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“This is incredible.”
Atlanta looked around in awe, standing in the middle of a colossal throne room, high walls arching to coalesce in the center, forming a Dome much like the one right above their heads. Massive pillars lined the expansive space, and large stained-glass windows let in a lesser glow that dimmed the room to something close to enchanting.
“It is, isn’t it?” Marcus replied, standing a few feet away, leaning against one of the pillars as he watched her. She couldn’t understand how he wasn’t gaping at the structure but, then again, it probably wasn’t his first time.
And it’s been here all this time!
Forn wasn’t much of a city, not anymore at least. Whatever was left of it had either crumbled or been destroyed by landslides inside the cavern. Still, there was enough of it for the imagination to draw up a picture of the city’s past splendor. Atlanta could see where the foliage would have encroached upon the small houses, how the narrow carriage roots would intertwine between busy inhabitants going about their daily lives, how farmlands must have dotted the surrounding area in brilliant colors. It made her shudder just thinking about it all. She was in the middle of what had been the most advanced culture of the old world.
“How long has it been here?” she whispered.
“Centuries,” Marcus replied. “Once the wars were over, once the old races had completely consumed each other, it became forgotten. Time, and nature, took over. It was hidden away before man knew about these lands.”
“But you knew?”
“I’d heard the stories.” Marcus nodded, pushing away from the pillar and looking up at the high ceiling. “This was their final stronghold, the furthest keep away from the wars. Soon enough, even it fell. I was on the other side of the ocean when it happened, but when we crossed we knew where to go. Calen was built over the fallen kingdom. There’s still magic here, you can feel it and, like the old races, we’re all drawn to it.”
“But wouldn’t it draw out others?” Atlanta asked. “I mean, you said the old races disappeared. Who’s to say there aren’t survivors?”
“I’m one of the old races, you could say.” Marcus chuckled. “If there are survivors, young Skolar, then they’d better stay hidden.”
Atlanta frowned. If there are survivors, maybe we need them. She turned and walked towards the dais where the crumbled remains of a stone throne stood. She’d been thinking about the war against Adelaide a lot more since their arrival at Forn. She didn’t know if it was because she felt safer here, surrounded by survivors like herself, or the fact that there was no immediate need to keep running.
There were a lot of them hiding in the underground city. And they were growing restless, itching to fight back.
When they’d arrived, it hadn’t gone quite as she’d imagined. Although Marcus had been embraced by a few of the other Vampire elders, even some of the Wolf elders as well, they hadn’t welcomed her. As if they knew something. They stared at her with worry and skepticism. A part of it was due to the fact that she was the reason for their current predicament. Adelaide was after what she had. However, they didn’t know all that. The ones in hiding were apparently more fascinated by the color of her hair. It was brought up immediately. They all seemed to know who—or what—she was. The idea of a Coven Master wasn’t foreign to them, and they handled themselves around her with utmost care. And fear.
She hated not understanding herself, what she had become, a bit more. She now felt like an outsider, her own body as foreign to her as all the lore and history of her race. She needed to know more, to understand it all, and to come to terms with the fact that she was not the same girl who’d woken up to the smell of burning eggs and her uncle’s embarrassing dancing routines. Anger boiled inside of her. Why had Uncle James never told her? Why couldn’t he have prepared her better?
She sighed. Maybe he thought they’d have more time. Maybe he hoped by not admitting it, she might never turn. Like Ryan, she’d become a shifter. Just a one-time change that could never be shifted back. She wished they could turn back time.
Oh, how far we’ve come in such a short while, she thought, looking about the throne room. “They’re still scared of me, aren’t they?” Atlanta suddenly asked.
“Do you blame them?” Marcus replied.
Atlanta looked at him, surprised he could be so blunt. But he was right. She had let the hybrids out, even if she hadn’t been herself. And now she was a Coven Master. “So, when does it happen?”
“When does what happen?”
“You know,” Atlanta said, mimicking an explosion with her hands. “Boom! My inevitable explosion into a mad sorceress.”
Marcus smirked. “I doubt it’d be that dramatic. Magic can be controlled, young Skolar. It can be tamed. I can help you, but you’ll have to be vocal about your changes. To me, at least. Anything you feel, anything that doesn’t make sense to you, you need tell me.”
Atlanta gazed at him, tried to read him, then nodded. She’d never completely trusted Marcus, but after what they’d been through she was willing to give him a chance. Besides, it wasn’t like anyone else was lining up to help her.
She turned back to the throne, taking in the majestic view of it. She was sure that when it had been whole, when parts of it hadn’t crumbled off, it had been a breathtaking sight. Is this what’s going to happen to us, too? Is Calen bound to end up like this forgotten kingdom?
She was about to turn back, when her eye caught the symbols etched into the stones of the throne. She frowned, and slowly made her way to it, squinting as she tried to make out what she was looking at. She was completely oblivious to what they were, but a part of her felt like she should know them.
They looked like the hieroglyphics of the Ancient Egyptians she’d seen in her history books but, unlike them, these seemed to be speaking to her.
“Atlanta?”
She heard Marcus’ voice from far away. She was drawn to the words, moving ever closer to the throne, like a moth to the flame.
Suddenly the words began making sense, and she could understand them. They wove together into comprehensible sentences, a language that was foreign to her.
But I can read it. I can actually read it!
“Atlanta, what is it?” Marcus’ voice was more urgent, and he was beside her in the next instant.
“The symbols,” Atlanta replied, frowning. “I can understand them.” She shot a quick look at Marcus, took in the surprise on his face.
“That’s Fairy Tongue.”
“Am I supposed to understand it?”
Marcus didn’t reply, only glanced from her to the symbols and then back again. “What does it say?”
“‘All is one and all is bound, under sun and moon and endless worlds, we are but grains of sand in an ever-changing existence. Come, Mother, for I am yours to take.’” She felt the words course through her, fill every molecule of her body, and a fire inside her stirred. As if the words had woken it from a deep slumber.
“We need to leave,” Marcus said, but his words held no urgency. It was almost like he wasn’t completely sure of what he was saying.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s a prayer,” Marcus said. “I’ve heard it whispered on the lips of the dying Fairies.” Atlanta looked at him, wondering if he could have gone any paler than he already was. Marcus shuddered, obviously shaken by the words. “We need to leave,” he said with more assertiveness.
Atlanta.
A voice echoed in her head, and she quickly turned back to the throne. The symbols had begun to glow, a fiery red that pulsed as if alive. Atlanta could feel tendrils of an invisible force weave out and around her, embracing her.
Coven Master.
“Atlanta, now,” Marcus said, the urgency in his voice scaring her. “We must leave now.”
Come, Mother, for I am yours to take.
“Ahakt lemas toreblan,” Atlanta whispered, her own eyes beginning to burn, and reached out a hand.
“Atlanta, no!”
But it was too late. Her hand touched the symbols, and her head jerked back as scorching pain raced through her body. Her screams echoed in the throne hall.
It happened so fast.
In the time it took her to open her mouth and scream, she felt herself being forcefully torn from her body and thrust back with such force it was as if the world had suddenly become a blur of colors. She was flying through space, at a speed she couldn’t fathom, the forces around her crushing her until she could barely breathe.
And then it was over.
She was back in her body, which was now swaying, and fell to one knee, coughing and gasping, clenching her eyes tight against a brightness that threatened to blind her. All around her she could hear screaming, fire crackling, war cries thundering through her head. A strong wind blew against her, threatening to pick her up and throw her off her feet. She tried to regain her balance and control of her body, but it felt like forever before she could finally open her eyes.
She was still in the throne room. She recognized it immediately. Only, now it was different. Bright light came in through the stained glass, illuminating the lush furnishings and wall decorations. Chandeliers the size of her room hung from the ceiling, swaying in the wind, and purple banners hung from every wall, the symbol of a silver tree embroidered on each.
And she wasn’t alone.
The large throne truly was majestic, and the figure standing in front of it, his silver hair falling in strands around his purple robes, looked even more spectacular. His eyes burned red, and in his hand he held what appeared to be a spear made of pure red fire.
He was surrounded by archers, tall men with ears pointing out from beneath their locks, all aiming their weapons at him. Leading them was a woman, long sword in her hand, standing tall and proud, challenging the robed figure.
“It is over, Price Kelian,” the woman said. “Recall your magic. Your final stronghold has fallen.”
“I think not, Sha,” the prince replied. “This war is far from over.”
“Your royal line has been slaughtered,” Sha replied. “Your king and queen have fallen. Your reign has come to an end.”
Prince Kelian laughed. “You think this is the end?” he sneered. “My people will be victorious, and you will pay for your treachery. Do you think your lies will survive the sands of time?”
“History is written by the victors,” Sha replied. “Your race will forever be scorned. It’s over, Fairy Prince. Recall your magic.”
Atlanta pushed herself to her feet, feeling the magic inside her burst, racing through her veins like wildfire. She tried to move, but she was held fast. This wasn’t her time. She was helpless to do anything here.
“Stop!” she shouted, but her cry seemed to dissipate as soon as it left her mouth. I’m not even here. No one can see me.
The prince suddenly turned to her, and their eyes locked. Atlanta gasped and took a few steps back. Her eyes widened as she realized she’d been spotted. Kelian smiled and lowered his spear, gazing at Atlanta with fierce eyes. They bore into her, and for a split second she could feel every emotion he felt. It overwhelmed her, took over completely. Tears broke free and ran down her cheeks.
Prince Kelian smiled at her, a sad and knowing smile, then turned to his attackers. “All is one and all is bound, under sun and moon and endless worlds, we are but grains of sand in an ever-changing existence.” His words were barely a whisper. “Come, Mother, for I am yours to take.”
The spear extinguished, and the archers let their arrows fly, each finding its mark in Prince Kelian’s chest.
“No!” Atlanta screamed.
Sha whirled around, Atlanta’s voice echoing through the throne room, and their eyes met.
Then suddenly it all disappeared.
Atlanta was lying on the floor of the throne room, shaking like a leaf, her body screaming in pain as Marcus tried to hold her down.
I’m hallucinating now. It’s too late. I’m having a seizure. I’m going to die.
“Atlanta, stay with me!” Marcus screamed.
She tried. She fought the heat wave engulfing her, tried to control the fire inside her that was begging to be released. She tried to control it, to call it back, to stop it from exploding out of her and eating away at everything around her. “Marcus,” she whimpered, “help me.”
His hands were heavy on her shoulders, holding her as she writhed beneath him. She grabbed his arms, trying to steady herself, and let out another scream as she used every ounce of power she had to push the magic back.
Then something changed.
The burning stopped scorching the inside of her. She felt it retreat, scurrying back to where it had lain dormant. Waiting until it was needed again. Her body stopped shaking, and she rolled to her side and slowly made her way to her hands and knees. She coughed repeatedly, gasping for air. Marcus let go of her, gave her the space she needed, and she continued to gag and cough until it finally settled down. Her heart raced in her chest, and her eyes burned from the sting of smoke.
“What was that?” she asked, her voice hoarse, her throat feeling like sandpaper.
“I have no idea,” Marcus replied, his eyes big. “I meant to ask you the same question.”
Atlanta tried to steady her breathing, dropping down as she burst into another bout of coughing.
Marcus helped her up, throwing her arm over his shoulder as she tried and failed to stand on her own.
“Water,” she gasped, exhaustion taking over her. “Marcus, I need—”
“Quiet, young Skolar,” Marcus said. “Save your energy. We’re leaving this place.”
Atlanta glanced at the broken throne one last time. It was as if nothing had happened, and yet everything seemed changed. It made no sense. Had she dreamt the vision? Or was it really a memory of a time before Calen? When Forn lost its power and its people? Another horrifying thought crossed her mind: would history repeat itself?
Marcus helped her out of the throne room and onto the cobbled streets outside. He led her through staring crowds of Vampires, Wolves, and Humans, all making space for them as they moved. They’d been given lodging at the far corner of a cavern, near what appeared to have once been a marketplace. Marcus struggled to keep her steady as they moved in that direction.
They turned a corner, where a small crowd waited.
Marcus tensed, ready to fight, and pushed Atlanta behind him.
But not before she’d seen some of the faces of those waiting.
She recognized Gallaway, the Wolf elder who’d met them when they had first appeared in Forn, and her heart skipped a beat when she saw who was with him. She stepped around Marcus. “Ryan?”
Ryan’s eyes widened when he saw her and he quickly raced to her side, followed closely by the others. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her to him, relieving Marcus of her weight and holding her tight.
“Atlanta, what happened?” Ryan asked, his eyes filled with worry.
She could only imagine how she looked right now. “I’m fine,” she lied, wincing in pain as he tried to steady her. She looked at the others, smiling at Raul and pausing at the hooded stranger beside him. “You made a new ally?”
Ryan nodded to the stranger, and the man dropped his hood. There were several gasps from the crowd around them, quickly replaced by hisses and growls.
Gallaway quickly held his hand up, stopping anyone from attempting to attack. “He’s a friend. An ally,” he called out. “Our leader trusts him, and so shall we.”
There were grunts of disapproval, several shouts of anger, but everyone kept their distance.
Everyone except Marcus.
“Marcus,” Gallaway started, “this is—”
“Luther,” Marcus replied.
All heads turned to elder Vampire.
Atlanta frowned. How does he know a hybrid?
Marcus took a step closer to Luther, a deep frown on his face. “I thought you were dead. She told me you were dead.”
Luther smiled, an insincere and bitter smile. “It’s good to see you, too, Father.”
