Destiny Rising

Flash Fantasy Fiction - Part I - Sworn to Silence

The twig snaps sharply beneath Darnah’s feet. She pauses and curses under her breath. Anger flickering in the pit of her stomach. The first warning embers of rage. She swore to Farlyn she was ready for this mission. Promised her she was prepared to lay down her very life for the Queen she’s been sent to save. Yet she now stands still. Frozen. As if the cold air that whips through the trees and claws at the exposed parts of her skin has finally had its way. Sealed her in an icy tomb from which she will never escape.

Farlyn’s words float back to her over the many years as they always do. In stillness there is truth. And so she listens for that truth. For the rustle of leaves that announce the approach of the Dark Scion’s pursuers. The deadening of the air before the sharp bruising magic of his devoted followers springs to life. Listening for the faintest sound that an alarm has been raised. Revelation Flames shot into the sky, illuminating the night. Revealing what tries to stay hidden. But there is only silence, with nothing more than the low haunting calls from the Varnese Owls and the smooth exhale of her breath appearing before her like smoke. She continues moving forward, staying close to the trees. Pressing her body in the shadows, away from the moon’s light.

Before her, the walls of the fort rise. Glittering in the moonlight. Stone pillar beacons pulled from deep within the earth. The Marl Raisers rest in hastily erected tents behind the walls. Worn down and exhausted from their work. It is no easy thing to pull stone from the goddess, and it will be many suns before they fully recover.

Darnah’s counting on it.

She picks up her pace, and soon stands before the fort. The torch flames waving in the wind. Off balance shadows dance, and avoid their light. Darnah moves as the shadows move. Her right hand slipping down to the dagger at her waist. She draws it and grips the blade tightly between her teeth. The metal cold and sharp against her tongue as she places her hands on the wall. Feeling for the Stone Song that shows the true path within her mind. A constellation of safety. Enough of her magick remains for this. She grabs hold of the wall, one foot braced at it’s bottom and starts her smooth climb up its face. Water running back up to the sky.

Darnah moves as she promised Farlyn she would. As silently as possible. The magick coursing through her dampened by the vial of bitter tacitus she swallowed at the edge of the forest. Before she stepped foot inside. Because magick refuses to be still, and moves with the slightest use. A web connecting all who see the motes that dance in the air. Possibilities yet to be plucked into existence. Use too much, too close, and the Dark Scion’s followers will feel it move in their blood, and they will turn towards her like dogs on the hunt.

She swallows hard, and tries not to think of what might happen if they sense her arrival. Farlyn did her best to shield her, but truth is like magick. Moving on the wind. And eventually the truth found her. She shudders against the thought as her fingers reach the edge of the fort’s wall. Darnah’s nearly over the wall, when her eyes catch his. She vaults over the top before he can blink. His mouth opening in surprise. Eyes widening as his lungs expand, an alarm screaming in his throat. One that turns into the final silence. Her hand is on his mouth, and as quickly as he saw her, he goes limp.

His fingertips unfurl, and the torch begins to fall towards the stone floor. She snatches at it just as it begins making contact with the ground. Hissing through her teeth with a scream that cannot be freed. Her hand will need healing. The spitting fire the only end she could catch before it clattered loudly next to the still guard’s boot. But she has sworn to move in silence. She grabs the man beneath his arms, drags him to the edge of the wall, and flips him over and out. The gods will not be pleased, but neither would they be pleased if the Queen can’t be freed.

Darnah grips the hem of her worn pants, rips the fabric and wraps it around her throbbing hand. The blood seeps through instantly, but it will have to do. If she doesn’t reach the Queen by sunrise…

Farlyn scoured the fort from above. Sent her spirit into the body of a crow, offered up thanks to the small creature for its sacrifice. Making way for one soul, requires the removal of another. But she had seen with the bird’s eyes. Remembered with her human mind. Placed her fingers against Darnah’s temples when she returned fully to her body. Rejoined with the part of herself she left behind as she flew between the planes. Her fingertips spoke without words. What she’d seen pouring from her into Darnah. Until it was nothing more than a hazy wisp of a memory in her own mind. Sharply focused in the mind of her prized student. One she fears sending into the sharp jaws of danger. One she’s raised to run towards the unthinkable all the same.

Darnah knows where to go. Moves purposefully towards the chambers where they hold the Queen. Soon, the jade door rises up before her. The woman she seeks sealed inside. She reaches out her hand.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Gruff and sharp. A blade slicing through the air.

She shakes her head. Annoyed with herself, but something else, too. She promised Farlyn she’d try. And she did. Nearly succeeded. Surely she can’t be faulted for doing what must now be done. Darnah turns on her heel, and faces the man who spoke. His stance wide. Oiled beard braided long. Down to the top of his knees. Softly clicking with the beads that speak of his deeds and share his triumphs. She smiles languidly like a cat stretching in the sun at the thought of the challenge and bounces on the tips of her toes.

She prefers it this way, anyhow. Sometimes, she sees the spark of fear in Farlyn’s eyes. Because she sees even what others often miss. Recognizes the seed of darkness in the student she loves as her own child. Darnah is good at what she does. Great even, and she refuses to be anything less than the best. The gods often require not only bringers of justice, but bringers of death, too. Perhaps tonight she will be both, and the blood that flows will not be her own.

For the sake of her people and the Queen in the room at her back, it mustn’t. She wipes the dead man’s blood from her dagger. Relishing the fearful realization that creeps across the guard’s face at the crackle of sound and light filling her palm. Eyebrow raised, she twirls the dagger in her hand. Voice cutting and sweet, “you have my Queen. And I will have her back.”