The Red Soul

Chapter Twelve

Before Myris realized what Elyos was doing, she was pushed and now stood in a different place than the library. She was in the large room that she had seen through the grey arch, and when she turned around, a wooden arch covered with the same silver runes [RB1] showed the room in Elyos’ library in return.

When Fyrian was the last one to step through the arch, the room that it showed disappeared, leaving only the bare wall behind it visible. The walls were the same light-grey as those of Ovèrio, making Myris belief that they were back in the castle. Between the lighter column standing in the corners of the room, wooden cabinets were placed alongside the walls, alongside smaller tables and a couple of chairs.

On the cabinets, candelabra were standing, which were lit as the sun was setting, filling the room with the last remaining rays of light that it had provided that day. Around the pillars themselves, big pots filled with plants with large leaves were placed. Myris assumed that those plants were Cearen’s doing.

In the middle of the room, a beautiful engraved stone table with a wooden surface was accompanied by seven stone chairs, each decorated with a different colour.

Elyos took a seat in the yellow decorated chair. Cracking his neck, he sighed. “I haven’t done that in a while.

The others went to their own place. Viera slumped in the chair with a sapphire blue cushion, followed by Fyrian plopping into the orange one next to her. Amaeron was already waiting in a purple velvet chair at the head of the table. He smiled gently at her, but Myris kept her eyes on Elyos. “How did you do that?”

It was Viera who answered. “It is a portal, Myris. Both Ovèrio and the library are places were magic is congregated. The arches mark the spot where the centre of the magic is. With the silver runes, the magic is locked into place so that it can not diverge, while they also link the magic to another place with a similar occurrence. Thus, portals can be created if there is enough magic present in both the place of departure and the destination.”

             “If he could make a portal and come to us so easily, then why did we go all the way to his place?”

“Because it gave us an opportunity to show you more of Olèrian like you wanted us to do,” Fyrian explained. “Besides, it is not that easy. If you want a portal to activate, you will need to fill in the last amount of magic that is needed, which is still such a big amount that not a lot of people have enough magic to do it.”  Languidly, he motioned for her to sit next to Cearen.

Myris walked to the red chair. When she sat down, a strange sensation enveloped her. It felt as if she had sat here before many times, while it was her first time in this room. It was the same odd familiarity she had felt when she had seen the different crystals carved into the doors of the sleeping chambers. Here, too, the same stones were carved in the chairs, just above their heads, like shining stars.[RB2] 

Only then did she notice the empty seat next to Viera. The cushion in it was pink, just like the small stone. However, they were apparently complete since Amaeron started to speak. “Myris, you've been here for about a week now, a week in which a lot has happened. You have told the others about the stories you have heard about Olèrian and what you thought of them, but you have put those thoughts aside to see the world through your own eyes. We couldn't be more grateful that you gave us that chance.” He shifted in his seat, his smile fading. “Yet you barely know what's really going on. And we think it is important that you learn everything. Just as you were promised by Fyrian.”

It was the second time he spoke to her. The second time she even saw him. Even though he still had this comforting sense around him, it did not compensate for her growing nervousness.  She had no clue of what they wanted to tell her, but she felt that she was not prepared for it. Nor did the way that Fyrian, Viera and Cearen were also tense reassure her at all. Amaeron kept looking at her calmly, but she noticed the way his jaw tightened.

Elyos, on the other hand, seemed totally unimpressed with what was going on, and leaned his head on his hand. With the other one, he ushered Amaeron to continue, impatient.

Amaeron gave him a short look, but then straightened up and focused on Myris again. “Two days ago, you had a discussion with Fyrian, Viera and Cearen, and as far as I am aware, it consisted of two parts: one part about Olèrian and the other part was about the High Souls. From what I was told, you said you despised the High Souls and that it is good that they are gone. Do you recall that?”

Pausing, Amaeron and the others waited for her answer, but all she good give was a slight nod.

“Well… that is not the case. They are not gone at all. In fact, they are right in front of you. We are the High Souls Myris. And not only that...,” he took a deep breath, leaning forward. “Myris, you are also one of the High Souls. The red one to be exact.”

The world stopped for a second. For a moment there was serenity, a moment of peace, as she let the words sink in. Then they hit her.

Images shot through her mind, all her nightmares, all her memories. All of the stories that had been told her so many times. Every day they told her the stories about Olèrian, about the High Souls. A cursed land, with cursed creatures. Evil, darkness, monsters. They were monsters. They should not exist. She should not exist.

She felt a pressure in her head, in her heart.

It explained so much. All her tears and unheard cries. All her thoughts that she did not belong in this world. It was because the world was indeed better off without her. She was one of them, one of the monsters.

Cearen wanted to take her hand, but she pulled it away. She stood up with such force that the chair fell backwards. Flinching, she walked backwards until she was on the other side of the room. Her breath was caught in her throat, her body trembling. Only two images were burned onto her retina. Fire and death.

And there it was again. The red colour she sometimes saw in the corner of her eyes, now also surrounding her hands, as they tingling with energy and a liberated power.

She did not want it, wanted it to go away, to disappear forever. But it circled around her, even seemed to grow, and she fell to the ground. Her magic released itself- had now been fully awakened. The powder that had supressed it had completely worn out. It gave her magic the possibility again to take over.

She screamed and cried due to the burning feeling inside her body, as if her skin was on fire and her blood was boiling. It was the same pain she had felt last night- pain that she had experienced many times before. Yet, none of those times were as excruciating as the pain she felt now. Dragging her nails along her body, she scratched her skin, looking for some kind of relief. [RB3] She did not care about the pain that followed, as long as it disappeared, but the burning pain did not leave through the opened skin.

Then everything stopped.

The horrible red colour disappeared when two arms encircled her. She jerked incessantly, kicking around wildly. But they did not let go of her.

As she opened her eyes and looked up, more tears fell. Her father was glowing in red light in front of her. When she blinked, however, she saw Amaeron supporting her with the others around him.

Myris knew she had to push him away, now that she knew what he was. She had to run from him- from them, but did not move. A last sob left her mouth. Then she became quiet, quieter than ever.

She was lifted up, but paid no attention to it. Her eyes closed again. The whispers around her did not get through to her. All she could do was listen to her non-existent thoughts.

The first thing she noticed was a hand that was holding her. Viera was sleeping with her back laying against the side of the bed, her fingers wrapped around Myris'. Next to her, Fyrian had put his arms around Viera, her head in the crook of his neck. He seemed to hold her tight, even while he was asleep.

On the other side of the bed, Myris heard shuffling. Cearen lay slumped in the chair next to her. Blankets were wrapped all around them.

“You are awake…”

Stretching, Fyrian sat up. His hair was tousled and his shirt was open, allowing her to see his muscular stomach. Her gaze slowly passed over his body, but she stopped at his eyes. Orange, his eyes were orange, orange in all kinds of shades that changed with every change of light. The eyes of the High Orange Soul.

Myris wondered why she had not noticed it before, why she had not noticed anything before. The eyes, the colours, the castle. It all suddenly seemed so obvious. But then again, it also did not make sense at all. They had no real servants, made their own food and did their own chores, while they used to be associated with royalty. When they had gone to the Evario and Irlèmento, besides a few glances all creatures had behaved normally around the others, as if there was nothing special about them.  As if they were just like any other person.

Perhaps she had been told so many times that they were gone that she had truly believed it. Amaeron had encouraged her to see the truth right in front of her, but she had still been blind to it… Maybe she had wanted them gone so bad that she did not want to see any other possibility- that she refused to acknowledge the possibility that the High Souls were still in this world.

And they were. The people she had spent her resent days with were High souls. She was one.

A void formed in her chest, not even leaving room for the usual despair and pain.

Myris studied her arms, but the little wounds she must have made were not there. She looked carefully at Cearen, who still had a serene expression on his face. Then her gaze went to Viera's hand again. She had unwittingly grabbed it tighter herself and still she did not let go. She could not let go. Despite everything.

Fyrian got up and walked over to her, but not before he adjusted the white blanket around Viera so that she was still completely covered. Then he sat down at the end of the bed. His eyes gloomy. “To be honest, I hoped you might give it a shot, but apparently the stories are very gruesome,” he said softly as not to disturb Viera and Cearen. Looking up at the ceiling, he sighed. “I had hoped that after everything you've seen, you don't believe the stories like that. Admit it, you were wrong about Olèrian… why do you still believe that other nonsense?”

Biting on her lip, Myris fiddled with her blanket. “If you really are the high souls... why did you leave us?”

“We had no choice. If we could go back, I would have done that long ago.”

“Then why can’t you-”

“Because we are stuck here!”

Myris looked startled at the Fae in front of her. Fyrian too seemed upset by his own outburst. He looked nervously at Viera, who was moving. When she did not wake up, he got up and walked through the curtains hanging against the wall on her right.[RB4] 

After hesitating for a bit, Myris crawled out of the bed and followed him. The curtains led to a balcony overlooking the lake. Fyrian leaned on the stone railing, his shoulders tense. She stood quietly next to him.

“We've been stuck here for over four hundred years, locked up. No one can leave Olèrian.”

Myris shuddered at the cold wind blowing past her, but it did not compare to the ice paralyzing her body when she heard his words. Stuck… no one could leave Olèrian- she could not leave Olèrian. That meant that she could not go back. She could not go back to the prison; could not go to Yrag. It had to be a lie. She wished it was a lie. If there was even a chance that he was still alive, she had to help him! She needed to go back. She had to save him. She did not want to lose another loved one.

Grabbing Fyrian by his shoulder, she made him look at her. Unlike her, he did not seem bothered by the could despite wearing a loose shirt and his bare feet.

For a moment they held eye contact, Myris desperately looking for the truth, but then Fyrian averted his gaze. Instead, his eyes stared into the distance, far beyond the mountains. “That's what we wanted to tell you. The truth, about Olèrian, about us. Everything.”

For a second, he raked his hand through his hear, before turning to back face her again. “Myris do you hate us? And I don't mean us as the High Souls or as Fae. I mean us without all the magic. Just us.”

Myris looked back at the curtains, thinking of the two persons behind them. Then she turned her hand over to reveal her palm, but it was not the wound she was staring at. As shadows passed over her, she still felt the warmth of a hands holding hers. A kiss caressing it. She let out a deep breath. “No. Even if I wanted to, I can not hate you all.”

Fyrian looked at her with a faint smile. “Maybe not us, but then who?”

She laughed, but now she could only stare at her hands as a new batch of tears appeared and flowed of her cheeks. She could not feel the magic anymore, it was gone, but it had not disappeared forever. It would never go away. It was just waiting for another burst. Perhaps she was lucky this time that no one was injured, unlike before, but what would happen the next time?

She did not hate the others. She could not hate them. Again and again, the same horrible stories had been told to her about the High souls, with always the main message: ‘Do not trust them. They do not deserve to exist. They are monsters.’ She had never been able to imagine a person like they had described. For her, they had always been nameless- faceless. But now that she could link the cursed title to someone, to multiple people… she could not bring herself to hate them anymore.

The feeling of loathing was still there. It was not something that disappeared overnight. But she just could not bring herself to detest the ones that had made her laugh again. Instead, it was directed to the single High Soul that did fit the description, the ones in the stories…

She would never forgive herself. Not after that day. How could she tell him that the only person she despised was someone who had meant the end of everything she knew, almost everyone she knew. How could she tell him the one she hated was herself?

A hand took hers again and she could feel a finger rubbing the burn mark. Fyrian pulled her in a tight embrace. She felt the warmth he radiated. It calmed her. When she let out a sob, he put his fingers under her chin, pointing her head up. When their eyes locked, they stared breathlessly at each other. Then he leaned forward until their lips touched.

For a second, Myris was paralyzed, unable to respond, but before she knew it, she had her arms wrapped around his neck and pressed closer to him.

For a moment there were no problems, while she felt his soft lips. For a moment she paid no attention to anything except his skin against hers. For a moment there was nothing at all except an unfamiliar happiness. No creatures, no magic, no High Souls. Just the two of them.

As soon as he withdrew, Fyrian looked up with a smile on his face. “It's midnight...” he muttered. Then he turned Myris in his arms so that she looked at the garden with the waterfall. She opened her mouth questioningly, but with a quick final kiss he silenced her. Blushing, she looked again at the mountains in front of her.

The waterfall fell over the mountains like a silver blanket. The lake reflected the billion stars that lit up the night sky. But when she looked closer, she saw even more sparkles on the land itself. Between the trees, but also on the mountains.

Then she saw what they were. Thousands of flowers bloomed and reflected the light of the moon and stars like black crystals. They were the withered flowers she had seen in Cearen's garden, now brought to life in the darkness of the night.