I am somehow conscious. My body is broken, my mind tortured. If the gods were to show any level of kindness, they would end my miserable existence in this moment. They would let me close my eyes one last time and drift into the void. No matter where I end up in the afterlife, it could be no worse than where I am now. My back feels soaked, my skin cold and damp as searing pain tears into my senses, as if I have been skinned alive. My body trembles from the shock of what I have endured, the temptation to give in becoming more and more alluring.
The sound of anguished cries reach me through my daze, dragging me back from the encroaching darkness.
It is Rior. It is he who cries out in pain. Morgana’s body glows, a greenish colour from her magic whipping up a storm around her. Her hand is outstretched, pointing towards Rior who writhes around in agony ahead of her. His face grows gaunt as he fights back.
“Or – Orjan!” he stutters. “Help me, please!” He reaches his arm out towards me, but it falls limp as he starts to lose his battle.
Something ignites within me. I cannot fail, not again, not in this moment. Everything I touch turns to ash, ends up cursed as I am. Not today. I will not allow Rior to fall. I will not allow myself to fail him. Using every ounce of strength I have, I pound my fists into the blood-soaked ground, pushing myself up. My arms buckle and threaten to collapse, and my head throbs as the darkness continues to seduce me into giving in. My mind traces back to all the times I passed out through intoxication, seeking the void of unconsciousness for comfort. This time it is a dark void of life. If I succumb, Rior dies. And I will have failed him, like everyone else before him.
“NO!” I press down as hard as I can. Bringing myself to my feet, I feel lighter than ever before, as though the heaviest of weights has been lifted from me. Blood rushes to my head and the room spins.
Then I stand taller than I have in years.
“Morgana, stop!” I yell. “He is just a boy!” I don’t have time to question how I am even still alive. I should be in the afterlife from my injuries, but instead I find myself dragged back from the brink of death.
I slam my hand down onto Morgana to break her connection, and Rior slumps back into Preya’s body.
“The pain, it is unbearable!” Morgana grimaces as she pushes herself up from the ground.
I rush to Rior’s side, my breath laboured. “Rior, are you okay?”
I am surprised by the speed at which I move, my back no longer burdened by the weight I am used to. I stretch my back into an arch and it cracks loud enough to shock me that it is not my bones breaking. I can breathe freely. My ribs ache and my skin stings from my injuries, but it is bearable.
Rior stirs and his darkened eyes blink as he comes to. His face is almost translucent, purplish veins visible through his cheeks. Slowly his colour returns, and the boy becomes more alert to his surroundings. “What was that?” he rasps, short of breath as though he has been running.
“Dark magic.” I heave myself to my feet and turn to Morgana, my back clicking. “If I ever find that you have used your magic on a child, especially one I am oath-bound to protect, I will kill you myself. Whether that binds me to this curse for life or not.”
My back clicks again as I help Rior to his feet. I stand taller than I ever have, my posture no longer stooped, and Rior looks on in awe as I tower over him. His hands are covered in Preya’s blood.
“I am sorry, Rior.” These are the only words I can seem to muster. The boy has now lost everything that he holds dear. Both his guardians are dead.
Rior gives me a determined look, his eyes red and filled with tears. “Not as sorry as they will be.”
As we speak, Morgana staggers past us and begins climbing the stairs, appearing as though she may collapse at any moment. “We have much to do, Orjan. Breyton plans on letting the Barbaraqs storm Eltera. He wants to form an allegiance between them and the Wyverns. We can’t let that happen. The Barbaraqs –”
“I know the Barbaraqs well,” I tell her, my mind racing to catch up. “I have faced them in the past. We need to move quickly. I have seen the aftermath these savages leave behind.”
Morgana stops in her tracks, giving me an odd look. “Tell me, where was it you had contact with them?”
“A village far to the northeast of Levanthria. Come, we must go.” I usher Rior forward and make to follow Morgana, but she doesn’t move.
“What happened?” she asks.
“The envoy I was leading happened upon the aftermath. We did what we could to save the villagers left behind. I still remember clearly that only a handful of people made it, including one child which I pulled out of a burning home. We can’t let this fate befall Eltera, or any other villages in Levanthria. We need to go, now!”
“It can’t be,” Morgana murmurs, as if speaking to herself. She eyes me up and down in a strange manner, then seems to come back to herself. “I know who Breyton is. If I can kill him, I can end this and send the Barbaraqs back to their ships. Back to the lands from which they hail. Will you fight?”
I consider the ruthless woman standing before me, unable to forgive her for nearly ending Rior’s life. Although I believe her to walk a darkened path, I do sense some good in her. Why else would she be here? Why else would she bring me back from death’s grip?
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Eltera cannot fall. Levanthria is depending on it.” With this, Morgana takes her leave.
“We must go, Rior. We need to find a safe place for you to hide.”
He stares into my eyes, his face darkened with bruising and dust. His swollen lip still seeps with blood. “No!” he says. “I will not run or hide. I have just as much right to fight for Eltera as anyone else in this kingdom.”
“Rior, you are just a boy. The Barbaraqs are ruthless fighters. There is no honour within their ranks. If they get the chance, they will butcher you on the spot.”
“I will fight. If not beside you, then with the others.” He is acting on his anger, his grief.
I want him to hide, but I need to respect his wishes. I kneel beside Preya and remove the knife, wiping the blade against my pants. Turning back to Rior, I pass him the dagger. He is too small to wield a sword, but at least he will be able to defend himself.
“Stay by my side. If I retreat, you retreat. Do you understand?”
Rior looks shaken now that he is holding a weapon in his hand, and the image is one that reminds me of Esara. I have seen the damage it can do to a child’s mind when they are forced to take a life at a young age. I do not wish this of Rior, but he may need to take a life if he is to survive this night.
“Do not hesitate, Rior. If one of them comes close enough to you to strike, you bury that dagger as deep into them as you can.”
Rior nods and clutches the dagger tightly to his side, his hands trembling.
I walk towards the pool of my own blood and pick up the shell that has been torn from my back. I investigate it for a moment before pushing my arm through a tough spine that runs vertically down the centre.
“What are you doing?” Rior asks.
I remove my arm from the back of the shell and inspect the outside of it. “This shell has shielded me from many an attack from behind. It is hard enough to block knives and blades. It will make a perfect shield.” It is a strange sensation, holding something that has been bound to my back for so long. It is weighted, with a raised bumpy surface that has a texture of porous rock. It is rough with slight markings where blades have made contact with it in the past. I have not thought of it like this before, but if not for the shell that had formed on my back, my life could have been ended on many occasions.
I kneel down and run my hand through my curdling blood, which seems somewhat darker than blood usually is. My blood is cursed, after all. I smear my hand over the front of the shell in two lines, one from top to bottom, one from left to right. Pushing my arm back through the spine of the shell, I bring it around in front of me, and I have a sense of comfort knowing that it will continue to protect me in some way.
“This is the markings of my people. They may have banished me, but I am Rashouyan.” If not for the Barbaraqs, the path I have had to walk could have been different.
“Come, we must head to the eastern gate.” I take each step with vigour as we make our way to freedom from this place. I spit into the soil as I reach the surface. Hopefully this will be the last time I see this damned place.
Outside, the daylight causes me to squint, the heat of the sun a welcome feeling against my scaled skin. For the first time since I received this curse, I relish the fresh air that I breathe, because it means I am alive.
I have something to fight for. And I will not let this kingdom fall.