Tributes were pouring in from every Sanctuary around the world, apparently, with everyone saying how great Damocles Creed had been. What a leader. What a visionary. How the world will be a dimmer place without him.
Omen was as shocked as anyone at the assassination, but over the last three days he’d come to the conclusion that the world would probably be better off without Creed in it. Maybe now the Church of the Faceless would lose some of the hold it seemed to have over its followers – though he doubted it.
It was right before lunch, and Omen had slept through breakfast – something it was only possible to do on Sundays – and his belly was rumbling as October Klein passed him in the corridor.
“Your brother’s being weird again,” she said, and walked on.
Omen took a detour on his way to the Dining Hall and knocked on Auger’s door. There was no answer, so he stepped in. The curtains were still drawn. There was no one here. Then his eyes adjusted.
“Hey,” he said.
Auger didn’t respond. He sat in the corner, on the floor, arms resting on his knees, staring at nothing.
“Auger,” Omen said softly, hurrying forward and crouching beside him. “Auger, what’s wrong? What happened? ”
Auger blinked, looked up at him, and his blank face creased into a smile. “Hey.”
“Are you OK?”
“I’m good.”
“Why are you sitting on the floor?”
He frowned, the question puzzling him, then he smiled again. “My chair’s full.” His chair, beside his desk, was indeed full, stacked with textbooks and notepads.
“You wanna maybe sit on your bed?” Omen asked. “Or stand?”
Auger shrugged, and Omen pulled him to his feet, then opened the curtains.
“Nice day,” said Auger.
“They’re saying it’ll rain later.”
“Rain’s never far away in Ireland. What time is it?”
“Lunchtime.”
“Have you seen Never?” Auger asked suddenly. “She hasn’t been round as much. I don’t know if I’ve upset him or what, but …”
“Dude, you and Never broke up.”
Auger blinked. And nodded. “Yes. I know that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen her, wondering how he is.”
“Never is Never,” said Omen.
Auger grinned. “Yes, she is.” He stretched his spine, and groaned.
“How long were you sitting there?” Omen asked.
“Don’t know. Wasn’t really paying attention.”
“I, uh, I talked to Mum last night,” said Omen. “She rang. She’s wondering why you’re not answering her calls.”
Auger laughed. “So she talks to you just to ask why she’s not talking to me. I swear, Omen, I have no idea why you even bother with those two any more.”
“It’s a chore, all right. But I suppose I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t have to be.”
“Is everything OK? I know I’ve been asking that a lot, but I don’t think you’re being entirely honest with me. There’s obviously something going on with you.”
Auger sighed. “I could never keep anything from you, could I?”
“No,” said Omen, “but I don’t have to be your twin to see that something’s not right. Ever since you fought the King of the Darklands—”
“Ever since we fought him.”
“OK, ever since we fought him and you killed him, you’ve been … different.”
“Imagine that.”
“Auger … I never want to know what it’s like to kill someone. I never want that weight hanging over me. I don’t think I could handle it. So thankfully I have no idea what it feels like to do that, even when you have to, even when the fate of the world depends on it.
“But you’re free now. For the first time ever, you don’t have a prophecy telling you what’s expected; you don’t have people depending on you; you don’t have that pressure … I mean, that’s gotta be kinda liberating, right?”
“I suppose so,” said Auger.
“You should let yourself be happy.”
“Being happy would be nice. How do you manage it?”
“Well, I’ve never had that sort of pressure on me, so I have a head start.”
“Yeah,” said Auger, “but you’ve also grown up with parents who basically ignored you your entire life. How do you manage to stay positive with all that weighing you down?”
“I don’t know. I try not to think about it.”
“That’s not exactly the healthiest way to deal with it, though.”
Omen didn’t know what to say, so he smiled and shrugged.
Auger collapsed on to his bed. “We have rotten parents.”
“Yeah.”
“Say it.”
Omen laughed. “We have rotten parents. ”
“I don’t even know who I am,” Auger said. “My life and my personality revolved round the prophecy. They prepared me for that, yes, they did, but they didn’t prepare me for anything beyond it. They built Auger Darkly to be a cog in a great machine, and, now that I’ve done what I was supposed to do, the machine rolls on and that cog is no longer needed. So Auger Darkly is no longer needed.
“I mean, look at us, dude. Auger and Omen. The Darkly brothers. Practically every other sorcerer around the world comes up with a brand-new name that sets them apart from everyone else. What did we do? We took Emmeline’s name.”
“Because we’re a Lineage family.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It’s … you know what it means. It’s a bond that some sorcerers want to maintain.”
“It’s a way to control us.”
“We both decided to be Darklys.”
“We think we decided, but come on – they were pulling the strings. They wanted to establish and then reinforce the Darkly brand. Even our first names weren’t our choice. Remember the way that they’d keep repeating certain words, all about destiny or fate? We thought we came up with them all by ourselves, but they’d been planting those names in our heads since we were kids. They wanted us to be Auger and Omen.”
“Well, that’s not quite true, is it? They wanted you to be Augur, but you decided on only one ‘u’.”
“My one moment of rebellion,” Auger said, “misspelling my name. I thought that small act of defiance meant something, but it didn’t.” His voice softened. “None of it means anything.”
“What’s all this about?”
Auger sat forward. “I think I’m going to change my name.”
Omen stared at him. “What?”
“I don’t want to be Auger Darkly, ex-Chosen One, any more. I want to be someone else. ”
“But we’re the Darkly brothers.”
“We’ll still be brothers. Nothing will change that. But I’m going to renounce the Darkly name.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m leaving.”
“Leaving where?”
“School, for a start,” said Auger. “Then Roarhaven. And probably Ireland. I want to go places. Meet people. I want to have a life.”
Omen struggled to come up with any coherent argument. “But what about your education?”
Auger smiled. “I reckon I’ve learned enough to get by.”
“But what are you going to do?”
“Travel. Get a job.”
“With what qualifications?”
He laughed. “We’ve been taught to forge every kind of mortal document there is. We’ve been trained to survive and thrive in whatever environment we find ourselves in. I’m gonna be fine.”
“But what about your Surge? You should stay in school until your Surge, or at least until—”
“Actually,” Auger said, “it looks like I’ll be getting that a little earlier than most.”
“What?”
“The doctors at the High Sanctuary said I’ve got all the hallmarks of an approaching Surge. Fluctuating levels, biorhythmic spikes, the whole lot. They reckon that the power boost we’re all going to experience on Draíocht will be enough to set it off.”
“So you’re gonna have your Surge in, what, just over two weeks? But you’re only sixteen!”
“Ex-Chosen One, dude.”
“Does that mean I’ll get my Surge as well?”
“Don’t know. Are you experiencing spikes in your biorhythms?”
“I have no idea.”
“Then you’re probably going to have to wait another few years. ”
“I hope so,” Omen said. “I don’t want my Surge. I have no idea what I want to specialise in. What are you going to specialise in?”
“I’m going to be a Healer.”
Omen blinked. “You?”
“Why are you surprised?”
“I … I don’t know.”
“I’ll tell you. It’s surprising because my whole life has been about fighting. It’s been about inflicting pain on others. I just want to flip it around. I want to help people.”
“Wow,” Omen said slowly. “That’s … that’s perfect.”
Auger smiled. “I’m glad you approve. What about you? What are you going to be once you leave this place behind?”
“As far as magic goes, I have no idea. There are so many disciplines, and I’m so bad at them all.”
Auger laughed. “And what about other stuff? Don’t you want to apply to art college?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Because I’m your brother, dimwit. Of course I know. When we were kids, you were always drawing your own comics, coming up with your own superheroes. Who was that guy, with the wings?”
“Hawkman,” said Omen, “but I kind of stole his name from DC. Stole his wings, too. But everything else was mine.”
“I always thought the comic thing was pretty cool.”
Omen shrugged. “I don’t know how the folks would react to art college, though. But I met this girl, Gretchen, and she said she’d help me with my portfolio.”
“A girl, eh?”
“Not like that. She’s older than me. And American. Sophisticated, you know? But she’s pretty cool. I’m going to send her some of my stuff and see what she thinks.”
“Good man,” said Auger. “And, if the parents don’t approve, so what? Think how great it’d be for both of us to strike out on our own. Our parents don’t deserve our loyalty. You should renounce your name, too. ”
“But I really like my name,” Omen said. “It’s the one thing about me that I do like. When are you going to tell them?”
“After I’ve had my Surge. That’s when I’ll pack my bags.”
“I really don’t want you to go.”
“I’m going to miss you like crazy, Omen. You’re the best brother a guy could ask for, and my best friend. But I think if I stay I’ll be driven to hurt more people. Maybe kill someone again.”
“Are you, like, renouncing violence, or something?”
“I think so. There’s something inside me. I noticed it in the days after I killed the King of the Darklands. I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like this … emptiness. If I don’t do something drastic, I think the emptiness will grow. Take over.”
“Then it sounds like you’re doing the right thing.”
“You should have this, then,” Auger said, getting up. He went to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and took out a collapsible baton. “This is my favourite,” he said, snapping it to its full length, roughly as long as his arm. The sigils etched into it started to glow. “Easily concealed shock stick with three settings. Three . The lowest is enough to give a decent jolt, and the highest will pretty much knock out any regular-sized person. Your mileage may vary.”
He thumped the end against the wall and the baton telescoped in until it wasn’t much longer than his fist. He handed it over.
“Why would I need this?” Omen asked, taking it, testing its weight.
Auger raised an eyebrow. “You think I don’t hear what you’re getting up to? I may be a little out of it, a little distracted these days, but I pay attention when it comes to you. That Thiago kid?”
“Ah,” said Omen.
“You’re doing all this stuff, walking into danger, risking your life, saving people – and you won’t even tell them that it’s you being the hero.”
“I’m not doing it to be a hero. ”
“Oh, I know. I’m aware. People have always called me brave, but any time I’ve fought a bad guy or saved an innocent life, I’ve always known that people would hear about it. It got to the point where I was wondering if what I was doing could be counted as brave and selfless or whether it was just me having to live up to my reputation. But you … Dude. You’re out there being an anonymous hero. That’s something that never even occurred to me.”
“You’re making me sound cooler than I am,” Omen said. “Thanks for this, though.” He put the baton into his back pocket, and, as Auger slid the drawer closed, he caught a glimpse of the Obsidian Blade, the knife that Auger had used to kill the King of the Darklands. Auger had told him, had told everyone, that the weapon had snapped off completely, rendering it totally useless – but Omen saw the single sliver of black blade that remained attached to the handle.
The drawer closed. Auger knew that Omen had seen it. He looked at him and didn’t say anything.
Omen didn’t say anything, either.