Knife of Rebellion: Battles of Eyenwar, Book 1

Chapter 20- The Biggest Piece of the Puzzle

Thank you, send the Queen my thanks as well. My consciousness fades from the spirit plane.

I relay Queen Prisa's response. No one changes their minds.

We get moving again after lunch, everyone far more serious, yet also far more relaxed, than when we stopped. Something about making a decision is calming, and we all feel the effects of that stability. I informed Garen of our decision immediately. He was unsurprised but relieved.

The only thing that stops all of us from discussing the matter openly is the one soldier sent as a spy by king Alaric. Part of me worries he is also an assassin, so I keep an eye on him at all times.

The closer we get to our destination, the more excited Mirabel gets. Supposedly we should reach the city of Miraclus within the next several hours. To entertain us, and keep our minds off of the treason we have all entered into, Branon tells us the saint the city is named for.

While I am listening, the spy draws up beside me. Something about the gleam in his eye makes me uneasy. Faster than I would have thought possible, he grabs me from my horse and pulls us both to the ground. I land heavily on my left shoulder and stab of pain stops me from retrieving one of my knives. I try to scramble to my feet, but it is difficult with only one arm. His beefy arm is around my neck before I can get anywhere, his sword pressed against my belly. When my vision steadies, I see Branon, Cairo and Garen in a semicircle around us. Emilio and Maso stand close to Mirabel and the servant driving our carriage.

"She thought I wouldn't know, wouldn't see what you are," he hisses in my ear, "But I ain't stupid. You can get me out."

His breath is rancid, and all I can focus on is the spittle that just landed on my ear.

"What are you talking about?" I ask as calmly as I can.

He laughs, "Come on, I know what you can do. Just free me. She thinks I'll be a good little slave, like the others. But she's wrong. No one controls me."

He sounds insane. In desperation I reach my good arm up to try to pry his arm from my neck. The second I do the world fades away.

I am hovering in the air, above a body. It is my body. No, not mine. This is a memory. Somehow this is the memory of a dead man.

The spirit of the dead man, me for the moment, is angry. Life was robbed from him by this senseless war. All he ever wanted was to marry Eliza, his sweetheart, and then Skevet attacked and he was forced to drop his farmers tools and take up a sword.

And now he was dead. The overwhelming anger is impossible to contain, I've never felt an emotion so horrible and so all consuming.

As a spirit, every emotion is tied into the spirit plane. All of the anger this spirit is- was- feeling is broadcasting in dark waves out into the air. It inevitably calls to another angry spirit. One more focused and deadly than anything this man had ever seen.

It was Alaric. Or, at least the body of Alaric. On the spirit plane I can see that there is another form underneath his. A wolf, large with patchy fur and glowing red eyes.

My own fears mingle with those of the ghostly memory, creating a vortex that threatens to render me senseless. Luckily I am merely an actor in history, and I have no choice but to follow the movements of the vision.

"You are stuck here." The wolf and Alaric say, their combination of voices the same chilling voice I remembered from my graduation, "You can haunt this spot for all of eternity, or you can serve me and I will teach you how to possess a body so that you may move as you would in the living world."

"Like you? Ha! I have no wish to be stuck inside a boyish prince for all eternity. And I am no one's slave." my host retorts.

Suddenly it all makes sense. The child in my dream was never Garen. It was Alaric. He has been possessed by a ghost since before his fifth birthday. I feel sick to my stomach. How could I have missed something so important?