The Parallels

I scream the darkness out of me. Rhian’s face fills my vision. His clenched jaw and pursed lips make him look far more serious than the carefree boy I’d known most of my life. When I blink again, the storm beneath his eyes quells, and I remember what it is to breathe. A crisp harvest night fills my lungs while the imminent chill of winter tugs at my sweat-soaked shirt.

“You’re safe.”

He removes his hand from my arm and with it, the warmth from his magic. I burrow deeper into the blanket, feeling chilled from its absence. Rhian’s magic is the only remedy for my debilitating night terrors. He hops over me and stretches his feet out over the edge of the bed, looking as exhausted as I feel. I count the number of times he’s visited me this week - four. His breath steadies, and after a few moments, he faces me.

“Oreya is making the last of the arrangements. A fortnight is close at hand,” he says.

It seems like leaving Qyis and traveling to Northpoint is all we talk about lately. And while I’m grateful to hear about the secret proceedings of the Elder Council, it’s also getting old. I get enough of a reminder during training and night watch. Tonight, I’m off duty and was hopeful to sleep along with the rest of Qyis, but I knew better than to hope the nightmares would yield to my schedule.

“Mmmhmm,” I close my eyes. I even go as far as to yawn loudly, hoping Rhian will stop talking and use some of his magic to lull me to sleep.

“Maybe the Herrings won’t find us here...they haven’t in over six months,” he continues.

He shakes his head. He’d said these same things yesterday and the yesterday before that and the twenty yesterdays since the Elder Council announce their decision to travel to Northpoint before winter. I think it gives him comfort when he talks through his thoughts, so I let him. Perhaps if I were an emotionalist, I’d send him a potent dose of contentment to ease his worried mind. And while I wish I could believe that Rhian was unnecessarily concerned, news of increased Herring raids spread quickly to our tiny, forested corner of Lanel; I was worried too.

Rhian tilts his head, studying me, then seems to remember the reason why Levain and Silas allow a seventeen-year-old boy into my room in the middle of the night. He sets his hand on my forehead, and the tendrils of his magic spread over me. My body buzzes with his magic.

“Our lives will be in your hands when we leave.” His brown eyes twinkle. “So, I’d rather those hands be connected to a rested mind if they’re to wield weapons properly.”

Part of me fights the sleep, eager never to hear his voice again, but Rhian’s magic is too strong, and I succumb to the torrents of emotions weaving their way from his hands to my body.

I wake again sometime later, and the space beside me is empty. The quiet still of the cottage assures me that I’ve slept well into the morning. Chill bites my toes, so I quickly dress in a pair of loose-fitting pants, my soldier’s tunic, and a forest-green sweater. By the looks of the shadows dancing around the room, I’ll be late for training if I don’t leave soon.

I gather my hair into a tight knot and wish for the hundredth time that Levain would have let me cut it like the rest of the soldiers. She said she may as well be banished to the Fade for cutting such thick and curly hair as mine. Most of the villagers have chestnut to dark brown hair, sun-kissed skin, and charcoal eyes, but somehow, I inherited none of Southern Lanel’s traits. Instead, rows of freckles dance along my porcelain skin which only exaggerate the golden circles that encase my jade eyes.

Before I leave, I gently slide my hands over the sharpened edges of the blades that rest on the table next to my bed. Only when I secure them to my hip belt do I feel truly dressed. I conceal an additional three daggers to my body before the lingering smell of baked bread goads me into the kitchen. Stacked between Silas’ hodgepodge of oddly shaped instruments and metallic gadgets lies a pile of Levain’s pastries.

She sets some out each morning, knowing that I won’t return home until well after dawn. Sometimes, if our paths cross, she’ll treat me to a freshly baked loaf of bread, but this hasn’t happened for some time.

Lately, I’m stumbling home mid-afternoon because of additional training sessions with some younger soldiers or having lingered in the artillery hut hoping to catch news from our scouts.

I fill my satchel with pastries and head outside before I linger too long and convince myself that a warm cup of tea by the fire is worth the scolding I’d receive for arriving late. The air outside carries whispers of early winter. Frost clings to the ground long after morning has come and gone. A worn pathway leads through the thicket of trees toward the village center, but I take a smaller offshoot leading around to the back of the cottage.

Like all soldier quarters, our cottage borders the veil. If it fails, then we’re the only line of defense against a Herring attack. Our prime directive is to save the mages, something I never forget considering Rhian is one. I don’t doubt the power of our veilers; not once has our village ever been at risk, but I can’t help but check the veils once a day nonetheless. A flicker of red cloth tied high in the folds of a mighty tree marks the edge of the veil. I placed it there six months ago when we arrived at this abandoned village.

I pass under the branches of the tree and step through the veil, only aware of its presence by a steady hum of vibrations that sweep across my body as I step through the boundary. I’ve come to think of these vibrations as magic’s calling card, present whenever magic is present. The forest beyond the veil appears the same as it does it in Qyis. A smattering of large growth trees tower over a few burgeoning saplings but it’s the view behind me that matters the most. I crouch low to the ground as I make my way toward a small grouping of trees and burrow myself between their robust branches. I’d found this concealed hiding spot that first night as well, and it’s been my viewing post ever since.

I edge my back flush to the tree and look out on the mirage the veilers created for our village. A burnt wasteland of decayed trees and scorched ground lies where our village sits in secret. Strangers passing through would do well to avoid the teetering limbs that threaten to fall into the bubbling pockets of red sludge that fester along the ground.

The landscape is altogether impassable, and it was made to look as such. When the veilers created this mirage, they drew inspiration from the Barrens, a lifeless stretch of impenetrable land littered with rivers of poisonous water, diseased vegetation and surrounded by an endless desert.

After a few more moments, I thank the Mire for another safe night and return to the cottage, this time taking the pathway leading to the apothecary. I barely make a sound as I walk, but something about today feels wrong. I peer over my shoulder and scan the dense forest. Someone is watching me.

“You can come out now!” I call to the underbrush.

Twigs snap as a familiar figure drops onto the ground and steps from beneath the trees.

“How did you know?” Laurel asks, freeing tangled bits of bark and leaves from her clipped maple curls.

“Because,” I fling my arm around her bony shoulder, “cats aren’t patient creatures. I could hear you humming!” I laugh as she shrugs me off. She hates being likened to a cat even though it’s impossible not to call her swiftness, agility, and general aloofness anything but feline. I’m reminded of this when she playfully kicks the back of my knees and sends me sprawling forward.

“I can’t help if you took too long getting ready,” she laughs, catching me before I hit the ground. “Do you know how boring it is sitting in the woods by yourself? It’s why I always insist on taking night watch with you.” She holds out her hand expectantly. I slap a rosemary roll onto her long, wiggling fingers. She eats so quickly I wonder if she even chews.

“Nightmares again?” she asks between inhales. The permanent dark circles under my eyes give me away.

“No worse than normal.” I say.

“But they are worse.” She glances over at me. She knows me better than anyone. I couldn’t hide it from her even if I tried.

“If they continue, I’ll ask Veda for her sleep tonic.”

She stops walking, likely shocked that I’d ask for help, something I rarely, if ever, do.

“Will you?” She asks skeptically.

I raise my hand to the sky then press it to my heart. “Swear to the Mire.”

I change the subject as the pathway gives way to a small clearing filled the ashen remnants from a time before we called this place home.

“Today smells like victory.” I spread my arms and breathe in deeply for effect. “Don’t you think?”

She rolls her eyes, likely tired of hearing my declaration of impending victory each month. I can’t help it though—I love Challenge Day. It’s the one opportunity to use the skills we’d been practicing most of our lives. Luckily, I’d never encountered the Herrings face to face, but that meant I’d spent the last ten years training and honing my skills with no one to test them on. Fortunately, there was Challenge Day. Soldiers are eligible to participate when they reach sixteen years. Now, two years later and I had won nearly every challenge save for one.

“For your sake, I hope you’re right. I don’t think I can watch you get carted off to the apothecary again because of Erique,” she says, sighing.

I absentmindedly rub my left wrist, the sound of the bones breaking under the weight of Erique’s boot still fresh in my mind.

Laurel abruptly stops walking and digs around in her satchel. “After all, no one should lose on their birthday!” Her eyes light up as she holds out a small wooden box.

I drop my voice to a whisper even though we’re alone. “You know I never want to celebrate.” Celebrating my birthday is low on the list of things I’d like to be doing, second only to digging latrines, which happens often. Last year, Laurel convinced Olivia, an elementalist, to practice water dancing after drinking several mugs of mulled wine that we stole from Erique’s secret stash. Olivia couldn’t control her magic, and more than a few villagers awoke to flooded houses.

“Well, I’m not just anyone, now am I?” she says pointedly. “Once you open it, we can pretend this never happened, deal?”

“Deal,” I agree and quickly open the box.

My breath catches. Inside is an old bronze pendant bound by a leather cord. Embossed into the bronze are four interwoven circles, the symbol of the Parallels. I’d never seen something bearing this mark. I’d only heard of it from stories of the Parallels, told late at night around dwindling campfires when mead and memories flowed freely.

It was said that after the Primaries signed the Unification Decrees that this symbol came to embody the golden age of magic. Four separate worlds came together and were ruled by members of each of the four Primaries. The Parallels flourished for nearly seventy years before the Bridges suddenly closed, sealing them off from each other indefinitely.

Then, darkness spread over Lanel bringing with it plague, famine and the slow decline of mage births. History called it The Breaking, and it was then that the Purists rose to power.

The Purists outlawed this symbol of the Parallels and destroyed the remaining relics bearing the mark. They blamed Lanel’s demise on the Unification Decree and mixing of mage blood, convincing most that eradicating magic from Lanel was the only way to fix our dying Parallel. But those few who were not brainwashed by fear did not dispose of all the relics. For those who still believe in the goodness of magic, this symbol represents the hope that the Bridges will one day reopen and Lanel will return to how it was before.

“Where did you get this?” I ask.

“My father’s trade box.” She smiles mischievously, one corner of her mouth creased because of a long scar running from her cheek to her lip - the unfortunate reminder of her encounter with the Herrings years ago. “He brought it back from his travels to Fairvale, said it was too worn to sell to his buyers.”

Laurel’s father is a black-market tradesman and a successful one at that. He’s gone most of the time, traveling discreetly through Lanel and trading high commodity items to wealthy citizens of Fairvale. She motions for me to turn around and ties the cord around my neck.

“Keep this close.” I face her again, and she tucks the pendant under my tunic. “Even if his buyers didn’t want it, others are bound to.”

The punishment for bearing this symbol is imprisonment which was the least of our worries considering we sheltered and protected mages every day of our lives. We believed in magic and its inherent good, as did the rest of our village.

I embrace her. “This is more than I could ask for.”

She traces a circle around her heart with her hand before raising it to the sky and extending her other hand toward the ground.

“May the Mire bear you blessings of good fortune and love.”

She brings both hands together in front of her chest, signifying the relationship between past, present, and future. I tilt my head forward and send my light to all three. When she looks up, there’s a shimmer in her eyes.

“Now, let’s go!” She links arms with me. “If I don’t get a cup of tea and eat another scone, there’s no way I’ll make it to…” Her voice drops off, and a smile falls over her face.

“Make it to what?” I ask suspiciously.

“No time to reveal my secret now, besides we’ll break tradition!” She runs ahead to the apothecary.

Given the scarcity of resources and the ever-present threat of Herring raids, most who survived the Breaking and the Great Purge shortly thereafter, took to Lanel’s capital, Fairvale. Though I’d only heard second-hand accounts of Fairvale from Laurel’s father, I’d imagined it as a fortified city brimming with wealthy Purists and their indentured servants. Those that pledged allegiance to the Purists and their leader, Blackthorne, were rewarded a life free from the horrors that plagued Lanel as the land began to decay and rot. It was said the only disease and famine those in Fairvale knew was from stories that happened outside the walls of their silver-lined fortress. The rest of Lanel slowly died while the Purists reaped the benefits of servants from Herring raids, crops from imprisoned inerts and silver mined from under the Twin Frontiers Post.

We were lucky to come upon an abandoned village that maintained some of its previous structures. I’m reminded of that as we enter the apothecary and are greeted by the sounds of laughter coming from two aged women huddled around the makeshift bar. Most elders didn’t survive the first wave of disease that overran Lanel, and even less survived Blackthorne’s Great Purge. We are blessed to have the number of elders we do in our village. Both Laurel and I bow our heads toward them in a sign of respect and send them our light in gratitude.

We take our usual place at the bar just as Veda emerges from the back room holding a large carafe full of cloudy liquid. She throws us a quick smile before setting the container on a shelf and bounding over to us. Though only a few years my senior, Veda became our people’s healer after her mentor disappeared six months ago. It wasn’t uncommon for folk to decide they’d had enough of hiding and pledge themselves to the Purists. Her disappearance came as anything but a surprise.

“Please tell me you brought something to eat!” She peers around my back. Her black braid falls over her shoulder and lands just above her waist. “I am ravenous.” Her charcoal eyes shine.

“If Laurel didn’t eat everything I should still have a few pastries left,” I say sarcastically, pulling out a fig scone.

Laurel returns my comment with a rather crude hand gesture and surveys the shelf of tea as if she’ll find something new among the handful of jars.

“Two inertia teas please,” Laurel calls over her shoulder.

Veda sighs. “It’s Challenge Day isn’t it?” She takes a small jar full of pink flowers from the shelf and sets two clay mugs on the counter. “Last time he was here for three days.”

The he that she refers to is Erique. He’s four years our senior and Oreya’s second in command. After I’d lost consciousness and woken up here, I was pleased to hear that I had not left Erique entirely unscathed on the last Challenge Day. He rarely is challenged on account of his skill which I pay no attention to, confident that mine own will soon surpass his.

“This time,” she turns her attention back to me scowling, “try to go a little easier on him for my sake.”

Unfortunately, I couldn’t take credit for Erique’s extended stay. One look at Veda and most of Qyis’ young men found numerous reasons to start visiting the apothecary. A light headache. A stuffy nose. A hiccup even. Erique was not any better than the rest. Veda quickly kicked him out once she’d realized his injuries healed on the second day of his three-day stay. It was only a short time after he left that fresh flowers mysteriously began appearing outside the apothecary door each morning. It wasn’t until those flowers made their way onto the apothecary’s many shelves that Laurel and I realized that Veda didn’t dislike Erique as much as she claimed.

“Have you seen your brother yet?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Not since last night.” Veda glances at Laurel, though her attention is drawn the last scone sitting idly on the counter. “But I would guess he’s with Father and the elders as usual.”

When Rhian isn’t fending off my nightmares, he’s usually at his father’s side serving as an apprentice. She stares at Laurel again, trying to get her attention, but Laurel doesn’t look up. I suspected that they were planning something for my birthday but when Veda snaps her towel on the counter, I know I’m right.

“Who are you waiting for?” I ask excitedly. “A gentleman caller perhaps?”

I laugh as she snaps the towel in my direction. I put up my hands in a sign of truce and take the steaming mug from the counter, gulping it down.

Laurel finally stands and gathers her things. “She’s right. Time to go.”

She takes a final gulp from her cup and heads toward the door, dragging me along.

“You promised!” I call back to Veda. “Do I have to remind you of last year?”

She drops her hands and sticks out her tongue, reminding me that while she’s five years my senior, she’s still just the same overbearing Veda I’d grown up annoying all my life. She is as much a sister to me as Rhian is a brother. Veda pushes us out the door then hurries back inside.

Laurel shrugs. “I have nothing to do with anything that may or may not happen tonight.” The flicker in her eyes makes me believe otherwise.

We’re about to walk away when the apothecary door swings open again.

Veda steps out and pulls me into a hug. “Happy Birthday,” she whispers.

Before I say anything she’s already gone back inside. The door clicks shut, and I turn back to Laurel.

“Don’t ask me.” She clasps her hand around my shoulders, as her thin lips pull back into a feral smile. I’m about to bait her into a fight, but she pushes me away and jogs down the pathway.

“Keep up, old one!” She hollers over her shoulder.

We arrive to the training field a few moments later and fall into line just as Oreya emerges from the woods. Even from a distance she looks like a commander - squared shoulders, steadfast steps, unyielding in her authority cast out over us like a net. When she comes to stand before us, she towers over the tallest soldier by nearly a foot.

“At ease,” she orders quietly. In unison, we drop our arms and rest our hands on the hilts of our daggers. She surveys us, seeming lost in thought. I’ve never seen Oreya look so unsettled and I wonder if anyone else notices the slight slouch in her stance or tiredness that’s crept into the corners of her eyes.

“Another moon cycle is near its end, blessed be to the Mire for protecting us,” she pauses.

“Blessed be,” we reply in unison.

“Blessed be our Veilers, Elder Rilar and Elder Merrin, for keeping us undetected.” She’s been tracking a group of Herrings who’ve come close to our veil borders more than once this month. Our migration to Northpoint couldn’t happen soon enough.

“Blessed be,” I say with the rest of my cohort, sending Elder Rilar and Elder Merrin light.

Oreya holds up a small piece of parchment: the list of challengers and contenders. “Blessed be to each other.” I send light to my kin before Oreya continues. “More than ever, Challenge Day is an opportunity to learn from each other. Discover your strengths in identifying your weaknesses. Shall we begin?” Excitement funnels through the troop as we draw the challenge circle and Oreya reads the first two names from the list.