The scorned, p.8
The Scorned, page 8
“Things are getting weird.”
Chapter 8
Daelon fell asleep, and I couldn’t think about what that meant considering it was barely after noon. All I could do was let him rest as I left to find Cyrus.
I reached out, searching the island for his distinctive aura. As soon as I found it, I whispered a chant and jumped, clinging to his energy like it was an invisible rope.
Cyrus barely startled when I landed right next to him, but the stony warrior woman, Athena, was quick to snap into battle mode and aim a very pointy spear in my direction.
I lifted a brow, moving my gaze from her offensive stance to my surroundings. We were in a training field made of mixed terrain, and before me were dozens of Aurora Aureans in lightweight brown armor holding various weapons and exuding various magickal frequencies. Some were moving in synchronous, captivating formations, as if they were channeling pure spirit and letting it move their bodies in a ritualized dance of fight.
I didn’t miss how slow Athena was to lower her weapon. She didn’t apologize either, just turned away from me and hurled her spear with frightening precision into a target plastered on a mossy boulder fifty feet away.
Cyrus laughed, and I turned to face him. He was shirtless, as usual, casually standing with his arms crossed as he watched the others’ focused movements.
“Shouldn’t you be all armored up? And you know, doing something?” I snapped.
“I don’t think a woman has ever asked me to put on more clothing,” he said. He tilted his head, and the smile he flashed was downright dangerous.
I rolled my eyes, and he seemed triumphant at my reaction.
Someone called out a direction to the group that was moving synchronously, and I turned just in time to see them channel a swirling mass of flames that encased them like a fluid shield.
“Release,” yelled the warrior standing on a tall rock.
The group gathered and shot the fire into the air above them, and now I understood why the other witches training were keeping their distance. The fire ball went spinning through the air.
“Disperse,” the woman yelled.
The group channeled as a unit and transformed the fireball to steam.
“I got bored. Today was devoted to the basic and the repetitive,” Cyrus said with a shrug.
Athena moved closer to us. Her shimmering blue cat eye was drawn in broad strokes. “Your lack of discipline is a weakness,” she said to Cyrus, and I didn’t know how he could smile so wide at her when there was nothing remotely humored in her tone. “Battle isn’t fun. It is an art. The basic and the repetitive are the building blocks of all skills, triumphs, and accomplishments.”
She didn’t wait for a response before starting off again.
“She is so intense,” Cyrus said. “I think I’m in love with her.”
Athena shot him a death glare and then an obscene gesture over her shoulder. She shook her head, and soon she was having a conversation with the woman giving orders.
“Intense is a good word for her,” I agreed.
“Terrifying is another,” Cyrus said.
“She doesn’t frighten me,” I said, and Cyrus cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “She reassures me. I had no idea that there were so many witches prepared to take on the Kingdom.”
“Why wouldn’t there be? We’ve had plenty of time to prepare. Our coven more than others, but even still. Just as a collective shadow takes a long time to accumulate, so does the spirit of a revolution. It’s at first slow and hushed, decentralized and messy, and then it’s an unstoppable force that sweeps us all up in its wake. Everyone wants Aradia back. Even those who are lost—they just don’t know it yet.”
I was ignorant to think it was all up to me. That it was all about me. I guessed that would always be the danger of being told you were a world savior.
“Let’s take a walk,” Cyrus said.
We started off down a dirt path, moving away from all the training and into a thicker part of forest.
“I have so many questions. But I think we should start with your chapter of the story,” I said.
“Luckily for you, that’s my favorite part,” he said with another charming grin.
The trail we followed was well traveled, curving lazily through the palms and the ferns and looming boulders.
“I was the one who heard your call,” he began. “You sent a shockwave of magick across our sister island, and it went right through the portal and woke me up from a rather rejuvenating afternoon nap. I knew you were the one our ancestors had prophesied, had drawn on cave walls and in dusty old grimoires, the restorer of balance and bringer of hope to a world in peril. And it felt like you needed my help.”
Cave walls? Grimoires hundreds of years old? A strange shiver rolled down my spine. It was unsettling to think that Aurora Aurea had prophesied me for so long. It felt like it should’ve been a mistake to laugh about and brush off. I was just a witch. A powerful one, sure, but that was only until I could return all this borrowed magick back to its sacred lands. The way this coven spoke of me, the way many seemed to think of me… it felt more like I was being treated as some kind of celestial being.
Or a goddess.
My palms heated, and I shook myself out of these thoughts. “I didn’t mean to call to you,” I said. “That was after I’d learned that I had to die to visit the Akashic Records. My subconscious pulled me to that beach, and I just unleashed what I was feeling. I can’t explain why.”
“Even if I wasn’t meant to save you that day, clearly I was meant to show you a glimpse of Aurora Aurea. Or at least that’s what I interpreted from the path the Great Goddess led me on. My family and the shamans actually forbade me from going to the castle. Everyone thought it was some kind of trap or fabrication. I’m not exactly the most intuitive guy, more skilled with matters of the body,” he said, throwing me a side-eye and half-smile.
Was he flirting with me? I ignored him and crossed my arms. Kind of in poor taste considering Daelon was sleeping off poison fatigue. I swallowed and looked forward into the safety of the wilderness.
“I went anyway, obviously,” he said. “The shockwave you sent was made of raw power, and I was able to keep it inside of myself and use it to teleport to conquered Thora. Luck, fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it, was looking out for me, because I found a group of officials almost instantly who were heading into castle grounds later that night. They were drinking at a nearby pub, and they were stupidly chatty about it. Not that I think it’s all too common for anyone to even attempt to sneak into the castle.” Cyrus smiled. “Anyway, they were so elixir-drunk that they didn’t notice me following them in the uniform I’d stolen from one of their buddies after knocking him unconscious. They didn’t question it when I entered through the gate after they’d been cleared and quickly went a different direction. I ended up scaling the side of the castle and coming in through a window in the servants’ quarters, and not one made a single peep about it. Some even smiled at me, like they could see underneath the official uniform to my very soul.”
“They definitely kept it quiet, because not even I heard about any of this,” I said, looking at Cyrus in wonder. He continued his tale with such natural story-telling charisma that I couldn’t help but hang on to his every word.
“I wasn’t sure where those local officials were headed, apparently to some kind of meeting with dungeon wards, but I had enough sense to know that it would be strange for a lone official to be wandering the halls in search of you. So, I had to go guard-hunting for my next outfit. I think you remember the rest,” he finished.
“If I hadn’t been a witness in that story, I’m not sure I would’ve believed it.”
“I know, right?” he exclaimed. “So now you understand why I don’t actually have to train with the rest of them. Just enough not to get out of shape, of course.”
“Right,” I said, drawing out the word sarcastically. “You don’t need any more training in being humble, either, huh?”
He chuckled, and then we were both silent for a few beats. It was a comfortable silence, one that melded naturally into the warm breeze and bird and insect noises.
“When you said you were too early after glimpsing into my power, do you think you were referring to the fact that you were only supposed to lead me here when I was with the Icierans?” I asked. “Or did you see something else?”
He scratched his head. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it? That the call to save you just meant leading you all here to the revolutionary headquarters.” He stopped and turned to face me. He looked all around us, as if assessing the area for any potential eavesdroppers. “But that wasn’t what I saw, Áine. The purpose your power instilled in me doesn’t feel finished. Not a single bit.” He dropped his voice even lower, and I could barely hear it over the sound of my heart picking up its pace in deafening thumps. His jaw hardened, his deep brown eyes lighting with a truth that was undeniable. “I was supposed to save you from that castle. I know that doesn’t make sense—that you’re not there anymore—but the message was clear. I was too early.”
The wind rushed through the trees, and I could nearly hear their frantic whispers as they echoed the living, breathing intelligence of Aradia like a cosmic soundboard.
“Too early to save you from him,” Cyrus said, and his voice was far too loud even as a feathery whisper. It was a crack of lightning, a nimble, shadow-tinged arrow to the heart.
He studied me carefully, and I didn’t know what to say. All I could think about was the choice on the horizon, Wren’s words about illuminating my way home from the darkness, Charlie telling me to remember, remember, remember…
“What happened right before you left Iciera, Áine?” Cyrus asked. His tone had an edge to it now. “Why is Daelon poisoned?”
My mouth clamped shut. He moved closer, his gaze as focused as a tiger on the hunt. He leaned in, and I could now smell the tropical scent of his soap, the musky scent of sweat and fight.
“And, for good measure, a final question: Why does Daelon think he can tell the Salvator Mundi what she can and can’t do?”
His words were a match striking against the white hot of my power, and the surrounding wind picked up its pace. I had to control myself. I didn’t want to wake Daelon with my intensity, nor did I want to accidentally smite Cyrus, no matter how far out of line he was.
Cyrus exhaled slowly as I glowered. I was unable to speak until I wrestled my power back under control.
He looked away, his features softening. “Sorry. For the Daelon comment, I mean.” He focused back on me. “As for the rest, I deserve the same answers that I just delivered. Because as it seems, our fates are intertwined. And I might not be an empath, seer, or any kind of psychic at all, but I’ve seen enough to know that all this secrecy and anger is only going to burn you in the end.”
I backed away from him, and I teleported.
Just more silence and running. Also not what I expected from the Chosen One, Cyrus challenged, his voice low in my ear as I manifested back at Daelon’s side, still asleep under the covers.
I watched as he barely stirred, not even when the furniture rattled with the ebbs and flows of magick, not even when it felt like I was so hot I would explode. He just lay there; the only evidence of life came from the slow rise and fall of his body with each breath.
I was not someone who ran.
Wren, I called, and he was quick to answer.
He said, I’ve found a place, quiet and secluded, on East Beach. I’m ready whenever you are.
Wren and I sat in the sand of a hidden stretch of beach backed up against a rocky enclave. I dug my feet into the white sand, comforted by the tranquil waves. Near the ocean was where I thought best.
“Why didn’t you tell him? Do you not trust him?” Wren asked me as I stared straight ahead.
It had been a physical fight to get myself to start speaking, to open myself up to Wren no matter his wise, healer status. I knew I needed to let someone in. Too much had been suppressed and boarded up, and I was so tightly wound that I knew any more input without release meant catastrophe. I ran from Cyrus, but I didn’t have to run from Wren.
I remembered young Lucius thinking to himself that letting his emotions out with his mother was the only way to stay strong with everyone else. I let out a shaky breath, slowly unclenching my fists and letting my hands open wide on my knees.
“Áine?” Wren pressed gently. His energy was effortlessly soothing, like it was safe to say anything, feel anything, and he would be there to guide me through the hazardous terrain of my psyche.
Why didn’t I tell Cyrus? Easy. “Because if I told him about the ultimatum, he would connect the dots and think that I was planning to go back to the castle—to Lucius—in order to save Daelon. He seems trustworthy enough, but I don’t really know him. He could go tell the others. Who knows the implications of witches thinking I was planning on betraying the world?”
I shuddered. What were these witches capable of if they thought they needed to thwart me? Forget about how they would look at me… what if I became some kind of captive? I just couldn’t think about it.
“Right there,” Wren said suddenly, cutting through the mental static. “What was the thought that you just had?”
I furrowed my brows. “That I didn’t want to think about what would happen if they all knew?” I said, my answer sounding more like an uneasy question.
Wren looked at me, peering into my energy as I struggled not to squirm. “When you thought that, it illuminated an entire part of your psyche. The part that is mostly hidden, or at least hidden from you. Your shadow is avoidant. Untrusting. Escapist.”
I frowned. Cyrus had basically told me I was a coward for running today, and Wren’s assessment was salt in the wound.
“It’s not escapism. It’s self-preservation,” I argued. “When I let too much fear and worry in, it overwhelms me. Any negativity. It has to be controlled. I can’t feel things as strongly as other people. I just can’t afford to,” I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Because of my power, when I feel, I feel it all. It’s too much. It leaks out everywhere, and I don’t want to drown anyone.”
“Are you sure that’s only because of your power?” Wren pondered. “Or is it because you’ve never felt safe enough to express emotion, and it became a habit to only unleash feelings when they’ve become too much, and to squash them down or redirect them whenever possible. I would imagine coming into power that put your mothers in danger might’ve created a difficult mental block in allowing yourself space to feel.”
“Like I said, I couldn’t feel it all,” I said. “Not when feeling it all meant that Lucius’s men were getting closer to finding us. Not after they had found us, and I believed it was all my fault. And, of course, I didn’t feel safe. I had to survive foster care, and I had to survive Earth, and then I had to survive the horrors of the castle,” I continued, my words like rocks in an avalanche, just tumbling and crashing like they didn’t belong to me anymore. “So yes, I’m a survivor. And being a survivor means always looking out for the worst outcome, accepting that nothing lasts, everything changes, and emotion is better served as productive fuel.”
I looked at Wren, my eyes wide. Did I really mean that? I knew emotions were healthy and normal, and I deserved to feel them just like everyone else. I wasn’t so jaded or pessimistic.
“I don’t know where that came from. I mean, I don’t believe that. Not fully.”
Wren looked out into the waves, a calm, understanding smile on his lips. “You’re dipping into the subconscious, where our most innate beliefs rest. Right now, you’re rationalizing your core beliefs, trying to cover them up with the logic of the conscious mind. But that’s not how the subconscious works. The subconscious is carved from emotion: a roadmap of dreams, desires, trauma, and the full impact of our experiences. The shadow doesn’t care that you intellectually believe in the right to feel what you feel. The shadow only knows that you are unsafe, that you’ve been unsafe for a very long time and don’t know how to live in a world outside of survival and myopic, forward momentum.”
Oh, he was good. I was speechless. Wren was way better than therapists back on Earth.
“I think talking to Orion would be a good idea whenever you’re ready. If anyone understands how to turn and face the shadow, it’s him. The goal is not to annihilate the shadow, Áine. The goal is to become her friend.”
“That doesn’t sound right,” I said. Despite Orion being the probable cause of some of my psychic wounds that birthed this so-called shadow self in the first place, I couldn’t deny how much I was drawn to him now. I wanted to talk to him, even before Wren had said anything about it.
Wren laughed. “No, it doesn’t seem right. The ego never wants to admit that the shadow is just as much a part of us as our conscious selves. In the end, however, all that lays hidden just may be more us than anything else. It is only those who traverse the dark side of the ego, with only the moon for guidance, who ever truly know themselves. And knowing oneself is when the real magick happens.”
I looked down at my hands cupping my knees. A heavy weight bore down on my shoulders, begging me not to continue, to keep it all boarded up and to wear my denial and scorn as a shield as strong as Daelon’s.
“I don’t know if I can call her a friend, but I want to know her,” I said softly. The image of the Áine that Lucius conjured in the astrals, the one with haunting eyes, a full dress and a golden crown, rushed across my mind’s eye. “She might be the thing I fear most.”
The intensity of Wren’s stare now was enough to make me swallow.
Wren was right; what I craved most was safety. Because that was what had been stolen from me, over and over again. It was precisely what Daelon gave me; through him I received all the security, certainty, control, and unconditional love I’d always craved. But that was obvious. My conscious mind could wrap its head around these truths. It was what lay deeper, desires that I’d only ever seen in my dreams, that had me paralyzed.
