The Gathering of the Hunt

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (Part One)

Aesira was close to passing out. Her back was throbbing, each step sending a wave of nausea through her so profound that she almost gagged. The ground seemed to sway beneath her, vision prickling. But each time she pushed it back, refusing to succumb to the illness that plagued her. She would not allow Cardovins to drag her down anymore, not allowing them to have a long lasting impact on her. She was stronger than them. She had to be. She didn’t really have the option to not be.
   
In the end, all her choices, all the pain and heartache and fear came down to one thing—she was responsible for the future of Aisliyria. She was the one that decided if the land fell to travesty or rose to triumph. No matter what everybody told her—no matter how many times people had reassured her that she would never be alone, she could not deny the inescapable truth. The duty of the Queen of Aislilyria was to serve the country with everything that they possessed, every part of her dignity, every bit of strength, every semblance of self that possessed — nothing less. The gods themselves had decreed it long ago when it was said that they still roamed the earth. She was to be their saviour, and yet she didn’t know how she was supposed to do so when she didn’t know how to save herself. 
   
She was the daughter of monsters—beautiful, fair monsters, yet monsters all the same. They had locked the power that rivaled their own away in her body, and each day she became more fearful of turning into one of them — a figure that was so power hungry that they lost themselves in the process. Deep down in her bones, she knew that she was one misstep away from becoming exactly what she feared.

All she wanted to do was survive. If she crossed the line, there would be no coming back. 

Aesira  never wanted to be a pawn in a game that reached so much further than herself. Her dreams were haunted by that very fact. There was no escaping the monsters that lurked in real life and her mind. 

Her foot clipped a stone. Her stomach swooped downwards, heart in her throat.  Stupid. So godsdamned stupid. Kaedon’s hands gripped her shoulder, stopping her in her descent on the way down. She jerked out of his grip so fast and with such force that she almost lost her balance once more. She swayed on her feet before settling herself, standing so perfectly still it was as if she was frozen. She had not come so far, not trekked halfway across an island to pass out when she was so close to victory. 

“We’re taking a break,” Kaedon announced, deliberately ignoring the scowl that crossed her starkly pale face. The world was floaty, spiraling around her in a dancer-like way. She aimed a weak kick towards his shins which he dodged with an easy step backwards. He clicked his tongue. “I’m sure that it’s the thought that counts, but you could have at least hit your mark.”

She would have punched him, but she was struck with a wave of nausea so profound that it trapped her and dragged her down like a riptide. She blinked away the spots that clouded her vision before she reluctantly sank down, sitting gingerly as if the weight of the world lay on her shoulders and dragged her down to the deepest pits of hell. 

Kaedon dug through one of the packs he had retrieved from the boat before leaving and threw a canteen of water at her, she caught it but didn’t take any sips from it. She fiddled with the cap, refusing to meet his gaze. Stralva dropped gracelessly to earth, hair moving seemingly flailing in an unseen wind. Wherever he went, it seemed that the winds followed him, dancing around him in an unfathomable artwork of flitting limbs and spinning bodies around him. He glared at her when he noticed her gaze — the fervor of the breeze shifting in a maelstrom-like stare. Talen was pushed down to his knees, forced to crouch in an uncomfortable position, his expression screaming with bloodlust.

He did not take kindly to being chained.  
   
A tense silence ensued, encompassing them all in it’s greed, greedy fingers. 
   
“So,” Stralva began awkwardly, “How are we supposed to get back to base?”
   
Kaedon took a swig from his water. “We walk through the front doors, obviously.”
   
Stralva chuckled. “Nice try, but according to the rebels, she—” he pointed at Aesira, “—is a traitor, and we—” he made a circle with his fingers, encompassing the group “—are aiding her.” At least he was at least including her, even if he refused to directly speak to her. It was progress—a tiny step in the right direction, but a step nonetheless. “Not to mention the fact that we are carting around the krega.”