Defiance

Gault’s eyes were closed, dark hair wreathing his pale skin, clinging in strings to his cheeks and forehead. His chest rose and fell with ragged unevenness, breath harsh gasps. His face appeared gaunt, cheeks and eyes sunken. Ali felt the fist of ice tighten one last time.

His eyes flickered. They were bloodshot, dark rings enhancing the wasted pits. She sat near his bed, feeling nothing. Emnit would be proud.

“I… must be… going mad.” Gault’s words were broken things. “Could it be…?” His voice grew stronger as he spoke, glaze of illness fading from his eyes. “You’ve grown.”

She took his hand. “It’s me, Gauley.”

“A Guardian, for real.” His dry lips cracked and bled as they twisted into a grimace. “Do you know how jealous I have been, sister mine?”

She stayed silent. She wouldn’t have wished it on anyone.

“You… have heard?” He whispered this time. “About Mother? Father?”

“Yes,” was all she could say.

His eyes lit with a gleam of fire. “Kill him,” he rasped, pulling her closer. His breath smelled of his end.

“Gault?”

“The… the bastard…” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Their leader. He… killed our parents… it is a wound from his sword… that kills me now.” Her brother’s eyes burned as though the last spark of him lived there for only that moment. “Swear by our blood you will kill him. Swear!”

Emnit would not approve.

“I swear,” she said.

The frantic need in him died as he did. His gaze turned up, his grip on her hand falling away. Reaching forward, she gently closed his eyes.

***

“What will you do, Ali?” Obron’s hand fastened on her shoulder.

She told him the truth.

“There is nothing I can do,” she said. “Not officially. The High King has given me orders. I was permitted to come home only because it is on my way. I am to take my place at the border to Vistanesh and assist the garrison commander there.”

“Then we are lost.” Maelinda’s voice was harsh, face set. “Tell your High King that. His people are dying while he does nothing.”

Guardian indeed. Safe and protected within the walls of the Order while her countrymen faced attack. Why had she not shown more interest? Asked more questions when rumors of unrest after the king’s death reached her?

Because she had been trained not to ask. Or to care one way or the other.

“And your oath?” Obron stiffened, pride showing in the set of his shoulders, frustration in his eyes. “What of the promise you made your brother?”

“A lie to a dying man,” she said, the coldness in her heart serving her well. The smith stepped back, the despair on his face doing nothing to penetrate her shell.

Without a farewell, not wanting to carry another memory won over her parting shoulder, Ali strode west, away from home.

She paused at the crest of the hill, unable at last to stop herself from one final gaze over the wreckage below. The warm evening wind stirred her shorn hair, crimson horizon setting it aflame.

Forgive me, she thought. The lies I tell are for your protection.

Turning, she strode over the rise, out of the view of the village.

***

Ali watched Emnit toss a lit torch into the pile of kindling. It caught immediately, flames licking outward. The small squatters settlement was engulfed and erased in less than an hour.

Ali tried to ignore the displaced peasants who struggled against the guards as all the common folk’s possessions were destroyed.

These civilians overstepped their bounds. The two of them rarely spoke aloud anymore. It made her touchy to the voices of the squatters.

I thought it was our job to protect them.

Emnit was quiet for so long she was surprised when he responded.

So did I, he said.

She almost let her surprise show, an event punishable by flogging. She hadn’t been beaten in over a year and didn’t plan to let it happen now. Then why—

Orders. His mental voice bit with crisp edges, covering that moment of weakness, the flaw in his control. Above all else, we must follow orders.

And them? What orders are they breaking?

Defiance is punishable by death, he said. You know this. It is different for them but only marginally so. They keep their lives.

And if someone were to step in? She tested him, amazed at her own bravery.

These people would be killed, he said. And the traitor as well.

Ali only meant it as a prod to his small show of weakness. She instead received her last real lesson from him.

Obedience was all. Anything else proved fatal.

***

Ali circled around to the village, back to the scene of the fire. It took her trained eyes moments to find the path of the murdering horde.

A blind child could follow them, she thought as she set out in pursuit. Obviously they don’t care if they are found. They are confident no one comes after them. Who are they?

The hoof tracks covered the road, weaving through a smaller valley. She smelled smoke about midday but ignored it and the column of black rising from the east. Another village, no doubt, but not her problem. She had enough of her own to ponder the long miles of her hunt.

As the day moved on and the sun descended, she left the road and entered the trees, following at a slower pace. The prints appeared fresher, horse dung only beginning to crust. The band moved at casual speed, or she would have been forced to run through the night and the next day to catch them. As it was, they made it easy for her.

When the sliver of the first moon rose above the horizon, she found them. The camp sprawled large, easily twenty men and horses with room and tents for more. They posted no guards and lit a massive fire. Everything about them made her nervous. Why were they so certain they would not be opposed? As one of the soldiers passed before the fire, she noticed the crest on his tunic and felt panic rise in her throat. It paralyzed her, gripped her in powerful hands and squeezed her heart until she saw spots before her eyes.

***

Ali sat on her bunk, reading her orders, her new uniform next to her. She schooled her thoughts and her body to perfect stillness. She had been called to serve, no longer a student but a Guardian at last, the first of her year group to achieve it. Emnit watched her when she was officially greeted before the Order membership, given her rank by Master Arner himself. She had been as careful then, knowing her mentor demanded no less.

You make me proud. His mind touched hers. He was always testing her. She ignored him.

But there in the privacy of her room, she allowed the tiny defiant part of her to live and breathe and be excited that she was done. She had been successful in hiding it, obviously, or they never would have let her advance.

I win.

As a reward she had the rest of the training cycle to herself. Unaccustomed to idleness, she found herself bored and missing, of all people, Emnit. With the day stretching out before her, sunny and fair, the cavalry range called instead. Having her pick of mounts appealed far more than her teacher's company. Mind made up, she descended to the stables.

She blinked away the remains of her dilated vision as she left the sunlit yard for the cool dimness of the barn. The place was still, stable hands absent. She made her way to the far stall and slipped inside, running her hands over the soft, black hide of her favorite horse. He, in turn, nuzzled a chunk of carrot from her palm, greeting her with a soft whicker.

Perhaps it was the familiar touch of her mentor’s presence that made her freeze. It could have been her well-honed instincts and training. Whatever the cause, Ali found herself holding her breath, a quieting hand on the stallion’s nose. Footfalls and the murmur of voices made her settle further. Not knowing why, she remained where she was and listened.

The door to the stable creaked closed, deepening the gloom. The horse stamped one foot, looking for more treats. She slipped him one, not daring to use her gift to quiet him. She was relieved she held off when she heard Emnit speak.

“I am here, as you requested.”

They stood right beside her. Ali peeked through the uneven slats. Emnit’s back was to her, blocking her view.

“You know why we’re here.” The stranger’s voice hummed low. Emnit shifted forward, clearing her vision.

Not a stranger. The crown prince. She knew his face immediately. He and Emnit were often together, but in public. Not hiding in a darkened stable in the heat of the day.

Havard flickered his blue eyes around the empty barn. The tall, blond heir to the High King’s throne threw off fear. For once, Ali was grateful for her training and felt distain for his uncontrolled emotion.

“Have you any further word?” Havard began pacing, sweat marking his silk tunic. He looked the part, with his handsome face and wide shoulders, but his subservient attitude made Ali feel superior. “I am ready to join the others, but I need allies. Do I count you as such?”

“As I have said,” Emnit’s voice carried. “We act immediately. The time has come, my prince.”

Havard’s fear eased. “I hoped you would say so. Your support means success. My men leave at midnight.”

The prince turned as three guards entered Ali’s slim line of vision. They left without another word. Ali returned her attention to Emnit to find he had already gone.

She relaxed, heart pounding. She had no idea what they discussed. The fact it was done in secret concerned her. Was this something she needed to share? But what had she heard? Nothing, really.

Emnit appeared at the stall door. Ali startled so badly the horse reared beside her.

“You were never here,” he said. “Nor I. Nor the prince. There are things happening, Alimeaha, that you and I may come to change, even if it means making a path where none exists.” Emnit fell silent. He turned away from her. His rusty voice resumed from the dim quiet. “But only if you trust me.”

“Of course,” she said. Automatic, as everything with him.

As she saddled the stallion, she realized with some surprise he was asking her to trust him. Not the other way around.

***

Ali forced emotions down while the gift squeezed her strength and tried to devour her. She used each technique her mentor taught her, every trick and lesson to still her pounding heart and control the surging feelings threatening her every time her mind tried to process what she had seen.

The soldier in the camp wore the crest of the crown prince.

Ali hunched beside a boulder, shielding herself from casual view and debated her next move.

If they are the prince’s soldiers, she thought, perhaps I am mistaken. Could they be in pursuit of the bandits? No, she wasn’t willing to lie to herself, not now. They are the murderers. But why?

The only person who could answer that question to her satisfaction waited in that camp. A show of force would only get her killed.

So, I bluff my way in, she decided. The prince knows my face. Emnit... her heart flipped over. Emnit! She shook from the control it took to hold down her emotions. He can’t be involved.

What about that meeting? Her mind countered. He is a Guardian, loyal to the Order, she fought back. But not necessarily loyal to the High King, that small voice whispered.

Ali needed to know.

No one noticed her until she was approaching the bonfire. Even then she only had three soldiers follow, none of whom tried to stop her. She ignored them. Her real goal stood on the far side of the flames, laughing and drinking something from a silver flask. As she approached, the prince’s smile died, but he didn’t act alarmed. There was only one reason he didn’t think her a threat.

Emnit, her mind whispered. What have you done?

Ali came to a halt in front of Havard. The prince nodded to her. She was surprised he offered her that formality.

He still thinks I’m my master’s creature, she thought.

“Greetings, my prince,” she managed aloud.

“I wasn’t told you joined us,” he said.

“I haven’t,” she told the truth. “I’m on my way to the border.”

“You’re a far throw from there yet,” he said. “Where is your horse?”

“None gifted.” She left it at that. She had been told the walk to the border would be good for her. She knew it for what it was. Another of Emnit’s tests. He denied her the horse she loved, forcing her to leave the stallion behind.

The prince’s emotions twinged, but settled. He offered her the flask.

“Drink?”

He made it so simple. Nothing separated them. One step and she could plunge her blade into the bastard’s heart. She was doing it even as the prince saw it in her eyes. Her left hand deflected the upraised flask, right freeing her sword. So easy. An end to it all, including her own life. She expected to die from the moment she chose her path.

What she hadn’t expected was the grip on her wrist, the power of the gift flowing through her, controlling her as it had since she was seven years old. Ali tore her eyes from Havard’s terrified gaze and looked up at Emnit.

His power engulfed her and dragged her to black.

***

She woke in discomfort, nothing new. She had often gone to sleep with injuries she was certain would keep her bedridden for weeks. She tried to open her eyes, but only succeeded with one. The other throbbed, firmly sealed.

It was still dark, or perhaps had been light and was dark again. The bonfire blazed, but there were many more soldiers than she remembered. The jovial atmosphere was gone. She could feel the grim determination in all of them, hanging over the camp like a canopy.

Ali tried to move. She held back her groan of pain only by long practice. She was sitting up, hands bound behind her, tied to a tree. Something wasn’t right inside her, a broken feeling of finality. A necessary part crushed. She knew she bled within. Her head bobbed, hanging as she gathered her remaining strength. Only then did she notice her uniform had been stripped from her. She was clad in thin undergarments, the cloth torn and bloodied. Her feet were also bound, turned white from lack of circulation. She couldn’t feel them anymore.

She lifted her head again, resting against the rough bark and almost choked before straining to the side to spit out the old, crusted clots filling her mouth, fresh blood welling as her chin hit her chest.

Emnit. His name was a curse. Hypocrite. He preached, had beaten obedience into her. Crushed her, made her hollow, sucked her dry of everything. And here he was, the enemy, the traitor. A manic laugh rose. She did nothing to stop it despite the agony it caused.

Her ragged humor brought attention. She knew he approached before she saw his boots appear next to her corpse-white feet. She refused to look up.

“Alimeaha.” His speaking voice always alarmed her. It was so deep and harsh from disuse. He sounded like a statue come to life, if stone could speak.

She let her laughter run its course, ignoring him. She knew she would die. There was nothing else to fear. For the first time she defied him openly and refused to acknowledge him at all.

He knew it from the feel of his power, that he had taken her to her limit and lost her. He crouched, thick fingers sliding under her chin to lift her face. She made him work for it. Her eyes met his. She was shocked into silence.

His face held only sorrow.

“You were never meant to be here,” he said. “Nor was your village to be a target. Your father…” he trailed off, regret heavy between them. “Your father was my closest friend, the only man I have ever granted that title. His death is a waste.”

Ali worked up blood and saliva as he spoke. When she had enough momentum, she spit in his face. The bloody wad impacted his cheek. He didn’t flinch. Made no effort to wipe the spittle away, even when it trailed down his skin, glistening in the light of the distant fire.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

His weakness made her angry. What right had he to tell her these things, to express remorse, to be sorry? He made her believe he was stronger than her, that he had power. His admission made her see him as he really was. Flawed, small. Human.

Her voice almost didn’t cooperate but she refused to touch his mind. Something was wrong with her throat. Her words emerged grainy and rough, but she got her message out.

“I don’t care,” she said.

Emnit brushed the saliva from his face at last. It left a dark trail on the back of his leather sleeve.

“You know why you have to die?”

“So you and the traitor can live,” she said.

That got a reaction. He started so violently she knew she triggered emotion he never showed.

“I am a patriot.” The words clipped short with anger. “The king has done nothing since he took the throne but ignore reality. Did you know the fool has opened the border to the Vistani? The Vistani! As though our enemies were suddenly trustworthy. He has their ambassador at the palace.”

Ali could feel his rage rise.

I’m not the only one who held onto something of myself, she thought. What horror had their old enemies visited on her mentor to make him hate them so? She’d never know, now. Though she imagined she knew how he felt.

He calmed, his old mask falling into place. It made her feel better. This was the Emnit she knew, not the emotion ridden man who made her shudder.

He stood, towering over her, power in check.

“We will save our people,” he said. “We will force the king to take notice, or we will take his crown from him.”

“You’re strategy is flawed if saving people is your goal,” she said.

“Casualties are the cost of war.”

How many times had she heard that?

Ali forced her head to rise, to look up at him. He was back-lit by the fire, wreathed in flame but cloaked in darkness.

“You have taken everything from me,” she said. “My childhood, my family and my trust in you. I am beyond your reach, now. Do your worst.” She let her chin drop.

After a moment, his boots retreated. She heard the prince’s voice raise in anger as he and Emnit argued before the fire. Their plan spun out to her, playing in her mind, through her gift. For the first time, instead of seeing the past, Ali was granted a glimpse of the future.

Smoke rises from the Order barracks. Guardians lay dead and dying, brought low by betrayal and lies. The Capitol lies in ruins, polished domes crushed like eggshells. The dead line the street, the stench of rotting corpses and fire a constant. The prince’s soldiers fight a losing battle. The Vistanesh assault an endless marching column of dark-robed barbarians on massive horses, the devastation reaching out to the crippled countryside. Preval is in chains. Everywhere there is decay and hopelessness. Emnit dies by the hand of Havard moments before a Vistani arrow takes the prince’s life.

Ali came back to herself as the prince and two soldiers brushed past Emnit, aiming for her. She knew the path they chose was flawed, almost shared her vision with her old mentor. But the fury in Havard’s face made her pause.

I must act, she thought, despair rising despite her best intentions. This must not be. There is nothing I can do, but I must do something.

Her gift touched her rising emotion and tried to feed. In that instant, Ali had two choices. She could die by the hand of her enemy, or set her feelings free and allow her power to eat her alive. Forbidden, beaten out of her, warned against such weakness since the moment her power was woken, when Emnit tore free the barrier between her and her gift. It should have been harder to break her conditioning, perhaps. Except she felt suddenly free, more the girl who had been than the woman who was.

With nothing left to lose, she reached within and released the block she placed on herself so many years before. She saw Emnit spin, heard him shout, felt his power brush over her as he realized what she was doing, but she was free in truth, now, and he had no control over her any longer.

Ali poured everything she felt into her gift, knowing it would kill her. It swelled in a heartbeat, engulfing her in flames.

Fire, she thought. How fitting.

She laughed as the storm of heat rushed from her and engulfed the camp, pleased in her last moment that her sacrifice did not take her alone. Emnit’s eyes were empty as the power set him alight.

***

The moons fell to the horizon, chased by the sun. Mourning doves cooed their dawn greetings in the still of the forest. A lone rabbit paused at the edge of the clearing, rising to her hind legs, ears alert, one paw resting on a rotting stump. A human moan sent her dashing for safety.

Ali opened her eyes to the brilliant sunrise, cast with pinks and reds and golds. It took time for her to understand she was not only alive, but whole and healthy again. She sat up, muscles warming, tight from misuse but responsive. Her uniform had been restored, sword and bow nearby. Even her pack seemed intact.

How? Her gift hummed happily within her. Her training vied for control, but Ali was free.

She climbed to her feet, looked around. The clearing stood empty. For a moment she wondered if she had dreamed it all. The grass rustled underfoot, thick and lush, untouched by the storm she knew she created or the flames of the bonfire. There was no sign of tents, horses or soldiers. The air hung calm, fragrant with flowers and the ripe grass she crushed beneath her feet. This was not how it was supposed to be.

Why do they teach us to be afraid, she wondered, if this is what the gift is capable of? Why do they lock away such ability? We would be invincible to our enemies.

She flashed forward.

Ali stands on the steps to the throne. The Capitol burns behind her, engulfed in flames of her creation. She laughs as they place the crown on her head, devoured, mad with power. She is a monster, beautiful and flawless and horrible, and they love her for it.

Ali shuddered. Never again.

Her gift disagreed, awoken with a life of its own. It whispered love and promise in her mind.

We’ll see, she told the power within. Mollified, the fire inside her dimmed and simmered.

Ali gathered her things and moved to leave the clearing. She took a step forward and stumbled. She crouched, parting the grass to see. A pair of leather boots lay crumpled there.

She knew those boots.