Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.
Arkarian
My father is dead. And although not exactly the affectionate parent who carried me on his back when I was little, or taught me how to hunt down my first rabbit, he was my mentor and patron for centuries. He had trained me to handle a sword, string a bow, block my thoughts, alleviate pain. He had gifted me with eternal youth. He had been there for me for six hundred years. And even though I know now that as his son I was always to be initiated by the Guard, I cannot help but be grateful to him for offering me an escape from the menial, often cruel life of a lowly servant in the war-ravaged Medieval France.
Matt, however, sees no reason why he should let me mourn in peace. He pulls me away from Isabel and Ethan with an apparent wish to discuss something he has deemed a suitable topic for this time of general loss and tragedy.
"I know this is not a good time," he begins, and I nod curtly, uninterested in insincere apologies proffered only to appease me into answering his questions. "When Ethan said . . . you two rescued Isabel's soul from the middle world . . . What did that mean?"
I am tempted to advise my venerable cousin to ask Ethan himself, just to watch him struggle with his logic, but pettiness has never been something I particularly enjoyed. Me being difficult will not ameliorate Matt's egocentrism.
"It means that her soul was in the middle world, and Ethan and I went after it."
"I gathered that much, Arkarian. What does that mean?"
"It means the body she was using while on a mission died," I select my wording carefully. His dubious frown gradually relaxes and then quickly shifts into an openmouthed expression of horror.
"She died on a mission?" he exclaims, thankfully in a reasonably quiet voice. I do want to tell Isabel what happened, but even though enough time has passed to assure me that the event would not impact her psyche in any great way, there is also the matter of me keeping a secret from her. To the best of my judgment, it was the most pragmatic thing to do, but I still feel like I am breaking her trust.
"The body she was borrowing died," I sigh.
"And Isabel's body?"
"Isabel's body was in her bed."
"Did she wake up when . . . that other body died?"
I study his face before replying. "No, Matt. Her soul left the borrowed body and, as it was not in her own, it went on to the middle world."
He rubs his temples, sending me filthy looks through his circling fingers. "When did this happen?"
"Last year."
"And what exactly is this middle world?" he asks after a ruminative pause.
"A path that completes death," I say at length. Matt blinks, again and again, before speaking. I notice Neriah watching him; it is an empty, numb look, but for all I know, she may be reading Matt's unshielded thoughts as easily as I am. A part of me likes the notion – I want her to hear this and pass it on to Isabel, so I, the coward that I am, do not have to be the one to tell her. But then, is it right to burden her with this knowledge just because it would make me feel better?
"So let me get this straight," Matt's voice, unpleasantly laced with a note of acerbity, interrupts my internal debate. "Isabel basically died, and you still let her go on other missions?"
"Isabel knows the risks of the Guard."
He shakes his head, mouthing soundless curses, and lunges at me. Idiot.
I twist away, and grab the back of his neck as he misses my body. His thoughts echo with surprise for a split second, but then he regains control and uses his wings to teleport behind me. In the back of my mind, I hear a woman's scream, a man's shout, Isabel's maledictions as she realizes what her brother is trying to do. I transport myself to a corner, a thick glass shelf about five feet off the ground. Matt looks up at me angrily and jumps, impressively high, crashing into the rock wall as I leave it at the last second.
Isabel sees me rematerialize and throws herself at me.
"Get away from him, Isabel, so I can kill him," Matt seethes in an almost comically maniacal way.
"You are not killing anyone, you stupid prick!" Isabel's small head swings around to face her choleric brother. His cheeks turn progressively redder as he comes to the realization that he cannot hit me without harming his sister in the process.
"Oh, look, Arkarian, she's defending you, but don't you wonder if she would still do it if she knew the truth?"
"What truth? What are you talking about?"
"Why don't you ask him? Go on, ask him, ask him about how he risked your life for his fucking Guard!"
"Matt."
Every single head turns to Ethan. His voice is raspy, strangely emotional. This may be the first time he is speaking since Marduke's death.
"You knew about this, Ethan. You are just as guilty as him."
"Yet I don't see you trying to kill me," Ethan says mockingly, coming to stand between me and Matt. I feel a flood of gratitude.
"As you said, I am just as guilty. So why are you attacking him and not me?"
"He . . . I -"
"Do you feel bad for me? Because, I don't know if you noticed, but Arkarian lost someone too. I see no sense in sparing me and attacking him when our situation is very much the same."
"Rochelle was your soul-mate," Matt says, obvious confusion playing in his eyes. "Lorian..."
"Lorian was his Trainer. The only family he had. Well, except for Lathenia, Dartemis, and you, but since you're doing such a pathetic job with that, might as well not count you."
Matt's mouth falls open as he contemplates our family ties. "That is not the point," he says finally. "I cannot see what sympathy you can possibly expect when you have risked my sister's life for your own selfish purposes."
"We have all risked our lives for the Guard. Be thankful you still have Isabel."
Matt shakes his head and walks out of the chamber, leaving me unsure that I could ever truly forgive him.
