Exiled (2 page)

“Touching, however irrelevant at this point, I’m afraid,” Master Elder said with the slightest of smirks. “It’s over Ammoncourt,” he whispered. “You should have never returned.”

“The only thing left to discuss is the sentence,” Master Elder said, raising his voice.

“No!” James shouted, finally coming out of his shock-induced stupor.

“I didn’t murder Akil. None of that happened. He’s like a father to me. Someone tampered with the memory!”

James’s body began to shake. The vein on his forehead pulsed as the ground started to tremor. Gasps and cries could be heard from the witnesses hidden in the shadowed seating above.

Master Elder nodded at the red-robed guards, and their body language quickly changed from aggressive to apprehensive. Neither moved as James continued to shake. A faint red glow surrounded him as he clenched his fists in an attempt to control himself.

“Now, you fools!” Master Elder screamed, jolting the guards into action. They stepped forward and took James by his arms. Both guards immediately fell to the ground motionless. As if expecting it, Master Elder waved his arms, signaling the axe wielding guards to converge. James’s vision began to spin as he listened to the sentence read by Master Elder. He could hear Ammoncourt arguing, but his voice was distant, muted. “Rarely among our own people is such a heinous crime committed. The victim must be taken into consideration, being a servant to our council and community for a time greater than even Grand Master Elder Alvero. It is because of the severity of this crime and the loss our world has incurred as a result, that I recommend to the council that James Lochlan Stuart IV be immediately exiled to The Never.”

“You cannot do this,” cried Ammoncourt, no longer stooped over his cane. “He is the Anointed One!”

Shouts, screams, and cries erupted from the witnesses. The last thing James heard was “Banish him!” All sound fell into a void as he was engulfed in a spiral of purple smoke and pulled from the only world he had ever known.

James could feel the blood pulsing through his head. He could hear it whooshing past his ears. He focused on the pain that came with every contraction of his heart. For brief moments between the contractions, the pain lessened, minute reprieves from the pain he was sure would end his life. He had no sight, no feeling. All he was aware of was the pain that followed and the reprieve that ended the cycle. It could have been hours, days, or weeks. All sense of time was lost. His mind would allow him nothing except the cycle.

Finally came a change. He became aware of his body, that he was prone, lying on a soft surface. He tried to move, but his body didn’t respond. He tried to open his eyes, but he could not. The pain, which had previously been localized to his head, spread throughout his entire body. Each pulse of his heart caused him excruciating pain. It burned. He wanted to cry out, but he could not. He felt a light pressure on his back, as is something small were touching him. He felt the pressure again, in a spot next to the first. Then he felt it on his leg. In an instant it felt as if he were being touched all over his body. At first it was an odd, unfamiliar sensation. He imagined someone poking him with their smallest finger. A thousand fingers alternately touching him everywhere. He realized after a moment that the new sensation had taken the place of the pain. As soon as he searched for it, he knew the pain was there. This other sensation allowed him to distract his thoughts from the pain. He focused intently on it, determined to discover its source despite his immobilization and blindness.

In his state of intense concentration, James realized his hearing had returned. He had been so singularly bent upon the finger-like sensation that he’d ignored everything else. It had a familiarity, this new sound, but James could not place it. The fingers abruptly stopped along with the noise he was so desperate to identify. A new sound, different from anything he’d heard previously, filled his ears. He realized along with this sound, his body was moving. He could feel his body writhe in synchronization with the sound. He could feel his hands beneath his body. He tried to move them, but they would not respond. His feet, splayed out to his side, were likewise unresponsive to his commands.

He tried to open his eyes once again. He wasn’t sure if he’d accomplished his goal because the world around him remained dark. His body stilled. James grew anxious as his continued

attempts to gain control over his body failed.
Is this what the Never is? To live in darkness without feeling?
he wondered. The horror of it consumed him. A sound pierced the darkness. It took a moment for James to realize he was crying out, wailing in the darkness. He forced himself to cease. He slowed his breathing, concentrating on the air passing over his tongue and mouth. It made a raspy bubbling sound as it escaped his body, and he realized that he must be lying in a shallow pool of water. He exhaled hard and his suspicions were confirmed as he heard the water blow away from his mouth. He could feel the dampness and began to shiver.

Light, beautiful, immediate, and warming, filled his eyes, and he could see. He took in his surroundings. Everything was green. He could feel the warmth of the light filling his body. He tried again to move his hands, and they responded. He could feel his fingers twitching beneath his body. He tried his toes. They likewise responded. In an instant, he could move his entire body.

James rolled over and sat up. He realized that he was surrounded by plants with leaves wider across than his outstretched arms. Above him towered trees larger than any he had ever seen. The trunks of these giants were shrouded in green moss. The lowest branches hung stories above. The canopy was so far away he couldn’t make out any details. He shivered again and realized that he was completely naked. He looked down at the place where he had been lying. A bed of leaves still held the imprint of his body. Several inches of water filled the depression.

James scanned his surroundings. All he could see were tree trunks and the giant-leaf, ground-dwelling plants. He tried to determine which direction the light was coming from, but, curiously, there were no shadows. He took a deep breath and struggled to remember an incantation that would have come easily to him previously. Finally, he plucked it from the recesses of his mind. He held out his hand and expelled the ancient language from the depths of his lungs. “
Errelebatu
,” he said. Nothing happened. He stood perplexed for a moment. He wondered if he had mispronounced it, so he tried it again. Each attempt was met with the same result: nothing. He tried other incantations, dozens of them. Each yielded nothing.

Frustrated and cold, he realized he needed to move. He picked a direction and headed out. As he brushed past one of the giant-leaf plants, he jumped back in pain and alarm. He looked down at his thigh. Blood seeped from an incision that stretched from hip to knee. He instinctively raised his hand and attempted a healing incantation, but he was again unsuccessful. He cursed, frustrated. James lifted the giant leaf and inspected its underside. Thousands of needle-sharp protrusions stood ready to ward off any animal foolish enough to be lured by the succulent-looking foliage. He looked up again hoping to find a direction less choked with the giant-leaf plants. They littered the forest floor in every direction. He let out a breath and continued more cautiously on his way.

Margaret felt a hand on her forehead. She opened her eyes, hoping against hope that it was all a dream. The moment her vision focused she knew her nightmare was a reality. Her husband was dead.

Tabitha Ogilvy stood over her with a concerned look on her face. “You must rise. We cannot delay any longer,” she said.

All Margaret wanted to do was grieve for her slain husband. He had fallen just hours ago and already she was being told it was time to move on. Those past few hours had torn at her insides. She’d questioned everything that had directed her life for the past eight years. She questioned whether the fight was worth such loss. Alvaro had risen to power and the followers of Akil had been forced into hiding. She, her husband, and their son had spent the better part of the past eight years moving from place to place in order to protect James from Alvaro’s people. Men and women had died to protect them. In the end, even her husband’s life was lost in protection of her son.

She had no doubt in James’s superior abilities. Within a year her husband had to search for a more suitable instructor because James’s talents had surpassed his own. Over the past eight years, James had been instructed by nearly fifty teachers. Each had been certain James was gifted. Some even suspected he may be the Anointed One, the one spoken of by the Seer. Still, Margaret would not tip her hand.

Margaret had insisted that none of his instructors tell James of their suspicions. She believed he should discover his gifts on his own. In the end, it was his father who had shared the information about the Seer’s declaration with James. Stuart found it impossible to refuse the boy—the love of his life.

James took the news of his father’s death with shock, quickly followed by indifference. Margaret was amazed at his resilience. The only constants in his life were his parents, and now at the age of ten, he had lost his father. Not wanting to show him any weakness, Margaret rose at the beckoning of Tabitha, and mustered the strength to finish what her husband had begun.

James sat alone in the cavernous hall. His shoulders slumped in grief. At ten years of age he was already taller than his mother. His long, dark hair hung in his face. Margaret approached, allowing her footfalls to be heard so as not to surprise him as she so often did. Long ago they each had perfected their silent travel abilities. James lifted his head slowly. Margaret whispered an incantation that brought natural-looking light into the hall, reducing its gloominess.

“Son, I know your distress—”

“I killed him.”

“What?” she asked, shocked.

“It’s my fault. I’m the reason he’s dead.”

“James, you had nothing to do with your father’s death. Why do you speak so?”

“You weren’t there. I killed him. I killed all of them.”

“What do you mean?”

“We were trapped. There were nearly two dozen of Alvaro’s men in the forest. They had cast some kind of spell that prevented us from transporting. Father said he would create a diversion and I was to run to our safe point and wait for him. I ran and waited, but they captured him. I heard him arguing with them . . . then they were gone. I went looking for him.”

Tears began to stream down his face. Margaret’s sympathy for her son as well as her own grief kept her from pressing him for details, from asking him why he went looking for his father when he was explicitly instructed never to do so in the event his father was captured.

“It was easy to find Alvaro’s men. So easy that I thought that they were laying a trap for me, but I didn’t care. I dispatched three guards outside with enchanted arrows. I snuck inside and saw father. They were hurting him. Then it happened.”

“What happened?” Margaret asked, more than a little frightened at the detached manner in which her son was describing taking human lives.

“I saw that he was hurt and needed my help. I tried to run to him. They attacked me. I felt this power in my chest. It burned. I screamed and everything went black for a moment. When I could see again, everyone was lying on the ground dead, including father. I killed him. I killed all of them.”

Margaret was shaking. She hadn’t been there when James returned with his father’s body, but Tabitha had. James sent messengers to Tabitha to deliver the news. Before Tabitha had found Margaret in the city library, where Margaret had been looking for a book her husband had requested, she felt it. The bond had been broken and torn from her chest as if someone had reached inside her and pulled at her heart until it ripped free from her body.

James had sat alone with his dead father for several hours. The thought made Margaret’s body quiver. Now he was telling her he was responsible for his father’s death. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t believe it.

“Son, you don’t know what happened. You cannot blame yourself for something over which you had no control,” she replied.

“I felt it. I felt the power in me. It exploded out of me like . . . like water from a geyser. I know what happened.”

“We will figure this out. Know this, my son. Your father would have died without a moment’s hesitation or regret a thousand times over to save you. You’ve brought so much joy and pride into our lives, and I will do everything in my power to continue his work. We must honor your father by continuing along the path he’s laid for us. Now, rise, my son.”

The boy paused for a moment, then stood with the stiffness of a much older man. He met his mother’s eyes through locks of charcoal-black hair.

“We must go. We are no longer safe here. We’ve stayed too long already, and I bear the burden of that blame. We must not be consumed by guilt. Let us be motivated by our quest to honor those who have fallen. Gather your things, we haven’t much time.”