face and eyed Morrowil. The sword’s glow beat back the shroud of night, but it did nothing for the sensation of eyes watching him from the shadows.

The blade gave him strength and confidence lately, but he would not let it control him again. He would have to be careful, but he had found a balance with the sword of power. The more he poured himself into the blade, the more power and abilities it seemed to grant. But there was a trick—the sword’s powers mimicked its owner. A wicked man would find corruption, and an honest man, the power of light. So to tip the scale in his favor, Gray had to trust himself. He had to believe in his actions wholeheartedly to keep the sword in equilibrium.

He wondered if that was Kail’s downfall during the great war of the Lieon. All was turning to darkness and death, he imagined. Kail, the leader of the Ronin, surely would have needed the blade and its power. The man would have demanded more and more from it, and the blade would have given it. Yet, as loved ones fought and died, and the world crumbled beneath him, Gray could only imagine that each request must have been mired in Kail’s own dark fear.
The blade only echoes its owner,
he thought again. With fear growing like a cavity within the legend, shadows of those he loved feasted upon his soul, and the blade upon them in return. Ultimately, it was not the blade that had borne a terrible darkness, but Kail himself. Though he had made it right in the end, giving up Morrowil and helping destroy the Kage, the truth was clear: the greatest Ronin and most powerful warrior of all time was done in by his own fear, his own doubt.

No,
Gray would not fall victim to that. For once, he trusted himself and his path.

He smiled and grabbed his sheath with its silver and gold-worked vines—the elaborate scabbard Mura had found at the Gates and given him. The thought of the hermit sent a pang through his heart. Already, he missed the man and wished he were there. Mura would know what to do. But the hermit was with Karil, and that was where his duty lay. As for Gray, his duty lay here. He would see the hermit again, he vowed, but for now, they had their own paths.

Setting aside such thoughts, he reached for his shirt when—

What are you training for?
Kirin asked from within the darkness of his mind.

I thought you were gone…

Why?
his former self asked.

I had two paths to choose at the Gates,
Gray replied.
One was to remember everything and destroy the world, the other to forget it all and sacrifice myself. I chose the second. You should be no more.

But I am you. And you are me. ‘One never truly loses one’s self, Gray, even if they forget their name or their way.’

Those words…
Whose words are those?

Silence, then the voice spoke distantly.
What are you training for?

For them, and for me… Because it’s all I can do.

Do you truly believe you can take them? Devari? Reavers?

I don’t want to fight anyone.

But I didn’t ask that. Not want. If you have to, if you’re forced to, would you be able to take them?

No one can force me to do anything.

Sometimes taking a life is necessary…
The way he said it—as if he was implying something greater.

Is she right? Are you evil?
Gray asked.

Are you?
A vision flashed in Gray’s mind. A face. Vera. His sister—and he had killed her. He may not have dealt the final blow, but he
had
killed her. No, she had chosen death, and, in truth, she had died long ago.

Semantics. You pinned her to the stone, and let Kail behead her.

Gray shook his head, casting away the thoughts. He felt his gaze grow hot, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes. “Leave me be,” he said hollowly, feeling a gnawing emptiness in his gut, reminding him of Kail and the legend’s descent into madness.
No,
he thought adamantly, then aloud, “I’m
not
Kail. I made the right choice.”

You did, but there’s a power inside you. You just might be able to face them all… But you must not run from the truth.

Gray reached back and felt the nexus, swirling at the edge of his thoughts, waiting patiently. But when he gripped it, it was not pure and blinding like it had been at the Gates. Still, over the past few weeks, it had slowly grown. With each night of training, he felt it build, as if throwing logs onto the fire.

I will be powerful, but I will keep my conscience, and I will be rid of you,
he thought decidedly. The words were like an axe head, felling his doubts.

Kirin seemed to balk, but only whispered,
Soon then…

When?
he asked impatiently.

Farbs. There you will find me. There we will meet again.

And one of us will win this body
, Gray stated, but he felt it sounded more like a question—a terrifying question. Who would win? Would he be absorbed by Kirin? Just become a voice trapped in the back of Kirin’s mind? Or would he fade completely?

Gray watched the shadows. Something
was
out there. He waited fearfully for his former self to respond, to confirm his fears, but nothing came. Gray looked down and realized he was holding the broken pieces of his pendant—the stone necklace, and a piece of his past—when a vision filled his mind.

A black keep…. Dark stone walls… A man running in fear as bookcases crashed down around him…

Just as quickly as it came, the vision dissipated, leaving Gray wondering who the man was, if it was past or present, and why it had come when he was holding the pendant. But instead, all he was left with was Kirin’s mocking voice, a fading echo in the back of his mind.

Soon… Soon we will meet again.

The Nodes

L
IGHT AND SHADOWS FLICKERED ACROSS
A
YVA’S
vision.

Those sharp gray-green eyes taking her in, seeing into her… She felt her hand reaching out, her heart
quickening. Her palms turned damp. She leaned forward and—

Ayva’s eyes snapped open. She put a hand to her brow, shielding her gaze from the morning sun. She was still in her bedroll and, in the peripheries of her vision, she saw Darius packing up his things and brushing down his spirited cormac. The majestic beast pranced with energy despite days of hard travel.

Her thoughts returned to her dream.
Gray.

Absently, she grazed her lips with her fingers. Shaking her head, she put the confusing bundle of thoughts and questions to the back of her head and rose. Yawning, she took in their camp. The ground beneath her feet was soft sand. From it, tubers and the occasional plant sprouted. Nearby, a strange purple and green succulent bristled with finger-length spines, multihued like a rainbow bed of nails. That was tame for Farhaven.

She’d seen tall plants, short ones, plants that looked like rocks or even animals. One plant, she remembered, had floated, with no base! She had wanted to examine it closer, having not heard of it in any of the stories, but Gray and Darius had advised against it. They didn’t know what they were dealing with, and she knew they were right.

She remembered Karil’s words.
You venture in a new land that is beautiful and dangerous. Be careful.
Well, she didn’t remember the words
exactly
. But it was something like that. Of course, Karil would have said it with perfect eloquence and poise. Light and flesh, she already missed Mura and the others. How had that happened?

Ayva rose and began stuffing her bedroll into her pack, ruminating on her friends.

Taking back the Kingdom of Eldas—one of the Great Kingdoms—won’t be an easy task.
That much was clear even to Ayva, but if anyone could do it, it would be Karil and the others. Part of her was jealous.
What I wouldn’t give to see the City Within the Trees
—another name for Eldas, a city with a thousand lights, their buildings suspended in the colossal great trees. It was home to the elves. It was also the kingdom of Leaf. Each Great Kingdom held dominion over one of the nine elements: leaf, water, fire, stone, moon, sun, flesh, metal, and of course, wind. The notorious element of wind made her think of Kail and Gray—one a mad, powerful legend, and the other her close friend. And yet, somehow, they were the same person.

She wondered if Kail still lived. Gray said they were dead, that he had watched Maris, the Ronin of leaf, die before his eyes, but there was something in the way he had said it… As if he believed there was something missing, like a book without an ending. Surely, the Ronin weren’t dead. She couldn’t imagine such epic beings vanquished so easily. Truthfully, she’d never felt particularly close to them, aside from Maris, but their loss made her feel oddly hollow even now, as if a great light had gone out in the world with their passing.
No,
she thought with a smile, absently stuffing in a pair of breeches she’d rolled up and used as a pillow,
the Ronin are not dead.