Claire tossed a pebble and watched as it disappeared into the field, the ripples spreading out like waves in water. She’d never thought that she would see this place again, the cursed field. It had changed slightly from the last time, the illusion shifting with the season. How clever. But now that she knew what to expect, there was something about it that seemed off. A cold breeze stirred the trees to their back; otherwise, it was calm, quiet. She had forgotten how eerily serene it was here.
After sending word to the king, followed by a too-steamy swim in the spring, they had left the Haven, borrowing two horses. Maria had said that she would deal with the horses that they’d left behind. She just hoped that Azra and Farron’s horse would be all right and that they wouldn’t be used to cause trouble that the country couldn’t afford at the moment. Claire and Farron being discovered had done enough damage already.
Farron stood next to her on top of the rocky outcropping above the field, his ice blue eyes scanning, analyzing. His wound had healed, leaving only a small scar in its wake to join his growing collection. According to him, he’d fought off the guards on the island successfully, only for one to get a lucky shot in while he faced off against four men at once. The nonchalant way that he had told the story annoyed Claire, how he seemed to just dismiss the condition that he had been in. She knew that he was cocky, that he always would be, but she didn’t want him to brush things off to try to prove a point to her, to make her feel better. After he had gotten hit with the arrow, he made his escape, diving into the cold waters to swim back to the mainland, a fishing boat picking him up when he was halfway across. He claimed that his condition was because he had overdone it, both physically and magically, and that there must have been poison on the arrow. He had been able to fight off the worst of the effects of the poison because of his built-up immunity to it.
Maria, Sarah, and Claire had listened to his story with worried, rapt attention, all three of them with disapproving frowns on their faces, But Claire knew for a fact that Maria and Sarah’s scowls were half reserved for her. It was her mission, after all. The fact that they would leave only a few days later on yet another dangerous quest only deepened their frowns. Not that Claire could blame them. She was actually rather glad to be away from that place. It wasn’t as soothing for her as it was for Farron. So much for being a Haven…
It took them weeks to reach the field again. Farron had brought her to the same place that he had the first time around, to the landslide where it was easier to scale. The memory had played in her mind as she climbed, and she’d smiled. How times had changed.
Farron threw a stone into the field and watched as it skipped a few times before disappearing. His hair was still darkened, but the dye was starting to fade, the ends turning a dark gray. His shirt had had to be replaced, the last one ruined when Maria had to cut it off of him. Much to Claire’s dismay, he’d only replaced it with a similar one in the same inky black, keeping up the gloomy, intimidating visage.
“I’m going,” he said.
“No,” she said, tying one end of a long rope around her waist, “You’re not.” The silver bands were back on her arm. She’d used too much of her own magic when she’d flown Farron to the Haven and the mark had expanded even more, the tendrils snaking up her neck and even further down her back. Her own magic had become this looming presence inside her body, like a dark storm just on the verge of releasing its rage upon her. It was like it yearned to be free and she was the prison cell keeping it locked up. It took its toll on her mind and body, the nightmares returning once in a while even with the enchanted contraption. She needed to complete her mission soon.
“I can’t let you go in alone, Claire.” Farron turned to her, his hands on his hips, disapproval clear on his face. “You don’t know what’s in there.”
“That’s right, I don’t,” she said, pulling the knot tight and checking again, and then once more just in case. “But you remember what happened in the cave. It was you that set off the trap. If I go in alone, then maybe this can go smoothly for once.”
Apprehension filled her already. She didn’t like the idea any more than he did, but the trials were meant to be for her, for the Star Children. And she really didn’t feel like facing off against yet another Beast of Old. She’d had enough of them to last a lifetime.
“Besides,” she said, trying her best at a convincing smile, “I need you up here to pull me out again.”
She handed the other end of the rope to him, ignoring the very unhappy look he wore.
“If you’re not out in half an hour, I’m coming in after you, you hear me?”
Claire raised her chin, her stubbornness rising to the surface. “At least give me an hour.”
He sighed. “Fine.”
“Remember, if I pull two times, pull me out.”
He nodded. “Be careful, Claire.” He pulled her close and kissed her, a hard press of the lips, before reluctantly letting her go again.
Claire faced the edge of the cliff, took a deep breath to help calm herself, and then began the slow descent down into the enchanted field.
The illusion shifted strangely the lower she got, fading into a gray fog until that was all she was surrounded by. It was so thick she could only see a couple of feet in any direction. The temperature of the air dropped by several degrees and she was glad that she was wearing her jacket then, though she could have used her cloak. She shivered. The magic of the place slithered across her skin, but it wasn’t soothing like the water at the Haven or in Uru Baya—it was dark, disturbing, much like the madman, Bahkar’s, and like her own. The feeling of this place, she didn’t like it one bit. It was full of pain and despair.
Wanting to get this over with as quick as possible, Claire closed her eyes to seek out the stone fragment. A flood of depressing emotions engulfed her when she opened herself up: sadness, hate, hopelessness. She had to fight against them to find the slight lure of the stone. It lay ahead, not too far away.
With slow and steady steps, Claire made her way through the dense fog, her hands stretched out in front of her. The further she went, the colder it got. Goosebumps sprang up across her skin. The sound of her footsteps and breath were dampened. Her heart beat wildly inside of her, anticipation building. There had to be more than this, she just wasn’t sure what to expect. This was different than anything she’d ever experienced before.
After a few more steps the fog started to thin a little. And then the moans started, drifting in the air, giving her pause. There were hundreds of them, all in pain, crying out every now and then for people long gone to the ravages of time. An explosion shook the ground several paces to her right. Claire crouched as dirt rained down on top of her—only it passed right through her, ghostlike. This was another vision like the one she’d had back in the cave in Uru Baya. Was Rialla trying to show her something again?
The earth shook again and bright purple magic streaked across a darkened sky.
She knew where she was—or rather, when she was. The Great War. Was this the Battle of the Stars? No, it was probably the battle that took place here all those years ago, the one that the humans had lost so bitterly. The first soldier materialized an apparition that chilled her to the bone. He was young, probably even younger than herself, and he lay on the ground writhing, covered in too much red. Claire stepped around him, not able to take her eyes off of him. Her feet passed through another young man and she yelped, stumbling, almost falling into another soldier. They were everywhere. The fog cleared a little more, but still obscured most of the field. She could only see several paces in front of her. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to be able to see further.
It was like a nightmare come to life. Clanging metal sounded in the distance, the crash of lightning, the rumbling of moving earth, the roar of fire, but even more chilling were the screams of hurt and dying people. A lump formed in her throat, her mouth going dry. A cold sweat spread over her body. Why show her this? Was this a warning to any future Star Children of the consequences of returning magic to the land? Was this a preview of the future?
Guilt froze her in her tracks. Was this what she would be unleashing on the world? This is what magic returning could lead to. More wars, more death, more destruction. Could she really go through with it? Be responsible for all of this? The groans and cries of the soldiers echoed in her mind, threatening to drag her down into their dark anguish.
Claire covered her ears and let out a wordless yell, trying to block it all out. No, she couldn’t stop, not now. She had to believe she was doing the right thing, that this time it could be different. If the land died, then so did everything else, elf and human.
Her legs trembling, Claire continued on, repeating the song her mother had sung to her all throughout her childhood to calm her down. It worked, a little. The sounds of battle drew nearer and a soldier stumbled by, clutching at his stomach. Claire paused as he passed. She knew that he wouldn’t be able to affect her, but it felt disrespectful to just walk through him. A silly notion, perhaps, but one she had nonetheless. A few others passed her, some injured, some rushing nobly to battle, to their deaths with ragged battle cries. Her stomach churned. She was not built for war, for fighting. As someone had once said to her, the magic and all the power it gave her was truly wasted on her.
A lone figure appeared up ahead, obscured by fog, marching slowly toward her, its calm stride ominous and intimidating. Claire paused, unsure if it was another ghost or real. But her fears were quickly extinguished when he came into view. An elf in elaborate silver toned armor raised his arm, a blue orb forming in his hand, and then launched it at a target she couldn’t see. His beautiful face was an icy mask, much like the one Farron had perfected. He held a lordly posture, tall and straight, proud, edging on arrogant. Claire stepped out of his way, eying him with morbid curiosity, the way he struck fear and awe in her, beautiful but deadly. Noble but cruel. A giant snuffing out an ant. The world belonged to him and his kind. He disappeared back into the fog and Claire let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. No wonder humans had had such a hard battle. She couldn’t imagine a whole army made up of elves like that, or worse, like Farron. Now there was a truly terrifying thought.
Fighting another shudder, Claire moved on, feeling the lure of the stone stronger now. How long had she been in the illusion? She didn’t see any sign of Farron, so she assumed it hadn’t been too long, but still, it felt like eons in the war-ravaged fog.
A quiet sobbing caught her ears before the soldier came into view. A young man sat hunched over atop a wooden chest, his left arm bandaged with bloody rags. Cautiously, Claire approached him, the pull of the stone radiating from where he sat. She looked around but could see no trace of the fragment. Was it in the box? If so, how was she going to get it out? He wasn’t real, of course, but that seemed too simple.
Claire circled around the apparition. His shoulders heaved with his muffled cries, and he cradled his right arm close to his chest. Dark brown leather armor covered his body. An empty sheath sat at his waist. His hair and skin were smeared with dirt and grime, mixing with blood, but she wasn’t sure if all of it belonged to him or not. Misery and hopelessness radiated from him like he held all the pain of the world within him. Claire had to fight against the overwhelming waves of emotions. She couldn’t lose herself in them, couldn’t let them affect her and drag her down into their frozen dark depths. She stopped in front of the soldier. He was young as well, his face too innocent still to experience the horrors of war.
After watching him for a moment, Claire moved to the side of him and crouched down to examine the chest. The stone was definitely in there. She could feel it. She glanced at the young man again to make sure that he didn’t notice her. She felt silly. They were years and worlds apart, but he just looked too real for comfort.
With breath held, she reached out and touched the lid of the chest, then carefully undid the brass latch. The lid lifted without any resistance, passing through the young soldier as she swung it open. She paused for a few moments as she waited for something to happen, but when nothing did, she breathed a sigh of relief. Then, still on her knees, she peered into the chest. The stone fragment lay at the bottom atop a nest of cloth scraps. Nothing fancy, but considering the surroundings, anything more would seem out of place.
Claire touched the stone, her fingers sliding over the script, then picked it up and carefully lifted it out of the chest. Her magic reacted, the silver bands stamping it out again. She was just standing up again when the soldier reached out suddenly—only his hand didn’t pass through her. It gripped her left forearm, real and hard, and so very cold, like ice. He looked up at her, fear in his green eyes, his lips trembling. Claire’s heart leaped up into her throat, blocking the scream that bubbled up within her.
“Beware the wrath you unleash upon the world,” he said, his voice wispy, ragged.
Were those his words or Rialla’s?
Her skin began to burn where his hand touched even through the material of the jacket. She tried to pull her arm out of his grasp, but he was strong. His eyes pleaded with her, the desperation and sadness almost unbearable.
“Is this what you really want?” he cried. “Death, destruction, subjugation, to be their slaves once again?”
Claire had to stifle her own sob as she struggled to tear away from him. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to get out of here.
“Let go!” she shouted, her own desperation making it sound shrill. With a final tug, she tore her arm away and stumbled to the ground.
The soldier sank down onto his hands and knees and started to crawl after her. “Please,” he begged. “Don’t let history repeat itself. For our sake. For yours.”
Claire scrambled to her feet and ran, using the rope as her guide. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She needed to get out of there. The sounds of battle and the sad cries of the soldier faded away behind her, then the rest of it as the fog became thicker, the illusion disappearing. She pulled the rope twice and the slack grew taut and soon she was being lifted up and out of the nightmare, the bright rays of the sun chasing away the gloom that seemed to cling to her.
When she reached the top, she collapsed to the ground, letting her sobs out freely.
Farron kneeled in front of her. “Are you all right?” he asked, a little frantic. “What happened in there? Are you hurt?” He looked her over quickly, his face screwed into worry and then confusion.
She leaned forward on her hands, her breaths coming in short shallow bursts, her body starting to tremble. “I don’t know if I can do this,” she said between sobs. She ripped off her jacket when the sting on her left arm didn’t go away. A dark handprint wrapped around her forearm where the soldier had gripped her. She rubbed her hand over it, back and forth, trying to scrub it off, but no matter how hard she tried it remained just as dark and immovable as the magical mark that now covered almost half her body. Would it fade with time? Or would it remain as a reminder of all the humans that had lost their lives, of the people that may lose their lives in the future? A warning, and another burden to weigh her down with guilt.
Farron grabbed her face and turned it toward his. “Claire, look at me.”
The stern tone in his voice made her listen, calmed her. She peered up at him, her tears blurring his visage, and she took a deep breath.
He brushed the tears from her cheeks. “You can,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “And I’ll be right here, next to you.”
The frantic fear that had consumed her was slowly seeping away. He was her anchor. How could she have ever thought that she could do this without him? “Promise?”
“Promise.” The corners of his mouth lifted into a reassuring smile and then he leaned in and kissed her on the forehead.
“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling much calmer. “What I saw in there…” She looked up at him, memories of the soldier racing through her mind. “Made me question things.”
“What did you see?”
“A battle from the Great War. It was a nightmare,” she said, trying to stand on her shaky legs.
Farron helped her, his hands steadying her. He was her anchor in more ways than one. “A warning?”
“I think so.” She nodded.
His expression softened as he studied her. “And have you? Changed your mind?”
She looked up at him, considering. The visions that she had seen would be enough to sway anyone, but amazingly, her resolve came through intact. “If we do nothing, then things could possibly be worse. I just sometimes question if I’m strong enough to pull this off.”
“Well,” Farron said, touching her chin, “considering that we’ve collected three pieces so far, I think you’ve proven that you can, Claire.”
“But not without you.” She took his hand in hers. “I’m sorry for trying to leave you back at the Haven.”
“You’ve already apologized three times.” He smiled and shrugged. “But another couldn’t hurt.”
Claire poked him in the side causing him to jerk away. “I worry about you, Fare.”
“It’s nice to know you care.”
“You know I do,” she said, a grin forming on her lips. “Most of the time, anyway.”
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, putting a hand on his hip.
She nodded.
“Good,” he said. “Then we should leave before the spirits follow you out of there.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Do you think they could do that?” She would have dismissed his comment as just a tease, but after the soldier had grabbed her and had started to crawl after her, she wasn’t so sure. He would certainly make his way into her nightmares, however, and the mark he had left on her arm made sure that his memory clung to her no matter where she went.
Farron only chuckled as he gathered up the packs and headed to the other side of the outcropping to start the descent back down.
Claire looked at the stone fragment gripped hard in her hand. She hoped she was doing the right thing. Because even if she was somehow saved from her mark, she didn’t think she could live with herself knowing that she was the cause of the next Great War.