Darius knelt at
his father’s side, cradling his head in his hands, and felt overwhelmed with
emotion as he watched him die. Blood poured from his chest where the elephant’s
tusk had speared him, and it trickled from his mouth as he looked up at Darius
with the look of a man breathing his final breaths.
Darius felt
wracked with despair as he watched his father die in his arms. Here lay this
great man who had risked his life for him, who had saved his life, the greatest
warrior by far Darius ever met. After his whole life of longing for him,
finally, they had had a chance to meet, were reunited here, on the battlefield.
And yet as kind as fate was, it was also cruel, as it had snatched this man
away from him before they’d barely had a chance to know each other.
Darius would
have given anything to have a chance to get to know his father, to find out how
he had become such a skilled warrior, how life had taken him here, to the
capital arena. He would have loved to get to the bottom of the mystery of his
life, and of his absence in his own life.
But now, that
would never be. Taking his father was the cruelest thing the Empire had ever
done to him—crueler even than taking his own life.
“Father,” Darius
said, holding back tears as he held him in his arms. “You can’t leave me. Not
now.”
Darius heard a
great rumble as he waited for a response, and out of the corner of his eye he
saw the elephants circling the stadium, their great footsteps rocking it, as
they prepared to come back for him. Darius knew he didn’t have much time. But
he didn’t care about that now. He was ready to die at his father’s side.
His father
reached up and grabbed his wrist, his grip surprisingly strong even as his life
force began to ebb.
“I am proud that
you’re my son,” he said, his voice raspy, fading. “So proud of all that you
have done. You are a greater warrior than I could have ever been. I see it in
your eyes. I live on in you. Fight for me, Darius. Fight for me.”
His eyes closed
as he went limp in his arms.
Dead.
“NO!” Darius
shrieked, leaning back, feeling waves of grief wash over him.
Darius wanted to
take it away, to change the world, to go back and make everything happen
differently. He wanted to curse at destiny, to curse at his life, which had
been hard and cruel since the day he had been born. But he knew nothing could
bring him back now, this man he had loved, and the only man left who had loved
him.
Darius felt hot
tears pouring down his cheeks as he held his father’s head, feeling empty,
feeling as if he had nothing left in the world to live for. He could feel the
ground trembling as the elephants finished their circling and charged for
him—but he no longer cared. Some part of him was already dead.
As Darius knelt
there, laying his father on the ground, slowly the grief within him morphed to
something else.
Rage.
Darius looked
up, cold, calculating, and as he did, he tightened his grip on his sword. He
thought of what they had done to his father, of his father’s final words. They
rang in his head like a mantra, like an order:
Fight for me.
Slowly, Darius
stood. He faced off against these beasts, and he prepared to make his final
stand. He burned, more than ever in his life, for vengeance. He would die
trying—but he would not go down without taking somebody with him.
The ground shook
as the two elephants neared, awesome, magnificent beasts, all black, being
ridden by Empire soldiers. They gained speed, as if hoping to trample him, and
as they did, Darius felt all the grief within him morph into cold, hard fury.
All the rage he had ever had in his life—at the Empire, at his life, at his
village, at his father’s absence—it all bubbled up. It was a rage larger than
the universe, a rage he could not control. A rage that turned his whole body
hot.
Here Darius
stood, a boy who had become a man, a man, finally, with nothing left to live
for. His friends were dead, his father was dead—everything and everyone he had
ever known or loved was lost and taken from him. And now, he was about to die
too. He was a man with nothing left in the world to lose.
But there was
one thing he still had, and he had that in abundance: a desire for vengeance.
Vengeance for his father. Vengeance for his life.
Darius faced the
elephants as they thundered down on him, feeling no fear for the first time in
his life. Feeling free. He looked forward to taking them on.
As he stood
there, time seemed to slow, and something happened to him he did not
understand. The rage bubbled up, overtook him, became like a cancer in his
body. It was so powerful, unlike anything he had ever felt. Waves of energy
overwhelmed him, from head to toe, so intense he could barely feel his own
skin. He felt his hair standing on end, felt as if he might explode.
And then, it
happened.
For the second
time in his life, Darius felt himself overwhelmed by a power, a power he had no
control of, a power he had been terrified to acknowledge, and to embrace, up
until now. It was a power he did not understand, and a power that had scared
him.
Until now.
The power surged
within him, and Darius found himself dropping his weapons. He knew
instinctively he didn’t need them anymore. He knew that the power within him,
at his fingertips, was greater than any power, greater than anything forged of
steel.
Instead, Darius
raised his palms. As the elephants charged toward him, he raised them higher
and higher in the air, aiming one at each elephant bearing down on him. They
intended to kill him, Darius could see that.
But Darius had
other plans.
As he raised his
palms, Darius felt a searing ball of energy emanate from each palm. And as he
raised his arms, the craziest thing happened: he felt the weight of each elephant
in his palms. It was as if he were holding them.
And as he lifted
his arms higher, he saw the most shocking sight in his life: the elephants,
charging at him with fury, began to rise off the ground.
The elephants
trumpeted as Darius lifted them higher and higher into the air. They rose five
feet, then twenty feet, then thirty, then a hundred, their legs flailing. They
hovered high in the air, helpless, at the mercy of Darius’s power.
The crowd fell
silent as they gasped, looking up at the sight, no one knowing what to make of
it.
Darius did not
give them time to react. As the rage coursed through his arms and shoulders, he
quickly and decisively lowered his arms, thinking, as he did, of his father, of
all his friends he had lost on the battlefield. He felt their blood calling out
from the grave. Now it was their time. Now, it was time for vengeance.
Darius felt a
power surge within them, a power that could move mountains, and he tapped that
power for the first time in his life as he lowered his arms and hurled the
elephants. He was amazed to watch them go flying through the air, end over end,
trumpeting, flailing, as they headed, like comets, for the stone bleachers in
the stadium.
The crowd
realized, too late. A few rose, tried to run, but it all happened too quickly
and there was nowhere for them to go.
The two beasts
smashed into the stadium with a tremendous crash, shaking the arena as if it
had been struck by a comet. The impact took out entire sections of stone,
killing hundreds of people at once. The Empire cheers of cruelty and glee had
now morphed into cries and shrieks of terror.
The crowd ran,
trying desperately to get away, but the elephants tumbled through the
bleachers, rolling and rolling, crushing thousands more.
The arena fell
into chaos. People shrieked and ran as the weight of the elephants collapsed
entire sections of stone, the avalanche killing hundreds more.
Darius stood
there, the last one left on the battlefield, shocked at his power. The world,
he felt, was his.
Stara dug her
heels into the horse’s ribs, spurring it on, faster and faster, tearing across
the Great Waste, determined not to stop until she crossed this desert, until
she crossed the world and found Reece. He was somewhere out there on the
horizon, she knew, beyond the Waste, beyond the sea, out there with Thorgrin,
on the search for Guwayne. She knew her chances of finding him were remote,
that she may very well die out here in the Waste. But she didn’t care. As
reckless as this was, she felt more joyful, more liberated, than she had in
moons. She was free, finally, thrilled to be away from the Ridge, riding out
under the open sky and following the desires of her own heart.
The safety of
that Ridge, every moment she had been there, had been hell for her. She did not
want safety: she wanted Reece. Danger meant nothing to her, if it stood between
her and the man she loved most in the world. It was love, Stara finally
realized, that mattered more than anything in the world—more than pleasures and
riches and safety, more than any object she could want. It was love, and the
freedom to pursue that love, that mattered. And that was what she had now.
Whether she died
out here in this Waste, or somewhere at sea, none of that mattered—as long as
she could be free to pursue her heart’s desires.
Stara galloped
on the horse, her skin still raw from having raced through the Sand Wall, her
lips dry, her throat parched, her skin burnt from the sun, her turban having
fallen off long ago. She hadn’t stopped to get it, knowing that if she stopped
moving for even one minute, she would never continue on through this Waste. The
horse beneath her, too, was gasping, heaving, and Stara wondered how much
longer they could go on. Somehow, she sensed, it understood the urgency of her
mission, and without any prodding, raced forward on its own.
As the horse
charged and charged, Stara tried to follow the general directions that Fithe
had given her, going over them like a mantra again and again in her head:
cross
the Sand Wall, then head north. Follow the North Star, which shines by day and
night. If you live, you will reach the canals. There, you may find a hidden
vessel in the harbor, stowed for times of escape, hidden beneath the branches
of the willows that grow on its shores. If they are even still there. Your
quest will be long and hard, and you likely will not make it.
As Stara rode,
she looked up time and again, looking for the North Star, knowing it was
somewhere high overhead. Wispy clouds came in and out, and she no longer even
knew if she was staying the course. She reached down instinctively and raised
the sack of water to her mouth and squeezed—yet it was empty, dried out long
ago. She chucked it, realizing she had nothing left.
Stara rode and
rode, her legs aching, her back aching, her head beginning to droop, too tired
to hang on. She felt herself slouching, felt that at any moment she might fall
off her horse. She knew once she did, she would be finished.
Reece
, she
thought,
I love you.
Finally, when
she thought she could not go no more, when she felt certain she might die out
here, she felt the horse slowing, and she looked up. She felt them mounting a
ridge, and as she looked up, she squinted, wondering if she were seeing things.
She shook her head, realizing she was not, and her heart leapt within her:
there, against the setting sun, was a shimmering body of water. The small
rivers snaked every which way, ending in the desert.
The canals.
It was a
startling sight, and as it came close into view, Stara was overcome with euphoria.
Finally, the monotony of the Great Waste, the monotony she had never expected
to finish, had come to an end.
Streams
converged from a hundred rivers into a pool of water at the edge of the Waste,
surrounded by a grove of willow trees, their branches hanging low, just as Fithe
had said. Her heart beat faster at the sight. There was water. There was a path
out, to the rivers, to the sea. There was the road to Reece. There was freedom.
Stara did not
even need to kick the horse, which saw it, too, and increased its pace, racing
down the ridge, not slowing until it reached the grove of trees at the edge of
the water. Stara was so grateful for the shade, despite the sunset, and she
dismounted as the horse bent over gratefully to lap the water. She fell down on
her hands and knees beside it and began drinking, too.
Stara gulped the
water, gasping; as she caught her breath, she splashed the cold water on her
face, down her neck, in her hair, getting the dust of the desert off her. She
knelt there for a moment, too tired to move, reveling in the sound of the
willow branches as they stirred in the breeze off the water.
Finally the
horse leaned over and licked her face, prodding her back up.
Stara regained
her composure and as she sat up, she scanned the water, the branches, looking
to see if there were any vessels still hidden. As she squinted, she thought she
saw something hidden behind a clump of trees, as their branches swayed in the
wind, and she hurried over and pushed back the branches.
There, she was
elated to see, was a small vessel, rocking in the water, tied to shore, just
large enough to hold her and one small sail. It had been well hidden beneath
the trees and she thanked God for it, knowing that without it, she would die
here.
Stara was about
to get inside, to push off, when she remembered the horse. She turned, walked
over to it, and stroked its face, looking into its eyes. It made a gesture as
if to follow her into the boat, but she shook her head.
“It is a journey
for me alone, my friend,” she said.
It made a soft
neighing sound.
“I shall never
be able to thank you,” she said. “You are free now. Roam the Waste, find a new
home, answer to no man. You are free!”
The horse leaned
in and licked her face and she kissed its head. It turned and ran off, never
looking back.
Stara turned
herself and slipped onto the boat. She extracted her small silver dagger, which
she had carried with her from the Ring, and in one quick, decisive move, she
severed the rope.
The currents
caught her vessel, and as she raised her sail, she began to move into the
widening river, gaining speed, into the sunset, out toward the open sea, and
somewhere, she prayed, toward Reece.