Page 5

“ Y ou turn your corners too hard and it startles your horse.”

Chaos pats said horse under the mane and Quin slows his, watching Chaos move ahead. His borrowed violet robe flaps in the wind. He’s quite the sight, on his horse on this narrow misty path, a huge shelf of rocky cliff rising on one side while a deep drop disappears into the clouds on the other.

“She’s used to pulling carts, not racing. You had the advantage—”

The earth moves. A sudden sharp jolt, and tremors growing stronger. I tense around Quin. I know roughly what happens next, but I’ve no memories of my own, not of this part.

“Cael, move!” Quin is throwing out his hand like he expects a shield to appear—his body freezes; I can feel the thunderous beat of his heart. He’s still blocked. No shield will come.

Sound echoes around us as rocks tumble onto the mist-shrouded path, striking like a volley of arrows. Quin’s horse staggers under another jolt; my grip on him tightens as he struggles to stay steady while Chaos’s mare throws its head and rolls its eyes in panic.

A sharp crack slices the air and a rock strikes Chaos directly on the temple. His eyes flutter closed, and his body slumps forward.

“Cael!” Quin kicks his horse into action, but another rock hits the flank of the mare and she bolts up the treacherous path with her unconscious rider as rocks continue to fall.

When the shaking stops, the mare doesn’t.

Quin urgently closes the distance between their steeds, his feet coming out of the stirrups. He anticipates what’ll happen next: the mare hurtling around a tight corner—

Quin and I watch in horror as Chaos’s violet robe flares and he slides from the saddle, inch by inch.

The moment stretches, his fall slowly moving violet. We’re too far away.

Quin’s agonised roar and his sudden leap has me tumbling off the horse too. I hit the ground hard, but I don’t care. I scramble onto scratched knees to watch as Quin thrusts himself towards the cliff edge, towards a lethal drop through sparkling clouds, towards that violet robe.

He snags it, barely, his arm stretched over the edge and his fingers just curled around the hem. The material protests, tears, and Chaos’s limp body drops a foot further over the cliff. “No!” Quin cries angrily. “I don’t allow it. ”

His face strains as he reaches with his other hand and snags Chaos’s arm.

The weight and his own precarious position drag Quin forward and the ground shudders again, a smaller quake, but enough to have them both falling another foot.

Quin’s whole chest is over the edge now, only his hips and legs—one always in pain—to keep them tethered to the earth.

His good leg has hooked around a solid protruding rock; he uses that as leverage as he heaves.

I shout at him to drop me and save himself, grab him and try to pull him to safety, but the memory carries on and I sob as Quin struggles.

As he is pelted by falling stones.

As he cries out in pain.

As his exhausted body weakens.

As he refuses to let go.

He digs his fingers into Chaos’s arm, the muscles in his own bulging against his shirt. His jaw is clenched tight and pearls of sweat dribble down his temple, the fragile rock threatening to crumble under him at each small shift.

He doesn’t give up. First in small arcs that grow into bigger ones—rocking them ever closer to the edge, loosening the rock under him more and more—he swings Chaos until he has enough height and then he unhooks his leg from the one rock holding him...

Quin flings Chaos onto the path, thrusting himself around with the force until he’s sitting with his back to the deathly drop—his back almost over the deathly drop. My breath is stuck in my throat and doesn’t release until he’s moving forward, away from the crumbling edge.

He cries out as his leg gives him grief, but he grits his teeth and drags himself to Chaos’s side. A trembling palm pushes blonde locks aside and cups Chaos’s cheek—and lightly claps against him. “Caelus!”

He presses his ear urgently to Chaos’s chest. A shuddering breath leaves him and he grinds their foreheads together. “Wake. You must wake.”

Quin sits up and whistles for his horse. Using the rocky wall, he staggers to his feet, dragging Chaos with him. Using all his strength, balancing on his good leg, he slings Chaos over the horse’s shoulders and swings up behind him.

The path down is broken and perilous, covered in loose rock; they don’t get far before a massive slip bars the way entirely. Quin’s sigh is long and heavy. “We’ll have to go over the mountain.”

He turns and carefully steers his horse up the winding path, one hour, two, more... until the clear sky is turning peach, making the clouds below glitter with deep pinks. “ We’ll have to camp soon,” Quin murmurs. “It should be around here somewhere.”

‘It’ turns out to be an abandoned luminarium, one of the small ones often found in remote places like this, so travellers can stop along their journey to pay respect to the Arcane Sovereign.

Quin carries me inside and lies me next to the curving muraled wall, away from the hole in the domed roof that looks up to deepening purple skies—and the cold that comes with them.

I move about the space, trailing my hand over every intricately recalled detail.

It’s not much bigger than my childhood bedchamber, perhaps six travellers could squeeze in here at one time.

Fewer, if there ever had been a violet oak here.

Now under the open centre of the dome there’s a pit where someone before us made a fire.

I glance at Quin, who has found an old luminist robe and rolled it to make a pillow under my head. He looks over, and for a second his eyes spark; I think he can see me, but then I see he’s looking at the firepit.

Twenty minutes later, he’s scrabbled together enough wood to make a crackling fire and unearthed some jars of liquor buried outside.

He’s sniffing the contents of one of these jars when Chaos stirs. Immediately, Quin freezes and I catch the suspended rise and fall of his chest. He’s holding his breath. He doesn’t turn around but I can feel how aware he is of every subtle move Chaos makes, each stirring sound.

At Chaos’s croaky voice, Quin slams his eyes shut and releases his breath .

“Where...” Chaos is blinking, taking in the murals, turning his head to the fire and the figure crouched before it. “Maskios? What happened?”

“You were knocked out. The path was blocked; we had to ride into the mountains.”

“We’re in the mountains?”

“I thought we could take the trail down the other side. But now that we have to camp, we may as well leave the way we came. Once my meridians reopen tomorrow, I’ll clear the road.”

As Chaos takes all this in and slowly pushes himself up into a sitting position, I lift the liquor jar and take a deep drink before setting it down with a thunk that of course neither of them will notice.

I bring my face right up to Quin’s profile as he stares at the flickering fire.

“Why don’t you tell him what really happened? How he almost fell; how you saved him?”

“We’re stuck here for the night?”

“Will that be a problem? Will Akilah be searching for you?”

“I told her to go home. She may only start panicking in the morning.”

“Then she won’t be panicking too long.”

“What about me? Should I be panicking?”

Quin glances over his shoulder. “Would you? So I might see what that looks like?”

Chaos grins and winces, rubbing his head.

“Your meridians are still intact,” Quin murmurs. “Heal yourself. ”

Chaos quietly does as he’s told, and Quin grabs the jar I drank from and gulps at the liquor.

Before he sets it down, Chaos is there, scooping it into his hands as he sits himself at Quin’s other side. He shakes the jar, listening to it slosh, and sniffs at the liquid. His eyes brighten with mischief as he glances at Quin. “I’ve never tried alcohol before.”

Quin immediately reaches out to take it from him, but Chaos holds it out of reach and turns to chug a whole lot down. “Quite sweet.”

Quin steals it back. “You’ll knock yourself out again.”

“You’re not secretly thrilled? You won’t have to deal with me for the rest of the night.”

I see Quin balling the fabric of his cloak, the veins popping in the back of his hand. I cover his with mine and am surprised to feel even the ticking of his pulse.

Chaos starts rambling, progressively inching closer to Quin as the cool air becomes cooler. When they bump together, Quin hisses and instinctively clutches his thigh.

Chaos turns to him sharply and stares at his lap. “You’re wounded. Let me—”

Quin bats Chaos’s approaching hands away and shuffles in my direction, until I feel his warmth pressed against my leg.

Chaos glowers.

“It’s nothing. Just a few rocks. I’m fine.”

Chaos doesn’t stop. “This again? Why won’t you let me heal you? Because I’m par-linea. That’s ridiculous.” He pushes up his sleeves and starts summoning a spell. “ If I’d known you were suffering, I would’ve healed you first—”

His spell blows up in his face, sending his hair upright. He blinks, puzzled, and frowns. Shakes out his hands. He tries again to call his magic but it merely fizzes... He looks at Quin. “I... I can’t. It must be the liquor!”

Quin can’t hold it back—he laughs and reaches out, flattening Chaos’s hair.

Chaos stiffens under the touch and their gazes meet.

Suddenly Quin is dropping his hands and Chaos becomes absorbed by the dancing flames.

“So,” Chaos says, swallowing, “have you practiced archery for a long time?”

“From the moment I could lift and aim a bow.”

“Even though you can use magic?”

“Sometimes magic isn’t an option. We need other ways to survive. To fight.”

Chaos looks at his hands and sighs, frowning irritably. “Even to heal?”

“What if this happens again? When your magic fails?”

“I’d rather never drink again!”

I sigh and stare sadly at Chaos. He’s just eighteen—too young, too prejudiced.

If only he’d truly listened, if only he’d spent more time learning other methods alongside vitalian ones.

He’d have saved more lives along the way.

Maybe if he’d learned, those who died waiting on magic in Kastoria wouldn’t have.

“I desperately want to be a vitalian,” Chaos whispers towards the fire. “It’s my dream. ”

Quin’s voice is very soft. “Your only dream?”

“If I ever stray from it, I hope someone will plunk me back onto my right path.” He tilts his head back towards the dome and the smoke rising into a starry sky. “I think that might be true love.”

“Helping one stay on the right path?”

“No. Helping one another stay on the path.”

The rest of their conversation is muted, as if Quin remembered talking but no longer the content.

As if, perhaps, Quin had been caught up in that particular one.

They talk until they yawn, until they curl next to the fire on their sides, the tops of their heads barely a few inches apart.

I watch as they fall asleep; as they toss and turn, warming their fronts then their backs; as their heads shift closer and closer until, sleeping, they’re facing each other, their soft breaths tickling, their noses skimming.

The fire dies and the night deepens, and finally they’ve found peace.

I drink the remaining liquor while I sit against the muraled wall and wait. Quin’s imagined how this night together looked; he’s gifted this for me to see how he dreamed it happened. All these moments that have meant something to him, the big ones and the little ones...

Quin wakes at the first shimmer of dawn and opens his eyes to Chaos, sleeping serenely before him.

I crawl over and kneel for a better view.

His hand hovers near the back of Chaos’s head, like he wants to bury it in the silky locks of his golden hair, and a smile is ghosting over his face .

He pulls away sharply and sits, jaw twitching as he slams his eyes shut.

He swallows hard, and I follow a subtle shake of his shoulders to his trembling limbs.

Chaos stirs behind him and Quin stiffens; when it’s quiet again, he pulls himself to his feet and hobbles outside to a blast of fresh air in his face.

He breathes it in deeply, but as if it’s not enough, he gets on his horse.

I hurry to jump on behind him as he steers his mount and rides down the narrow path.

His cloak whips in the wind, his hair is tossed back, his grip on the reins is white.

I have to hold on tight not to be thrown off—and Quin claimed these memories are safe! One sharp bend and I might fly off the cliffs for real.

He slows as he reaches the slip blocking the path but the tension he carries thrums ceaselessly under my fingers. “You can’t, Constantinos Quintus. You mustn’t !”

I sigh. This is why he left me alone up there.

I lightly nip his shoulder.

Chaos will wake to a cold luminarium, Maskios nowhere to be seen.

He’ll wait for an hour, thinking perhaps he was out to forage for food, or find Chaos’s mare.

When he doesn’t return, Chaos will pick himself up and start walking down the path on his own, becoming more and more irritated with each step.

He’d talk to himself. Hadn’t we started to get on?

Why then did I wake to no one, no word left, and no idea if we’ll ever meet again?

I have no horse! The beating my father will give me.

.. And my brother! His ruined robe...

Chaos would make vows on his long trek down the mountain. He’d pound his fist towards the sky and declare Calix ‘Maskios’ Solin could not be relied upon; could not be trusted. Just wait, if he ever saw the man again! A mask is, after all, a lie.

I grind my head against Quin’s braids while Quin mutters to himself to get under control.

“ Brother .”

I look up sharply, as Quin does too. Nicostratus slows his mount to a walk and stops on the opposite side of the slip. “Been searching all night,” he shouts. “You’ve scared me.”

Quin manages a chuckle as Nicostratus throws out a spell that blasts the fallen rock into fine dust.

When the path is cleared, Nicostratus grins. “Coming? Or are you suddenly fond of the mountain path?”

Quin hesitates. He looks over his shoulder, back up the path to where Chaos is, somewhere hours off, stumbling and cursing him. He shifts in his saddle. A long misty breeze sails over him and Quin turns in it towards his brother, his mind set. “Let’s go.”