The Outcast and the Survivor: Chapter Eight Read online

The Outcast and the Survivor

  Written by Trevor A. A. Evans

  Text Copyright © 2015 by Trevor A. A. Evans

  Published by Thirteen Crossroads Publishing

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotation in articles and reviews.

  www.thirteencrossroads.com

  Preface

  The story that follows is part of a chapter-series, The Outcast and the Survivor. It has been made available on Kindle and Nook as a convenience, since it is available free of charge directly on the Thirteen Crossroads Publishing website. The story will continue with a new chapter being released each month until the last chapter is published in December 2017.

  Chapter Eight

  Mavyn’s eyes are on me, but I don’t know what to say.

  How could any power take a person from one world to another? The question of course sounds silly when considering that people are brought into these plains in such a manner, but that somehow feels different, almost natural, an unexplainable phenomenon like an earthquake or a storm. But for a person to take the power of an object and do the same, well, it sounds as fantastic as commanding the clouds to rain.

  “You can use the stone to get us away from here?” I ask.

  “I’m not sure,” she says tersely, replacing my wonder with disappointment.

  “You said—”

  “It is possible,” she interrupts, “but that doesn’t mean I necessarily have the ability to do so. The world stones carry with them great enchantments that can be harnessed in many ways, but at their core is a blueprint of their connection to the world they came from, like a memory. A map really, one that must be read and interpreted with discernment and skill.”

  “And you are in some way lacking,” I infer.

  The child, who stands next to me, immediately glowers.

  “You haven’t seen what she can do,” he grumbles, “or you wouldn’t be saying—”

  “It’s okay, Astor,” she hushes him. “I’m the one saying it.”

  I am puzzled by the brief exchange. Astor’s outburst comes across as the sort a child of his age, perhaps 8 or 9, would have, but the thoughtful look on his face that follows makes him seem somewhat more perceptive, more mature.

  “Sorry,” he says bashfully, receiving a nod from Mavyn.

  “It is still bizarre to me,” she continues, “to for centuries have the same son possessed by the same childish sensitivities. My sisters had children before me. They all wished theirs would be young and adorable forever. I wonder if they would say so now. This must be so strange for you to imagine.”

  “Maybe at first,” I reply, “but strangeness is all there is to know down here.”

  “Yes, this land is quite a dreadful place, isn’t it? A graveyard where everyone is trying to dig someone else’s burial plot.”

  She looks down at her desk, perusing several papers, each seeming to bring her a twitch of pain. I wonder if they aren’t correspondences of some sort. Or notes, maybe of where the surviving rangers are hiding. Wade told me that there are a great number of them, some having taken on much crueler identities, or offering their services in treachery like Severin.

  Here in the dark, living a life of solitude with her son, she must think about them with great frequency, about the times when they weren’t being hunted down like wild animals. When some of them hadn’t turned into animals themselves.

  “How do you survive?” I ask pointedly.

  The question catches her in a stupor of thought, prompting her to stare blankly at me for a second. She then sighs a smile.

  “Well, it’s not a luxurious life, but Astor is able to get what we need without much trouble. His cunning is like that of a fox.”

  Astor grins at the complement, a slightly red tint spreading over his cheeks.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I correct.

  “No, it wouldn’t be, not if you’re as much like your father as I’ve heard.”

  Again with my father. He’s so tied to all of this. In a way, it makes me feel at peace to hear Mavyn mention him, but in another way, it hurts to think of all these secrets he had in his head, these plans he created for me, ones he could never share. But why? Was I not trustworthy? Would I have somehow ruined things? I wish I could have understood this all from the start. Then I would know what to do and who to trust. Instead, I’ve been left on my own with unanswered questions and doubts that I’ll ever discover the future he envisioned.

  “Did you know him?” I say softly.

  “No,” she trails off. “Astor knew him a lot better, and your mother. But I did have the pleasure of meeting him one time, here in this very room, in fact.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  “Vetting me for this very moment. The kind of magic I possess is not the sort usually associated with someone of good character, and he needed to be able to trust me.”

  “Is all magic so wicked?” I ask.

  “Wicked, no. Corrupting, yes. A strange bond exists between light and magic. In the absence of light, magic corrupts the soul of its possessor, whereas its presence cleanses it. Then there is there is the matter of where you received the gift.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your father came to me second. There was another before, Anastasia, the queen of the mountain, but he sensed in her what you likely sense in me, a darkness planted deep within. She was the one who taught me long ago, and so I carry that corruption. Your father almost left here because of it, but…”

  She stares at me for a long moment without saying anything.

  “But what?”

  Mavyn ignores my question and walks over to me, studying my features with unexpectedly suspicious eyes. I don’t move as she reaches down and places her hand against my cheek, her touch as cold as ice against my burning skin.

  “How long were you in Sanctuary?” she asks.

  “An evening,” I answer nervously.

  “Hmm,” she trails off. “I must be imagining things.”

  The comment feels evasive and makes me wonder if I should be so quick to trust her since my father apparently nearly didn’t, and also failed to mention her when he instructed me.

  “Do you know of an Eliana?” I say, taking a step back.

  “I’ve heard the name,” she says with less urgency in her voice. “How would you know about her?”

  “She’s the one my father told me to give the stone to.”

  “Odd, that’s not the plan he told me,” she replies. “Astor?”

  “No,” he says, his voice jumbled like he’s been stumped by a riddle. “The stone was supposed to come here. Wade was supposed to bring Kaela to Vanguard right at the very start.”

  “Then why didn’t he?” I interject.

  “That’s what I’ve been asking myself,” Mavyn answers. “Something has changed, but I can’t place my finger on it. Your father would not have sent you to this Eliana unless it was important. Alas, all I can tell you is that she was hiding in Sanctuary but then went missing shortly thereafter.”

  Frustration fills my mind, though not toward Mavyn. She’s been candid enough that I feel like she isn’t hiding anything from me. I’m more perturbed with Wade. Despite the bad footing we started on, it didn’t take long for him to try and make it seem like he was on my side, that he would do anything to help me and keep me safe. But now I wonder whether or not I should have been so willing to give him my loyalty without demanding more understanding.

  “Will you let me see the stone?” Mavyn asks, the politeness in her voice suggestin
g she sees me as the object’s rightful keeper.

  “Of course,” I reply, receiving a thankful smile from her.

  I remove the pouch from my pack and carefully hand it over. Her hands quiver in anticipation, lightly caressing the leather as she sets it on the table and loosens the strings knotted around its neck. I, too, watch with excitement as she reaches inside and removes a peculiarly dark gemstone with smooth edges and a transcendent yet ominous bluish-green glow.

  But then Mavyn steps back abruptly, letting the stone drop with a thud on top of the table, almost like it bit her. My gaze jumps from it to her face, stunned at how her color seems to have instantly drained and left her pale, short of breath.

  “Mother, are you okay,” Astor says in a panic, quickly rushing to her side as she nearly collapses to the floor.

  “I’m fine,” she snaps brusquely, standing up straight again. “I just didn’t expect it to be so… hostile.”

  “Hostile?” I mumble under my breath, puzzling at the gem.

  Only creatures have such qualities, like anger, hatred, or aggression, so to hear Mavyn say that the stone is hostile makes me almost fearful of it. My heart prompts me to look away, yet I can’t for some reason. A strange aura surrounding the stone instead beckons me to not hide myself, but to approach it. I start inching closer, like a fish to a lure, hearing it call out to me, whispering a hush in my mind.

  “Be careful,” Mavyn warns. “It can sense you.”

  “Yeah, I feel it,” I say with a soft-spoken reverence.

  “Don’t trust it,” she continues more vehemently. “The stones aren’t alive like you or I might