A Forge of Valor (7 page)

Soon the streets, filled with bodies, ran with blood.

Dozens more soldiers charged for them, and Dierdre knew that she and Marco could not defend against them all. Just feet away, Dierdre braced herself as Pandesians, in their blue and yellow armor, raised swords and hatchets and bore down on them. She knew her life was about to end.

Just then, a cannonball smashed into a wall, and it toppled and blocked off the soldiers’ approach, ironically crushing a few of them and creating a wall of defense. Dierdre breathed deep, realizing they had one last chance for survival.

“This way!” Marco shouted.

He grabbed her wrist and dragged her and they began to run through the city, weaving their way amidst the destruction. She knew that Marco knew the city better than anyone, and if they had any chance of survival, he would find it.

They twisted and turned down one street after the other, through clouds of dust, jumping over rubble, past dead bodies, avoiding bands of roving soldiers. Finally, Marco tugged her to a stop.

At first Dierdre was puzzled, seeing nothing; but then Marco bent down, wiped away some dust, and revealed in iron hatch hidden in the stone. He yanked it up, and Dierdre was amazed to see a hole leading underground.

Dierdre heard a noise and turned to see two Pandesians emerge from a cloud of dust, charging, axes raised high. Before she even had time to ponder it, Marco grabbed her and yanked her down—and she shrieked as she went falling belowground, hurling somewhere into the blackness.

Kyra opened her eyes as she felt a tremendous warmth radiate throughout her body, feeling like the heat of the sun were spreading through her. Her eyes were heavy, and as she was met by a world of white light, it took her a moment to realize where she was. She raised her hand to the morning sun, breaking through the trees, a new dawn spreading over the wood, and she had never experienced such a feeling of peace.

As Kyra felt the heat coursing through her, she looked down at her stomach and was amazed to see her wound was mostly healed. She ran a finger over it, stunned: her skin was almost smooth.

Kyra looked up as she sensed motion, and she saw a face. She was thrilled to see those intense, shining eyes looking down at her, fixed on hers.

Kyle.

He knelt over her, holding her hand, and as she looked into his eyes, she felt as if they held the power of the sun. She felt waves of heat coursing through his palm, into hers, making her more and more sleepy. Her eyes were so heavy, not fully open, as though she couldn’t quite cast off her heavy slumber.

She smiled, reassured by his presence, feeling such a wave of love and gratitude toward him.

“You’re still here,” she said, her voice soft, in a dreamlike state.

“Shh,” he said, looking down, running a soft hand through her hair. “You must sleep. The wound was deep. But it is healing now. My time here is done.”

She looked up, feeling a sudden rush of concern.

“Are you leaving me?” she asked, panicked, feeling so alone in the world.

He smiled down at her.

“My tower is in danger,” he replied. “My people need me now.”

There was so much Kyra wanted to ask him, but she couldn’t find the words. Her mind was still in a haze, and her exhaustion deepened with every moment.

“Stay,” she whispered.

But exhaustion overcame her, and as Kyle placed a palm on her eyes, a tremendous heat forced them closed.

Kyra felt herself getting lighter, shifting into white light, drifting back to sleep. The last thing she remembered, before her eyes closed completely, was Kyle removing his necklace, a startling star-shaped sapphire, and draping it over her neck. She felt its cool healing power on her collarbone.

“What’s mine is yours now,” he said. “Sleep. And remember me.”

*

Kyra sat bolt upright. She opened her eyes to see the sun high overhead, and she blinked in the brightness, looking everywhere for Kyle.

As she feared, he was gone.

Kyra jumped to her feet, feeling a rush of energy, amazed to be standing. She felt stronger than ever. She looked down at her stomach, where her wound had been, and was amazed to see it was entirely healed. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

Kyra stood there, feeling reborn, and as she heard a whining she turned to see Leo by her side, licking her palm. She heard a grunt, and she turned to see Andor, in the near distance, pawing the ground. She was still in a forest clearing, light flooding through the trees, wind rustling the leaves, the sounds of birds and insects filling the air. She felt as if she were seeing the world with new eyes. She took a deep breath, loving what it felt like to be alive again.

There came a rustling, and Kyra turned and was startled to see Alva standing a few feet away, expressionless, holding his staff and watching her silently. She felt a deep sense of relief at the sight of him, yet also guilt. He had warned her not to go, and she had not heeded him. Here she was, the failed student, she felt, facing her teacher. She burned with questions for him.

“How long have you been here?” she asked, sensing he had watched over her during her sleep.

He did not respond.

“Have you been watching me all this time?” she asked.

“I am always watching you.”

Kyra tried to remember.

“Was it Kyle who healed me?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I was meant to die, wasn’t I?” she asked. “He sacrificed himself for me, didn’t he?”

“Indeed,” he replied. “And he will pay the price.”

Kyra felt a sudden rush of concern.

“What price?”

“There is a price to everything in this universe, Kyra. Destiny cannot be changed without the greatest price of all.”

She felt a stab of fear.

“I do not wish for him to pay a price for my life,” she replied.

Alva sighed, looking sad, disappointed.

“I warned you,” he replied. “Your haste, your action, has harmed others. Courage is selfless, and yet sometimes it can be selfish, too.”

Kyra thought about that.

“You did not heed my words,” Alva continued. “You abandoned your training. You thought of no one but your father. If it weren’t for Kyle, and for….”

Alva trailed off and looked away, and Kyra suddenly knew.

“My mother,” she said, her eyes lighting. “That’s what you were about to say, wasn’t it?”

He looked away.

“I saw her in my dream,” she pressed, and rushed toward Alva and grabbed his arm, desperate to know more. “I saw her face. She was healing me. She helped change my destiny.”

Kyra prayed that Alva would answer her. She was overcome with a primal need to know more about her mother, a need as strong as food or drink

“Please,” she added. “I have to know.”

“Yes,” he finally replied, to her immense relief, “she did.”

“You must tell me,” she said. “Tell me everything about her.”

Alva stared back for a long time, his eyes twinkling, clearly holding some great knowledge. He looked as if he were pondering whether to tell her.

“Please,” Kyra implored. “I nearly died. I have earned the right to know. I cannot go down to my death without knowing. Who is she?”

Finally, Alva sighed. He took a few steps away, casting off her hand, and with his back to her, stared off into the trees, as if peering into different worlds.

“Your mother was one of the Ancients,” he finally began, his voice deep, rumbling. “One of the first people to inhabit Escalon. They are those who are said to have been born before anyone else, beings who are said to have lived for thousands of years, who were never meant to die. They were stronger than us, stronger than the trolls—stronger even than the dragons. They were the first people. The original people.”

Kyra listened, mesmerized.

“Because of their power, their strength,” Alva continued, “Escalon was never invaded. They were the ones that fended them off, that created the Flames, that built the towers, that forged the Sword of Fire. Because of them, the dragons were kept at bay. Their power protected us all.”

Alva turned and looked at her meaningfully, as Kyra stood there, riveted.

“A power that runs through you, Kyra,” he said.

She felt a chill at his words.

“Where is she, then?” Kyra asked, her voice nearly a whisper. “Does she still live?”

Alva looked away and sighed. He fell silent for a long time.

“One of her kind turned to the wrong side,” he said, sadness in his voice. “He used his power in the wrong ways. His energy turned dark, uncontrollable. From him there is said to have spawned the troll race.”

Alva turned and looked at her, eyes shining with intensity.

“Don’t you see, Kyra?” he pressed. “The trolls of Marda are descended from your kind, from the blood that runs through you. We are waging not only a war of soldiers, of men. This is a war of races, ancient races, ancient bloodlines. And it is a war of dragons. It is a war that has been raging for thousands of years, and that has never really stopped. It is a war of forces you can never understand. And your mother is at the center of it. Which means you are, too.”

Kyra frowned, struggling to comprehend.

“You must train, Kyra,” he insisted. “Not to learn how to wield a spear—but to understand this ancient energy that flows through you, that controls all. To understand who you are.”

“Is my mother alive?” She was almost afraid to ask.

Alva looked at her for a long time, then shook his head.

“You may see her only in dreams, or not at all. You are too young yet. Not until you know more about yourself, your source of power. Your mother’s source of power.”

She wondered.

“Where can I find that?” she asked.

He looked at her for a long time, then finally, he replied:

“The Lost Temple.”

The Lost Temple. The words shocked her, ringing in her ears like a mantra. It was a mysterious place she had heard of only in myths and legends. Yet the second he mentioned it, it resonated within her and she knew he was right.

“Once the capital of Escalon,” he continued, “the seat of power for thousands of years. Now it lies an ancient ruin, nestled against the sea on the western coast. It is there you will find her, Kyra. And there, and there alone, you will discover the weapon you need. The only weapon that can save Escalon.”

“What weapon?” she asked, amazed.

But Alva merely looked away.

Kyra felt a sudden flash of concern.

“My father,” she wondered. “Is he…dead?”

Alva shook his head.

“Not yet,” he replied. “He remains captive, in Andros. Until his execution.”

Kyra felt a chill at his words, and she stood there, debating.

“Go to him,” he warned, “and you will die. The choice is yours, Kyra: will you choose your family, or your destiny?”

Kyra looked up to the sky, wondering, feeling so confused, so torn. The world seemed to freeze at that moment.

When she looked back at Alva, to her shock, he was gone. She blinked, looking everywhere, finding no one.

There came a rustling behind her, and Kyra turned and was shocked to see Kolva standing there, having emerged from the woods, looking back at her with intensity. It was amazing seeing his face, the resemblance it bore to hers; in some ways, it was like looking in a mirror. It made her think of her mother, and his connection to her, all the more. Her other uncle was the last person she had expected to see, and yet he came as a very welcome face, especially now, as she grappled with the decision before her.

“What are you doing here?” Kyra asked. “I thought you had gone to the tower.”

“I have already returned,” he replied. “The tower is but one cog in a great wheel, a battlefield in a greater war. War is coming, Kyra, and I am needed elsewhere now.”

“Where?” she asked, surprised.

He sighed.

“A place far from here,” he replied. “Some battles must be lost,” he added cryptically, “for others to be won.”

She wondered what he meant.

“Why did you leave me?” she pressed.

“You were in good hands with your other uncle,” he replied. “You needed time to train.”

“And now that my training is over?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“It is never over,” he replied. “Do not ever imagine that it is. That is when you will begin to fall.”

Kyra frowned, debating.

“I am faced with a big decision,” she said, eager for his advice.

“I know,” he replied.

She looked at him with surprise.

“You do?” she asked.

He nodded.

“You want to save your father,” he replied.

Kyra looked him over.

“He is your brother, after all,” she said. “Why do you not rush to save him?”

Kolva sighed.

“I would if I could.”

“And why can’t you?” she asked.

“My mission is urgent,” he replied. “I can’t be in both places.”

“But I can,” she said.

He slowly shook his head.

“Did you not listen to Alva?” he asked. “Your mission is urgent, too. Your mother, my sister, awaits you.”

Kyra felt torn, not knowing what to do.

“Are you saying then that I should abandon my father?” she asked.

“I am saying you are lucky to be alive,” he said. “And if you do not achieve the power you need to first, then death will find you. And that will not help anyone.”

He stepped in and laid a hand on her shoulder, and looked down with approving eyes.

“I am proud of you, Kyra,” he said.

She wondered.

“Will we meet again?” she asked, feeling a pang at the idea of losing him, the only living relative she felt she had left.

“I hope so,” he replied.

And then, without another word, he turned and hiked back into the forest, leaving Kyra alone, upset, and more confused than before.

As she stood there, not knowing how much time had passed, Andor finally snorted and looked right at her. Slowly, she felt a new feeling; it was her destiny rising up within her. Finally blessed with a sense of certainty for the first time, she came to a decision.

She crossed the clearing, mounted Andor, and sat there for a long time, until finally, she knew there was only one place she could go.