Page 7 of A Rising Hope (The Freckled Fate #3)

7

GIDEON

Svitar. 8 years ago.

C old fall rain poured relentlessly. The poor weather only added to my already sour mood. Rolling down the cobbled streets of Svitar, the heavy stream of water quickly washed away my bloody boot prints. The shallow puddles of the pooled water splashed from my rapid steps, small droplets landing on the white limestones of the neatly put together townhomes. Glistening stone reflected bits of the very little moonlight this night had offered. Under the cover of darkness, I made my way to the nondescript two-story townhome with a cascade of blossoming flowers decorating the black front door. With a loud kick, I barged inside.

“What the hell?!” Zora jumped up from the floral lounger, where she had been dozing off just a second prior to my appearance. Rainwater dripped down my soaked cloak as I marched across the open entryway towards the dining room. I swept the grand dining table clean with my arm. The clattering symphony of dropped silverware and broken porcelain against the oak floor was a desperate attempt to silence the screaming thoughts in my head. The limp body I carried on my shoulder thumped with a dull sound as I laid the boy flat in the dim room.

“You are going to have to do this,” I said to Zora, wiping the cold water off my face with my bloodied hand.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Zora stared at the unconscious body of a boy who must have been barely thirteen years old.

“He has a Basalt Glass shard buried deep between his heart and lungs.” I ripped his wet shirt in half, exposing his starved, bony back. My eyes scanned his pale skin, searching for a small incision scar.

“What exactly do you think I am going to do?” Zora’s narrow obsidian eyes glared at me. Her lips turned thin at my insinuating tone.

“Your hands are much smaller than mine,” I reasoned, withstanding her stare.

“And that somehow qualifies me to dig through his body scouring for a shard of Basalt Glass?” Zora’s sharp voice cut through. Her menacing face tattoo looked even more grim as she glanced back at the lifeless body.

“Qualifies you more than me.” I shrugged, throwing my wet cloak on the white cushions of the exquisitely carved dining chairs. “Think, Zora, you’d be saving a life.” I reached for a pointed knife at my hip, pulling it out of its hidden sheath.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Zora uncrossed her arms, extending her palm. “Give me the damn knife.”

“Good. Now hurry up before he dies.” I rushed her, handing her the smooth blade. She yanked the knife from me, shoving the tall chairs away from the table until she stood right above his stalky body. Her steady hand centered above his bare back, the blade just a few inches away from his pale skin. “And Zora?” She sent me a wry glance. “Try not to kill him.” I jested, taking a seat in one of the wingback loungers by the window. With a swift motion of my hand, flames burst beneath the wrought iron mantle. I pulled my drenched boots off, welcoming the warmth of the small fire.

My sight never left the unconscious body of the young boy, carefully observing, as my cousin not so silently swore a multitude of profanities under her nose. Her calloused hands ran down his back, feeling the raised scars of different shapes, finding one that was a perfect line. Her finger paused, and she let out a large breath.

“This is going to hurt like hell,” Zora whispered, wincing only once, before she slid her sharp blade through the tender flesh between his shoulder blades, cutting the small incision scar wide open. Rich red blood trickled down the regal table, dripping into the thick, plush white carpet underneath. The metal of the knife clunked with a dull sound against the wood as Zora chucked the knife onto the edge of the table. The sound was accompanied by the loud strike of lightning and thunder behind the tall, curtained windows.

“Fuck.” Zora rolled the long sleeve of her black tunic above her elbow, and then she shoved her entire hand into his body.

Seconds rushed by. The already pale skin of the unconscious boy turned chalk white, his buzzed hair now looking two shades darker against his skin.

“Zora . . . ” My voice raised an alarm. The faint candlelight cast a soft glow on the blood steadily pooling on the floor.

“I can’t fucking find it,” she hissed, as her hand dug deeper into his body, searching for the tiny shard of glass. Relentless rain knocking against the metal roof was the only sound in the room. Our breaths paused and our heartbeats slowed as we both wished for time to stop.

“Anything?” I asked again, my voice taunt. Zora ignored my words, her eyes closed, her arm buried deep into his back.

I forced my clenched fists to relax, leveling my breaths. Each passing moment brought us dangerously close to the last seconds of life for the young boy.

“Zora,” I murmured, my voice laden with a heavy warning, recognizing that we’d just ran out of time, as the trickle of blood slowed down.

“Found it!” Zora shouted with relief, wiggling her wrist out of the body. “It’s so damn slippery.” Her forehead wrinkled with a grimace, and a drop of sweat rolled down her brow. “Got it!” She exhaled, bringing the rounded Basalt Glass piece up closer to the light. The dim candlelight illuminated a shard of black glass, as small as a nail, wedged between her two bloodied fingers.

Freed from the poisonous stone, the boy’s body twisted, his consciousness jolting him painfully awake, as his freed powers flooded his body. An agony filled scream burst our ears as he cried out.

“You are okay,” my cool voice soothed him. His entire body cramped, twisting his bones as if in some evil spell. “Here,” I called on his Destroyer fire, easing his pain as his powers, restricted since childhood, tore cruelly through him. He cried out once more before losing consciousness, his body becoming limp again.

“I fucking hate all of this,” Zora spat. His scream still rang in our ears as she bent over him, rapidly stitching his back. Grinding her teeth, she pushed the curved thin needle into him, cursing as it slipped from her bloodied fingers. “I swear to gods, Gideon, if this kid doesn’t make it, I will hate you for the rest of your miserable life.”

My pull on the boy’s powers held steady, calming his raging fire, and though my face was calm with just a hint of boredom, I was intrigued by the steady powerful protest of the newly freed powers as they fought against my restraint.

“Who is he?” Zora’s eyes narrowed on me finishing the last of the stitches.

“A stray I came across.”

“A stray Destroyer kid, with Basalt Glass buried deep near his heart, somehow magically rescued by you?” Her accusatory tone was not lost on me. I leaned back in my chair, meeting her daring glare, both of us aware of my blatant lie.

“Would you rather that I ditched him where I found him?” I severed the tense silence a moment later.

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Zora took a long breath, letting it out slowly, as she contemplated how much she wanted to argue. Her steady hand paused, holding the needle and thread above the deep wound for a moment. She shook her head, silently having a conversation before switching her focus from the boy to me.

“Did you at least find what you were looking for?” she asked, her head motioning me to light the fire brighter. With a blink of my eye, a little fire sphere appeared, floating in the air right next to her hand as she added a few more stitches.

“Somewhat.” I scoffed at the minor findings I managed to discover on my trip to the Svitar Slums. The stale smell of moldy walls and old fabric that seeped through every room in the old orphanage was still buried deep in my lungs.

“So, she did have a sister?” Zora gave me a probing glance, before returning her eyes to the body, carefully examining her patchwork and the boy for any other wounds.

“Yes.”

“A Seer?”

“No, a Creator.”

“Hmm . . . ” Zora motioned with her chin to a deep bowl and a fresh towel in it. I stood up, walking towards the tall credenza. With a blink of an eye, I warmed the clean water in the crystal pitcher before filling the bowl and passing it off to Zora. She dampened the towel, gently patting his back, washing him of the blood. Thunder roared through the city, lighting up the slumbering streets as Zora carefully wrapped the boy’s body in layers of bandages.

Finished with her work, she finally took a step back from the table where he rested, wiping her hands on the back of her pants. “Is he still fighting it?” Her brows furrowed as she watched the boy’s body shudder in small waves.

“Surprisingly, yes,” I replied, not easing my hold on his powers. “How was your visit?” I asked, aware of my cousin’s spoiled mood. Her frown turned bitter at the question.

“Oh, the usual. He refused to see me, blaming me for everything, and still thinks I am the bane of his existence,” Zora mumbled, but before I could reply, she quickly changed the subject. “Let’s move him,” she ordered. I picked the boy up, carrying the long, slender figure toward the leather-bound chaise in the adjoining study. Zora ran ahead of me into the room, fluffing up the burgundy velvet pillows with yellow tassels on them. She stepped aside, allowing me to put his shaking body down, carefully tucking in a few knitted blankets over him. We kept the oil lamps odd, letting the subtle light fall into the room from the open door.

Zora’s eyes were dull as she stared at the boy, lost in her thoughts. The wild fall wind wailed in the chimney. I lit the old fireplace with a gentle, small fire, letting the fire warm up the chilly room. “I thought he’d be proud, you know, his daughter, finally a commander. He was a commander too.”

I opened my mouth to say something. Her forehead wrinkled, and she folded her arms.

“I know it was stupid to think that. I knew that then. I know that now. But . . . I just hoped he would be . . . against any reason.” Her voice cracked, and her nails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists tighter. She looked away from the trembling body of the boy, her heavy glance reflecting the soft glow of the quietly crackling flames.

“Zora, he?—”

“Why did we get such shitty fathers?” she interrupted, swallowing hard.

“Well, for me”—I motioned up and down my body, taking a seat on a puffed armchair next to the old fireplace, welcoming the heat for my cold and soaked body—“you see, this kind of beauty comes with a price. I guess a shitty dad was expected. Otherwise I’d be perfect. For you, on the other hand . . . ” I sent her a teasing look, then stretched my legs and folded my hands on my stomach.

“Oh, screw you.” She flipped me off, but her thin lips twitched with a hint of a smile, easing my distraught heart. “I will admit, seeing his servants grimace when I said your name was satisfying.” She took a seat near me in the matching regal chair.

“See, how could you miss out on that?” My lips stretched out in a half smile, both of us fighting to keep the grief at bay. Fighting and failing. Zora rested her elbows on the sides, her sorrowful eyes drawn to the flames. The silence felt dense and deep, and easy words were buried under heavy thoughts.

“I am going to take a bath,” Zora managed to say after a while. Her cheeks flushed from the heat of the hearth. “Try to keep him alive while I am gone,” she ordered in her commanding voice. A loud, tired yawn escaped her mouth as she disappeared up the curved stairs to her room.

I stayed awake, watching the sizzling fire. The storm outside finally quieted. Now only tiny drops lingered on the fogged windows, opening to the dark streets beyond. The sound of rushing water rumbled through the old copper pipes of my townhome. Once I was sure she was gone, I pulled out an old stained and now wet envelope with a broken seal. I had already read its contents multiple times, yet my eyes scanned those few sentences again and again. Even with the ruined ink, the letters were imprinted in my mind. My thoughts drifted to the darkest corners, and I threw the letter into the fire, watching the only proof of my bloodline burn.

Perhaps I should’ve known.

Perhaps I should’ve guessed.

Yet as the letter turned to ash, swallowed by the merciless flames, the poisonous truth slithered to the deep abyss of my soul, its darkness extinguishing the last remains of light.

“Are you sleeping?” Zora kicked my foot, glaring. “You are supposed to be watching him,” she spat out, gesturing to the boy resting on the lounger.

“He’s fine. He is already controlling his fire,” I grumped, resting the back of my head on the chair.

“Hmm . . . ” She scoffed with older sibling-like disappointment on her face. I released a long puff, not having any energy left to argue. I straightened up in my seat, rubbing my eyes. The room was filled with warmth, eager to lull me back to sleep. But before I could give another thought to whether it was worth the effort of ascending the stairs leading to my room for an hour of comfortable sleep, the boy grunted. He was awake, his silver eyes cautiously assessing both of us, then the room, then back to us.

“Welcome back, kid.” Zora put on her friendliest smile, replacing her typical intimidating scowl. I sneered at the look, fighting a large eye roll at the sight of my Commander looking almost too friendly. “Whoever you are, you are free. We got the stone out, and your powers are under control,” she stated, not hiding the relief in her voice. “What’s your name?”

“Orest,” the boy’s raspy voice sounded.

“I am Zora. This is Gideon.” She pointed at me with her head.

“I know,” the boy answered, attempting to sit up. He winced from pain, but immediately corrected his composure. If I had blinked in that moment, I would’ve missed that little glimpse of vulnerability. In a split second, his face turned ice-cold, not a grimace or a flinch, or any indication of his pain.

I’d seen many grown men faint and cry out in agony at wounds far less than his, but here he was, dangerously calm and collected.

“You need to rest,” Zora spoke softly, noticing the subtle shift. She adjusted one of the blankets that slipped onto the floor. “You are safe with us, Orest.” She glanced around the room, taking a second to think of anything else she could say to comfort the boy. Unable to find any feasible reassurances that would convince him, she met his gaze once more.

“I am going to get you some sugary tea, okay?” she offered, with a rare kind smile on her lips.

“Where was this pleasantry when I was bleeding out last weekend?” I murmured as she passed me. She mouthed some curses, reminding me exactly where we stood before slipping through the double doors on her way to the kitchens.

When Zora was out of earshot, Orest’s silver eyes turned to me. There was no concern or even a glimpse of worry or fear on his face. Always calculating. Always watching.

“Does she know who I am, what am I?” he asked, his voice calm and steady.

“No,” I replied.

“Why?”

“Not my secret to tell. Though be aware, Truth Teller—kid or not—if you step out of line and hurt people I care about, I will not hesitate to end your life. And you’ve already seen what that could look like,” I warned. His eyes flashed to my cloak, heavily stained with blood that was neither his nor mine.

“Who are you?”

“I am a Destroyer.”

“Yes, but you are something else entirely too, aren’t you?” He assessed me with curiosity, trying to figure out why his powers had no hold over me. “I’ve come across a lot of different people, but no one like you . . . What are you?”

The kid was talented, beyond smart, connecting the dots in a way no one had done before.

I let my mouth stretch in an easy smile, bringing my forefinger to my lips in a shushing gesture as steps echoed behind the door. Zora rushed back in with a steaming cup of tea. A large silver spoon clanked against the porcelain with each step.

“I added a few extra cubes of sugar.” She smiled, carefully placing the large cup with its matching saucer on the checkered round table next to the lounger.

“Thank you.” Orest acknowledged the gesture, but he didn’t move. Zora took a step back, giving him space, waiting for him to take a sip, but he didn’t. “Here.” She ran out of patience after a few seconds, grabbing the cup herself. She stirred the tea, letting the steam kiss her cheeks. “You lost a lot of blood. You need to drink,” she tried to convince him. She brought the cup closer to him. “A sip, is all I ask.” Zora brought a spoon full of reddish-brown liquid to his lips.

His eyes darted between me and the spoon, questioning, hesitating. Deciding.

He locked eyes with Zora and took a full sip.

“There we go.” Zora’s shoulders eased as he took a few more sips. “Now, let me go get some cookies for you too.” She yanked another decorative pillow off the chair next to me, using it as a tray for him to rest the bottom of the cup as she let him hold it, rushing back to the kitchen.

Orest watched her small figure disappear behind the door.

“Who is she?” his quiet voice sounded a few moments later.

“Zora is my Commander.”

“But she is so tiny for a warrior,” he stated, taking the cup into his hands, letting the steam bring a hint of color to his face.

“You should definitely tell her that. She’d love to hear it.” I chuckled, scratching my chin. Exhaustion crept into my bones even as I fought it. “Zora is like a rabid badger—what she lacks in size, she makes up with ferocity and smarts.”

He took another sip, pondering, as his eyes stayed on the door.

“I think I am going to tell her who I am,” he said matter-of-factly.

I tilted my head, curious. Truthfulness was not a trait Truth Tellers carried. Divulging their most sacred truth, a secret most would easily kill for, or be killed because of, was against their very nature. It was against everything they stood for.

“Why?” I asked, not hiding my surprise at his decision.

Zora’s approaching shadow from underneath the creak of the door grew larger.

He paused before whispering the very first truth of his life.

“Because I think I found my reason to live.”