Chapter One: Three Broken Hearts and One of Stone
Olea
The cliff called to her, beckoning her to the rough waters, wanting her to meet the cutting rocks below. Staring out past the watery horizon, she could feel the water pulling her -the edge tempted her mind. She stood, her braid nearly unravelling as the wind whipped it around her, pushing against the flimsy barrier that separated her from the sea. It called her again, coaxing her to jump. Olea wanted to jump. Instead she stared. She pushed back against the call. Because past the beautiful sunset, behind the pastel sky, across the rough waters -that is where a vengeance yet taken lies. So, Olea forced her own hatred back at the call of the cliff’s edge. She turned her dark eyes back to the bottom of the cliff, forcing her glare to cut through the rocks that raised past the crashing waves. Olea pushed herself off the barrier, taking a step back from the edge.
That was when the first burst of magic hit her. The force nearly toppled her, but Olea stayed standing – gripping at her chest as the pain radiated through her body. It started at her heart, and soon she began to feel the agony in every vein. Bracing her body, Olea grit her teeth and waited. There would be another wave. This, she knew. A moment passed. Two. As she relaxed her muscles, Olea forced her head as far from her body as she physically could, attempting to minimize the aftermath of retching. Still, the dark navy leather of her pants were misted with Olea’s dinner.
The second wave of magic wasn’t painful. Not physically. Had Olea let herself think about it, she would have recognized the pain as heartbreak. Instead, Olea let in the feeling of a cord breaking, a dull ache in her chest all that remained of the pain of the first wave. Olea knew. She understood.
And Olea released a wicked grin. Her connection to Contraria. Her connection to Babel. Her connection to the Well of Krohnic. Gone, each of them. The last of her ties to the land of her birth were severed.
Once upon a time, Olea would have mourned for her kingdom. Olea would have mourned for her mother or her brothers or, if it was when she was a mere babe, her father. She would have fallen to her knees and sobbed. But that was before. That was when she was a child, ignorant of the terrors she would face at the hands of family and kingdom alike. Olea would not mourn the kingdom that threw her aside, that let a child suffer. She would not mourn for her mother, who ignored her. She would not mourn her brothers, who had shown her nothing but resentment. Olea would not mourn Babel, a father who never loved her. As the absence of Contraria sank in, Olea thought she was free. Looking back over her shoulder, Olea focused on the distant horizon. Still, she sent her hatred across the sea, to the empty field coated in darkness. Still, she resented the lost kingdom. Still, she felt the dull ache of her chest. And still, the cliff called to her.
Olea took one last look at the crashing waves, the towering rocks, the height of the cliff. Her grin had faded, but a small smile remained. Her gaze lingered only for a moment, because the call was getting stronger. She took a step, separating herself even further from the edge -if only a few feet. Facing forward, she faced the winding path leading downhill. The aged stones worked their way into a petrified forest, the path lined by long dead trees that intertwined into archways. Olea lightly wrapped her hand around the hilt of her dagger and withdrew it from its sheath. The black leather case disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving her thigh bare.
Holding the dagger in front of her, Olea pressed her lips together and slid the edge across her forearm. Letting, her blood drip onto the stones, Olea whispered into the wind, “What the darkness claims, may it consume.”
Swiftly, Olea wiped her knife off her pants. As she placed the dagger back on her thigh, the sheath reappeared and wrapped around the blade, fastening it back onto Olea. Biting back the pain, Olea pressed down on the wound.
“Fuori.” Heat sprung from her palm, etching itself into her being. Soon, the pain of Olea pressing down on the wound outweighed the pain of the cut. After several long moments, Olea removed her palm, releasing the spell. The Wyldfire had left deep purple streaks stemming from the cauterized cut on her forearm.
Pain will be the only memorial I will hold. Olea released a sigh of pain, A magemark will be Contraria’s legacy.
Dropping her hands, Olea was reminded of an old passage about magemarks she’d been made to memorize. Now all she remembered about it was that when she took more than an hour to recite it from memory, a switch had been taken to her calves. One strike for every hour it took her to memorize it.For a while, she could recite half the book. Olea began making her way down the well-trodden path back to the village. When she’d arrived, Olea had only planned to stay for a day -maybe two. But she’d found that the atmosphere of the small village was refreshing. Maybe it had something to do with being on Quoral’s rocky coast, but the villagers here were quiet. They didn’t ask Olea who she was, what brought her here -in fact, unless Olea started a conversation, the villagers ignored her existence. Whether it was caution, due to Olea’s rough appearance and the ornate longsword that hung on her hip, or they were simply disinterested in her, Olea didn’t mind. She ignored them whenever possible as well.
And so, when Olea found a seat at the bar in one of the town’s taverns, the other patrons ignored her. The barkeep brought her a drink, and she smiled as she downed it. A head or two glanced her way, and she gestured for the bar keep to bring another glass. Soon, more and more heads were turned towards her, a silence settling over the bar as she down one glass after another. After the fifth glass, Olea scanned her eyes around the room -meeting the stares of the other patrons. She raised the sixth glass to them, smiled, and turned to the barkeep, “Get them drinks too.”
The other patrons were no longer disinterested, or cautious, or whatever they had been -after three rounds of free drinks they were nothing but raucous. Plenty of them came up to Olea, buying her a drink in thanks, chatting briefly. She gave sparse responses, but that night the village was the first to see the roughness of Olea subside. At the back of her eyes, the fire of hatred still burned but for a single night she released the sharpness of her personality.
When she woke up the next morning, laying under the arm of another patron, clothes strung about, she didn’t even bother to look at them. Quietly, Olea dressed, slipping out the door and downstairs. She made her way back to her own inn, taking in the morning light cast over the small village. Soon enough she was sitting, her usual blank expression on her face, eating a hearty breakfast. Ignoring the dull ache that still haunted her chest.
Shen
Shen sat, running his fingers along the words as he read. Every so often, he had to pause and remind himself that he enjoys history. That he pays to learn history. That the Tayaran civil wars are important and interesting. Shen sighed, restarting the page, praying this time it stuck and he didn’t get distracted again. As he was thinking about how he wished he could focus, yet again he had to restart the page. Shen knew that if it had been any other day it wouldn’t be so hard to focus. He wouldn’t be so swayed. But, Shen thought, how could I not be homesick? Today, Mara was getting the greatest honor a Princess of Contraria can be awarded -the Sigil of Krohnic. Again, Shen let out a huff, mildly regretting leaving for Yuhaul’s university instead of studying at the capital city of Contraria. Shen went to restart the page, once again, but snapped the book closed. He was getting nowhere with his study of the Tayaran War of Two Kingdoms and One.
Taking a moment, Shen stared across the table he’d set up for his studies. He’d been holed up in the library, with its towering bookshelves and floor to ceiling windows, for over a week -only leaving to head back to his dorm for personal hygiene purposes. Between the archives and the main stacks, Shen had found himself in a quiet area surrounded by only a few other students. Shen loved that they barely made a noise -besides a light shuffling of papers or a frustrated snap of a book. He’d already resolved himself for another four hours of studying this evening, but as it stood there was no way he’d be able to actually make any positive progress. Food, it’s time for food.
As Shen made his way out of the library, abandoning the pile of books splayed about the table, he longed to be home -to celebrate with his family. With his friends. Mara, Kuala -hell, I’d even kill to see Arkim at this point. But the semester wasn’t over for three more weeks and Shen couldn’t exactly make a cross continental trip for one day –especially because Contrarian holidays aren’t observed by Yuhaul. I still can’t believe the king made it a holiday, Shen smiled lightly to himself. Trying to give himself another pep talk, Shen steeled his mind. Food leads to focus! Exams are over soon! Soon enough, Shen was at the canteen, about to dig in to a hearty lunch of meat, beans, and some kind of pink tinted rice. As he went to take the first bite, Shen felt a prick in his heart. Briefly, he thought it was the pain of missing home. Then agony shot through his body. Shen dropped his fork, gripping at his heart. The pain radiated through him, he held back a scream and took a deep breath. Then another. Then the pain dulled back to an ache. It almost felt as if a rock encased his heart.
Then Shen felt a deeper pain, seeping into his heart, clouding his mind. His eyes went dark, and he felt the magic oozing out of his body. To him, this pain was greater than the physical. It tore his soul to pieces, and he could feel every rip in his mind. That’s when the final surge hit him. Shen lost control and his body forced itself backwards, his chair falling to the ground with him. The clang of metal on wood filled the canteen and a handful of eyes turned at the sound. More began to stare when Shen didn’t immediately get up. Just as a student nearby started towards Shen, his arms snapped up. Wrapping his arms around his face, Shen pressed into his eyes. He felt it. He knew. They’re gone. Everyone. Shen knew the first wave was the physical hit of his Well breaking, the second wave was something far more heartbreaking. It was the end of Contraria. He’d never felt it before, but his mother had once explained the mental anguish of your people disappearing behind Illustra. Shen knew, then, that the darkness must have returned. It always did, he knew. But it usually took hundreds of years. Not the decades it had been since the last Lightening.
Shen held back a sob, knowing there were must too many eyes already. He laid there, the metal of the chair digging into his back, his head pressed against the hard wood. Shen was numb, a rock had settled in his stomach. He laid there. Shen had thought it was for an eternity. Eventually, he unwrapped his arms, revealing a blank face. Shen stood, slowly, with measured movements. Softly he pulled up the chair and righted it in front of the table, straightening the tray he’d nearly flung across the wall earlier, meticulously aligning his silverware next to the tray. Once he felt everything was where it was meant to be, Shen sat down.
Some of the other students who were staring averted their gaze and went back to what they were doing, some others kept looking curiously at Shen -a glance stolen here or there. Shen hadn’t even taken a breath in the moments since he sat down. He forced the pain deeper into him. Processed what this meant. Shen made a plan. His arms were placed solidly on the table, his fists clenched. Shen reminded the gazing students of a statue.
That was when Shen screamed. Now, every head in the canteen snapped to attention as he ran his arm across the table, flinging his food across the table and nearly hitting another student. Standing, Shen continued yelling, and began stalking out of the room. In the noise, the other students could hear bits and pieces of words. Not much, but enough. Some of the students understood. Some didn’t, but they still flinched at the agony in Shen’s voice. One student made out a sentence, clear as day.
“Contraria can’t be gone -not again.”
The other student knew. And a chill spread down her spine. How could it not -when she hailed from the very same kingdom Shen was mourning? She had felt a prick at the same time as him, but her Well was shallow and her ties to Contraria weak. The pain that hit her was of a stubbed toe, or flipped nail. Sharp, but not lasting. And no one had told her what the pains meant.
Shen continued yelling, screaming even as his voice grew hoarse and his throat stung. He flung around denials, grief stricken yowls, even laying blame on occasion. Still, he tried to make a plan. Shen knew, now, that he would be able to focus. Not on his studies. Not on some meaningless war a century ago and a kingdom away. No. Shen would make a plan to save his family. To bring them back. If he had to, he would perform the Lightening all on his own.
He needed to find the others. He needed a new Well. Shen needed a great many things. But most of all, he needed to rebuild Illustra.
Arkim, you better not have disappeared too.
Kuala
Kierre was beautiful in the fading light. The horizon lined with the peaks of mountains, sunset began earlier than it should have. Still, Kuala appreciated the mountain below her for what they were: beautifully silent. Far below her lookout, the ground shined with freshly fallen snow, undisturbed by the likes of mere mortals. Kuala had been resting up in the tree for hours, her own tracks long erased by the falling snow. She stared for a moment more before gingerly balancing herself on the branch. While it was thick enough to support her, Kuala didn’t find much comfort in the smoothness of the bark. Her balance had been threatened with every breeze, but still, Kuala had loved the sight. The ancient nyre tree she’d climbed was lush with red leaves and unnaturally smooth white bark. While climbing, Kuala had even found a nyre -the delicate purple fruit that was the tree’s namesake.
Kuala’s head tilted as she caught a sound on the wind. It had been silent, but now there was an occasional snap or pad. Something was coming. Glancing down, Kuala realized she had been sensed. A Winter Wolf was staring up at her. The wolf was still a couple hundred feet from the base of the tree, but Kuala felt her muscles tighten. From this distance, all she could see was a white silhouette moving closer. Had Kuala not enhanced her senses earlier, the Winter Wolf would have gone unnoticed by its prey.
Kuala slung one leg over to straddle the branch, placing one hand on the bark. She slid a dagger from a sheath on her back up to her face, clenching it between her teeth to free her hand. Now, with both hands firmly on the bark, she began sliding away from the trunk. As the wood narrowed, Kuala let a breath out over the knife and hummed in two tones -just as her father had hummed it to her.
“And so, we have the Warrior
Whose blade cuts through Creation.”
Kuala waited, watching as the wolf crept closer to the nyre tree. Kuala watched, waiting for the beast to creep one step too close to the trunk. Then, Kuala jumped. Using her grip to propel herself down towards the wolf, Kuala launched herself downwards. As she fell, Kuala ripped the dagger from her mouth -whispering a faint zephrys. A brief burst of air felled her landing, and as Kuala’s feet touched ground there wasn’t so much as a sound. Kuala’s dagger was pointed in front of her, to the back of the wolf. It was still focused on heading to the trunk. From the ground, Kuala was able to take in the sight of the beast. The Winter Wolf was nearly twice her height, its fur a mix of shimmering white and blue. The wolf’s tail was whip-like, if not in looks than in length -the shimmering fur growing a deeper shade of blue-grey towards the tip. From the back, all Kuala could see of the beast’s head was it’s ears, pulled back. Listening. Kuala steadied her nerves, calming a shaking hand, and Kuala took a single step back. Still unseeing, the wolf looked up to the nyre tree. The wolf’s body rippled and it perched it’s body downward. That was when the wolf charged. Slamming it’s body into the trunk, the nyre tree rippled lightly. But the wolf had pulled away just as quickly as it had charged. Backing up, the wolf watched. Then tree shook. Kuala watched, taking another slow step back. Then the trunk split, a crack spreading from the base up through the mess of branches and leaves above. Within a heart beat the sound reached Kuala, the snap and crack as the two sides of the nyre tree began to fall. Nyres dropped from the branches, landing around both Kuala and the wolf. Occasionally, a nyre would burst open and the snow would be stained violet. The split bark was now supported by the surrounding forest, leaning dangerously toward the path that Kuala had taken -threatening to block her escape.
Kuala held her breath and forced herself to be still. Fighting her instinct to dodge the falling fruit, Kuala felt as several nyres pelted her -one bursting open, staining her pale yellow overcoat. But Kuala didn’t fight it. She stood, unmoving, and watched the wolf. Looking away from the tree, the wolf swung it’s head side to side, scanning the field of fallen fruits. The wolf lowered its head, sniffing the air. Kuala’s eyes barely had time to widen as the wolf turned it’s head to stare back at her. The Winter Wolf’s yellow eyes fixated on Kuala as it raised its hackles and growled at her. Kuala watched, frozen, as the wolf side-stepped to face its body toward her. Never shifting its eyes from her face. Kuala went to call forth a shield.
That was when she felt it. A slow pain seeped into her heart. At first, Kuala thought it was fear. Then she knew. Something in her broke.
Kuala screamed, forcing sound out. Grabbing her heart, Kuala couldn’t bear to keep her eyes open. Collapsing to her knees, Kuala dropped her dagger and dug her hands into her mane of hair. She never stopped screaming, in fact the longer she screamed the louder it became. Heartbeats passed. At the back of her mind, Kuala thought of the wolf. Of the danger. She was going to die. Kuala couldn’t hear anything but the sound of her own screaming, the only pain she felt was inside her. But still, Kuala felt the small thought make its way to the forefront of her mind. She was going to die. If not from the breaking of her Well, then from the wolf. Minutes passed, and Kuala stopped screaming. Her throat was raw and she could feel the blood pooling on her head where she’d dug her nails into her scalp. Letting herself fall backwards into the snow, Kuala took a deep breath before opening her eyes. The sky was still clear, the earth still solid around her, and as she lifted her head she saw the tracks the wolf left behind as it fled. Soon, the sun would set and she would be overcome by the darkness.
Kuala smiled wryly, she knew had the wolf stayed she would have been good as dead. Her Well was gone. Gripping her stomach with one hand, Kuala thought of her magic. She hadn’t chosen a second Well -Kuala had thought her homeland’s magic was enough. Now, she knew why Olea had called her a fool. Still, Kuala didn’t regret her choice. The power of her Well, Krohnic, had been more than enough.
As Kuala stared at the sky, at the stars that had begun to sparkle, she was hit by a second wave. Kuala closed her eyes, gently. Relaxing her body, she let the pain run over her. This was nothing. This pain couldn’t compare to before. Sure, it caused her body to shudder. Yes, after a moment she had to grit her teeth. But she was a mage. And her Well was her everything.
A minute later, Kuala rose. Grabbing her dagger, she returned it to the sheath on her back. Picking up a couple nyres, she began walking back to the small village. And as she walked, Kuala made a plan to bring her Well back. All it would take was some searching.
Arkim
Arkim threw a ball into the air, then another, and as he caught the first one he tossed yet another ball up. Then he began juggling. Long ago, this was how he’d kept his siblings entertained while his parents were holed up in their labs or off on some adventure – his father described them as ‘urgent diplomatic missions’ instead of what they were: fun. Which had always been something slightly lacking in Contraria as Arkim grew up. So he did what he could so at least his little siblings would have something to look forward to. Now, Arkim was performing for a group of the village children at the base of Prok, one of the many mountains that made up the Kestral mountain range in Kierre. Arkim wasn’t particularly outdoorsy. So, when Kuala had said she was going to trek to the top of Prok, Arkim refused her polite invitation and stayed at the inn they’d found the night before. Arkim had affirmed Kuala that he hadn’t even brought any proper wilderness clothes -in that Arkim considered anything not made at least in part of Loyl silk to be beneath him.
Still, Arkim had gotten bored sitting in their room. He had come along for an adventure, and most of the time that’s what he got. They’d been across Quoral, through Yuhaul, they had even explored Tayaran and the far reaches of Prillis. But their room was small, and only had enough space for two twin bedframes and two wooden chests. Not even a dresser,Arkim grimaced to himself. Pulling on his coat, Arkim decided he was hungry and now was the time for dinner -he hadn’t eaten since Kuala had forced fed him their travelling rations at lunch. To him, anything the innkeeper served had to be better than the dried meat and fruits Kuala had packed.
Except this. Arkim sighed. It hadn’t take the innkeeper very long to get him dinner, and that didn’t bode very well. As he stabbed the overcooked meat -which kind, Arkim was unable to tell, he grumbled to himself. And, after ordering a few mugs of swill to choke down dinner, Arkim had found himself in a moderately good mood. So good, in fact, he had decided to explore the town. As if they were moths drawn to a flame, the village children had flocked to Arkim in his bright blue silks.
Looking out at his small audience, Arkim gave them another shining smile, “Who wants to see me do this with knives?”
Easily, Arkim caught each ball, his final catch drawing him into a deep bow. Arkim had to catch himself as he began tumbling forward from a wave of pain that surging from his heart. It only took him a moment to right himself, but the pain continued. Before the first wave had fully subsided, the children were clapping and reaching out to take the balls from Arkim. Forcing a polite smile he passed them around.
Then a second wave hit him. Had he not already been planting his feet, Arkim would have stumbled again. This pain was different. It was all consuming. It seeped into his muscles, wrapped itself around his head, it squeezed every nerve ending Arkim had. But just because he was braced for the pain, it wasn’t any more pleasant for his preparedness. Arkim used his free hand to grip his heart, a deep frown settling onto his face. Looking back to the children, who stared at him in admiration and expectance, Arkim forced a smile back on his face and took a slow breath.
“Sorry, kittens, I just remembered I have a prior engagement.”
Arkim tossed the balls lightly to the children, and turned back to the inn. The he shifted further to the right -towards the mountain. He needed to find her. She would be suffering much more than Arkim. He knew how deeply Kuala relied on Contraria.
The children watched as the prettily dressed man stalked off towards the mountain. A girl with bright blonde hair giggled as she pointed at Arkim’s braid swinging back and forth, “I think Mr. Arkim is a princess in disguise!” More giggles sprang up as the children continued playing. Arkim’s bright blue silhouette grew smaller, and soon the kids forgot about his smooth voice and blonde braid.
“God damn it, Kuala,” Arkim muttered, out of earshot, “I am not dressed for a mountain.”
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