Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

face me.
    “Edmund wasn’t always like that, you know. Ilyan’s father and mother were bonded about 1200 years before Ilyan was born, Ovailia was born about 30 years later. About two hundred years after that, he began to change. They have legends and songs and beautiful paintings of the love shared by Edmund, the bearer of the first mark, and Filare, the Skȓítek he shared his life with.”
    “What happened? I mean, if he loved her so much, why did he leave her?” The eager light that had filled Wyn’s dark eyes vanished at my question.
    “Edmund saw a woman in a town called Farcina. He lusted after her. Timothy…” she spat the word with venom, “my father, convinced Edmund to take her, convinced him that he should be the only one to bear the mark. He left everyone, broke all magical beings apart. Edmund planted the seeds of distrust and started a civil war that almost killed all of the magic. And while everyone fought among themselves, Edmund massacred the Drak in secret.”
    “The Drak?”
    “The Drak were a people who were bred from the mud to be the Keepers of the Waters of Foresight. They were the only ones who could look into the black waters and see the past, present and future. There were stories that they saw a Chosen Child who would destroy Edmund, and stop the madness that he had created. I think that’s why he killed them.”
    “You mean like a prophecy?” I tried to keep the disbelief out of my voice.
    “I guess you could say that, but they were really anything but. Ilyan was there to witness it. He told Ovailia, not knowing that she was being used as a spy. Because of what Ovailia told Edmund, he ordered the extermination of the Chosen Children.”
    “And Ilyan still trusts her?” I was appalled. The bubbling turmoil in my stomach at what I was hearing was making me sick.
    “Yes. It’s been several hundred years, so he must have a reason. After all, Edmund did almost destroy Ovailia.”
    “Does Edmund… Does he really make all his children do... terrible things... or he...”
    “Kills them, yeah.” Wyn moved over and sat down next to me softly.
    “After Ilyan and Ovailia, there were Markus, Zetta, Drayven, Sylas, Gielle, Mym, Thom and then Ryland. After Ovailia, each one had a different mother, each one forced to do different things. Markus was murdered in 1480, Zetta has been missing since she was 130, Drayven and Mym fought with Ilyan for awhile, but you can’t always escape the shadows of your past. They eventually turned against Ilyan, and he had to fight against his own siblings. Edmund found and probably killed Thom, about thirty years ago. He was hiding as a college student somewhere in the U.S. One day his letters stopped coming. We all ran out to find him, but we never did. Not even a body. That was when Ilyan commanded that everyone stay together at all times. I never met him, but the way Ilyan talks about him, he was very brave. They all are, or were.” My stomach clenched.
    “He made Ryland kill his mother.”
    Wyn turned to me with her mouth open in shock. It took her a second to recover.
    “I am not surprised,” she said darkly. “Edmund made Ryland torture Ilyan, too.”
    “What?” I asked, the memory of Ilyan’s scarred chest filling my mind.
    Wyn looked at me guiltily for a minute, thinking she may have said something she shouldn’t have.
    “About three years ago, Ilyan was captured in Greece. Edmund could have killed him then, but he made Ryland do it instead, or rather try to; Ilyan is exceptionally powerful...” she faded out and I looked away not really wanting to hear anymore.
    Ryland was about thirteen in the Tȍuha. Only months before that, he had been forced to kill his mother. About the same time, the bright red hand print had appeared on his face and we had fled to the mountain for the first time. Three years ago would have made him about fifteen or sixteen, about the time we started breaking into hospitals and defying his father even more. Ryland had gone through all that, and through it all, he had smiled and never said a word. I felt the bile rise in my throat.
    “I need a shower.”
    “You still have five minutes,” Wyn protested, but I just waved her off. I doubted five minutes would make that much difference.
    I was grateful it took so long to get all of the hair dye out. The bright red and dark black streams of color swirled around each other as they slid across the floor of the tub on their way down the drain. I watched the