Renegade: A Young Adult Dystopian Page 10

  The starving man smiled, revealing rotting teeth as he rumbled, “You, Adair Stratton, seemingly haven’t changed much since your last visit.”

  Lowering himself onto his knees, he shrugged. “I have and haven’t. But you would know that already.”

  The Gortach’s grin spread wider. With a slight tremor, Adair held out his forearm, the dried blood caking his skin. Those silver eyes flicked down to the wound, ravenous. Slithering fear uncoiled throughout him, but he could barely process it as the Gortach lowered his cracked lips to Adair’s skin. The wound reopened, and the world tilted as his blood flowed. The Gortach rippled, the appearance of his decaying body fading, replaced by a haunted youth. Adair balked as he looked at the mirror of himself. That ancient voice shook through him, his mind, his core. “Now, what is it you seek? Your heart, Adair, is consumed by your desires.”

  Swallowing hard, he whispered, “What is Roque Fae hiding in the Academy?” The creature paused, tilting his head, assessing him. When he replied, it was as sharp as a swords edge. “Are you sure that is the secret you wish to hear? You know the rules.”

  “Yes, my blood will grant me one answer. I am certain. What are they hiding?”

  The Gortach crawled toward him, his nails scraping against the dirt. “The time for Kiero’s reign in prosperity is over. Darkness tinges the future, bathing it in death and destruction. Be prepared, Adair Stratton. We will all be unmade. Roque Fae has in his possession an ancient, binding magic. One that was never his to keep. The secrets of ultimate power. In the form of the Book of Old.”

  Something clicked within Adair.

  The Gortach was face to face with him, his breath putrid as he whispered, “Find this, and you will be free.”

  Sweat started to collect at the base of his neck. “Free from the unmaking of our world? What do you mean? What is the Book of Old?”

  He replied, his voice gravelly, “Are you requesting another answer?”

  He went still. Practically trying to hold his breath, he exhaled. “No.”

  The image of youth drained from the Gortach, leaving in place its true form. Baring his teeth, he spat, “That’s not what it sounded like to me.” He lunged forward unnaturally fast, his now sharpened nails slashing toward him.

  Stumbling back, Adair ran to the back of the room.

  The Gortach stood to his full height, chuckling darkly. The crevices caught shadows across his features and body, making him look distorted. The image burned into him as the only light source in the room went out.

  Pushing his back flush to the cool, earthy wall, Adair’s heartbeat thundered, shaking him to the core. Images flashed through his mind as his panic flooded through him. Giggles sounded in the darkness as the shadows moved. Their sickly movements, those pitiless eyes. The pinned-back grins revealing sharpened teeth. And the world, ripped to its core, bleeding. He didn’t know if he was hallucinating, but as the Gortach stalked him in the darkness, his image flickered back and forth. Gortach. Those pale faces. Gortach. Their sharpened grins. Gortach. Their empty sockets held him as a dim green light pulsed again in the darkness. The room was empty... the Gortach seemingly gone.

  Four of them circled him, reaching for him. Their hands stroked his skin, his wound, as they cooed to him, “Adair, don’t let our watcher scare you. Don’t allow us to scare you. You must go. Find the Book of Old. Help us.”

  The creature to his right tugged his hair, exposing his throat as she whispered in his ear, “We will watch as the world burns. Together.” Their giggles encircled him, the darkness washing over him once more. Hot tears spilled down his face, and as he blinked, the Gortach roared back into his deadly reality. Mounds of dirt exploded around him as he threw his body weight forward, rolling.

  The Gortach snarled. “I will have all of you, Adair. Your dark desires, your soul. It’s. Mine.”

  He heard the scuffling as the Gortach loped behind him. He was blindly running full tilt, his blood, his tears, his sweat, burning his skin. Stumbling, dirt filled his mouth, and his muscles screamed, move, move, move! He wasn’t about to die in the throes of dark magic. Growling, he rolled onto his back just as he saw the skeletal body fly forward. Pinning him to the ground. The Gortach used his forearm to press down hard on his esophagus, cutting off his oxygen. Adair used all his remaining energy, kicking hard, clawing at his back.

  The Gortach grinned down at him, snarling. “You are just a man. I am made of magic and you cannot win.” The smell of rotting flesh filled his senses, and frantically he spiraled in those silver eyes that churned with knowing. With victory. Spots filled his vision, and he couldn’t let go, he wouldn’t stop... trying...

  “You best get off my mate there.” Marquis’s voice sounded behind them just as the light flared, chasing away the darkness. The Gortach snapped his attention to the young prince, roaring. Marquis’s lips pulled upward, and he looked annoyingly calm. His emerald eyes flashed, and he snapped his fingers together. The earth underneath them churned, droplets of water oozing from the dirt, floating up and spinning around the Gortach. The droplets suspended and grew until a hissing ball of water consumed the Gortach. With widened eyes, he clawed and snapped, his anger lost in the water as the sphere ripped him away from Adair.

  Choking, Adair rolled onto his side, heaving for air, blissfully taking it in.

  “Adair, you have to get up. Come on.”

  He complied, wheezing, as Marquis supported most of his weight. More lights flared as they ran, the underground room expanding much larger than he had thought. The world shuddered and Marquis pulled him down, hard. Gravity pulled their weight, and they slipped through a small crack. There was a compressing darkness, and then the wind howled fiercely as they freefell into a different world. Snowy mountains beneath a starry sky was all he glimpsed as they plummeted toward the ground.

  Their screams were lost in the wind, snow, and ice. He blinked as they were sucked faster, the scene changing with the heavy scent of iron. The sun beamed now, a rolling sea of green with flowing plains below them. They crashed through the clouds, the ice and snow in their hair, on their skin, melting. He snapped his eyes shut as the tang of magic rattled in his bones. He opened them just to see the golden floor rushing up to meet him. Bones ached from the impact, lacing pain shooting through his body. Marquis lay still beside him, his emerald hair rumpled. The floor shuddered just as he took in the oozing, black fog coming up to meet them.

  “No.” Through the pain, through his blood and tears, he lunged forward, grabbing Marquis’s hand. Screaming in frustration, he threw his body weight back, dragging the prince with him. Darkness filled his senses as he watched the poisonous fog hurl toward them, wanting to tear through them, to bring them back to the Gortach’s lair. His blood pounded a vicious beat as he snarled at the unconscious prince.

  “Adaiiiir.” They were sirens, pulling his soul apart, filling his blood with a toxic desire.

  With ice shooting through his viens, he moved faster, the golden floor turning an opaque black at the sound of the Gortach’s voice. The once silver walls started to crack, debris falling and shattering all around them. It felt like fire splintering through the marrow of his bones. Yelling, he dipped into that well of ability, begging internally for some hidden strength. He could feel the magic of the Gortach looming behind them, wanting to pull them back down into his depths. Slipping in his own blood, he didn’t stop. The archway was maybe ten more steps, their freedom just beyond that door.

  Guttural growls escaped from him and he lunged, black spots threatening to overtake him. Don’t stop. The floor trembled and Adair heard the shrieking crack, like nails scraping against stone. Don’t look back. The floor tipped, gravity clawing at them to pull them down. He screamed, throwing his weight forward, scrambling at the door knob. Deep throaty laughter echoed behind him as panic bubbled through his lips, his cries desperately clawing around him.

  The floor gave way entirely as Adair leapt through the threshold, dragging Marquis behind him. They plummet
ed back into the woods, and he screamed, slamming the archway door shut just as he saw the translucent claws break through the swirling smoke. Sweat dripped off his nose, and he let go of Marquis. In one motion, he had his backpack in front of him, ripping it open. The books and jerky spilled out, as well as his sheathed knife. The archway remained, the oak door shuddering from the force behind it. Move. Throwing the book open, his eyes flicked over the passage about closing the gateway to the ancient realm. His gaze flicked up to the two blood rubies. He didn’t delay.

  Shooting like an arrow, his body screaming at him to stop— jumping, he swiped the two jewels from their perch as the oak door was thrown open. The Gortach stood there, his withered, rotting body shaking with rage as the gateway was shielded. He couldn’t pass through.

  Adair bared his bloodied grin as the arch melted like fired metal, cutting off their world. They were finally safe. Once the arch was nothing but dust on the wind, he lurched to the side, emptying the contents of his stomach. Inhaling hard through the bitter taste that coated his mouth, he looked down to where the blood rubies had been clutched in his hand. In their place, blackened liquid ran through his fingers, dripping onto the forest floor beneath him. The same putrid smell that had come off the Gortach filled his senses. He watched as the substance ran down his forearm, mixing with his own blood, his breath coming in fast gulps. His skin was cold and clammy, his stomach churning. He looked at Marquis, his still body starting to look uncharacteristically like the Gortachs. It shifted and churned into a nightmare until the world spun, and the forest floor rushed up to meet him as he collapsed into nothingness.

  10

  Memphis

  He was quickly reminded about how much he hated travelling by horseback. His legs were numb, and his pants had chaffed burns onto his inner thighs. His shaking hands gripped the reins as his steed followed the breakneckpace, the hooves around him rolling like thunder. Brokk rode beside him, looking worse than he felt. The hours had quickly bled into having no meaning. The scenery was a churning organism. Blurred colors, rolling hills, dense forest, to more rolling plains. It was wild and unbound, the cool wind pricking his skin into numbness. His breaths came out in misty puffs as the sun quickly sank into the horizon. The chill in the air sank into the marrow of his bones, and he could practically taste the change in the wind. Arching his shoulders inwards, gritting his teeth against the wind, every tactical training class and lesson kicked into high gear within him. Because as much as Brokk liked to turn a blind eye to the facts, being able to protect innocents meant being prepared to handle situations like this one.

  Being able to beat men like Cesan meant being a talented soldier. Mud flecked his mount’s side, and they ploughed through soft earth, chunks flying around them. Brokk raised his eyebrows as he steered his mount closer to his left, their gallops falling into unison. He felt the presence on his right before he looked.

  Tadeas must have looped around the side to the back of the group then cut through the middle. The King of the Shattered Isles winked wolfishly at them. His pale green hair flew behind him, his eyes shining with mischief. He dipped his head in acknowledgement before pushing his white mare faster, ripping forward with a speed and grace he had rarely seen.

  Dread clawed through him, swift and unrelenting. Why had Roque decided to trust him? The king bled with dark authority, arrogance, and cunning. Voices slammed against his iron walls locked around his mind, begging to be let in. It would be easy to let those guards down and find out the truths he wanted. Growling under his breath, he squeezed his legs against the horse’s heaving sides. He shot forward faster. He wasn’t going to be the monster half the world saw them as. That his family had seen him as. He hadn’t been back to the capital since all those years ago as a young boy. Lost, wandering the bustling streets filled with art merchants, traders, and remnants of Camden’s, Roque’s father’s loyal men. Memphis remembered the rumors that had floated around his mind, secrets at his disposal. Secrets that he hadn’t understood then but had kept locked safely away. Those memories tugged at him now.

  That day before he was taken to the Academy, the world was buzzing about the death of Camden, how he had mysteriously dropped at his dinner table. No health problems. No sign of tampering. Nothing. His court had frantically scattered, disappearing in the wind, leaving no conflict between governments. Leaving Roque to play the savior, to brandish the Academy with welcoming arms after years of fighting against his father and the world. He hadn’t forgotten that one emotion roaring through Camden’s guards that day. One of betrayal. Sluggish memories came into his mind’s eye, fear slithering through him. That day, almost eleven years ago, he had overheard Camden’s men stirring, anger burning deep toward Roque, and the murmurings about how the prince had finally choosen his path. His love over his blood ties. It was like unblocking a dam, the emotions, the clipped conversations, slamming into him.

  He looked around, wondering if the panic was that evident behind his eyes. If anyone saw his revelation. That Roque had somehow managed to kill his own father. Had Memphis just as blindly played into the Faes’ motives? Like so many others he had been cut off from his family, scared and dangerous. That Academy had never been just a school for him but a lifeline. A place where he could learn control. He had buried those memories down into an iron vault, not thinking of Sarthaven until now. Because if Roque Fae was willing to have spun lies and killed his father for the Academy, how far was he willing to go to protect it? How much loss would he justify for the greater good? He knew without a doubt that Camden had deserved his end. He had cast the world into a madness that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

  Chewing his bottom lip, he wondered how much Roque was willing to let go of his dream, to rise to be king. The thought clung to him, loud and ugly. Its claws sank deeply, erupting chaos as scenarios ran through his mind. He could feel every mile behind him, the distance between Emory and him searing into him. Just find the truth.

  Dusk clung to their surroundings, washing the world in a dreamy haze. Deep violets and blues chased away the golden hues of the day as the forest thinned before them. A sharp whistle cut through the air, and their horses slowed from a gallop, to a canter, and finally to a walk. Hissing through his teeth at the momentum change, his muscles ached deeply.

  Tadeas’s voice boomed over them. “We will camp here tonight. We are about an hour from Sarthaven.” The group snapped into action, his group dismounting first. The teachers from the Academy flanked together, talking quietly. Professor Iasan, tactical training. Professor Whilms, ability assessment. Professor Remre, weapons specialist.

  He froze as he looked at the most ruthless teachers of the Academy. It made sense; they had no idea what would be waiting for them in the capital. They needed them here with a potential battle looming. Yet the back of his neck tingled with foreboding.

  “Well, you look like you have seen about ten ghosts in the last minute.” Brokk limped up to him, his horse much more relaxed around his presence than a couple of hours ago. He loosened his feet from the stirrups, lowering himself onto solid ground. Glancing at Brokk, his friend practically jumped off his mount, his features darkening. “Next time, I am shifting to travel.”

  “Must be nice,” Memphis muttered under his breath which made Brokk chortle.

  The happiness was quickly lost as Brokk fell in stride with him. “I don’t trust this lot. What are we going to do?”

  “We are going to play the faithful students of the Academy. But I agree, it’s time to find out what is really going on here. I’m not sure—I think you are right about Roque.”

  Brokk raised an eyebrow at him, his voice gruff. “Why the change of heart?”

  Two men from Tadeas’s group gathered their mounts, whispering to the horses in soothing tones as they led them away to the babbling stream at the forest’s edge.

  Memphis rubbed his frozen hands together. “I remembered something I had... attained with my ability before I was brought to the Academy. When I was a kid. I jus
t think there is more to Roque than our best interest.”

  Brokk nodded but didn’t push for more. Tents were pitched around them, fires lit, as the chatter of the camp broke out. No one noticed them as they slung their packs over their shoulders and navigated to the far corner of the camp.

  Brokk absentmindedly grabbed a tent and poles, murmuring, “Do we deal with Roque when we get back?”

  Sighing, he shrugged. “We have to be careful about how we go about this. Emory is our best friend.”

  Brokk punched him. “I would say you two are more than friends by now.”

  He felt heat flush his cheeks, at a loss for words.

  “Memphis! Brokk!” Turning, he saw flaming red hair cut through the crowd. Alby, a bit out of breath, ran up to them grinning. “Am I ever glad to see you both here. Come on, let’s catch up.” The three of them walked away from the chaos of the camp, Alby chattering away as Memphis shot Brokk a glare, his ability wrapping around him as his voice filled his mind. “We will talk more later.”

  Brokk waggled his eyebrows at his tone, making Memphis shoot him a vulgar gesture that made him bark out a laugh. Falling into step with Alby, the three out them set out to make camp.

  Embers floated up, twisting and churning through the bleak night, as they sat around the fire. Propping himself up against a decayed log they had found, he eyed the other side of the camp warily. Tadeas’s men were roaring with laughter, having broken out ale amongst the men and women from the Shattered Isles. On their left, the teachers and seniors from the Academy watched their animated chatter with darkened gazes. It would seem they weren’t the only ones who didn’t trust the king from across the Black Sea.