Girl of Myth and Legend (30 page)

‘I am, and it was as easy as killing lambs.’

The rebel shrugs. ‘They knew the risks.’

‘And do you?’

‘You’ll be dead before I do. The maiden will see to that.’

‘Rebel scum. All of this death, and for what? A small victory?’

‘We’re not looking for a victory, not today. Just her, your precious doll.’

The Throne holds his palm towards the magical men in front of my keeper and me. They walk towards the rebels.

‘My Lady!’ shouts Harriad. ‘Find a safe place to hide.’

‘I can’t just leave you—’

‘You have to.’ His gaze never leaving the rebel’s. ‘I don’t know if we’ll survive the maiden, but our duty is to protect you and you alone. Go! Go now!’

She nods and looks down at me. ‘Can you make it?’

I stand, though with much difficulty, and we head towards the temple.

‘You can run, little puppet,’ I hear the rebel call, ‘but we will find you. We will always find you.’

I hear the sound of the fight beginning, but don’t look back.

Once inside the temple, I head towards the safest place I can think of. It won’t protect us from the maiden, and I don’t intend to hide there for long, but I need to rest, and I need to work out what to do.

‘Where are we going?’ my keeper says.

I don’t answer, my eyes scanning for enemies. The temple is deserted, the corridors dotted with discarded dishes and scrolls. We go down the twists and turns of the hallways until we reach a stone door… and in front of it several corpses. Two of the corpses are soldiers, the others rebels. The little lion stiffens beside me, and I can feel her horror as if it were my own.

I push against the stone door, opening it to reveal a beautiful, golden room with jewels, artefacts and paintings. There is a magnificent altar at the end of the room with carvings of stargods reaching out towards it, and in front are embroidered prayer mats.

I turn to the corpses and, with my teeth, drag two of the rebels into the room with us, and then close the stone door.

‘Wh-why did you bring
them
inside?’ my keeper asks.

I ignore her and change into my human form, then start to undress one of the rebels to their undergarments. As I do, I notice how the little lion is looking away, cheeks red, of all the times. I shake my head and put on the rebel’s clothes: a brown leather jacket over a grey top. Before I put on the ripped trousers, I take a look at my leg; it’s torn open, blood spilling over the floor. I rip a piece of fabric from my clothing and tie it around the wound, and then put the trousers on.

‘You dressed? Can I look yet?’ I hear her say.

‘Yes. I don’t even know why you look away. Here, put his clothes on.’

‘Wh-why?’

‘Why? Look at you. You stick out with your otherworldly clothes. It’ll be harder to distinguish you if you dress like them.’

‘I-I don’t want to…’

‘Well you
have
to.’ I undress the man for her and throw her the clothes. She stares at them for a moment before walking behind a pillar. After a few minutes, she comes out wearing a sleeveless, black leather jacket and a grey shirt underneath, with black trousers and boots. She still wears her backpack.

‘Pull the hood up,’ I tell her, and she does.

I look around, trying to assess which exit is best.

‘Where are we?’ she says.

‘This is the part of the temple only Magen can enter. It’s called the Sanctuary.’

‘It’s beautiful.’ Her eyes well with tears.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I just… I just keep picturing their bodies…’

‘Be traumatised later,’ I say. ‘You need to stay focused.’

‘Your leg…’

‘It will heal.’

‘But—’

‘I can handle the pain.’

‘But—’

‘This way,’ I say.

‘We’re not staying here?’

‘There’s no point. The maiden will find us wherever we are.’

She takes one step forward and then shakes her head, forcing back tears. ‘I-I don’t think I can. I… I don’t understand… it’s too quick… all of this.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘My mind is reluctant to accept it, too.’

‘If this isn’t some vision or a messed-up dream, then there really are rebels after me for God knows what, and there really is a maiden here.’

‘I hope it’s a dream,’ I say. ‘Even if it is, we have to survive it, don’t we?’

‘All those people…’

‘Do you want to be one of them?’

‘No, of course not,’ she replies in a small voice.

I come close to her. ‘Then we have to leave. We shouldn’t stay in one spot for too long, it won’t help, trust me.’

‘I do.’

‘Good. Come on, then.’

‘Sure you can walk?’

‘I’ll be fine.

As we walk through the room, our footsteps echo against the marble floor. When we come to the alter I notice powders in containers that the Magen use in their morning ceremonies to bless themselves. I dip my hand into one and paint lines across my face, and my keeper follows my lead. We have to do whatever we can to look like the rebels.

‘Do you still have those lenses that your father gave you?’ I ask her.

‘The contact lenses?’ she says.

‘Yes.’

‘Um.’ She takes off her backpack and rummages inside, pulling out a small case. ‘Yeah. Why?’

‘Put them on. All of this dressing up will be a wasted effort if they see your eyes.’

‘OK. Can you help me put them in?’

I do, and when I’m done she blinks and looks up at me.

‘Better?’ she asks.

It’s inappropriate to ask, but I can’t help it. ‘Your eyes were an emerald colour before?’

‘Green. Just say green. And yeah.’

I take a moment to look at them, to see her as she was before she was a Pulsar. Like this, seeming so human and unmagical, I almost feel sorry that her ordinary, ignorant life was disrupted by one full of terrible and inhuman things.

We go outside and into a garden. The mist hasn’t touched this place yet, but it’s coming for us. Its ghostly form curls over the roofs of the temple, coiling around the snow-dusted trees and drifting over the pond. I look around, trying to think of a place to go. Where would the Thrones take her? I don’t want to take her to them; from what Harriad said, they’re battling against the rebels right now.

‘The mist is going to cover us,’ I tell her, watching as it creeps towards us, ‘so stay close to me.’

She nods and extends her hand to me. It trembles, and pity surges through me. She knows nothing of this threat, nothing of the horrors that are awaiting her in the mist.

‘The bond will tell you I’m close,’ I assure her.

Her hand remains reaching. ‘I know, but…’

She’s scared. She won’t say it, because she needs to believe she is brave. To her, holding my hand is how she will keep her sanity, how she will remember who she is.

Reluctantly, my hand grips hers, hers small and cold, and yet the moment our skin touches, it ignites something between us—a warmth, a warmth that reminds me of glittering sunlight, bringing with it a solidity, a safeness, a
rightness
, and it reverberates across my entirety.

‘Let’s go,’ I say, trying to ignore the sudden intenseness between us, and I lead her away from the mist. I know it won’t make a difference, that eventually it will immerse us, but we need to find our bearings, we need to accept this reality before we can conjure our courage.

We enter an antechamber that leads to another hallway. My limp becomes worse the more I use my leg, but it can’t be helped. I look back and see the mist winding around the walls, as if in pursuit.

‘Hurry,’ I say.

We’re outside again, in a courtyard surrounded by flowers and snow and an unnerving silence.

My keeper gasps and I whip my head around, ready to attack, when I see the young boy who is always sitting at the table in the morning.

‘Jacob!’ she says. ‘You’re alive!’

‘Leonie!’ He wraps his arms around her waist, hugging her tight. ‘You’re OK. You’re OK. You’re OK. I knew you would be. I knew it!’

‘Jacob—’

‘I got separated.’ He starts to cry. ‘Th-they attacked from nowhere. So many people died. Th-there was nothing I could do!’

‘I know, Jacob, I know.’

‘And then the mist…’ He shakes his head. ‘I’m so glad you’re OK.’

‘Are there others alive?’ I ask. ‘Any of the Council?’

‘I-I don’t know,’ sniffles Jacob. ‘I-I ran away. I was so scared.’

‘You have reason to be. You know of maidens?’

He nods.

‘And you know of their haze?’

He nods again. ‘That mist, it’s the maiden’s haze, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I want to go home.’

‘Jacob…’ my keeper says.

‘It’s too late for us, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t say that. It’s not too late.’ But even her voice has wavering conviction in it.

‘We can maybe get out of it,’ he says.

‘There is no way to get out of this,’ I say. ‘We’re within the haze now. Unless someone finds the maiden’s true form and destroys it, we’re going to die.’

‘Then let’s find it,’ he says. ‘We can destroy it if we work together! If we believe in ourselves then—’

‘This isn’t a hero’s quest. This is real life, and believing in ourselves is going to get us killed sooner.’

‘But—’

‘By the scale of this haze, the maiden is powerful,’ I say, ‘and with the added distraction of the rebels, I doubt the Thrones will be able to destroy it.’

‘And you can’t?’ he asks.

‘Me? What am I? If a dozen Thrones can’t bring it down, then I stand no chance. And with my leg as it is, I’ll be like dirt under its foot.’

‘So we give up?’ my keeper says.

‘No matter what, we’ll be swallowed up into its domain.’

‘And that’s it? Just wait to die?’

I stare at her. My life is not my own; it should belong to my keeper—but I will not die for her. Though I’m supposed to, I won’t. I can’t. All I can do is try to make sure she’s safe, that she can survive. Looking around me, though, I don’t think anyone is going to survive this.

Hopeless. Survival is hopeless.

She takes my hand and squeezes it.

‘What are—?’

‘I get what you’re saying,’ she says, ‘and I know you’re right. There’s no use in being confident, and belief alone won’t let us survive this, but I know our wits can. If we keep strong, if we can keep our minds our own, then we can make it through this. Otherwise, what is the
point
?’ Her emerald eyes burrow into mine. ‘I don’t know if we can survive, Korren, but we can sure as hell try.’

I still sense her fear above all else, but there is something else there, too, something strong and determined, and I know that I can borrow strength from her—that we can survive. Somehow, we will survive.

‘Come with me,’ I say to them both, aware of the weight of her hand in mine, the heat emitting from our hold.

I take them to a nearby shrine. I look back: the silver mist is already masking the doorway, and I slam the door shut. The candlelight flickers and in the shrine with us is a soldier speaking to two Magen and a maid.

‘Rebels, maidens, and here I thought the temples held no surprises,’ mutters the soldier, shaking her head.

‘Re-rebels?’ says the maid. ‘Wh-what do you mean?’

‘Go out there and look for yourself if you’re so curious.’

‘Magen, please, tell me what’s going on,’ the maid begs.

‘You two,’ says the soldier, her gaze having found my keeper and Jacob, ‘who are you?’ Her hand lights up in white flames, and I realise that, though the outfits the little lion and I are wearing may protect us from our enemies, they may not protect us from our allies.

‘We’re not rebels!’ the little lion says quickly, pulling down her hood. ‘We just dressed this way to get away from them. I’m the girl you escorted from Agerath Island, remember?’

The soldier observes her. ‘…Yes, I remember,’ she says, and the light from her hand vanishes. ‘Well, what are you doing here? You should be with O’Sah.’

‘I… I… got separated from him,’ my keeper says.

‘Great. As if I don’t have enough people to protect.’ The soldier sighs. ‘Well, I can work with it, I suppose. I’m Corlia, by the—’

The door slams open, and a soldier runs in, his face and uniform covered in ash. He shuts the door with such force that the shrine shakes. He turns to us, panting.

‘Matthew?’ Corlia says, and goes to his aid.

He clings to her. ‘I-it’s n-not normal. I-it’s n-not normal.’

‘What?’

‘Th-the maiden… i-it’s… oh, gods. The mist… I br-breathed it in and I… I…’

‘Get a hold of yourself, Matthew!’

He pulls her into him, staring into her eyes. ‘I-I saw my brother, Corlia, I saw him.’

‘You saw Eki?’

‘He was so angry. So angry. H-he told me things, horrid things. I… oh, gods, I can still hear him. I can still hear him!’ He collapses onto the floor, covering his ears. ‘This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening…’

Corlia only stares at him, eyes wide.

‘Wh-who is his brother?’ the maid says.

‘He was a soldier, too,’ Corlia replies, her face ashen.

‘Was?’

‘He was… he was killed by an enemy some years ago.’

‘He’s d-dead?’

She nods.

None of us say a word, a cold feeling spreading among us. Then the maid begins to cry.

Matthew
saw
things, heard them? Can it be…?

Survivors have described the haze in many different ways, but all have a common theme: it’s as if the sun has been extinguished, as easily as turning off a light switch. You are in darkness, a complete, infinite darkness. It is cold. You feel alone. You know you’re not. There are voices—all around you they come. You’re not sure what they’re saying, only that they’re dripping with bloodlust. You want comfort, light. You want to be saved. There is no one. No ally. No saviour. You walk aimlessly.

Then it comes. It is darker than the darkness. It has no solid form. It just is. Its black tendrils spread like branches and close around you. The voices become shouts, taunts, laughter. You try to block it out. It is impossible. You’re losing your mind. Then it whispers something, something you can understand: a way out, a way to freedom. Could it be it has spared your life? Could it be it doesn’t want you? You take this chance, you want to be free of this nothingness, you want light again. You do what it says to escape the haze, unaware that your despair feeds it, unaware that it means you no good. You just want out. But this is its game. It gives you hope so that you last longer, so that it can feed longer, and then when it has done, when it no longer needs you, it leaves you as an empty shell, alive but so utterly dead. You would be considered fortunate if you had enough life left to kill yourself.