Smoke - The Gates Saga

By Michelle Lee Alfonso

Twins Roxanne and Malachi Montgomery have always teetered on the border of rebellion. As Blood Warriors for their homeland Evayldrie and secretive saviors of the populated realms, their purpose is to maintain the Balance—a flexible force that holds the very threads of the universe together.

At age twelve, Roxanne and Malachi witness the gruesome murder of their father, and not long thereafter, the disappearance of their mother sends them reeling for answers on their own.

Now nineteen, the twins venture beyond the portal to find the true meaning to their lives. Their craving for revenge urges them forward into a devastating future full of questions without answers.

Everyone knows the danger of playing with fire. Is the truth too hard to swallow when you're suffocating on smoke?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365054662

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Smoke - The Gates Saga

The Gates Saga - Book I - Smoke

© 2017 Michelle Lee Alfonso

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-365-05466-2

Michelle Lee Alfonso

44 Lyman Rd

Chicopee, MA 01013

Twins Roxanne and Malachi Montgomery have always teetered on the border of rebellion. As Blood Warriors for their homeland Evayldrie and secretive saviors of the populated realms, their purpose is to maintain the Balance—a flexible force that holds the very threads of the universe together. At age twelve, Roxanne and Malachi witness the gruesome murder of their father, and not long thereafter, the disappearance of their mother sends them reeling for answers on their own. Now nineteen, the twins venture beyond the portal to find the true meaning to their lives. Their craving for revenge urges them forward into a devastating future full of questions without answers.

Everyone knows the danger of playing with fire. Is the truth too hard to swallow when you’re suffocating on smoke?

"With impetuous recoil and jarring sound

Th’ infernal doors, and on their hinges grate

Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook

Of Erebus. She opened, but to shut

Excelled her power; the gates wide open stood."

—John Milton, Paradise Lost

Part I

Grains of Sand

"To see a world in a grain of sand

And heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour."

—William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

I: The Oath

"Will you quit it? cried nineteen-year-old Roxanne at her twin brother Malachi as he lifted a red plastic Light Saber replica and thwacked her in the side. Malachi ran a hand through his hair, mussing the golden blond tresses dangling in his hazel eyes, which rolled at the comment. You’re such a child sometimes, Roxanne said in an irritated voice. Today is about the Io Lyrae. Can you please pretend it’s more important than messing around?"

Malachi shrugged his shoulders as a blasé response, tossing aside the plastic toy. I’m not really all that concerned about joining, and I don’t see why I should be.

This isn’t a game.

Malachi raised an eyebrow. I’m well aware.

I want you to be careful. Don’t draw extra attention to me, please. I will have enough problems today.

Malachi dismissed the discussion with the wave of his hand and stormed out of the room.

Idiot, said Roxanne, staring up at the ceiling. Painted there was an ethereal masterpiece depicting Azazyel standing among the remnants of an abandoned land. She studied this often in times of stress and anxiety. Today, there were plenty of both. By Azazyel’s grace, he created Evayldrie. Since then, Evayldrie worshiped his grace, the kindness that allowed them to all exist. From the birth of Evayldrie came the development of the Io Lyrae, an organization of highly trained Warriors built to protect the delicate unseen presence tying together the stability of the universe—Balance.

This is what the Io Lyrae stands for. This is what makes them fight for the Cause. This…this is what they all die for.

Disturbed by the painting’s haunting effects Roxanne fled the room, following her brother through the high archway at the north end of the vacant space. She faintly heard her brother’s footsteps disappearing down the Grand Hall. In the light of the ornate sconces hanging by each closed door, Roxanne saw his shadow stretch across the brick walls. Malachi, wait, she called out. His shadow continued.

Roxanne chased after him, feet moving swifter than she would have liked. Her ankle twinged in agony.

What do you want? Malachi shouted behind him. He halted at the end of the Grand Hall.

To come with you, she said as she neared the corner where his shadow stretched across the walls in a distorted height. I’m sorry, Roxanne choked. Apologies were rare for Roxanne. She raised her voice a few decibels to conceal her uneasiness. I’m just worried about you.

You’re worried about me? Malachi queried. His mouth twitched into a half-smile. I’m not the one defying tradition.

Don’t be so sure that my concern is misplaced—

"I’ll be fine," he promised, wrapping a sinewy arm around his sister’s shoulder as a desperate gesture to comfort her. Despite his attempt worry coursed through her veins. Their father said the same thing to them six years ago. Later that same day they witnessed his murder. His death inspired Malachi to become a member of the Io Lyrae earlier than anticipated to exact his revenge. It was a desire he shared with Roxanne, though she understood one thing. Revenge consumes. She cared for Malachi enough to place his well-being before revenge. As her only remaining family, nothing was worth losing Malachi over. No revenge would resurrect their broken family.

Their mother, Helena Montgomery, disappeared four years ago. No one discovered a body but the suspicion of her disappearance lay bare. Even without their father Nathaniel by her side, Helena trained her children day in and day out until one day she left and never returned. She instilled in them an unrivaled bravery and strength that haunted them to this hour. While her disappearance combined with their father’s murder overwhelmed Malachi, Roxanne redirected her pain into motivation. She would not disappoint them.

In the weeks following Nathaniel’s murder, Malachi often found himself inquiring about Roxanne’s apathy. Hidden in the privacy of their dormitories of Haven Malachi confronted Roxanne. Many, many times. She always controlled her emotions and this discipline was a quality she prided in herself. She seldom answered his questions, deeming them unnecessary reminders of a time she would prefer to leave in the past.

Where it belongs, she had told him.

Finally, after weeks of pestering, she snapped at her brother. Emotions make us weak, she replied with a certainty not to be confused with heartlessness. They make us vulnerable to lies, to deceit and for us, that means vulnerable to death. Emotions make people judge with their hearts and not with their minds as they should do.

He had not known what to say then and if he were to address it again today he still would not. He could not understand. In order for Roxanne to be the Warrior she intended to be, she determined it was vital to think pragmatically. To do this she rid herself of outlying emotional influence as best as possible. Though not stoic, she rendered herself muted. Roxanne believed the true strength of the mind without the influence of emotion was the single most useful, dangerous weapon. She decided it was her key to differentiating a good Warrior from a great one.

Malachi relied on his emotional instincts, unlike his sister. He welcomed his emotions and unlike his sister, he found them more dependable than thoughts. More often than not, those instincts proved to cause more problems rather than solve them. Where Roxanne occupied herself with research in her down time, Malachi became absorbed in constructing weapons at the smith. He utilized this artistic artisanship to preserve the rapidly diminishing armory, creating improvements on already-made weaponry as well as fashioning newer models.

Roxanne pushed aside the things her brother did not for the sake of responsibility and reliability. Her realism anchored Malachi and tethered him to reality. When Malachi sought to avenge their parents, Roxanne too convinced herself to become a member of the Io Lyrae alongside her brother.

And you’ll be fine too, Malachi whispered in her ear.

Roxanne snorted, miffed by her brother’s insouciance. I won’t be able to keep my eye on you all the time.

I’m more worried about you, Malachi said, letting his arms drop from Roxanne’s shoulders as they rounded the corner to the left towards the West Wing of Haven. Malachi gripped one of Roxanne’s arms, shaking it around wildly. Look at these things—noodles, if you ask me, he teased with a smirk. She yanked her arm away from him.

I do not have noodle-arms, Roxanne averred. I’m petite, okay? There’s nothing wrong with being petite.

There is when you have noodle arms!

Roxanne pouted. Ugh, come on. We’ve got to get ready for the ceremony, she urged him forward by pushing his back. We’ve got to get our gear.

Malachi groaned but sped through the corridor. Is everybody already gone?

It hasn’t begun yet, said Roxanne, but I suppose they arrive early. Unlike us, she said grimacing as she laughed. Roxanne ran a bony white hand through her smooth curls, the color of honey, just like her brother’s hair. As the pair sauntered down the remainder of the hall, lit by the remnants of orange sunlight outside, Malachi studied Roxanne. She drew her brows together, conflicted. In some part of Malachi’s mind, he could picture Roxanne darting with her knives as if dancing with whatever creature she needed to neutralize. Despite her frail appearance, her agility and speed were lethal and in combination, terrifying.

The Montgomery name grew to renown among Evayldrians. Most of the legacy left by Helena and Nathaniel appeared as the wonderful variety of modern knowledge they contributed in their lives. Even in death, their contributions saved the lives of many wounded Warriors. Through their legacy, Malachi and Roxanne had been permitted to enter the Io Lyrae a year early, becoming the exception to a traditionally inflexible rule.

The Montgomery name was also ill-famed for their attempts in merging modern human traditions with the ancient traditions of Evayldrie. The most infamous request they insisted upon, that women be admissible in the Io Lyrae, caused so much of an uproar that it was allowed for women to train along with their male counterparts in the Sparring Hall. All Evayldrians agreed on a compromise where the women could train but never receive the Warrior’s Mark. However, the changes did not arrive without the inherent stigma following it and the Montgomery family. In the years after the change became law, the young women despised the training. They continued the dutiful work of learning trades, being good wives in their arranged marriages, and furthermore proper mothers to their children who would keep the quickly dying Evayldrian race alive for at least one more generation.

This Montgomery infamy led Roxanne to refuse most of the gender-specific duties upon becoming an orphan. She desired to finish the changes Helena and Nathaniel failed to complete in their lives. It inspired Roxanne to pursue the incredible task of becoming the first female to receive the Warrior’s Mark. She felt neither frightened nor anxious about this, certain it was the correct decision.

When Roxanne approached her brother about receiving the Mark, he doubted her. As time went on, he learned to set aside his uneasiness and trust her judgment. Malachi knew better than anyone how stubborn Roxanne could be; once she made a decision, she rejected altering it. It was as simple as that. She always proved herself to do the right thing rather than the easy thing. Complex decisions simplified to obvious answers when Roxanne set her mind to a task.

After Roxanne learned of Malachi’s doubts, she informed him of something he had not considered. Hesitation can mean you never breathe again. It can mean the difference between surviving another day and dying, the latter option just another preventable death. Malachi realized  without a single doubt Roxanne would succeed in becoming a female Warrior. A great one. Moreover, that knowledge, despite his teasing only moments ago, comforted him as they pushed past the dark, heavy metal doors to enter the Armory.

The Armory was a wide room, spacious but not empty, lined with every sort of weapon imaginable. The symbol of the Io Lyrae, a dagger with ten smoky black crystals lining the blade’s edge, painted onto the wall above the far window. The real dagger rested in the beautiful Fountain of Nykelyrion, reinserted into its central stone pedestal after the ceremony each year. For this ceremony, nearing the spring equinox, the leader of Evayldrie removed the dagger of the Io Lyrae. It was a dagger touched by the Heavens. Rumors spread that the angel Azazyel created this weapon and in return stole the ever-powerful Flaming Sword. In his possession, the weapon burned itself so bright it melted to grains of salt and ash. With Azazyel’s Dagger as a valuable weapon, Evayldrie protected its power through magic, allowing only one to bear the blade in hand.

The Noheln—Keeper of Evayldrie and by all means its ruler—provided the necessary charms to protect the blade and in doing so established he alone would handle it. The Noheln was very old and very wise. The Noheln had no name and embraced the title as his life. None, other than he, truly understood the gifts Azazyel brought to Evayldrie.

The induction ceremonies used the dagger to create the Mark of the Warrior. The price for being the Guardians of the realms involved this Mark to indicate the beginning of a long journey—a history of battles and victories and defeats. Evayldrians adopted the design from the angel Azazyel after it showed the first of their people. The Mark was a beautiful piece of artwork to behold. The dagger’s blessed power burned the skin as flames would had they scorched their flesh during the placement of the Mark.

Pink-tinged light filtered through the single window at the end of the room, where, outside, masses of Io Lyrae members milled about Nykelyrion. They gathered absentmindedly around the massive stone obelisk with the motto of the Io Lyrae etched onto it in Empyreal: Jenedosilos nono, jenedosilos ninaza, sala nanaza calo nonacimas vasi noli calo dazi janim. Victorious day, victorious night, for light and darkness are one and the same.

The high towers and sloping ceilings which rose to a lethal point were homes to all Evayldrians. The buildings themselves were gothic in nature, with intricate architectural design both inside and out. Far off in the distance, beyond the horizon, mountains tipped with ice touched the bright blue skies. Now, as the suns dipped below the visible curve of the earth, vivid roses and creamy pale oranges painted the skies above the mountain range. To the left of the mountains was a river nicknamed Fireside after a tale in old Io Lyrae legend. Their ancestors claimed to discover the Flaming Sword flickering by the water; however, no historian ever confirmed this as fact. Overtop of Fireside River floated a slight opaque mist; it hovered above the undisturbed surface of the water every morn but would disappear on most days when the weather was predictably pleasant.

Haven had a lovely view of the open and forest-like landscape. A variety of different trees, from oak to sassafras and all types in between were scattered around the roads. The winding roads of Nykelyrion all led towards Cindershade Tower. With its stained glass windows lining the length of the walls and the sheer height of the building itself, it was a sight to amaze almost anyone. The ornate structure of the building was intimidating to those who had never entered because of its power. Evayldrians witnessed the induction of new members for the Io Lyrae there, at Cindershade Tower.

Here, in the city of Nykelyrion, where all Io Lyrae dwelled for training and education, palatial Cindershade Tower was by far one place all future members hoped to see—particularly at their own introduction to the group. The Tower, once inhabited by the first of the Io Lyrae, was built atop a steep, rocky hillside overlooking the idyllic landscape of lush fields of Evayldrie.

Grab your clothes, said Roxanne as she wandered to the door near the end of the Armory, pulling her eyes from the view outside the window. She walked towards the wardrobe holding their outfits for the ceremony. She reached inside for the only two outfits remaining—surely, the others had gathered theirs and arrived in the Tower already. The ceremony will be starting soon.

She tossed the black garments to Malachi, who caught the items in one hand. He began unbuttoning his shirt. You could at least wait until I’m out of sight, Roxanne said, shielding her eyes. Oh, the horror! she muttered as she darted out of the room, just before Malachi, with a small laugh, unbuttoned his jeans and dressed in the slacks provided for him.

Roxanne moved quick, undressing in the blink of an eye. She had snuck over to an empty room across from the Armory and when she returned to Malachi, she adorned the custom-made corset-like top with small slits for her arms. The fabric dipped low by the small of her back, leaving most of her bare skin exposed to the brisk temperature outside. A single inch-wide strip connected one shoulder to another to secure it. She wore tight leather pants with straps on the outside of her thighs and inside of the ankles—slots for different types of weapons, some to hide, and others not so much.

She and Malachi were both barefoot, as tradition called for. She glanced up at her brother. Let’s go, Malachi. I can hear the bell tolling, she whispered. He heard it too and he urged her forward.

They meandered outside into the warmth of the fading sunlight. When they walked towards the Fountain of Nykelyrion, the Noheln stood in the water over the obelisk, chanting in Empyreal language. She stared, and the Noheln turned abruptly, noticing her scrutiny. He stopped chanting before a strange smile crept across his thin, dry lips. She nodded at him, inclining her head as a sign of respect. All the Evayldrian citizens gathered inside Cindershade Tower, awaiting the arrival of the Noheln and the dagger.

The pinks and oranges painting the sky in streaks of color faded to a light violet as the sun retreated for the day, succumbing to the darkness of the night. Roxanne’s lids slipped shut, allowing her a brief moment of peace. She paused beside Malachi until the resounding bell echoed in the city again.

Roxanne stopped on the gray stairs as she and Malachi reached the entrance of Cindershade Tower. Inhaling sharply, she stepped through the doors.

Inside Cindershade Tower, hundreds of people sat among the pew-like rows of cushioned benches, talking amongst themselves. A group of eleven Elders took their seats at the front of the audience, as the proper witnesses to the ceremony. The Tower, despite its gothic outer appearance, had a light airy interior that smelled pleasantly of the peonies blooming beyond the doors in the wild gardens. Ivory detailed the white walls. Large columns that seemed to be from the Corinthian era—maybe even Romanesque in appearance, laced with spiraling silver, held up the building as if it would crumble without them. Above Malachi and Roxanne was another painting—this one an original, done by the Noheln himself. Roxanne was admiring the piece when Malachi dragged her towards the row of people who kneeled upon the stairs, facing the crowd of civilians.

As they joined the group, the Noheln walked inside, his gait steady yet somehow intimidating. Roxanne did not dare shudder at the sight of someone so aged with something as powerful as the Lyrae Dagger. The Noheln’s slow smile unsettled both Montgomery twins. He sauntered to the center of the baronial room, commanding the attention of every person present.

It is time once more, began the Noheln with a booming, resonating voice, "to welcome new blood into the Io Lyrae, and to the angel Azazyel whom we must thank for the grace to bestow us—the trusted Evayldrian—with this weapon." The thin arms of the Noheln seemed as if they might fracture under the deceiving weight of the blade but did not. He held it up without shaking, displaying it over his head, one long hand gripping the intricate silver hilt.

"It is by this dagger that these men—and one foolish woman—will bear their mark. Dazi ninac sov dazi Nenasila, the Noheln said in Empyreal, gesticulating to the crowd of fifteen people behind him that kneeled on the smooth steps, The Mark of the Warrior. The Noheln wandered behind the line of people for whom this ceremony was for, still holding the dagger. He paused behind Roxanne, shaking his head at her. They will be the future of the Io Lyrae. The future of the dimensions rests with them, as the guardians of all realms." A thunderous applause rippled through the audience and the Noheln paused. The Noheln did not hide his displeasure with the uproar but let it continue for a moment, casting his eyes towards the fifteen inductees as it died down.

"Each of the fifteen will have the freedom to say what they please before they give their oath to the Io Lyrae. Then they will be marked if I so deem them worthy."

The Noheln wasted no time at all and started at the left of the line, working his way to the right. Malachi and Roxanne tuned out everything else, grabbing each other’s hands so tight that their knuckles whitened. The other individuals adjacent to the twins swore their allegiance to the Io Lyrae and waited for the dagger to place the Mark upon them. When the blade touched one of the inductees, he cried out in pain. For this, the Noheln ordered him from the ceremony, Mark unfinished, never to heal nor appear as it should. Forever it remained a reminder of his failed strength. As he walked out of the room, his back not only trickled blood but shame as well. Things like that did not occur often, however when they did no one ever forgot them.

The Noheln dismissed people to the infirmary to have their Marks cared for after successful drawing. Two kneeled before the Noheln on the stone steps.

Ah, the Montgomery siblings, regarded the Noheln, intrigued. "Narila wezosi nimasas nomad sas noli."

Yes, twins whose hearts beat as one, replied Roxanne smoothly. From the week we were conceived to the end of our lives.

The Noheln stood astonished, gray eyebrows furrowed at her blatant disregard for a permitted response. You understand the Empyreal language?

"Noma. I taught my brother the language."

His eyes widened and the dark irises flickered between the Montgomery children. Malachi watched the audience turn to one another, whispering. "Wile vono polo vamasi dazi Naniponam sov dazi Nacima?" asked the Noheln. Roxanne heard people asking what the Noheln had said from the crowd.

I borrowed the necessary books from our Archives and learned the language you fail to teach us. You have denied too many of our native tongue.

Those Archives are sealed—no one’s supposed to touch them—

The Noheln silenced the crowd with the wave of his hand. His disgust for Roxanne was clear. Such an extraordinary feat for two such as yourselves. The language is not easy to learn. I myself only know limited amounts.

Malachi nodded in agreement, squeezing on Roxanne’s hand to reassure her. He had noticed her shaking and desperately tried to calm her frazzled nerves.

Well, while this is certainly amazing to behold, the ceremony must continue. You know, it is rare for women to be so bold in Evayldrie, said the Noheln. You may speak what’s on your mind, Roxanne Montgomery. However much you would like to say, say it. The freedom is yours.

Roxanne continued with a heavy sigh.

Warriors are inherent students. We learn from the experiences we survive and never doubt the capability to do so. As a Warrior at heart, I fear not pain nor death.

Ah, said the Noheln. "I see. You are brave and foolish to say such things. So many have claimed these words before and have lied. They failed to be successes, to be remembered. The Noheln hesitated. What you must see is that you are underage, yet we have endured your womanly presence in the Sparring Hall, because of the justice you seek for your parents. The Io Lyrae is all about justice, but not revenge. Take care to remember that aspect in the future."

For a long while, everyone was silent. Malachi spoke to break the silence that had deafened Roxanne. As Malachi’s voice pierced the air, Roxanne translated his words for the witnesses among the crowd.

Victorious day, victorious night. For light and darkness are one and the same.

We, the Montgomery children, vow to pledge allegiance to the Io Lyrae, Malachi continued firmly. His voice rang loud and clear. It is the job of the Warrior to do, within their power, whatever is necessary to keep the world of light and dark in unity. And we promise to serve the Io Lyrae until our last breaths. Even when the life has left us, we will serve happily in the glory of the angel that blessed our race.

The Noheln stared in wonder at their connected hands. Malachi smiled at Roxanne, who returned the gesture with one of her own.

‘Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be men of courage; be strong,’ stated the Noheln. What you told me just then reminded me of a verse in Corinthians. It seems fitting, said the Noheln. He strolled behind Malachi, dagger raised. Witnesses among us, the Noheln began again. Shall these two make any such movement as to indicate pain or discomfort, you are ordered to inform me. Is that understood?

All eleven Elders nodded in accord.

Malachi Nicholas Montgomery, you will now be marked as a Warrior for the Io Lyrae, announced the Noheln. Recite the Warrior’s Oath.

The Noheln began to carve into Malachi’s flesh. Malachi understood the feeling of wanting to scream as the sword burned the skin away. Warm streams of blood wriggled down his bare back as the dagger drew the Mark. It was a symbol the Evayldrians welcomed, deeming it fitting enough for their Cause to scar it on their backs. It represented perfection and balance between negative and positive, male and female, construction and destruction, and life and death. Such a symbol sometimes disturbed the young Warriors, seeing as it bore a resemblance to wings. The Mark itself was comprised of harsh angles, tribal and feral in its appearance. It showed tribute to the angel Azazyel that blessed their people, and because of this angel’s mastery with weapons, they deemed it appropriate to depict the symbol this way—as sharp as the blades of Azazyel. Even if aware of the necessity of the Mark, the fact remained that a scar of the angel’s wings marred their backs for the rest of their lives—however short those lives might be—and it perturbed them.

To Roxanne and Malachi, they understood and accepted the symbol for its meaning and furthermore embraced the Mark scarred onto them without a second thought. For them, it was a proud thing to bear, a beautiful symbol showing their dedication to balance between all things in existence, and a reminder to restore that Balance—beginning with oneself.

He did not flinch as he heard his skin sizzle. Roxanne’s grip on his hand was encouraging, the touch relaxing Malachi while the Noheln continued marking him. The burning sensation had not ceased, and would not do so for a long while. The smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. The crowd wrinkled their noses in disgust yet again, as they did each time a newcomer was marked.

"I, Malachi Nicholas Montgomery, son of Helena and Nathaniel, hereby swear my life to the Io Lyrae. I will strike in the name of justice and show no mercy to those who betray the Balance. I will protect this realm and the innocents in it with my life. Until my dying breath, I am a Warrior, and as such, it is my duty and my honor to fight for the Cause. Until my dying breath, I am a Warrior, and as such, I am blessed to serve my people with pride."

You are now a Warrior for the Io Lyrae. May you find the balance you seek, Malachi Montgomery.

The Noheln ordered Malachi away. He did not stand on his feet; he loitered on the stairs, on his knees with Roxanne’s hand in his. Roxanne did not leave my side, therefore I shall not leave hers, he told the Noheln in a steady voice.

You Montgomery children are steadfast, like your parents. We have already ignored one rule for your benefit; we shall not ignore another. Leave, Malachi.

Go, Malachi, Roxanne whispered. Do not make him resent us already—

No, Roxy. Malachi turned to the Noheln, standing upright. "Pem venaz sala dazi Nonolo Nonaz. Varosi tal vasodisa dazi jodima sas Nonolo Nenasilas."

The Noheln shook his head; eyes closed in fury, he continued towards Roxanne. Malachi kneeled back beside her, slipping his hand over the top of hers. She shot him a look, as if to scream: What do you think you’re doing? Malachi stared straight forward, waiting for the Noheln to speak.

"Roxanne Aislinn Montgomery, you will now be marked as a Warrior for the Io Lyrae. Please recite the oath."

The Noheln marked Roxanne, carving a little deeper with hopes of inciting some reaction in her that would prevent her Mark’s completion. He wanted nothing more than to leave a reminder of her dishonorable actions and pathetic attempts to change Evayldrie. Blood slinked down her skin, making her back slick with crimson. Roxanne stared, unblinking, into the crowd, a profound expression on her delicate face.

"I, Roxanne Aislinn Montgomery, proud daughter of Helena and Nathaniel, hereby swear my life to the Io Lyrae. I will strike in the name of justice and show no mercy to those who betray the Balance. I will protect this realm and its innocents with my life. Until my dying breath, I am a Warrior, and as such, it is my duty and my honor to fight for the Cause. Until my dying breath, I am a Warrior, and as such, I am blessed to serve my people with pride."

Silence fell upon the room. "You are now a Warrior for the Io Lyrae. The words fell from the Noheln’s lips with scorn. May you find the balance you seek, Roxanne Montgomery."

She stood, dragging Malachi up with her. He held fast onto her hand and smiled at her again. Roxanne responded with a disapproving scowl, knowing the next topic of discussion.

You dared to ask for the Blood Oath, Malachi Nicholas Montgomery?

A furor broke through the audience.

That has not been done in years, Noheln, said a female witness from the bench. It is far too dangerous.

As is the life of any Warrior, insisted Malachi.

Silence! The Noheln exclaimed. The boy has requested the Oath. He knows its peril.

Roxanne remained impassive.

The Blood Oath is eternally binding. Once completed, the Warriors must do all they can to protect the other, as sworn by their blood. Their power united is stronger than those alone. But this power does not come without a price. The Noheln’s black eyes glinted deviously. When one Blood Warrior bleeds, so shall the other. When one falls, the other does as well. This is the price for such an oath. The Noheln turned to Malachi and Roxanne, facing them. His hands clasped behind his back, around the handle of the dagger that dripped blood onto the ground.

Do you, Malachi Nicholas Montgomery, accept the terms of the Blood Oath?

I agree to the terms, Noheln, if my sister does.

Let it be known that this is the sole reason women were prohibited from becoming Warriors. Women are foolish and weak in battle and like a disease, they spread this weakness among other Warriors.

Women are not the issue. The issue is a little thing called complacency and it caused every single one of the deaths in our Warriors—

Her outburst was cut short. Roxanne stood, paralyzed at the look of seething disdain plastered across everyone’s face in Cindershade.

Do you agree to the terms?

The Noheln noticed her hesitation and grinned. Roxanne narrowed her eyes.

I wish to be bound by the Blood Oath to my brother. He and I will make fine Blood Warriors, she said with a certain smugness. I know the risks and accept the terms.

Relief washed over Malachi’s stoic face. The hard lines on his forehead smoothed.

Remember, it is an eternal gift and an eternal curse. Such cannot be removed from the blood once done.

"Pi menan vol nalodinip sil pil nalema tal vomil pil nanadis janam. Rilil varina dazi nonolo nonaz tal vasaham pid, whispered Malachi. We will swear the Oath."

How touching, said the Noheln in a derisive voice. But a contradiction. That you love your sister so much you would be willing to protect her at any cost. But if it was you she needed protection from? What then?

I would do what I had to do to keep her safe.

A wise answer. The Noheln addressed the crowd. The two before us wish to be bonded by their blood, to be Blood Warriors, to be as one fighter with the strength of many. They have agreed willingly and so it shall be done. Raise your hands, please. Palms towards the sky.

Malachi and Roxanne did as commanded.

The Noheln removed the dagger from behind his back and lifted it skyward. By the blade of Azazyel, I ask that these two be bound by the blood that runs through their veins. I ask for the blessing of the angels, for it is they Malachi and Roxanne Montgomery serve below the Heavens.

Without warning, the Noheln slashed the twins across their palms. The wound burned worse than the fresh mark on their back and blood poured from these lacerations instead of dribbling. They stared at the Noheln, partially in bewilderment, partially for more information. He clapped his hands together and jerked his chin towards them, an indication for them to do the same. Malachi stood in front of Roxanne, crimson hands waiting for hers. She placed her palms on her brother’s and watched in horror.

The skin around the cuts fused a membrane between them, connecting their hands as if glued together. Their hands tingled as if soaked in acid and both of the twins struggled to stifle their cries. The pain of the Warrior’s Mark was incomparable to this agony.

The blood of one becomes the blood of both.

The Noheln came forward and used the dagger to cut the membrane that joined their hands. The blade soothed their skin, cooled the blaze. Hold your hands out again.

The Noheln placed the blade on their hands, waiting for the magic to commence. It did not feel hot as it had before, instead chilling like ice. Her eyes were unable to discern the event she was swept into, but her nerves could. She could feel it—her skin stitching together, scabbing over the new cut. Malachi’s hands, she assumed, were healing too.

The cold blade disappeared from their hands and they ogled at their bloody palms, now on their way to healing.

It is done.

Be careful with your hands for the next couple hours. Wouldn’t want to rip that thing open, said an Elder from the crowd, breaking the unbearable silence. I wouldn’t touch anyone either, the same Elder murmured. Your hands are infused with powerful magic. It will die down eventually, but you will burn anyone who touches you—

The Noheln slashed at Malachi’s side, drawing blood from the cut. What the— Malachi started. His voice trailed away as he stared at Roxanne, gripping a similar wound on her own body.

When one Warrior bleeds, so will the other… Roxanne whispered. Malachi and Roxanne watched their blood stream down their skin. It dropped with an audible noise into the pool of blood on the ground, staining the white floor the deepest of crimsons.

II: Gone

Malachi and Roxanne did not speak as they returned to Haven. The breeze that whirled against their skin before the ceremony had been warm and soothing; now it was cold and bothersome. It bit at their flesh with extra ferocity. The other new Warriors stepped towards them with congratulatory remarks and invitations to a celebration at seven o’clock tomorrow evening. They seemed to be joyful about the event.

Malachi and Roxanne did not share their cheerfulness.

They’re still bleeding, someone said behind them. They didn’t even clean themselves up.

Shut up, dude, the boy’s friend muttered. "They can hear you."

"But it’s not red…it’s black."

Roxanne turned to say something to them. Malachi held her still with a weary look. Sighing, Roxanne wrapped her arm around her brother’s waist, unconcerned about the blood that smeared across her left arm. The walk back to Haven seemed longer than ever. Malachi could feel the other Warriors’ gazes on their backs as they moved. The others stood at a distance eyeing the blood, suspicious. Malachi knew they wondered what happened in Cindershade after dismissal. His head hung low. The pair made their way to the West Wing doors.

Once inside, Malachi closed his eyes for a second, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. When he opened them, he unwound Roxanne’s arm from his side and inspected her. Roxanne’s eyes were bloodshot, the blood vessels popped, spiraling around her irises. Some of the blood on her side had begun to dry and flake off, leaving an orange tint to her pale skin.

The blood makes it looks worse than it is, she assured him, meandering through the halls towards their rooms in the East Wing. He followed behind her, feeling the flames inside his hands. He glanced at them and shuddered.

Come on, Roxanne pressed, urging Malachi into her room.

Room 220 of Haven was a kernel of comfort. The fire crackled, resin seeping and sticky on the logs. It filled the room with pleasant warmth and provided adequate lighting. It was not much—considering they preferred to spend their time elsewhere. The door adjoining Roxanne’s room with Room 219, the room assigned to her brother, was ajar at the far end of the space. In the center of the room, a black futon with silver railing faced the fireplace. Books lined the walls for Roxanne’s study, a hobby she enjoyed in the small amounts of downtime she had. The two shared a bathroom, to which both rooms had access.

I’ll get the First Aid kit, said Malachi, disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerged, kit in tow, Roxanne curled up cross-legged by the fire, head dropped.