Daegan (The Age of Alandria: A Companion Novella) (6 page)

KATÉRI!!
His mind tried to break through to her mind, shouting to warn her.

Smoke hit his nose. The house crackled as the flames grew, consuming more and more in their path as it ate its way up the side of the dry, kindling-ready materials that made up this home. Panic flared within him for the family inside... for little Katéri. Daegan shouted out loud to wake them up, to get them out of the home. He didn’t care if they would see what he was doing. He deserved to be taken to the gallows and more for what he was doing—what was about to happen.

The flames continued to grow at a much more rapid pace and still he could not do anything to stop them. He tried to even step into the flame to douse out his own existence. Nothing. The fire was hot and licked at him, but to his surprise did not ignite his skin. Still with wide eyes, he stared unbelieving at the tragedy that was transpiring right in front of him. Everything within him as a warrior--to guard, to protect, to save--was screaming at him to do something... anything.

His feet moved him back into the shelter of the trees that he had first stood behind, but this time he actually tried to move back toward the house.
Maybe if my feet are moving,
I can overpower it again.
He tried and tried again. He was powerless against the force.

From the trees, all he could do was watch. Watch and hope for someone else to save them. His voice fell on deaf ears. Then, after what seemed like an eternity watching and waiting for the inevitable, and in reality what was entirely too fast, the little home was no more. All that remained were piles of ash and bits and pieces of belongings and furniture. It was in ruins; all was lost, even those that once lived inside it.

A pain hitched in Daegan’s chest and his breath caught. As he stared at the ruin before him, all he could think of was little white-haired Katéri and her big blue eyes—how they stared unguarded and knowing into his soul, and how they never would again.
Maybe nobody was home,
he begged mentally. 

He was suddenly released of the hold the darkness had on him. His feet were free and without thought, he found himself slowly making his way toward the rubble and ash. He did not want to be here, but he needed to know... for sure.

On one side of the home, he found crimson coloring on the ground, tinted in the ash—the remains of a shifter. Right next to that, he found light green in the same manner—the remains of a Faerie. His heart sank. He could not see their souls, but he felt them still lingering as he crouched touching the colored mixture of ash.

In that moment, he asked for forgiveness, not for himself—he did not deserve it—but for their sake, to help them move on when the Ferriers came. He sensed their arrival was close and he did not want to be there when they did.

Daegan rose with his head hung low. He was frozen where he stood, not because of the darkness this time, but because of what he saw across the room. In what must have been where the little angel slept, she still remained. Lifeless and eyes unseeing toward the sky lay little Katéri covered in rubble and ash. She had not reached the maturity of a twined child in order for her soul to be taken by the Ferriers.

Daegan felt all the color drain from his face as he knelt in front of her and held her outstretched hand. He had done this. Tears slowly rippled down his face leaving tracks in the dirt, grime, and sweat. In her hand, he felt something hard. Uncurling her fingers, he saw the same black stone he had asked her to hold and keep safe for him... and she had. He placed it in the interior pocket of his cloak—once shiny, now dulled like his heart.

He felt them before he saw them—the Ferriers, the beings that carried the souls of those who carried magic from their death to their “beyond.” They were neutral, between darkness and light. They carried the dark souls into Exhile and those of the light through the In-between to wherever their “beyond” may be.

The Ferriers were not exactly solid in state and neither did they seem to have gender. They were the death carriers—neither good nor evil, but something about them Daegan did not trust. He stayed, against better judgment, to watch them as they took the souls of Katéri’s parents, but then as they approached the little girl, they got a different gleam in their opalescent eyes. It gave Daegan the chills. It was understood that you were not to interfere with the Ferriers, but Daegan did.

“She has not yet shifted. Where will you take her?” he asked as if he had the right, as if he was someone that looked out for her, not the person that just destroyed her. The pain in his chest grew.

“It is not for you to interfere,” one of the three Ferriers rasped out in a low gravelly voice.

“I am not interfering yet, simply asking.”

A different one spoke with a slightly higher voice that might have even sounded more feminine than the other and even a little sad. “She has not yet matured, so we must take her to Exhile for determining.”

Daegan had not realized that they had separate voices.

“No.”

“You do not get a say in this matter,” the first one with the low gravelly voice said.

“I do.”

Yet a different voice rasped out, “Why do you think you can speak for her?”

“Because it is the right thing to do. I will speak on her behalf. She was pure and good and light in this short life. She needs to be sent to a proper beyond for a chance to return.”

“You do not have that right... do you?” The fourth one spoke in an even clearer tone hinted with suspicion.

“I do not. I will, however, give you a piece of what is good in my soul for her to carry with her. Let the higher powers of the In-between decide based on that.”

Daegan knew he was overconfident in what he was asking as he did not know if they would listen. The Ferriers seemed to be considering amongst themselves silently. Daegan saw a glimmer of what appeared to be hope from the more feminine-sounding Ferrier. The others were hesitant.

He heard his own voice as understanding dawned on him, “
You
do not have the authority to refute my request, do you?” There was no answer for a moment.

“We will take her as you
request
. But what it takes from you, it will hurt,” the feminine voice said.

Daegan nodded. He extended his hand to that particular Ferrier. It seemed to be the only one trying to help him save this little girl’s soul. She took it, removing her hand from her long sleeve that was covered by their long cloaks. One of her long white fingers slid across the palm of his hand. Daegan tried to refrain from recoiling at the sight of what he thought was simply her finger, though it was actually a long and extremely sharp point that drew his blood and then morphed back into her finger as her hand reclaimed it. Her hand hovered over his. He felt her pulling on his soul with her specific magic to attract souls. Eyes wide, Daegan could see a thin white wisp—his soul—begin to move out of the slice in his hand where blood flowed. His first instinct to pull back was stifled when he saw Katéri’s hand lying lifeless on the ground out of the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath and prepared for what would come next. He deserved whatever pain came his way. In fact, he welcomed it.

As soon as a little of his soul was available to the Ferrier, with her long dagger-like finger, she sliced a piece of it off, tearing it from the whole. Daegan screamed and fell in on himself to the floor. He had never experienced pain like that with such accompanied emptiness.

He then watched as she directed his soul into Katéri’s mouth, watched as it went into her body and joined with her soul. The Ferrier then held her hand out in a silent command to the newly formed soul. It heeded her command, lifting from the child’s body and attaching itself to the Ferrier.

On the ground, his breath heaving in and out heavily, Daegan barely got out, “Take care of her.” The Ferrier looked him in the eyes and nodded. Katéri’s body disintegrated into ash just like those of her parents, but hers was tinted with crimson, green, and now blue. The Ferriers were gone.

Daegan crawled out of the ruin that was once not only a home, but was filled with life, and headed to the trees. He was barely breathing, the pain was still so great. The more he moved the less it became, but then the realization of what he had done and what had happened began to set in. How could he go back? How could he face his family? How could he face Hal? He was a disgrace to the name
Ferrishyn
. He always knew there was darkness in him. Now it had found a way out.

Daegan collapsed in the cover of the thick forest, dreaming vivid dreams of fire, death, and Ferriers.

CHAPTER FIVE

Daegan woke from a restless sleep and the worst headache he had had in as long as he could remember. Suddenly, flashes of flames licking up the side of a small structure right in front of him, so close he could feel the heat from it searing against his cheek, caused him to jerk upright in alarm; his hand gripping the handle of the dagger he kept under his pillow while he slept.

Looking around furiously, he realized he was in his room, sleeping on his own bed and tangled within his own sheets, which were now drenched in sweat. He threw his covers aside, set his dagger down, and sat at the edge of his bed with his hands holding the top of his head, taking in deep breaths. Confused as to what was reality, he went to one of the few windows in his room and looked out over the village below. The stone that made up the outer wall of the castle was cool to the touch. Daegan found it soothing and rested his head against it as he watched people below begin to stir. It was still barely dawn and the sun hadn’t even broken over the Gáraldrath Mountains to the east of Elnye.

Taking deep breaths, Daegan tried to make sense of what had happened.
Could it really have just been a dream? An incredibly and horrifyingly real dream?
He wiped his hands down his face, hoping to whatever powers or gods that might be out there, that it was just a dream.

Absently, he looked around his room, seeing everything in its rightful place. He didn’t recall going through his nightly routine, but apparently he had: taking off his sword that was always strapped to his back, and his daggers out of their holsters strapped to his waist, inner thigh, and at his ankle in his boot. He laid them in the same place each night so that he knew he had completed the process. He found he could not sleep if it wasn’t completed the way he intended it to be. He always cleaned off each knife and sharpened them so they would be ready at a moment’s notice. It was precise. It was methodical.

He took in his own appearance—he wore only linen pants and no shirt. His necklace—without the black stone—was draped around his neck, his boots sat in the corner of the room by a single wooden chair—one of the few pieces of furniture in his sparse and oversized room. His body was clean as if he had bathed before he returned to sleep, but now shone with a light glimmer of sweat from his nightmare.

The only way to know for sure was go prove it to himself. It made him sick even thinking about seeing that little home in ruins, the destruction, what it did to that family, and what it would do to the entire community of shifters in the camp. He was a warrior; surely he could gather enough strength to face his sin, his deed of darkness. Daegan didn’t feel as strong as he once had. He could feel the crippling effect of what having a conscience in this world would do to a being, even a warrior.

As he threw on his clothing without much thought, he stopped suddenly. Something caught the corner of his eye. On the worn wooden floor, in the corner by the door, as if thrown or dropped carelessly, was the small smooth black obsidian. He reached to pick it up, gripping it so tight he thought it would crush beneath his fist. Examining it, he saw dust, both the brown of dirt and the gray of soot. His heart lurched. It was the stone he had given to little Katéri.
How did it get there?

After shining it, he placed it on the chain around his neck while his eyes saw nothing but the turquoise blue of Lake Ary’th of Adettlyn in Katéri’s knowing, innocent young eyes. Absently, he began strapping on his holsters and inserting each dagger into its respective place. As he reached for the dagger that he wore at his waist, he noticed it was slightly askew, with a smudge on the blade. He did not leave smudges and he did not make mistakes. Something wasn’t right. He finished preparing to leave and left his suite both with fear and anger at what he would find.

✠✠✠

Daegan stalked out of the castle, luckily without anyone but the kitchen staff seeing him. Not wanting to draw too much attention, he went down the path behind the stables. The shifters usually used this path instead of traveling the proper route through the village and the cobbled path.

Partway down the narrow dirt path, Daegan felt someone watching him. He looked about, then finally saw what he was looking for: an animal. The creature was similar to a rabbit, with long ears and long mangy hair from the mortal realm, but it also had long claws and two small horns on top of its head in between its ears. It had glowing blue eyes that were eerie in their own right, and two long teeth similar to a dog’s canines. The Lielmär, as these animals were called, were fairly common in this part of Alandria.

This one, however, had a familiar spark of energy about it that Daegan could feel coming off it. It was not a gift that was common nor did he share it with anyone, but he was a type of empath, able to feel the emotions coming off of others. He had to work hard to block everyone out, but it was easier to read animals and this one was giving off a pretty strong warning in its energy:
“Stay away,”
over and over.

Daegan recognized this animal as the shifter Jaéil and he was a friend.
Not after what I’ve done.
The Lielmär scampered back into the tall grasses and brush, so he was hidden from sight. Daegan wondered briefly why he had not felt anything—any emotion or feeling—coming from the camp the night before if it truly was not a dream.

Daegan’s steps got heavier and heavier as he got closer to the camp. His fists clenched tightly over and over.
Let it be a dream. Let it be a dream.
Sweat was beading on his brow and on his neck, dripping down his spine to gather at the waistband of his dark brown pants. The only other time Daegan had felt fear, he had been a boy watching as his parents were about to be killed right in front of him.