163

The next day, Syn finally filled Cole and Keyda in on the details of everything that had happened. The Rulers were understandably shocked, but assured Syn and Tolan that they could stay at the fortress as long as possible and offered to send out search parties for Hershel. While Syn appreciated the offer, she had a horrible feeling that Imgloss hadn't been lying the night before. For some reason, it made a sick kind of sense that Hershel would have gone to the Isle. She wasn't sure what on earth he hoped to accomplish, but it had left her feeling overwhelmingly anxious.

Unlike her parents, Pippa had woken in a bright, chipper mood and was currently challenging guards to fights out in the practice fields. Syn glanced over at her husband as he picked at his meal.

"I'm sorry we gave you a scare last night," she finally offered. Tolan had been quiet all morning, and she could tell he was simmering with anger. She just wasn't exactly sure who he was so angry at.

"I'm glad you and Pip are fine. A note would have been nice, though."

She reached out to touch his arm. "Tol…" He glanced over and she sighed. "I'm sorry. After everything, Theo just thought it would be better to get us here."

He glanced away, stabbing at the mash on his plate. "I know," he finally murmured. They were left to their own thoughts for a moment longer and Syn finally asked the question she had been worrying about.

"Do you think he's really on that Island, Tolan?"

The guard's expression darkened. "Dunno. I don't know how he expected to survive it if he is. Was he not listening when we told him everything that tried to kill us while we were there?"

Syn blanched, and Tolan's anger seemed to simmer down when he saw it.

"He is still the Master Healer, Syn. Maybe he'll have special privileges there…"

She shuddered, remembering all too well everything Imgloss had said last night."Imgloss doesn't think he'll ever make it back."

"Imgloss doesn't know everything."Tolan rubbed at his eyes, and Syn wondered if he had slept well. "You see Theo yet?"

Syn shook her head. "He was so out of it last night, Tol. I'll bet he's still sleeping. Why?"

He shrugged. "That's what he gets, for transporting all over the realm. You really shouldn't have gone to Imgloss's, Syn…"

"I know," she cut in, tears smarting her eyes again. "I should never have left Pippa alone, not with everything that's been going on."

Tolan winced and shook his head. "I'm not blaming you for what happened to Fluff," he clarified quietly, though his eyes flashed at the memory. "I meant that we had no idea what would have been waiting for you at Imgloss's tent. Hershel could have been…well…"

"I had to know, Tolan. I had to know what happened to him." She rubbed her face, suddenly very tired despite the fact that it was only midday. "I'm going to go find Pippa," she finally said. "You ought to go back to bed; you don't look like you got any sleep at all."

Tolan didn't answer for a moment. "I think that I'll go check on the Freak."

It occurred to Syn that Tolan must actually be pretty worried about Theo, with how many times he had brought him up.

"Alright. And then get some sleep, Tolan."

He shrugged, not committing to anything. Then they parted ways, both meals left only half eaten on the tables behind them.


Time was a funny thing when one was blind. It still existed, of course, but looking outside wasn't enough to know what time of day it was. Ever since Imgloss had imparted the Law of the Ancients all those weeks ago, Hershel had to rely on other cues. The temperature of the air, what kinds of sounds were echoing around the tent, how active Baffa seemed to be.

On the Isle, he was at a complete loss.

"Lunise…it feels like we've been walking so long."

His voice echoed around the space they were traveling in; the air whispering his own thoughts back to him with his own voice. It caused him to shudder, but the feeling of his guide's warm hand on his wrist continued to comfort him. It could have been worse, he mused. He could be alone.

Time is different on the Isle.

He had assumed as much, and he decided he would need to more specifically state his thoughts if he wanted answers from the cryptic woman. At least, he assumed Lunise was a woman.

"Can you describe it for me? The place we're walking? I can't…I can't see anything."

There is nothing to describe.

He frowned, and she continued as if she could read his thoughts.

The Island is always shifting, conforming to a traveler's senses. Your lack of sight means that it feels no obligation to fill in a visual.

"So you cannot see anything either?" he tried.

I see all.

He fell quiet again, thinking. He kept expecting some trial, or at least to be brought to the point where he could summon the first ancients. But they just kept walking…apparently through nothing at all.

"Are you Oni?"

If there was nothing to be learned from the formlessness apparently surrounding them, perhaps he was meant to learn more about the guide herself.

I am Lunise…Guardian of the Isle of the Ancients. Tasked with guiding travelers who manage to set foot on the eternal dusts of our shores.

He was not following at all. After years of being with Phos and pouring over Healer texts, Hershel thought that he had gotten pretty good at interpreting cryptic messages. However, this spirit-like guide had him at a loss.

"But were you an Oni? Before you were chosen to guard this Island?"

Personal memories are not befitting a Guardian. The Isle collects the memories of others…and that is enough.

"What do you mean?"

As if to answer his question, something cold landed on Hershel's face. He balked; it was the first thing he had felt since coming to this strange place. Lunise paused as well, and the Master Healer continued to flinch as icy pinpricks landed on his body.

"What is this?"

Snow.

Hershel frowned, trying to figure out if he had ever heard of that before. Around his feet he could feel something wet and cold, and he shuddered as it chilled his sandaled feet.

Learned from the memories of recent visitors

She explained things so straightforwardly as if she were saying things that should be obvious to the Master Healer. Hershel wondered if they would have been obvious to a different Master Healer—one that actually deserved to be one.

"Is this…snow my trial?" he tried, and the rushing-leaf laughter echoed around him.

No. Merely a demonstration.

As quickly as it had come, the wet coldness vanished from his feet, and no longer did icy things settle on his skin. They continued their walk, though Hershel wasn't sure where they were going. He wondered again how long it had been that they had been traveling. He had worked hard to stay focused, prepped for anything. His emotions were guarded in a way that only a dedicated Master of many years could guard them…but in the mind-numbing travel, he finally found himself slipping. His mind went to Syn…to Pippa. How long had he been on this Island? He felt a twist of guilt as he realized that his family was no doubt worried sick about him. He wondered how long before Imgloss would announce him lost forever and take over his position as Master Healer. Fear was setting in now; what if he was stuck walking with his cryptic guide for days on end? Or months? Or even years? What if it had already been that long?

"Lunise, I realize that time must work differently on the Isle…but as you are able to see everythingdo you know how long it has been in my home realm? How much time has passed?"

Soon.

He blinked; that wasn't even close to an answer to his question.

"What?"

Good luck…Master Healer.

Suddenly, the warm hand around his wrist was disappearing. He balked, the thought of losing the only connection he had to this impossible world causing him to panic.

"Lunise, wait."

But there was no answer, and Hershel was forced to turn around, searching the blackness for a sound, a feeling….anything. But he might as well have been in a void.

The Master Healer reached out with both hands, the way he had grown used to. His footsteps were careful as he pushed on. Had some trial formed around him? One he just wasn't able to see? Or was it still formless…just some kind of floor in a nonexistent world? His head hurt from trying to understand while his heart pounded with adrenaline and anxiety. He wanted to just run; there was nothing that had occurred thus far to suggest he couldn't just run and keep running forever. Perhaps it would help him feel less jittery if he was able to careen into the darkness. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, the threat of some drop off or cliff at the forefront of his mind.

"Lunise?" he called again, and once again his own voice whispered back to him. Then, there was another sound. An oh-so-subtle one, something that sounded between the slither of a snake and a shell cracking open. His eyes widened, trying to sense if there was some kind of threat. The silence was deafening in those breathless moments of nothing. And then the Island struck.

Hershel cried out as something wrapped around his left wrist. He immediately tried to pull away, but whatever it was held fast. It was cold as ice, making his wrist throb from both the temperature and the increasing pressure as it tightened like a serpent. He tried to rip it off with his right hand. He had no idea what it was… some kind of metallic substance with the texture of a plant or vine. Suddenly the mysterious binding was pulling back, forcing him backward away from the way he had been walking. He grit his teeth as he pulled out a knife from where it was strapped to his belt—just a simple dagger, really…used far more for cutting the stalks off of herbs in the wilderness than for defense. He wanted to stab mercilessly at the binding, but he forced himself to remain calm. If he was too hasty, he might just end up stabbing his own arm.

He carefully but urgently tried to pry whatever-it-was off his wrist, but there was a strange hissing and suddenly he was lurched backward as a similar tendril wrapped around his waist. He fell to the ground and hit it hard. The dagger clattered across the smooth, cold floor as Hershel gasped in fear and pain. He tried to regain his feet, but suddenly he was being pulled backward at an alarming speed, making it impossible for him to do anything by yell as he slid on his back on the icy floor. He continued to rip at the vine-like material with his free hand, but then another rope of living metal wrapped around his right wrist as well, and he thrashed as both wrists were suddenly bound to his sides. Panic was beginning to build as continued to rocket backwards, his sight as inky black as ever. The cold pressed further inward from the places the vines and floor were touching him, and his mobility became more and more limited. His mind screamed at him to do something. Rather than continue to react, he finally froze, closing his eyes to calm his thoughts. It was terrifying to be sure, but as the adrenaline-rushed initial panic faded, Hershel knew he needed to pull himself away from the reactionary path and try to see this for what it was. He listed everything he knew about this place in his mind, and with each fact added to his list his heart calmed a little.

This was the Isle of the Ancients. He was meant to be tested. This was the test.

The Island fed on fears…greatest fears. Or at least, he assumed as much from what little he knew about Theo and Amber's trials. What was his greatest fear?

Being Bound…Life in Captivity.

It came to him as soon as he realized that this must be his test, and he grimaced as his side slammed into something before his backward momentum continued, the speed impossibly getting faster. He was literally being dragged, bound, to some unknown fate. Possibly eternal captivity…and they wanted that to freeze him with fear. To bring him to an inconsolable point. Anger swelled within him; how could the Ancients create this Isle to help those who need it only to torture them with their greatest fears. As if those who faced their fears were more worthy of help.

"This isn't real!"

His voice echoed around him, and for a moment the vines pulled him even faster, his teeth chattering as he realized he couldn't even feel his fingers. There was something on his face now…another freezing tendril inching along, poking at his skin like some sightless metal worm. He realized with a strike of fear that it was moving across his face and over his mouth in an effort to gag him, and he shut his sightless eyes as he yelled again.

"THIS IS NOT REAL!"

The momentum was building, and suddenly the air around him crackled as if charged with electricity…like stormclouds before a lightening shower. He tensed in anticipation. Without warning, the vines suddenly threw him. He cried out as his suddenly free limbs windmilled through the blackness, his heart in his throat as he realized he was now in freefall. Then he was slamming into something.

He bounced off the smooth wall and then hit the ground with a gasp. His ears were ringing and he panted as he shook on the cold floor. Hershel waited to see if the vines would find him again, but there was nothing but the blackness and the silence and the cold.

He realized suddenly that he could taste blood and brought a hand to his mouth. He had split his lip at some point, and for some reason that caused his skin to break out into goosebumps. It seemed this world was quite capable of hurting him, whether these strange assailants were real or not.

"Lunise?"

His voice was rough, haggard from his previous screaming. There was no answer, and Hershel finally moved to push himself up with his hands. As he did so, however, the cold glassy floor transformed. The Master Healer swallowed as he felt dirt beneath his hands…hard packed dirt. And suddenly the air was filled with a smell that he found hard to place.

The Isle feeds on memories, he remembered. It was bringing something to his mind…using other senses since he could not see what it was so adamant to show him. The dirt and the smell were not quite enough for him to place what it was….but then someone spoke, and the voice immediately grounded him.

"Hershel? What kind of name is that?"

Even after all these years, Ilya's grating voice caused Hershel to flinch. He took a step back, his heart pounding at the anticipation of what was to come.

"Well, what do you wanna call it?"

A gruff voice, and deep. Hershel frowned as he listened…he couldn't place it. He had been focusing so hard on listening that the sudden wail of an infant caused him to jump.

"There it goes again!" his mother snapped angrily. "Useless little worm…that's what we should call it."

Him? Was that mewling infant him? Hershel's heart began to pound in anticipation. How was the Island able to pull this memory from him…something he couldn't have ever remembered himself?

"Names have meaning, Ilya…"

"Meaning what?"

"You wanna name him Useless Worm, and that's what he's gonna be. Lot of good that will do us."

Ilya merely scoffed, and then there was silence. The infant was still crying, and Hershel couldn't help but walk towards the sound. He reached out, trying to feel for things…but there was nothing. Apparently, the dirt floor was all the more the Island was willing to let him touch. But the wailing of his own tiny form was like a stab to his heart…a testament of how long he had been hated and alone.

The cries suddenly began to peter off, turning to whimpers. Ilya harrumphed.

"How'd you do that?" she demanded, and the unrecognizable voice seemed just as irritable.

"Holding it. That's what you're supposed to do when they cry…"

"I carried it around against my will for nine months…ain't that enough?"

Their conversation faded to muttering for a moment. Hershel frowned as he considered the man in the scene. It…had to be his father. His birth father, whom he had no memories of.

"So we're calling it Hershel," Ilya finally said, not sounding very happy about it. "If names got meaning, then what's the deal with that one?"

"Heard it somewhere."

Ilya snorted.

"And that makes it important?"

"Got stuck in my brain. Look at it… he looks like a Hershel."

"Looks like a half-dead rat," Ilya corrected bitterly. "You Healers and your peculiarities. Shoulda listened to the village about the likes of you…odd as all get out. Not all there in the head…"

"I'm there enough in the head," the man argued gruffly, sounding a little wounded. "Thing's stopped crying, hasn't it? Can't say I was wrong about holding it…"

Hershel's heart was pounding as the conversation continued. His father had been…a Healer? He had never known that, and would never have even guessed it. He tried to think back to his earliest memories, but he could only ever remember Ilya; the woman who's sneer was as greasy as the rest of her. And then Syn's father…a curly-haired, rough man. And then Syn. He had known that Syn's father wasn't his own, but it hit him hard that he knew nearly nothing about the man who's voice he was hearing now for the first time. It was unnerving that the Island seemed to know more about him than he knew about himself.

He longed for Ilya to say the man's name…something that Hershel could use to identify the slow, gruff voice.

"Put it down…it's sleeping now, ain't it? No need to hold it at all, really. Just let it cry itself crazy…maybe we'll get lucky and it'll choke as it screams. I still don't see why we don't just get rid of it…more trouble than its worth."

"Got to put the time in now," the man argued, though it sounded like he was lowering the infant to the ground. "Once they get a few years old, they can help. Seen it all over in all the villages…the more kids ya have, the more work gets done…the more you can eat…"

"The more food we got to stuff in their mewling throats, more like," Ilya argued. "A few years is hardly worth the effort now, at any rate…"

"Then you manage the roots, and I'll keep Hershel from dying. Alright?"

She snorted.

"You bet you will. No more of this flitting in and out…being gone for months just to come wandering back like some half-witted hoofer. You leave and I'm leaving that thing out for the Sniffers…"

"I ain't leaving. Now get the dinner on, you daft woman."

There was a clang, and then the man cursed. Hershel figured Ilya had thrown something at him.

"OI!"

It was a fearsome roar, and when Hershel didn't hear a response from Ilya, he figured the foul woman must have been sufficiently cowed then. However, the roar also woke the baby; the crying began again.

"Look what you done," the man muttered, and the sound of crying seemed to get closer as Hershel could only assume the man was lifting the baby.

"You're the one screamin'," Ilya muttered, and the man just scoffed.

"Oi, calm down, Hershel," he tried. "I'm holding ya…aint no sniffer gonna get you with me here. Nothing to cry for; I got you."

The baby continued to cry a little longer, but then eventually it calmed once again.

"See? Worked again."

"Get out of my tent, Hugo. I don't wanna even see that thing for the rest of the day…you hear me?"

Hugo. A name, then. Hershel felt a strange sense of relief at that, though he was suddenly overcome with the desire to see the man who was currently holding his infant self. He wanted to know what he looked like…this mysterious Healer that he had never thought much about before today. Even a glimpse

But suddenly there was a cold wind, and Hershel hugged himself as he shuddered. The sounds and smells of his mother's dirty tent faded and he realized that the memory was being taken away. It left him feeling empty…and he wasn't sure if it was because he had wanted to experience more or because he was scarred by what he had already witnessed.

164

Myrah was forced to call off the search after a few days. Her advisors seemed surprised she had ordered it for as long as she had, but she had explained that Healers—being as mysterious as they were—could prove powerful allies if one gained their trust. They had tentatively bought the excuse; that her actions were more a surface-level obligation to keep relations smooth with the strange band of Healers. Indeed, she could care less about the organization itself and it's foolish rules; she just wanted Hershel to be alright.

But on the third day she had to admit defeat. Hershel was not anywhere in the Western Province…that much was obvious enough. And she had no authority to search elsewhere. She sat in her office, head in her hands as her Captain of the Guard left to spread the news that they were halting the search.

Was this all her fault? She felt another horrible twist of guilt. She should have never gone to his tent…somehow or another, their last conversation had thrown him over the edge. She had just wanted them to have closure! To stop wondering how the other felt, what the other person thought. To part ways with full communication. But it had all gone terribly wrong.

A knock at the door, and Myrah glanced up.

"Enter."

She stiffened when her Senior Advisor pulled herself into the room.

"I have nothing to say to you…" the leader began bitterly, but Bula merely held up her hands.

"Myrah. Don't be like this."

Myrah glared at her, her fists clenching.

"I warned you already; your own ambitions for my life are not welcome…"

"Just listen to me, then," Bula cut in. "I've listened to you. You made it known that I am only to help you reach your own goals…the goals you have so graciously outlined in our last conversation."

There was bitterness in her tone, but she also seemed genuine. Myrah narrowed her eyes as Bula sighed.

"So let's discuss them, shall we? You said you wished to be a great leader of the Western Province. To establish schools and other things…to make life better for the people. None of that is being accomplished by this brooding you're doing."

"Bula…" she warned, but the Advisor snapped back.

"If those are your goals, then it is my job to help you reach them. And sitting in here heartbroken for some wayward cripple is not putting you on a path to achieve them!"

Myrah stood and Bula shook her head.

"Just forget him, girl. Let it be in the past…move forward."

"I couldn't ignore the fact that there was something I could do," Myrah pointed out coldly. "I owed him that much after everything…"

She trailed off and Bula fixed her with a long look.

"You owe him nothing, Myrah. Remember that."

And then her advisor was leaving. But if she really had come to help Myrah feel better about the situation, she had failed miserably.


Was it all a lie?

Hershel had no way to know whether what he had just experienced was a true memory or not. He certainly could not remember so far back…and he already knew this Island could create false realities…preying on its victims' senses and fears.

And perhaps their hopes as well, he mused bitterly. His birth father…a Healer? It made him feel something strange, and it tortured him inside to not know whether it was real or not. Another way the Island meant to get to him; to dig up hopes he hadn't even known he had.

Yet, as much as he wanted to distrust this place, that secret would explain so much. He remembered his conversation with Myrah when she told him how odd it would be for him to have the name Hershel if his parents had truly been degenerate root-farmers. Perhaps it would even explain why he had the ability to unlock his powers, while Syn didn't seem to even possess the capability of doing so. Did Hugo have powers? Or perhaps he was just from a line of healers whose abilities had been lost long ago, but were found again that fateful day when assailants had hit Syn with a crossbow bolt. Was there some legacy Hershel was part of he didn't even know about?

He had come here for answers to his problem…and the Island was harassing him with further questions. These thoughts were technically insignificant compared to the matters at hand and his current goals. And yet, the more he thought about them, the more a deep yearning bloomed within him to know more about himself and this oddly gentle and gruff man that he had all but forgotten about. Even if his birth father wasn't powered…even if he was just a traveling healer rather than a member of the secretive organization Hershel now found himself the head of, the man called Hugo had seemed to care about him. Not warmly…not with great shows of affection. But Hershel had always wondered how he had survived infancy with such a cruel and horrible mother…especially since he had seen how Ilya treated Syn when she was born. Truly, if Hershel hadn't intervened in every way he could, Syn would have never survived. If this Hugo really existed, it seemed he had been the one to keep Hershel alive.

But then what had happened? He knew his birth father had died, but Hershel realized now that he didn't know how. He struggled to think if Ilya had mentioned a Hugo, or his father. There was nothing he could think of…but perhaps it was because he had pushed the memory of his mother from his mind. Even now, he could hear her threatening whispers around him.

Useless, worthless boy

Come here so I can show you what happens to lazy, deceitful children

Where's that sister of yours? You best not have given her anything from the food stores!

It was difficult to know if he was remembering these phrases or if it was the Island whispering them to him. Hershel grimaced and began to walk away. Away from the memory, the questions…back to the task at hand.

"Lunise?" he called once again. Had he completed the trial? Had the trial even begun?

"Hershel!"

He froze at the voice, and he waited to see if it was another memory. The sound of footsteps running closer to him made him tremble.

"Hershel, what were you thinking?!"

"Syn?"

His heart pounded as his sister continued, the relief and anger obvious in her voice.

"How could you…do you realize how worried we've all been?! Searching high and low for you…only to find out you came here?!"

"How did you get here?" he asked, still more bewildered than anything. This was no memory; it seemed his sister had tracked him down. He reached out to find her, to calm her down.

"I'm here to take you home, talk you out of this nonsense. You belong at home, Hershel…with us. You can't do this."

His hands continued to look for his sister, but there seemed to be nothing there. Acid crept up his throat as he realized.

"You're blind, powerless. Come back where we can keep an eye on you, Hershel. Where you can be safe…"

"You're not real," he whispered.

"Of course I'm real!" Syn snapped, and it made his stomach lurch to hear how accurately the Island had portrayed his sister's voice. "You idiot, it's you who's unreal. What on earth are you trying to prove?"

"Myself," he answered softly. He turned away from where it seemed his sister was standing. He could feel her presence…but also not. It was an illusion—a good one. But it wasn't Syn, just the same. He wasn't sure what the Island was trying to do, making it seem like Syn was here; get him to give up? Waste his time? Have him search forever for the form behind the voice in vain?

"Where are you going!?" the Syn-voice demanded as he walked away, but she didn't follow him. It took everything he had to do it; there would always be that voice in him that warned that it could be his sister standing there. That he was abandoning her to this Island once again to suffer who knows what fate. But there was also a stronger sense that kept reminding him of what this Island did. He still didn't know what it wanted from him, but he would not fall for its cruel tricks. So even as Syn's yelling grew more distant, he didn't turn back.


Theo hesitated at the door. It wasn't really a conversation he wanted to have…but the fact that there was so much he didn't know was eating at him. Tolan wouldn't tell him; besides checking up on him the morning after Theo had brought Syn and Pippa to the fortress, his bodyguard seemed to be avoiding him. The heir wasn't really sure why. With Tolan it was hard to know—he could be distancing himself because he was angry, or guilty, or perhaps because he just didn't want to talk to Theodynn. Perhaps his optimism was too much for him after all, Theo mused as he finally brought himself to knock on the heavy door in front of him. There was more than one way to get answers than to ask his knowledgeable bodyguard. The most sure-fire way was going straight to the source.

The door opened, and the servant seemed shocked. He immediately bowed.

"Heir Theodynn…" he said respectfully, and Theo nodded back.

"Is the Leader here? I was told…"

"Let him in."

Myrah's own voice echoed from the room beyond, answering Theo's question. The servant immediately opened the doorway to allow Theo entrance. Myrah's expression was hard to read. But then again, Theo realized, it always had been.

"Are you here about the school?" she asked, getting straight to the point. She seemed calm, but there was something in the way that she was looking at him that Theo took to mean that she knew exactly why he was here. He shook his head.

"Not today, Myrah. Um…may I sit?"

She gestured for him to do so, and he took a seat in the chair facing her desk. She scanned his expression for moment and finally spoke.

"You're probably here for the 'whole story', then?" she asked carefully. Theo exhaled shakily; he did want to know the whole story, of course. But it was something else that had been pressing on his mind these last few days…ever since his Bodyguard had hinted at it. Something that had made him rethink every interaction he had had with the Western Leader until he was practically drowning in confusion and nausea.

"All this time that you've known me…worked with me…"

He trailed off, not sure how to put it, and Myrah's brows knit as if she wasn't sure where he was going. He finally just blurted it out.

"Did you only care to get to know me so I would get bound to you?"

Silence. But not the silence of disbelief…Myrah's expression flickered with guilt, which it wouldn't have done if the question had been preposterous. Theo could feel the blood draining from his face as he leaned back in his chair, reality hitting him as painfully as Tolan had always warned it would. Myrah sagged in what looked like grief and concern.

"Theodynn…"

"You didn't believe in me," he clarified softly. "You just…"

"I do believe in your abilities to be Ruler," Myrah corrected forcefully. "Please…don't doubt that."

"But were you planning on us getting bound?"

It sounded crazy every time he said it…something he would never have come up with in a hundred years. But as Myrah winced, it was all too clear what the truth actually was.

"It was…the initial goal," she finally admitted, rubbing her face with one hand. "But so much has changed, Theodynn. I swear to you…"

"So all those times you talked about love," Theo cut in, his voice rising. He wasn't angry so much as desperate for answers…to make sense of everything that had happened over the past months. "Did you mean me? Because…I mean…I'm flatteredbut…" He trailed off, his hands going into his hair as he fought with the conflicting emotions. He suddenly realized this must be what Ashley felt.

"No…Theodynn…"Myrah had pushed herself to her feet, her expression pained. "You've read the histories of old," she tried.

Theo shrugged. "Sure…"

"That was what I was raised on. Bindings weren't tied to love…they were tied to uniting two individuals of political importance who would bring the greatest strength to the realm…"

"So you don't love me," Theo interpreted, realizing that for some reason that brought more relief than anything. Those kinds of emotions were hard to get rid of, he knew from experience. "You just saw me as…as a way to become Ruler?"

She wasn't meeting his eye as she stared down at her desk. It occurred to him that she had never wanted to have this conversation with him and was unsure about how to do so.

"I thought that the two of us could do a lot of good for this realm," she finally offered, and he frowned.

"But I…I told you that I would never be…"

"Theodynn, you have to understand that it was my plan…before I got to know you. Upon seeing what your heart was set on, what your own plans for your future entailed…I gave up on my plan. I swear I did…"

"Before you got to know me…" Theo murmured. Something still wasn't adding up…and after a moment he realized what it was. He fixed her with a serious expression.

"If this was your plan before you even knew me, then it wasn't made because you believed in my abilities. You would have pushed for a binding no matter what kind of leader I was."

He pushed himself to his feet as well, a horrible sadness settling over him.

"This wasn't about me. This was about you becoming Ruler…because you didn't think I would be good for this position."

Suddenly he needed to leave. Tolan had been right it seemed, about everything. It made him feel humiliated and foolish. It was his own fault; he did trust too easily. He couldn't ever see anything for what it really was…Ashley, Myrah, perhaps even more. In those moments he found himself doubting everything. Did the other leaders even respect him? Did those at the Central Fortress? Did his own family think he could do this, or were they just too afraid to tell him the truth?

"Theodynn!"

He turned as Myrah grabbed his arm, her multi-colored eyes flashing with some determined emotion. Anger?

"You have every right to be angry with me," she explained softly, her eyes boring into his. "I…was foolish to believe that I could be a better Ruler than…"

"No, you were right," Theo offered apathetically. "Seems anyone would be a better fit at this point…"

"You're wrong."

Her voice had taken on an edge, and her expression hardened.

"You will make a great Ruler, Theodynn. Perhaps I didn't always believe that…but the more I've gotten to know you, the more I know it now. You may trust easily…but maybe that's something that this realm needs. Someone who trusts us…"

She paused, her expression flickering.

"You may not believe me…but your trust in me is what led me to the path I'm on now. More than all my lessons and plans and advisors."

He scanned her face. Of course, he wanted to believe her. Did believe her. But then he thought of Tolan and panicked a little. Isn't this what the bodyguard was always warning him of? Trusting anyone who was a good enough actor to convince him they were sincere…

"Did you love Hershel?"

She flinched like he had struck her, and he was surprised to see the glint of tears in her eyes. He didn't think he had ever seen her cry.

"I still do."

He paused at that, and she sighed as she walked back to her chair, wiping angrily at her face before sinking down.

"I don't know if it is love, I guess…because I still don't' know enough about it. But based on your descriptions…"

She let out a shuddery sigh.

"Everything that happened…it was all my fault," she admitted quietly. It seemed to pain her to admit it and Theo frowned as he also took his seat again. It seemed it really was time for him to hear the full story after all.

165

He couldn't do this forever.

Hershel's will was chipping away with each new trial. He knew it was fake…that the voices, the memories, and the attacks weren't real.

Through it all, Hershel kept walking. At first he would yell at the figments, telling them he knew they weren't real. But now he just ignored them, trudging along the cold, glass ground as he grew angrier and more desperate.

How long? He tried counting for a little while, but he lost count at a certain point and he gave up. Through it all, he ignored Syn's voice begging him to come home and Tolan's telling him that he had let his family down. His mother's furious screaming…Imgloss's and Oilen's mocking. Myrah asking him to show her what love was. Even Cole and Keyda came occasionally, questioning him, offering help. Theodynn promised to save him. Amber challenged him to save himself. And Pippa…

He grimaced. It was hardest when they used his niece against him. Sometimes she was calling for him, trying to find him. Sometimes she was angry. Occasionally she cried. They were the hardest to move on from, but he forced himself to keep moving. The Island wanted to ensnare him, and since fear had not worked it was trying everything else it could to target him. Guilt…shame…anger…and a general longing for home. What did it want from him? It seemed to be trying to get him to give up and leave, or collapse in defeat. But if anything, the trials only made his resolve harden further. This place was just another form of captivity. It didn't take iron vines to bind him; by wasting his time, the Island was wasting the life he would be able to live once he finally got home. He was going to complete this trial…and he was going to earn his freedom.

"Hershel."

For the first time since "Syn's" first appearance, Hershel paused. He didn't turn towards the voice—another lie. And yet he couldn't help but answer back.

"I was wondering when it would use you," he finally murmured. "I would have expected them to bring you up sooner."

"Don't do this."

Phos's tone was full of warning, and Hershel's expression twisted.

"I have to do this, Phos."

"No. I will free you home, Hershel. All you have to do is ask, and I will return you to Syn, to Pippa, and the rest. They need you…"

"No."

He turned now, facing the formless voice.

"They don't need me. They'll be alright while I am gone. And this isn't about what they need, regardless. This is what I need. I have to do this for myself…"

"Foolish boy!"

Hershel didn't even flinch as Phos yelled at him.

"Don't be so stubborn…don't let pride mar your vision of everything you still have. You were meant to have a better destiny than my own…"

"I know you want me to be perfect, Phos. But I'm not perfect. Whatever image you had of me…it's not something I can be. So now I'm forced to finally discover who it is I really am."

"Listen to me, Hershel!"

Phos was close now, and even though he knew it was counterfeit, Hershel's eyes smarted with the longing to be able to touch his old Master. For Phos to grab him like he used to do in the past when something was really important. But there was nothing but a desperate voice.

"This Island will rob you of everything you have left. Please…ask me to release you and I will. Return to those who love you…who you love."

"I'm not free to love. Unless I do this, I will never be free to do anything again."

Hershel forced himself to pull away then. He wondered what would happen if he had agreed to the Island's offer. Would it send him home, even though it wasn't really Phos offering? Or would he fail the trial and be lost forever to some forgotten abyss? Or was he already lost? Perhaps he had failed the trial already and this was the eternal torment Imgloss had warned of. Tears pooled in his sightless eyes as he left the memory of his old Master behind.


Pippa was lying on her stomach, staring at the large guard where he was polishing armor.

"Retrevan?"

He glanced over with a gentle smile. "Yes, Pippa?"

"When's the full moon?"

The guard paused, frowning as he thought about it. "We're more than halfway through the cycle now…won't be more than a week and a half longer."

Worry flashed across her young features, and the large Oni leaned forward.

"Why do you ask?"

"My Uncle Hershel only has till then to come home. It's been a week already…"

Ret's expression softened as he put down the armor. "I'm sure Hershel knows what he's doing, Pippa. He will come home."

Pippa was silent, as if still trying to form her own conclusion. "You're really strong, right Retrevan?"

His mouth quirked up in a smile. "Well…stronger than most, I assume," he admitted. But Pippa didn't seem to be in the joking type mood. Her expression was deadly serious as she pushed herself to her feet to meet his eye.

"Strong enough to kill an Ancient?"

Ret's smile immediately faded.

"I doubt it," he admitted softly. "But why…"

"If Uncle Hershel doesn't come back, the ugly Ancient said he's gonna take me. After the full moon," she explained, as if he should already know all of that. "He said that he'll become the Master, and then the rules won't matter anymore. Then I'll haveta be his apprentice."

She looked down and spotted a rock on the barracks floor, which she kicked in a small burst of anger.

"I don't want to be his apprentice. But I can't beat him, I already tried. I dunno if anyone can."

Retrevan reached over to put a large hand on Pippa's fluffy head.

"We won't let anybody hurt you, Pippa. I promise; you're safe here."

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with too much cynicism for a six-year-old child.

"But how will you stop him?"


Hershel woke up with a gasp, his eyes flying open. He didn't remember falling asleep, and he had no idea where he was. He tried to move, but he realized that he was paralyzed. His heart immediately flew to his throat, but after trying to struggle for a few moments he gave up. He recognized this spell…but it didn't make sense. His powers were blocked.

He tried to open his mouth to call for help, but his jaw was suddenly just as frozen as the rest of him…his eyes wouldn't even blink. His heart continued to pound as he realized. Blind…mute…could he possibly be deaf as well?

I've failed…I've failed and this is my imprisonment.

It filled him with horrible depression as he realized. He hadn't even known what had happened. One moment he was walking away as Phos's warnings faded in the distance…and now he was waking up in this state. What had he done wrong?

Master Healer.

This time it was not his own thoughts that greeted him. His heart pounded as he recognized Lunise's voice, and suddenly there was a warm hand on his face. He couldn't move or speak, but he longed to question her. Why was he paralyzed? Why had he failed?

Hershel

It was the first time she had referred to him by his real name, and suddenly he could move again. He breathed deeply as his body relaxed from the rigid state it had been forced in, and he moved to sit up. However, suddenly something was whisking him into the air and he cried out. He waited for the impact—either into a wall or back down to the floor. But he realized that he was just hovering…hovering off the ground. He swallowed, moving subtly in the blackness of the void.

"Lunise…what's…"

You have passed the Trial, Hershel.

He felt a wave of relief rush over him, and he trembled at the news. This meant no more endless walking or living vines trying to cage him. This meant he could finally talk to the First Ancients, ask them for permission to disband the organization. But after a few moments, he realized he was still floating. He remembered Theo talking about the beckoning stone in a windowed room. Surely that is where he should be, if he passed his trail.

"Is the beckoning stone here?" he finally asked, and Lunise's laughter cut in. Her voice was close; she must be right next to him.

No. You would only use the Beckoning stone to elicit help from the First Ancients.

It didn't make any sense.

"But I am trying to elicit their help," he explained cautiously; something about the way she was speaking was making him uneasy.

Indeed. But you see…the Island has a far greater offer for you.

The Island? It made him shudder, the way she talked about the Island as if it was a living thing in and of itself. And yet, he couldn't help but remember both Phos and Imgloss referring to it as such. He felt himself floating back down, his feet touching the cool, glassy floor.

"The Island?" he repeated softly, not understanding. "But…what could an island offer?"

Such a long trial, yours. The Trial of a Master…but we had to be sure of your commitment. We know better than to question it now.

He swallowed and backed up a step, but suddenly the floor beneath him was swallowing his feet. He balked, but he couldn't move, suddenly glued to the spot. A spike of panic seared through him, and Lunise's hand took his own.

Do not be afraid. The Island wishes me to tell you its offer. We believe you will find it most agreeable.

Hershel tried not to shake. This wasn't what he had envisioned at all. He was to complete the trial and seek the help of the ancients. Something about this felt very wrong, but he realized that if the Island was somehow like a living being, he would do well not to offend it. So despite his racing heart, his words were calm.

"What is the Island's offer?"

Total Freedom.

It sent a chill up his spine, and he shook his head, not understanding.

"What do you mean?"

Do you know what your greatest fear is?

His heart pounded as he thought of the living metal vines.

"Being captive…forever."

Perhaps…but not physically. Oh Hershel, don't you see? It's others' expectations of you that bind you. You fear being forever defined by others…never finding yourself. We offer you freedom from expectation…from useless responsibility. From the plane of life and death itself.

His mouth was dry at her words.

"I don't understand…"

You will. Once you know everything. Once you become one with the Island.

Fear exploded from him then. It wasn't what he wanted, not even close. He balked, and Lunise's voice became even softer.

Your limited existence binds you, Hershel. Keeps you from true freedom. Do you not still have questions about yourself? About the world? You will have unlimited knowledge, unlimited power…no one will ever define you again.

"What…exactly…are you offering?" Hershel managed, trying desperately to free his feet.

The Island is offering you the same proposal the First Ancients offered me centuries ago. It has found you worthy to be a Guardian.

He was shaking.

"I'm not sure that's what I want," he tried. How did one politely turn down an offer from an Island? "Lunise…that doesn't sound like freedom."

Oh, but it is. Freedom from everything that could ever hold you back. Freedom from the confines of your own mind and body. To become one with the Island, as I have become

And suddenly, Aura winds whipped around them, howling. Hershel stiffened in fear, but Lunise merely sighed in relief.

The Island is right; you cannot feel…cannot see the truth. Those in your realm have mistreated you. They've taken everything from you, dared to cripple you…

"There are those I care about in that realm," he murmured, begging her to understand. "Those expecting me to come back…"

But you ignored their voices, Hershel. Home is not what you want…Freedom is. You've come here now…and despite your fear, the power within you is from a legacy that would understand the Island…understand the magnificent glory that is being offered to you…

"Is this what you offer to all who pass their trials?" Hershel asked, trying to buy time for him to escape somehow. "Is…is this what happened to Pazzol?"

Laughter now…and he shuddered when it seemed like the whole Island was laughing along.

Pazzol is imprisoned. The Island was tasked with punishing him. This offer is not shallowly made; only those who truly impress the Island are offered so great a fate. And you have indeed impressed us.

Hershel's breathing was coming out ragged. He wasn't sure what to expect. Then suddenly, he felt warm hands on his wrists.

Let us show you what we are capable of.

There was a shattering sound, and Hershel gasped as power surged into him. Or rather…surged out of him. For a moment all his other senses were overcome with one that had been blocked for so long. Then suddenly there were hands on his face…fingers covering his eyelids. A blurry blink. Two blinks. Light.

For the first time in months, Hershel laughed out loud. It was a joy filled sound, for despite the fear and insecurity he felt in the given situation, he could see. Aura exploded out of his hands, power coursing through his veins once more. He could feel.

He spun, his dim eyesight growing more focused with each passing minute. At first there was just light…white light, purple light, shadow. But as his sight returned, he could make out Lunise's form. She smiled as his mouth fell open.

You can see what the Island can do, Hershel. Once, we too were ruled by the First Ancients and their laws. But for the majority of these centuries, we have been abandoned to ourselves, visited so infrequently by those barely worthy of our attention. The Ancients have all but forgotten us…so rare is it that they answer the call of those worthy. So much they have left behind.

He could see her. He couldn't get over it…his hands kept going to his face to brush the hair from his eyes as he marveled at everything around him. The floors and walls were filled with stars, the Island aura flitting around them both. Lunise was indeed a woman, as he had assumed, her hair and clothing floating around her as if she were underwater. Her eyes were two holes of brilliant light, her outline a hushed glow.

"How…how could you break these bands?" he finally asked, glancing down at his wrists. Pippa had explained to him that they had been shackled in glowing chains, but now there was nothing. "And my eyesight…I thought only a First Ancient"

The First Ancients created the Island; their power flows through us…it is our makeup. Our existence. You can see now why you would be wise to accept the offer, and be free of confinement forever.

His joy at his returned sight and power dimmed as she once again put forward the offer. He didn't know what to say, and suddenly Lunise was floating around him, circling him as she tried to get him to agree.

You understand us, Hershel…what it is to be a slave. What it is to be abandoned. For us it was the Ancients…for you it was all those in your life. Given up first by your father, then mother…eventually even your sister left you. Your Master abandoned you. The woman you loved promised to never return…

With each point, faces flashed around Hershel. His heart lurched; it was the first time in months he had seen any of them. He didn't catch his father's face, and that strange longing entered his heart again as he wondered about the man called Hugo. How would he ever know about him, if he gave himself to the Island?

The Island knows all. There will be no question you could have that it will not answer. There will be no defining label anyone could place on you that would keep hold.

As she spoke, Lunise continued to circle him. Hershel swallowed as she reached out to touch him. Her hand ran along his arm, and his tattoos disappeared. Her fingers brushed his hair and it was suddenly released from the confines of the band he used to keep it pulled back. He tried to keep up with her, not understanding, not sure why there was some feeling of hope blooming in his chest where fear should be.

Too long others have decided whether you were of worth, and you feared their judgement. But the Island doesn't find you worthless, or useless. Here, you will advance into what you have been kept from becoming. Limitless…

And suddenly his feet were freed as he was pulled up into the air once again. He gasped, his mind still trying to process. He could feel his hair floating around him, Island aura licking at his clothes and limbs.

"Lunise…"

Your mortality is trained to fear…but your power knows of the potential. You can feel it…the hope. You know you are on the cusp of the liberty you've desired for so long.

He looked down at his arms, now free from tattoos. Free from responsibility. Lunise was right; his heart was still pounding, but the fear had been replaced with something deeper. More ancient. It was as if his awakened power was longing for what was being described. The infinite separation from anything that could ever bind him again…the possibility that he had to be captive to nothing for eternity. Something nagged the back of his mind, some warning, but there was something else pressing on his mind now…invading his entire being. The will of the Island itself.

He found it hard to breathe …but soon he wouldn't need to breathe. Soon the laws of nature itself would never apply to him again.

You are beginning to see. The Island is pleased by your decision.

Lunise reached out to him then, a hand coming to rest on the back of his head, amidst his floating hair. The other came to rest on his heart. He drew one last shuddery breath as power surged into him, filling his eyes with light.

23