The Parallels
ELEVEN

I jump up from the chair and hold my blade to Arthin’s throat. “You’re a liar.” Her hands remain calmly folded on her lap which angers me even more.

“I’ve never told you a single lie,” she says quietly.

“Not bothering to mention that your are kin to the murderous mage slayer who’s the reason why Laurel…” I choke back my emotions, feeling the blade falter under my touch.

She brings her hands to mine. “After everything I’ve seen, everything he’s done to his own kin, do you really think I’d want to betray you?”

I feel him in the room before he speaks. “Think about it, Jules.” Darius plants himself next to me. A trained soldier himself, he recognizes the battle waging between my emotions, my training, and my stubbornness. “Think about what’s she’s seen.”

Arthin’s hand tightens around my own. Memories flood my mind, but they’re not mine.

A circular room. Bodies lie on the ground and one lies limply in my hands. It’s Miriam. I beg her to wake up. There’s so much sadness, so much fear. The bodies strewn about me are my friends, some I’ve known my whole life. They’re gone now, but we can still escape.

“Miriam, please wake up!”

She remains still, her breath belabored and shallow. I try to lift her from the ground, but I’m too weak. Someone stirs in the corner. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

My brother drags himself from the floor. He’s not my brother, I tell myself. I say it repeatedly in my head as I shake Miriam. She’s exhausted most of her magic in the fight. I stare back at Morren who stands still across the room of bodies.

“Please,” I beg.

He takes a step forward then stops. I see the war waging in his eyes. His body jerks forward then it thrashes backward.

“I’m not strong enough to fight him!” He screams to me. This time, it’s my brother’s voice, not the man I’d seen pretending to be my brother for months now. As his body thrashes about, I know I’m about to lose him to whatever or whoever he fights.

“Then help us while you can!” I plea.

Something sails through the air and lands at my feet - a transference stone. I snatch it from the ground and take Miriam’s hand in the process.

“He won’t stop looking for you.” Morren snarls. His body contorts, and he falls to his knees. “Go!” He screams.

“I love you, brother.”

I take one last look at him and the ghosts of my kind, then there is nothing.

My body convulses as I fall back onto the cabin floor and gasp for air.

“The first one is always the hardest.” Darius kneels at my side.

“What was that?” I wipe the sweat off my face and steady my breathing.

“It was a memory,” Arthin’s voice comes from above. Darius helps me to the chair. “I needed you to see, to believe me when I say that Blackthorne must be stopped because whoever he is, he is not my brother,” she says quietly.

Blackthorne’s contorted body flashes before my eyes. The way he struggled was like he was trying to stop something, or someone else from attacking Arthin and Miriam.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“Then perhaps you will allow me to tell my story.”

My blade has already made up my mind for the both of us. It retreats up my wrist and wraps itself into a band once more. Darius moves from my side and crosses to the kitchen where he unpacks more food. I return my attention to Arthin.

“The Blackthorne line can be traced back to the dawn of the Parallels. It’s some of the oldest magical blood and arguably the most powerful among the four Primaries.” Darius brings us two cups of tea. Arthin takes a long sip before continuing. “So, when my brother, heir to the Blackthorne Primary, was born an inert, my parents were appalled.”

My mouth falls open. This couldn’t be true, everyone knew Blackthorne was a powerful mage.

“As we grew up, my parents eventually ignored Morren altogether. Miriam and I attended university in Fairvale, met with the other children of the Primary bloodlines, and were given every opportunity to succeed. But Morren was cast into shadow, able to do as he pleased so long as he stayed invisible”.

“They didn’t want anyone to know their son was an inert, so in the shadow, he remained. As time went on, I truly believe my parents forgot they ever had a son.” Bitterness coats her words. “My parents were not the doting type. They revered our bloodline and reminded us daily that we were Blackthornes, a long line of powerful mages whose reputation spanned all four Parallels.” She shakes her head in disgust.

“But he stayed close with you?” I interject.

“No, not really. Miriam was his twin. They shared a connection I couldn’t begin to imagine. As we aged, I unknowingly adopted the views of my parents.” Shame coats her voice. “Miriam always stood up for him, always tried to make him feel a part of the family, despite my parents’ best efforts. At the age of fifteen, my parents sent him away to school in Eweth, and after that, I rarely saw him, but he and Miriam never stopped writing letters. She even visited a few times early on. I had not seen my brother in over five years, and then, on the day of my graduation from university, he came back.”

Darius returns with three steaming bowls of something fragrant and mouth-watering. He pulls over another chair and joins us as Arthin continues.

“I’ll never forget the expression on my parent’s faces when Morren walked right up to them as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He arrived at the party not as a boy, who’d been cast out of his family, but as a man who commanded an audience by his presence alone. By the end of the evening, even my parents were starstruck by him. It was as though Miriam and I were the only ones who seemed to hear what he was saying, the only ones who listened to his harsh words about mages and the Purists. Looking back, I know now that his very words were laced with magic.” She pauses. “I think Miriam and I were immune, because what little was left of our brother fought him until the very end.”

My eyes widen as I realize what she’s implying, what I saw firsthand for myself. “You think he was…” I struggle to find the word, but Darius doesn’t.

“Possessed, bewitched, controlled—take your pick,” he says.

Arthin nods. “It was as if our brother, an inert, suddenly brainwashed an entire room full of high-ranking, powerful mages, without so much as a second thought.”

“But that’s impossible,” I say. No mage was that powerful.

She reaches into a pocket on her dress and hands me a piece of worn parchment.

“I believed that too until Miriam found this in her bedroom two nights after Morren arrived.

I unfold the parchment and read the scribbled writing.

Take heed, sister. I can’t control the monster that dwells beneath my skin any longer. Save yourself; I’m lost. The rest was too illegible to make out.

“There’s never been a documented case of enchantment recorded in all the history of the Parallels.” She pauses and stares at me, waiting for me to understand what she’s implying.

“Which means whoever…” I begin.

“More like whatever,” Darius interjects.

My hands are unsteady as I set down my tea. “Whatever,” I continue, “possesses Morren is older than anything documented in our history.”

Gethin Stone had destroyed most historical texts during the Great Wars. After he was killed and his soul cast to the Fade, the Parallels tried to piece together what they could from memories of elders, but so much was lost. It’s like the history of the Parallels didn’t truly begin until nearly five-hundred years ago when historians took pen to paper and had to start all over again. Which means that whatever inhabits Morren’s body was from a time we barely knew anything about. The number of people who stood against Blackthorne was already miniscule, but if they knew this, then it would assure he’d never face any opposition, which means the inevitable end of magic in Lanel forever. Darius and Arthin watch as the realization settles in my face.

“We’ve had a hard-enough time finding others to join our cause,” Darius says bleakly. “Can you imagine what would happen if they knew the truth?”

“That there’s no hope?” I choke out.

“Until now,” Arthin softly says, staring at me.

I don’t hide my shock. “Me?”

I do the only thing my brain can do as it grapples with everything: I laugh. And then I can’t stop laughing. Battling a bloodthirsty mage wasn’t what I envisioned when I woke up this morning. In fact, none of this was.

“You wouldn’t be alone,” Arthin says, after I’ve settled into a state of disbelief.

“And I suppose you have a secret faction of hidden Primaries just awaiting your return?” She raises her eyebrow, and that shuts me up right quick. “Of course, you do.” I sigh. “What makes you think I stand a chance against Blackthorne?”

This time, it’s Darius who answers. “Because whatever magic you possess is as old…”

“If not older,” Arthin interjects.

He nods, “than what lives in Morren. And whatever magic that is,” he traces the willow tree designs on my palms with his fingers, “is also extremely powerful. There hasn’t been a known occurrence of a mage like Blackthorne in over five hundred years, but there also hasn’t been an occurrence of a mage like you either.”

“If we can show the remaining Primaries what you can do, then I know they’ll believe that Blackthorne can finally be stopped, and the Parallels can reopen.”

I sit up at this. “You think that Blackthorne had something to do with the Breaking?”

“I think that whatever dwells inside my brother shifted magic’s balance, and threw the Parallels into disarray,” she says. “If the blood ties of the remaining Primaries stand with us, then all we need is a distraction to get you close enough to Blackthorne.”

For the second time today, I feel as if I’ve been punched in the stomach. “You want me to take his magic?” I ask in disbelief.

“Without his magic, he’ll be weakened and susceptible to attack,” Darius says.

“It’s the only chance we’ll have to end this nightmare,” Arthin says.

I’d spent my life preparing to face an enemy that had plagued Lanel for over fifty years. There was no escaping the path the Mire had led me straight to. I touch the spot over my chest where the memory of Oz now lived. Then, I stare down at my palms, at the last of Miriam’s magic. I needed to know that magic could do more than destroy. I needed to know that I could return to my kin, and that we could make a home anywhere in Lanel.

When I look back at Arthin and Darius, I still fear the magic coursing through my blood, but for the first time, I begin to embrace my journey weaving its way into theirs.

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