Gwyn: Light Chaser Legends (Book 2) Read online

  Gwyn

  Light Chaser Legends Book 2

  J. B. Cantwell

  Copyright © 2021 by J. B. Cantwell

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Year 7

  2. Year 9

  3. Year 11

  4. Year 14

  5. The Kings

  6. The Show

  7. Death

  8. The Vault

  9. Run

  Year 7

  Gwyn skipped down the long corridor, a canvas bag of bread, butter, and water in her left hand. She would need her right.

  As she turned the corner, the stones on the floor were larger, so big she could jump from one to the next, to the next, to the next. She stopped, put her feet together, and jumped. The goal was not to hit the cracks between them. If she did, she’d have to start all over. But she was bigger now, much bigger than when she’d first started playing this game, and she made it from stone to stone easily, counting the jumps as she went.

  One, two, three.

  Thirty-five, thirty-six, thirty-seven, safe.

  Now at the spiral staircase, she needed to be quiet, for down below were the dungeons and the dungeon master whom she would have to enchant to gain entry. It was always better if he was asleep, and he often was. Sitting there day after day was his only job. He was not permitted to retreat to a chamber for sleep except for one time each week.

  This was how Torin ran his kingdom. Though Torin was no king. He was, instead, a master, hated by all except two of his three sons.

  The third son was waiting without hope in the dungeons.

  The man at the bottom of the staircase was, in fact, asleep. But that didn’t make him any less dangerous, and she dared not pass him by without first waving her right hand in front of his face.

  Gwyn’s magic was special. Special and deadly. It was easy to hide, for she was a cheerful girl, and her magic only worked when she was angered. As she tiptoed down the last of the stairs, she readied herself for anything.

  Few men lived in the castle, but this one was especially large. When she heard his snore, she smiled. It would be an easy night.

  She moved quietly toward the base of the stairs, desperate to not be heard. But as she drew closer, a great catastrophe occurred. The bag she was carrying slipped, crashing to the floor, the glass carrying the water shattering.

  She froze, suddenly terrified. The man’s eyes opened, and he looked upon her, confused, taking in the situation.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “It’s the middle of the night. You should be in bed. You should…”

  She ran. There was nothing else for it. But she didn’t run away. Instead, she ran straight for the man, surprising him. He stood up to his great height, but while she was little, she had enough power to render him unconscious with a simple swipe of her hand in front of his face.

  But she wasn’t angry right then. She was scared.

  Think of something terrible, something Father has done.

  She thought of her brother, Bevyn, who was surely still locked up behind a swinging iron gate.

  Thinking of Father made things easier, for he was wicked and mean.

  As she and the man at the dungeon gate got closer to one another, she put her arms out to her sides and did the best thing she could think of. She cried.

  “Oh, master,” she said, trying to rustle up some tears. “I’ve gotten lost.”

  It was a typical lie and one that she often told when found in places she shouldn’t be. She was just a little girl, she knew, but Mother had trained her well.

  “You are still a little thing,” Riona had told her. “You won’t be able to use your talent for false tears forever. Use it now while you are young, but use it wisely.”

  “You’re lying,” the dungeon master said. “I’ve… I’ve seen you here before, haven’t I?”

  The man seemed unsure.

  “No, sir,” she muffled, sniffing. “Where am I?”

  Her father beating her brother.

  Her father chiding her mother.

  Her father, her father, her father.

  She waved her hand in front of the man’s face, and instantly it went blank.

  “Go back and sit down,” she said sharply. “Do not say another word.”

  The man turned around and did as she said without question.

  She walked back to the fallen sack and picked up the broken pieces of glass. On the last and biggest piece, her finger was sliced. She cursed under her breath, something she knew wasn’t allowed. But it didn’t matter. There was no one there to hear her. She ripped a piece of errant canvas from the sack and wrapped it around her finger tightly. Then, she picked it up and walked right by the man and into the dungeons.

  There was only one man in the dungeons, though there was room for many more. She enjoyed the time she spent with Bevyn. He was kind to her, where her other brothers were mean and twisted. They were much older than she was and just as wicked as her father.

  But not Bevyn.

  She tiptoed down the corridor until she reached the last cell, the darkest one. She found him asleep, chained to the wall like a dog. He’d been down there for three days. When her father left the castle, he always left Bevyn tied in the dungeons, the only place he could be absolutely certain his son could not escape. Bevyn didn’t have magic as strong as the others, and so he was beaten, Torin insisting he was unworthy to be his son.

  Even in her young mind, she wondered why Torin didn’t just kill him.

  She wondered why Torin didn’t just kill her, either.

  She reached the end of the corridor and called out to him.

  “Bevyn!” she whispered. “Bevyn, get up.”

  He opened his eyes and immediately scrambled to the back of the dungeon as far as his chain would allow him to go. Then, he saw her face in the dim light, and his body relaxed.

  “Gwyn,” he said quietly. “You scared me.”

  “That’s what you always say,” she said, holding out the bag to him. “Be careful of the glass. I broke it in the hallway by accident. I can bring you water tomorrow. Or maybe wine if we’re lucky.”

  Her mother didn’t allow her to have wine, telling her she was too young. Riona rarely had wine, herself, as she was always so sick. Sometimes Gwyn wondered if it was Torin who made her mother so sick, some sort of punishment. But no, her mother didn’t think so. It was only Gwyn who did.

  “Is that how you cut your finger?” he asked.

  She hid her finger behind her back.

  “I’m fine,” she lied. Her finger was throbbing. She could only hope her father would stay away for long enough for it to heal on its own. He had the ability to heal, of course, but it wouldn’t come without rebuke.

  Bevyn carefully removed the bread and butter from the sack, brushing it off to ensure no slivers of glass remained. Once he was certain it was clean, he broke off a piece and took a huge bite. Immediately, he raised his hand toward his cheek and grimaced.

  “It’s wrong?” she asked. “Is it ruined?”

  “No. It’s my tooth. It’s rotten, and it needs to come out. Sometimes I get so hungry that I forget to chew on the other side.”

  “Would you like me to pull it out?” she asked.

  He furrowed his brow and looked at her, shaking his head.

  “You are a strange thing, aren’t you?” he said.

  Gwyn put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “Fi
ne,” she said. “If you don’t want the help of a child, maybe I should stop coming down here altogether.”

  His eyes widened, and he backpedaled.

  “No! No, please don’t stop coming. You’re the only one I see who doesn’t wish me ill.”

  “I wish I could take you to Mother,” she said. “It would make her so happy to see you.”

  “Bring her here, then,” he said. “I never understand why you don’t. Does she… think about me?”

  This was a delicate situation, she knew. Bevyn didn’t know how sick their mother was, and Riona had instructed her not to tell him.

  “Yes, of course, she does.”

  “Then why doesn’t she come?”

  Gwyn searched around for a quick answer, something convincing.

  “It’s Father,” she said.

  Bevyn nodded his head sadly. Then he picked up the bag and tossed it to her.

  “It’ll do no good for me to be found with it,” he said. “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow, brother.”

  And she turned and walked away from him and out of the dungeons.

  Back at the door to the chamber Gwyn and her mother shared, she thought about her brother locked in that dungeon, and a familiar flame of anger erupted within her. She waved her hand over the locked handle, and it clicked loudly as it disengaged. She opened the door slowly, for she knew it would squeak on its hinges, alerting whoever might be close by.

  People were always listening.

  With great care, she closed the door behind her and locked the handle once more.

  Once she was inside, she crawled into bed beside Riona. She was too little to try to care for her, and anyway, she wanted nothing more than to curl up beside her warm body and go to sleep.

  “How is he?” Riona asked. “Is he ill?” Mother was still awake, had probably been the entire time, waiting for Gwyn to return.

  Gwyn yawned. “No. But he has a bad tooth. I offered to pluck it out for him, but he said no.”

  “Oh, no. Maybe he’ll do it himself,” Riona said. “Something like that would hurt, and he would likely scream. He probably didn’t want to scare you.”

  Gwyn tucked her head into her mother’s side and pulled the blankets up around them both.

  “He asked about you,” she said. “He wants to know why you’re not visiting. I blamed it on Father.”

  Her mother coughed suddenly, and it was only moments before she was caught in a cascade of hacking. Gwyn wished she hadn’t been talking so much. She sat up for a moment and fetched a glass of water from the table, handing it to her mother.

  That was when Riona saw her sliced finger. She opened up her mouth to speak, but all that came out was another cough, and another, and another.

  “Drink the water,” Gwyn said. “I’ll be fine.”

  Her mother couldn’t argue, so Gwyn laid back down again, and as the coughing died down, so did her mind. She didn’t want her mother to be sick, but she didn’t want to tell the truth about her cut, either. The truth was that it hurt terribly, but her sleepiness was more powerful, and soon she was on the verge, caught in the comfortable place between waking and dreams.

  “Mother, how long until Father returns?”

  “I don’t know, little bee,” Riona said. “He will return when he’s done killing whomever he’s after now.”

  Gwyn knew that her father killed many men and probably women, too. Anyone who had magic, raw or trained, were his targets, though she wasn’t sure why. She wondered with a shudder whether he would come after her if she ever let slip that she had power, too. This idea stole sleep from her, and her eyes opened.

  “Why hasn’t he killed you?” she asked.

  Riona rolled over and looked into her daughter’s face. “I suppose he still loves me.”

  “And do you love him?”

  “I used to,” Riona said. “But not anymore.”

  Suddenly, a new fear entered Gwyn’s mind. What if her mother someday didn’t love her anymore? This was a question that was too frightening to ask.

  She wouldn’t snuggle you so tightly if she didn’t love you.

  “Do you still love Phalen and Varik?”

  Gwyn already knew her mother still loved Bevyn. But she frequently wondered about her other brothers; they had been born powerful, and their desire to please their father had no limits. They’d kept their hands off her, but whatever malice they felt, they’d directed at Bevyn.

  “I suppose I still love them in a limited sort of way,” Riona said. “It is… difficult to tell yourself you no longer love someone and have it immediately become true. You’ll see someday if you ever have a child of your own.”

  “What if I turn bad like they have?” Gwyn asked in a quiet voice. She waited, her heart pounding, for her mother’s answer.

  “Little bee,” Riona said. “You will never turn bad; of that, I am certain. You are strong and a magnificent actress. But most importantly, your heart is golden. Like your brother, Bevyn, you seek to hurt no one.”

  Gwyn loved it when her mother called her “little bee.” It was a nickname she’d bestowed upon her when she realized Gwyn had powers of her own. Once she discovered that her magic was tied to anger, she began making it a habit. She could sting like a bee. That was what her mother said.

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Gwyn said.

  “And so you won’t.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “Because sometimes I wonder if….”

  “I am sure.”

  This was the answer Gwyn had been waiting for. It was a question she often asked, as she wasn’t always sure of herself. What if someday she became angry at her mother? Would she hurt her?

  No. Never.

  She closed her eyes again and held her mother tight, and, safe in her arms, she finally went to sleep.

  Six days later, her father reappeared. He was in high spirits when he unlocked the door and entered their chambers.

  “I have something for you,” he said to Riona.

  Sometimes Gwyn didn’t understand why her father spoke to her mother in such a loving tone. Her mother no longer loved him; didn’t he know?

  “And who did you kill this time?” Riona asked.

  There was a flash of anger on her father’s face, but then it passed, and he smiled.

  “A healer.”

  Despite her mother’s disgust with Torin, she allowed him to kiss her on her burning hot forehead. Fevers were something that came and went with her mother. Gwyn had become used to them, though, at times, they were frightening.

  “Lay back, my love,” he said.

  She did as he said, and Gwyn knew why. There was still hope in her mother’s mind, a wish that she could one day be whole again. Riona had stopped walking around the kingdom years before. Sometimes Gwyn wondered if she’d done it on purpose, used her inaction as a way to get back at her father for all the evil things he had done.

  But no. Gwyn was certain her mother wouldn’t weaken herself in that way, no matter how much she despised her father. And then there were the fevers. Those were impossible to fake.

  Torin put his hands on her mother’s chest and closed his eyes. Gwyn saw nothing, no hint of power transferring between the two, though she was certain it must’ve been there. Her mother sighed with relief, and Gwyn could almost feel the fever slipping away, even from across the room.

  Was this it? Was this the time that her father would finally succeed in healing her mother?

  “There you are, my love,” he said. “Now rest.”

  He leaned over to kiss her on the lips, but she turned her head away at the last moment, and his lips found her cheek instead. He stood up, and his eyes flashed black. Gwyn thought she understood. He’d bestowed a gift upon her mother, and in return, he expected her to love him again.

  But, if her mother was telling her the truth, it was too late for that.

  He looked across the room, and his eyes fell upon Gwyn. Maybe he’d forgotten for a moment
that she was there with Riona, always there with Riona. Maybe he’d forgotten that there was a quiet girl in the corner with accusing eyes watching, always watching.

  Torin’s long, straight hair had whitened, even during the short time that had been Gwyn’s life. She remembered him playing with her when she’d been very little. His hair was still dark brown. She hadn’t hated him then, and she didn’t think her mother had, either. What had happened since?

  She had grown up, though only a little; even she knew that. She thought about Bevyn down in the dungeons, and she remembered why she hated her father now. The good times mixed with the bad in her mind, sometimes confusing her. But all she needed to do was to think about Bevyn, and all of her hatred and power overtook her once more.

  Her father grimaced at her, and she knew she was about to be in trouble. He strode across the room and grabbed her by the arm, his long, pointed nails biting into her skin.

  “Training,” was all he said.

  Gwyn stood quickly and didn’t argue. She tried to think of happy things, things that would keep her powers quiet and secure, away from him and his greed. She knew he killed for power over others, knew that every time he left them, he would soon return with new magic pumping through him. He was always happiest after a kill.

  But this recent rejection from her mother brought forth his anger once again. And even she knew, with a sinking heart, that the healing he brought her mother hadn’t been enough. It was never enough.

  He strode across the floor, dragging her along as he went. It wasn’t that she wanted to anger him; that was the last thing she wanted, for she knew that an angry father meant someone would be beaten. And that someone was usually Bevyn.

  He never beat her, though, and Gwyn wondered why. Was it because she was still a child? Would some terrible form of punishment arise as she grew older? She held back her tears, doing everything she could not to let her father know he was hurting her. Though certainly, he must have known already.