Chapter 20: - Alive

  “Are you sure you’re going to be allowed in there, boy?!” The coachman roared over the wind. The idiot seemed to pick the exact patches of road that would jostle and jar someone already stuck through with a blade.

  Ksenija groaned and wheezed, and Exia did all he could to keep her steady as they rode in the carriage.

  “Do you hear me boy?!” The man roared again.

  “I hear you, now shut up or I’ll have you hanged!” Exia roared back. The man hadn’t even humoured carrying Ksenija to the palace until Exia had convinced him there’d be a hefty reward waiting for him if he had a hand in saving the girl’s life. It was stupid to threaten him.

  Thankfully he said no more now—only the rattling of wheels, the beating of hoofs and the neighing of horses met Exia’s ears. All he focused on however, was the sound of Ksenija’s breathing. Each time it rang out there was a moment of relief, and the desperate moment between that and the next was one of torment and anguish.

  The carriage came to an abrupt stop, too fast, too sudden, Ksenija lurched, Exia caught her. “Why did you s—”

  The doors on both sides of the vehicle swung open. Men stood on either side—men in the red and greys of the Republic—Volkov’s men.

  Ksenija’s eyes widened at the sight of them, her terror only deepening, body going stiff with it in fact. “Exia?” she called out, scared, panicking.

  “It’s alright lass, we got you.” One of the soldiers said, and began pulling her out of the carriage.

  Ksenija struggled—desperately but weakly—and the man had no problem taking her. She looked back at Exia. “Exia!” she whispered.

  “Stop. You’re scaring her!” He roared.

  Exia chased after Ksenija but was pulled back by an arm, then another, and another. “It’s okay, your grace. The chirurgeon's got her now,” one said. The soldiers easily held him down as he snarled, and hissed, and cursed. And he could only watch as they crowded around her, and carried him away.

  Everything went by in a blur—he was taken into the palace, he was told he couldn’t see Ksenija until she recovered, he snuck out to see her regardless, and now he was here, looking down at her unconscious form. Unconscious, but alive.

  She was pale now, so very pale, lips dry, chest slowly rising and falling as she laid in the bed. It was disconcerting to see Ksenija of all people so… Fragile. He sighed. She would live: that was all that mattered. She would live.

  The door behind him clicked open. Exia turned, expecting to see a pissed off chirurgeon, but instead found a General with an intensity in his eyes that made the hypothetical chirurgeon seem warm and loving by comparison.

  Volkov shut the door behind him, and set hot eyes on Exia. “I just finished having a talk with Navtej,” he told him, voice like a steady knife, digging deep into Exia’s soul.

  Exia took a step back at the force of his voice—he couldn’t help himself.

  Volkov continued. “Sneaking out at night, cheating at game-houses, thieving from gangs, and most recently of all, getting a girl stabbed.” His eyes fell on Ksenija now.

  Exia didn’t think before he acted, he just stepped between Ksenija and Volkov—General Volkov. It was not a brave thing, not even close—he was gut-twistingly terrified, petrified, and nearly gave into his emotions with every passing second. But still he stood.

  Volkov’s eyes flicked to Exia, something clicked behind them, but Exia could not figure out what. It only made him more fearful.

  “I’m not going to let you stop me from seeing her!” Exia screamed more than growled. Didn’t matter—it was still a stupid thing to do. He was already going to be punished for sneaking out, and now he was digging his own grave further, now he was yelling at the man with all the power in the world. But he had to. He couldn’t just let him take Ksenija away from him, not without a fight, not without knowing that he gave it his all—biting, snarling and screaming—damn the punishments, damn the result, damn Volkov. Exia would fight. “I’ll keep seeing her as I please,” he continued, and this time his voice was a trembling hiss.

  “You will not,” The General said, voice calm, precise, and clear as it ever was. There was just no questioning him—he was General Volkov, the twin Consul, the King Slayer.

  Well, not today.

  “Yes, I will—”

  —“You will see her on subotaevs and kresven—the weekends—and only after you have finished your training and studies. And only during the mid-day for four hours, and under supervision,” Volkov told him.

  Exia searched for words but found none. He searched Volkov’s features to make sense of what was happening and found only the General’s familiar stoic gaze where he had expected…well he didn’t exactly know what he had expected—he was just lost.

  “What?”

  “I do not make a habit of repeating myself, your Grace,” The General stated. And then turned for the door. Exia watched him go, one step at a time, each one as calm as the next. He stopped at the door, and turned half of his face towards Exia, so a single dark eye fell heavily upon him. “You will be flogged for your disobedience.” he told Exia, opened the door, and shut it calmly behind him.

  Exia had not experienced many things as terrifying as Volkov’s lashings. And yet for now, that fear seemed a distant thing compared to all that had happened in this last moment.

  What?

  ###

  The wind slapped angrily at Exia’s face, fingers, hair, and fabrics as he tore his way through it. It roared and snarled by his ears—almost making the barking of sled dogs mute by comparison, and the sound of his sled scraping on the ice virtually nonexistent.

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  Navtej was ahead somewhere, deep in the canvas of white and snow, and wind and nothingness—he was there. And Exia would burn it all down to get to him.

  He had with the Captain—that was a shame. He didn’t want her getting involved. He didn’t want her making things any more complicated than they already were. And they certainly were complicated already.

  Exia shoved away the cacophony of emotion that memory stirred within him and pummelled through the snow with a purpose.

  He had one thing on Nav, who was trying to make it across the border, and that was that Exia wasn’t. Nav would have to rest his dogs for tomorrow, Exia wouldn’t, so that meant in time, Exia would catch up to him.

  And Exia chased that time.

  He chased it through numb fingers, through strained eyes, through aching arms, through shivering shoulders, and through more, and more, and more, until a dark shape began to form somewhere in the sea of white he had been wading through for what felt like an eternity.

  It stood as he approached, kept standing when he could see the resting dogs surrounding it, and still did not move when Exia came to a stop mere meters from it. From him.

  Navtej Volkov stood there—alone on the ice, with a mix of shock, awe, and sadness in his eyes. He smiled warmly—a true thing—but the expression was a dying lightbulb compared to the ray of sunshine his brother typically was. “I’m impressed.”

  “Fuck you, you threw me off a moving train.” Exia snapped.

  Navtej shrugged. “You held a blade to my neck…”

  Exia blinked. “What? When? Wait—you mean—we were kids!”

  “I am just saying that I have every right to throw you off of as many trains as I want, Exi,” Navtej grinned.

  Exia laughed.

  They both laughed. And for a long time there was only snow, and ice, and two laughing brothers. Then one of the three came to an end. And there was only snow and ice.

  “I’m going to need you to come back home with me, Nav,” Exia told his brother. “Whatever this is, whatever’s happening, I can help you.”

  Navtej shook his head softly. “I can’t let you do that.”

  “What would you do if you were in my position?!” Exia snapped—this time truly, this time with a bleeding anger.

  Navtej paused only for a moment before answering. “I would chase you to the ends of the earth, I would claw through everything in my path, dig through every hole, follow any lead, curse anything and anyone that stood in my way. And finally, I would drag you back home kicking and screaming by the ankle.”

  Exia nodded at that, yet Navtej only shook his head.

  “But you’re not me…Exi. You are selfish, you are cruel, you are a vindictive, malicious, self centered, narcissistic prick,” he almost laughed now. “And I’ve never blamed you for it. Not once. Not ever. So I’m asking you this once. Be Exia.”

  “I’m sorry…but I can’t.”

  Navtej nodded solemnly. His coat flapped in the wind, his dark-brown hair danced with the wild air, and he reached for his necklace and pulled it out with a purpose. When he spoke next, it was with a certainty. “Well then, let’s get this over with.”

  “Lets.” Exia agreed.

  The brothers wore their conduits, and felt the touch of their gods. Exia’s was the cold caress of Zcigmagus, he surged with power, and the god thirsted with hunger. The Khangil were a rare delicacy, and the god of the abyss loved his delicacies. This, however, would not feed his hunger, for Exia would rather listen to the songs of the longing than to offer this Shifter up as food. But he would bring him home.

  The air shifted around Navtej, twisting, changing, darkening, coalescing, like a whirlwind. When it was done, his brother looked at him through a mask of fur and gaping maw.

  Exia didn’t move. Navtej didn’t either. Perhaps in that moment there was a chance to end this another way. But the moment ended and the battle began.

  Navtej dashed at him, leaping across the ice on all fours with powerful limbs, and racing to cover the distance between him and the Mage he so feared to fight at range.

  Exia knew better than to let that happen. He was moving backwards already, sending lances of cold fire at the approaching Shifter, and hissing as more than he’d have preferred went wide and those that hit merely staggered instead of stopping him entirely.

  Navtej jumped at Exia with the suddenness of a bullet. Leap. He knew that technique well, hated it even more. His brother had covered the distance between them in a moment, swung, Exia ducked, brought forth his shadows and used their darkness to seep away at Navtej’s speed and strength.

  Navtej caught him with Gale Force—the impact buried into Exia’s gut, took him off his feet, and sent him sliding back against the ice.

  He looked up and saw Nav approaching, placed his hand against the ground and spat out a stream of fire along it. The ice turned to water, like wax under lava. Navtej was buried up to his hips in liquid, trying to get out. Exia dug his tentacles into the ice, wrapped a limb around the Khangil’s legs and tossed him high into the sky.

  He chased him as he fell, positioning himself right beneath the man and readying the flames in his palm.

  Stream! Rain!

  Above Navtej, the heavens spat fire, below, Exia did. Both spells raced at the Khangil. They collided in a display of bright blue lights and trembling air, and Exia felt the ice beneath him convulse with the impact.

  Navtej hit the ice hard, bounced, and then he was on his feet again, faster than Exia could have expected. With tiny blue fires still dancing along his fur, he dashed at Exia like lightning.

  Exia leapt back, but his opponent was already right in front of him, and Navtej roared.

  It was not a sound of panic or agony, it was one of technique. The noise birthed a splitting headache in Exia’s head. He stumbled back and clung his temples painfully.

  The Shifter chased him, and only when he was nearly upon Exia was he able to gather his wits to dodge. But it was a late dodge. The fist caught Exia cleanly in the shoulder, rattling his bones, jostling his brain, and flipping him twice as he shot through the air.

  Exia landed on his face, slid, and got up to an aching in his shoulder. He looked up and saw the burns along Nav’s fur, some light, others deep into the skin. Yes, Navtej had gotten up rather swiftly from Exia’s attack, but that spoke more of his will than his toughness. The damage was clear, and the damage was deep.

  Perhaps Exia should have felt bad for the pain he had caused his brother. And he did. But he knew Nav would be okay. He would not be Volkov’s son if he couldn’t take all the Mage King had to throw at him.

  So Exia could only feel anguish, anguish at the fact that he might very much lose this. For of the two of them, he was the one with an arm that did not work.