The Parallels

When I open my eyes, Darius is there.

“Did it work?” I ask sleepily.

He laughs, and a weight lifts from my chest. Surprisingly, he hugs me. “You made it.” He holds me tightly, and I fall into the curve of his arms. It’s only when I hear another laugh that I pull away.

Arthin. “Told you.” She begins to sit up but collapses back into the chair. “It was all in your head.” She looks just as she did in the dreamweave except paler and thinner. Come to think of it, I’m ravenous. My stomach rumbles.

Darius rises from the bed and quickly starts gathering food from the kitchen. For having been asleep and dreaming, I feel exhausted. He drops an assortment of cheeses, meat, and fruit on the table in front of Arthin then crosses back to me. I start to rise, but my legs give way from beneath me. He catches me before my knees touch the floor and scoops me into his arms.

“I can walk.” I protest. “My feet were all pins and needles, that’s all.” I’m lying and hoping he doesn’t put me down because I’m too weak to try to stand again.

“Oh,” he starts to release me, but I don’t let go. His eyes twinkle mischievously. “I promise no one outside this room will ever know that I carried you.”

I punch his shoulder as he sets me down in the chair opposite Arthin who hasn’t so much looked up since launching into the feast.

She takes a loaf of bread and inhales deeply. “Is that rosemary and fig?” she asks, ripping it open.

“Just baked this morning. Miriam mentioned it was your favorite.” Darius’s voice drops off.

Silence hangs heavy in the room until my stomach grumbles in protest again. Arthin hands me the other half of the loaf. She’s already finished her half and has moved onto a giant wheel of cheese before I’ve taken three bites.

“Wait,” I put down the bread. “Why am I so hungry? We’d use the stone to travel to the Barrens, is that how we returned?”

“The Barrens?” Darius asks puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Now, I’m the one who’s confused. “The Barrens...the desert, the doorway?”

He stares back at me blankly. “Jules, you’ve been here since we returned from Twin Frontiers, we haven’t left.” Darius hands me a wedge of cheese. “But,” he pauses while I take a bite, “you’ve been asleep nearly a week.”

I drop the cheese. “What?”

“It was all a part of the dreamweave,” Arthin says airily.

If I felt this exhausted after one week, then I can’t imagine what Arthin feels like.

“If I was asleep a week, then how is it that you’re still alive?” I look at Arthin who doesn’t appear a day older than she did in the weave.

Darius holds out a slab of jerky. I shake my head, but he doesn’t budge. “A truth for a truth,” he says, reminding me of our first encounter only a few weeks ago.

I snatch it, and he continues. “A Dreamweave slows your body down so much that your metabolism grinds to a halt, along with your aging for the most part.” It was impossible to tell just how old Arthin is considering mages already possessed longevity and decelerated aging.

“Don’t worry,” she says between bites, “I may look ready for Passage on the outside, but on the inside, I’m more alive than I’ve ever felt.” Darius hands her a cup of water which she drinks in one breath. “It will just take my body a little while to catch up.” And with that, she slumps down into the chair and shuts her eyes.

I turn to Darius, and he gestures for me to stay silent. He lifts Arthin’s legs onto the nearby ottoman and tucks a thick blanket around her. He places most of the remaining food on the table beside the chair and puts the rest into a small sack that he then slings over his shoulder.

He’s about to scoop me up again, but I push him away. Slowly, I rise to my feet and test their strength. Darius opens the cabin door allowing sunlight to pour through the opening. I take a few more tentative steps, eager to feel the warmth. Once we’re outside, he lays a blanket under the willow tree, and I help myself to another serving of everything, already ravenous from the few steps I’ve taken.

“At this rate, I’ll need to make another market run by nightfall.” He stares out onto the water, the reflection from the sun causes flecks of light to dance across his cheeks.

I catch myself staring a bit too long and lean back on the tree trunk.

“You didn’t think we’d come back here?” I remember the sorrow that filled every line on his face when we left. My voice drops. “You didn’t think I could do it?”

At this, he faces me. “Not at all actually.” His honesty catches me off guard. “I’ve seen you throw yourself to the fates to protect others, regardless of the consequence you may face.” Some good it had done. I’d managed to put those same people I wanted to protect right back into harm’s way. He must see the struggle written on my face because he comes closer, so close that I notice tiny freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and the depth of his eyes, that remind me of a cloudless summer day. “But dreamweave magic is something else entirely. I knew you’d be strong enough, but what I didn’t know, and what no one knows, is just how strong magic can be.”

I know he’s referring to more than the dreamweave. Neither of us had talked about what happened at the Twin Frontiers Post since our return. Beyond my guilt, something else lingers—an admission so terrifying that every time it bubbles to the surface, I stifle the thought because it makes me a monster.

“Magic,” I say a little too loudly changing the subject. “What about the Primaries? Why did they abandon us?”

He leans back onto his elbows. “They didn’t.” He holds up his hand which stops me from arguing the contrary. “Members of the Primaries served as emissaries in Lanel and were here when The Breaking happened. Before the Purists became too powerful, the emissaries convened a peace talk to try and get ahead of the chaos in the face of The Breaking. They knew that the Purists would blame the Breaking on the Unification Decree and use the opportunity to propagate their beliefs.” He takes a drink then continues. “The peace summit took place on the eve of the Feast of Souls. The emissaries gathered in Fairvale: the Blackthornes, the Farens, the Ventrescas, and the Saritites.” His face falls. “Little did they realize that the Purists had already infiltrated the Blackthorne Primary long before they ever captured the public’s attention. Those that attended the summit were brutally slaughtered, and all those who bore blood ties to the Primaries were tracked down after that. The Purists made sure no one would stand against them in their search for a pure Lanel.”

I shake my head. “But this can’t be right. The Primaries left Lanel before The Breaking. They knew what was about to happen and left us all here.” I don’t hide my disgust.

“The victors write history,” Darius says plainly.

“Then how do you know all this?” I ask. He averts his gaze; it’s the first sign to know someone’s hiding something. “How did you come to know all of this, Darius?” I ask again.

“Miriam and Arthin grew up during this time. They lived through the Breaking, the Great Purge, all of it.” So, they were at least seventy years old. He’s saying nothing I hadn’t already guessed but hiding something he doesn’t want me to know.

“A truth for a truth,” I say, looking him straight in the eyes.

His lips form a thin line. “It’s not my truth to tell.”

“Then whose?” I ask.

One glance toward the cabin tells me the answer.

I stand in the cabin’s doorway where Arthin is awake and eating the last of the food Darius left for her.

“Come sit,” she says, “and I’ll tell you a story.” I cross to the chair across from her and take a seat. Her attention shifts back to the doorway where Darius stands. Something passes between them and Arthin nods. He retreats and closes the door behind him. She looks back at me thoughtfully, folds her hands on her lap, and says, “Miriam and I have a brother. His name is Morren,” she pauses, “but most have come to know him simply as Blackthorne.”