Blood Bond

After parting from Astrid, I wandered aimlessly through the temple corridors, the weight of the secrets she was clearly keeping settling heavily upon me. The cool marble slid smoothly beneath my silk-clad feet. Kael and Meris followed, their footsteps quiet, rhythmic echoes of my own pace. The storm had passed, the clashing voices within me subsiding into a weary, background din, but fragments of memory still surfaced, unbidden, like colliding ripples on a pond's surface with each step.

One step: Astrid guiding my hands through the intricate steps of the Harvest Courante, laughter echoing in a sunlit ballroom.

Another step: Warm sand between bare toes, the crash of ocean waves, Maya shrieking with glee as Mom chased us along the beach.

Another: Father's deep voice weaving grand tales of the heroes immortalized on the walls around us, his hand resting on my much smaller shoulder.

Then one more: Me screaming in delight into the wind as I raced down hill on my first bike, my feet off the pedals and Sam and Chloe running after me, shouting.

I looked up and all around us stretched murals of epic proportions, covering the ancient stone walls from floor to vaulted ceiling. Vast, chaotic scenes swirled across stone: Knights in sun-bright armor clashed with monstrous demons, their horned heads thrown back in silent roars, their faces mutilated; immense serpentine beasts, scaled backs like ridged mountains, coiled around shattered landscapes, spitting ichor; amidst the fray, haloed gods descended on wings of pure light, striking down foes with divine power. These were the murals Father guided me past, I realized. Epic and tragic tales of heroes, grand adventures from the Demon Wars. I squinted, tracing a battle line with my eyes, noticing for the first time the frayed edges, the patches where paint had flaked away entirely. I never realized how truly ancient these works were.

Kael stopped awkwardly behind me. I could sense his unease, as if he'd wrestled with a decision before finally speaking.

"You are not useless, Your Highness."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his directness, by him speaking without being addressed. His face was serious, earnest, his gaze steady.

"You are young," he continued, perhaps sensing my surprise. "Your time will come."

The words stuck something hollow within me.

"So I am useless. Now."

"No, that's not what I…"

I moved onwards, not waiting for him to continue. The truth was, I knew what he meant, but these memories had brought something to the surface that had been submerged by everything else that had bombarded me: What the hell happened to me!? To Leo!?

I had to be real. There's no way I could have dreamt up these vivid images, smells… tastes. But if I was real, then had my mind been transported? To some post-apocalyptic future? There was nothing in these murals to suggest Aethelgard could have once been modern-day Earth. Transported to the past? Impossible; history held no magic, wardstones, or soul things like this. But if this is another world... Can I get back? The urgency flared. I have to! Mom and Maya need me. I can't just leave them hanging.

So why me? Why this body? The questions hammered inside my skull. Was I brought here for a reason? Is there something I have to do to earn my way back? Is there some task set by some god – or gods? What is it?! What do I have to DO?!

As if in reply, my steps faltered. A worn stone statue of a soldier stood before me, his inanimate eyes staring straight down a different hallway, at the end of which light poured in through an open archway – a balcony.

—

I followed that stone gaze down to the archway. Stepping through, I found myself on a wide, semi-circular stone balcony, the cool evening air a welcome change after the stale corridors. Soft light emanated from glowing crystals set in sconces along the temple wall behind me.

Theron stood leaning over a low table in the center of the balcony, his brow furrowed in concentration as he studied an intricate game board laid out with carved pieces – Castellans. He looks so much like Mother sometimes, I thought, noticing the fine line of his jaw and the intense focus in those dark eyes, so different from Father's easy warmth. He muttered something under his breath – "No, Rodinar wouldn't risk their flank..." – his hand hovering over a piece shaped like a tower.

"Theron?" I asked, approaching softly. "Are you playing alone?"

He looked up, startled out of his focus. "Ah, Ela. Yes. Just... running through some scenarios against myself." When I kept staring quizzically at him, he tapped the yellow crystal at the base of his neck. "My rune, it lets me split my mind. I can divide my focus, and yes, play against myself." He waved a hand, turning his attention back to the board. "You know this; it's basic rune lore."

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"How would I know?" I retorted, the sharpness surprising even myself. "I was never taught basic rune lore." Looking back through the lens of my Earth memories, the thought intruded, cold and clear. I was never taught anything about the most important aspect of this world. They have kept me ignorant. A princess locked in a tower.

Theron looked uncomfortable at the outburst. "They meant well, Ela. To protect..." He stopped, clearly unwilling to say more.

"Protect me from what?" The frustration bubbled over. "What could I possibly benefit from not knowing?"

Theron wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Then at least tell me what this thing is." I gestured towards the thing atop my chest, hidden by the high collar.

"The high priest wouldn't say, he just told Mother that it's unique."

I grabbed at the sides of my head, and then was struck with another thought. "Did he mention that I have been Chosen?"

His eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"The halo on Astrid's crystal. It's gone."

"You were always observant." Theron's body sagged. "Such a waste."

"Theron, please, at the very least tell me what being Chosen means?"

He bit his lips. "It means that your runic abilities are amplified. A blessing atop of a blessing. 'One is twice chosen', as the saying goes."

Something twitched at the back of my mind. I couldn't shake the nagging feeling there's something more to that saying. But there's something more important. "Amplify what? I have no rune!"

He looked genuinely taken aback by this. "No rune?"

"Yes, it's just a red sphere. You saw it."

"Are you sure? Have you felt anything different? A sharper mind? Quicker reflexes? Any unusual perceptions?" The glint of academic curiosity building up in his eyes gave me a foreboding feeling.

"I... saw blood," I admitted reluctantly, thinking of the horrifying vein-vision. "A lot of blood everywhere. Blood where there shouldn't have been... Veins." I wasn't quite sure I should reveal that I saw the wardstone as a fleshy, beating heart. It felt so utterly wrong.

Theron put a hand over his chin, deep in thought. "None of our records mentioned such a thing either." His eyes gazed at me clinically again. "It was opaque, yes? There could be a rune inside. Maybe if we cut it–"

"No! You are not cutting it open!" I shouted, horrified. Kael was instantly beside me.

I pivoted, seeking safer ground. "Theron... setting aside the rune... is it possible for a soul? To come from... somewhere else? Another world?"

His brows knitted together. "From another world? One can summon demons from another plane. That is forbidden. But blood, souls moving between… Necromancy? Ela, you definitely should not delve into such dangerous arts!"

"I'm not! That's not what I'm talking about!" I backed away from the landmine I'd apparently stepped on and moved quickly over to the edge of the balcony. Down below, pinpricks of light dotted the darkening slopes at the foot of the temple. I squinted; each one was a campfire with dark figures huddled around. Some looked tiny, like shivering children. "Pilgrims?"

Theron followed my gaze, his expression turning grim. "More like refugees. Another one of our growing list of issues." Seeing my uncomprehending look, he continued, "From all the wars flaring up between the Concord kingdoms. Every day a new skirmish begins, adding to the pile."

I remembered father lecturing me as Elara, that Aethelgard should be a guiding light to all the realms, that we are the protector of the masses. But this.. this was too much. I could already see there wasn't enough to feed them all; most looked gaunt, their eyes sunken pools of shadow. That image of the boy with his sister clinging onto his back flashed in my mind again. "Can't we make them stop?" I asked, the question feeling naive even as I voiced it.

"It's been generations since Aethelgard last marched on a demon horde," Theron said heavily. "For the battles between men, mere rune power suffices. Our words, our authority… it wanes by the day."

"And the people… they'll believe in us less and less the more we can't provide for them," I reasoned aloud, the pieces clicking together with horrifying clarity, experiences from two lifetimes merging into one dreadful conclusion. "The less they believe, the more the kingdoms ignore us, leading to more wars… more refugees… It's a vicious cycle."

"Ela? How? Where did all this insight come from?"

I could see it through all my history lessons, all the videos I'd seen. Rome. Feudal Japan. France. Here was when the empire began to crumble, tearing itself apart from the inside. Here was when the emperor was pushed into the background by the warlord. Here was when the masses revolted and the guillotine came down.

"Theron, we have to stop them! They're trying to starve us out, culturally and economically. If we don't, there's going to be a… a big fight!" I threw up my hands in frustration. There's no word for revolution in this language!

This must be it: my purpose for being here. I needed to somehow stop the downfall of Aethelgard using my knowledge from Earth. I could stop the impending revolution, get back to my other home, and save both my families.

"I've been trying. Duke Armand and I have been trying to convince Father to bolster our forces." He looked bitterly back at a lone, encircled piece on the Castellans board. "The only sliver of hope we have is that the kingdoms are currently keeping each other in check."

"I'll try to help, Theron," I said, meeting his gaze. "Maybe he'll listen to me. He has to see, we're on the cusp here."

Theron somehow managed to look even more crestfallen. "Ela. If only you'd have gotten some training. You'd have made a wise sage."

"Prince Jarlen," I remembered suddenly, "he mentioned we could use their services?"

"I'd trust the elves as far as I can throw them," Theron muttered darkly. "But you are right; perhaps we could use their weapons and expertise. Though first, is still convincing Father."

He looked into my eyes, and offered his hand. "I'd be glad to have you as an ally."