24. Owen

Owen

The fort was busy with soldiers preparing for Mordren's army. Owen had woken early that morning with a dreadful feeling, and he had known, when he'd looked at the red dawn sky, that Mordren would be here soon. He'd alerted Harlan, who had flown into action, insisting against Owen's wishes that his men fight. There was nothing Owen could do to stop him. Already, the forty men here were up and stocking the walls with arrows, bows, swords, throwing knives, tar, firearms—anything that would help them destroy Mordren and his army.

Owen knew they didn't stand a chance. As much as he wanted to hope they'd hold up, it was impossible. This god had undead soldiers marching alongside him. Spirits, beings borne of Mordren himself. Thousands of souls willing to fight for him. And if they ‘died'? Owen imagined they'd all just go back to the Unseen Vale and wander back out through the Gate again. It would be an endless cycle as long as Mordren was in this world.

The guilt at what was coming ate at him more than anything he'd experienced before. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was Gilda dying, and then the Gate opening. And now, more people were going to die. At his own hands.

Owen's heart pounded all morning. He stood on the wall of the fort, watching the horizon while Colt suited up with armor and weapons .

Owen needed no armor. He wore his usual trousers and boots, and his simple, long-sleeved, button-up shirt and cloak. This was all he needed to be unencumbered and able to use his Essence without too much weighing him down. The only other thing he left on, besides his cloak for now, was his shark tooth necklace and honey bee bracelet. Both charms meant the world to him, as Colt had given him the bee, and the other had come from Emberton. As he smoothed his thumb over the shark tooth, he smiled softly as he imagined his home. He didn't feel as sad thinking about it now, and he was suddenly glad the little fishing town was far from the Gate and out of Mordren's shadow.

"Owen!"

He turned to find Harlan waving him down below. Owen descended the steps and met the man.

"The knife is secure?" Harlan asked. When Owen nodded, he said, "Alright. My men will come to your aid against Mordren. We will take down as many of his soldiers as we can." He put a hand on Owen's shoulder. "I believe in you."

Owen's whole body went rigid. He tried to smile, but all he managed was a slight nod. Owen didn't believe in himself. He was terrified and distracted, unsure what to expect.

When someone called for Harlan nearby, he squeezed Owen's shoulder before moving away.

He took in a deep breath, then blew it out to calm his pounding heart, to make the vibrating jitters in his body go away. An intense feeling of dread fell over him, and he suddenly felt very lost. He looked up to see soldiers running back and forth, carrying crossbows and swords, placing helmets on their heads. He felt sick watching these men prepare for their own deaths .

His breaths came out short, and his heart felt so out of beat, he clutched his chest. Tears rimmed his eyes. His throat closed up.

He had to find Colt.

As he rushed past the soldiers, he kept his head down, afraid of what they would think of the man who was supposed to save them if they saw him breaking down. He found Colt in the training yard and waited until Uriah left his side to approach.

Colt smiled upon seeing him, but he quickly frowned as Owen let out a painful breath.

"Owen, what's wrong?" Colt asked.

"I can't do this." Owen's voice came out panicked, and his hands shook. "I can't defeat him. Everyone here will die. I can't, Colt…"

"Hey, it's alright—"

But Owen couldn't stop the frantic thoughts that entered his mind. All he could think about was failing. Of Colt and Brom dying. Of Harlan and his men being killed instantly.

"Take a breath. Slow down. I'm right here." Colt drew him close and pressed against Owen's forehead. "Breathe in, breathe out. We're okay. You're okay."

Owen did as Colt told him, trying to draw his breaths in slowly, and then he blew out. He clasped Colt's arms, closing his eyes as his heart found its rhythm again. He focused on the warm honey surrounding him, on the slight lemony tang of Colt's energy.

It calmed him instantly. After a long moment, Owen closed his eyes and leaned against Colt, embracing him.

"You don't have to do this," Colt told him.

"Then who will?" Owen felt lightheaded after the intense spell he had just had .

"I will. Just give me the knife, and I'll take care of Mordren."

Owen's fingers clenched the fabric of Colt's shirt. At first, Owen felt relief at the idea, but then he quickly realized what could happen if Colt did this. His head cleared, and he pulled back, looking up at him.

"No. You're not doing that."

"I won't let you do it alone."

"I'm okay, you're right, I'll be fine. I just… I don't know, lost myself there for a minute." Owen gazed at him earnestly. "You can't be the one to defeat him."

Colt's jaw tightened. "Then I'll be by your side the entire time. I won't leave you."

Despite Owen's fear of failing, of Colt dying, he wanted this man by his side. Perhaps it could help him after all. Nodding, Owen said, "Okay. Okay…"

The sky suddenly darkened, Owen glanced up. Red clouds moved slowly, blotting out the light until everything was dim, just as it had been in the woods in Vanhelm. The air warmed, and the snow flurries turned to rain.

Owen clutched Colt's hand tightly. "He's here," he rasped. "He's here. I can feel it. It's so heavy…"

Lightning ripped through the sky, and Owen looked up in time to see the strike right outside the fort. He jumped, his heart thumping wildly. Someone on the wall shouted. The sounds of men readying their weapons echoed in his ears. The heaviness of Mordren's energy rooted him to the ground.

As the clouds billowed overhead, lightning tore across the sky more frequently. Despite wanting to stay where he was, Owen rushed to the wall and climbed the steps to see what was happening. Colt was right on his heels, following his lead. When Owen reached the battlements, he expected to see a vast army—thousands upon thousands of Arroki marching toward the fort, ready to kill every man here within seconds.

Instead, he found only one man in the distance, walking their way.

Mordren.

Even from this distance, Owen could tell this man was enormous. Perhaps twice as tall as Owen. The archers readied their bows as the man approached. When the command went out, they released their arrows. As if protected by some invisible barrier, all the arrows dropped to the ground before they reached him.

Owen's jaw tightened. His eyes scanned the area, searching for the army of Arroki he'd seen before, but there was nothing. Only the man before them, who didn't speak. Instead, he raised his arm and stretched out his fingers. Owen felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and then he let out a breath. Turning, he took hold of Colt and tugged him down the steps. They barely got their feet on the ground when the flash of bright lightning struck the wall. The crack that echoed was loud enough to make Owen's ears ring for a moment.

Owen and Colt ran to an overhang of the fort, out of the rain. Owen's eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene of several men lying dead already on the ground and on the wall.

"Brom!" Owen tried to rush back to the wall, but Colt grabbed him and held him back.

"You have to trust him!" Colt said, then he turned him around and grabbed his shoulders. "Owen, look at me. Stay with me."

Owen found Colt's eyes and tried to focus on them, but all he could hear was the pounding rain and the thunderous roar in his ears. All he could see were flashes of light and men screaming. All sounds he wanted to drown out.

When the gate of the fort blew open, Colt moved in front of Owen and drew his sword.

"Owen."

That familiar dark voice echoed in his mind just as screams tore from the gate. Colt spun around just as Mordren strode into the fort. Any man who stood against him was cut down and cast aside every time Mordren raised his hand.

The knife of emberstone rested in its sheath on Owen's belt. All he had to do was distract the god long enough to pierce his heart. But he needed Colt out of the way.

"I'm sorry, Colt." Owen didn't look at him as he raised his hand and used his Essence to blast Colt away. He heard Colt shout in protest and heard his grunt as he landed somewhere, no doubt in the mud.

Stepping into the rain, Owen stared at the man before him. He was taller than any man Owen had ever seen, with broad shoulders and a build that looked like he could rip someone apart with his bare hands alone. But he hadn't expected this god to look so young. If not for his large physique, he'd look like any ordinary human.

He was dressed in all black, with a dark, tattered cloak that dragged on the ground behind him. When Mordren removed his hood to reveal short black hair and commanding eyes that held a shimmer of dark red, the fear took hold of Owen once again. He suddenly felt small and weak.

"Owen," Mordren said, his voice deep and bold as it cut through the rain. "My kin. Blood of my blood. Shadowborn. You belong to me." He smiled crookedly and reached out his hand. Then he curled his finger toward him to gesture Owen over.

Owen was suddenly locked in a tight hold, much like the pull of a Wielder's Core, but much stronger. Still, he dug his heels into the mud, trying to stop himself from moving forward. Resisting this god was harder than he thought it would be, and in his attempt, he fell to his knees. Then he felt the hold loosen.

"Fighting back?" Mordren asked. As the god approached, Owen reached for his knife, but Mordren was there first. He bent down, grabbed Owen's shirt, and yanked him up with his massive hand.

An arrow flew out at Mordren, piercing his hip. The man barely reacted, and instead, he took the arrow in his hand and jerked it out before tossing it to the ground. Then Mordren looked over at the archer who held the bow.

When Owen saw Colt leaning against the wall and lining up his next shot, Gilda's death flashed before his eyes.

No!

Mordren raised his hand toward Colt, and part of the wall above him collapsed. Colt darted out of the way of the debris, but then he was swallowed up in the shadows as pieces of the western wall came crumbling down.

Owen broke through the god's hold and reached for the knife on his belt. He pulled it out, but as soon as he lifted it, Mordren grabbed his arm. The god's red eyes widened, then that sadistic smile was back on his lips. He took one look at the chiseled knife of emberstone and twisted Owen's arm until he cried out and dropped it.

"You opened the Gate just so you could kill me?" Mordren's lips twitched into a half-smile. "I thought you knew me better than that, Owen." He threw Owen into the mud. For a moment, he lay there, unsure of what to do, but when he saw the knife glowing nearby, he crawled on his hands and knees toward the glowing blade. But Mordren raised his leg and stomped his boot onto Owen's outstretched hand, and something cracked.

Owen cried out as a burning pain shot all the way up his arm from his wrist. Then he saw a flash in the corner of his eye and turned to see Colt drawing near with his sword. He was alive.

A flash of lightning blinded them all, striking the fort wall again, and this time, the entire wall crashed down.

"Colt!"

Colt plastered himself against the base of the wall before a chunk of the roof cracked and slid down. Owen stretched out his other arm and caught hold of the slab of the roof as it collapsed, using his Essence to angle it so that it wouldn't crush Colt.

Owen screamed again as Mordren's boot pressed harder against his arm. A bright ball of purple swirled around him. He recognized the Dark Flame, but he knew he wasn't creating it. The fireball made several spiraling flourishes before it flew at the knife and shattered it into thousands of pieces.

The light in Owen's heart snuffed out, and he let out a defeated breath. He glanced around at the destruction caused by one man—no—a god . Colt was out of sight, and Owen searched frantically for his energy. But all he could feel was the dark heaviness of Mordren surrounding him and invading every cell in his body.

"Owen," Mordren said, bending down to him. "Kin of my kin." He removed a small knife from his belt. "Blood of my blood," he crooned almost lovingly. He held the blade against his own arm and cut into his flesh. Dark blood oozed out and dripped onto the ground. Then he grabbed Owen's head and forced his face against the wound .

Owen fought with every fiber in his being, but he couldn't even wiggle his hands free to summon his fire. It felt as though a veil had dropped over his mind, preventing him from summoning his Essence. He couldn't resist the pull this god had on him. Owen sputtered against his arm. Tears ran down his cheeks. Then he felt the first drops of blood as they dripped from Mordren's arm into his mouth, landing on his tongue. When Mordren forced his mouth closed, Owen had no choice but to swallow the god's blood down.

The exchange complete, Mordren threw him to the ground, and Owen clutched at the cold mud. He coughed and gagged, then he saw a haze of red. It was slight, but it was everywhere, making the world appear darker.

Then Owen felt a calm come over him, and his heart steadied its rhythm. His lips twitched, and he rose to his knees. He was in pain, but it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered but his own desires.

When he glanced around at the dead men on the ground, his heart rushed with satisfaction. Their lives did not matter. As he got to his feet, he looked up at the rain and welcomed it. Looking through the crumbling fort wall, he saw the darkening black and red clouds on the horizon, and they called to him. Then he turned, and when he saw Mordren, he felt at home.

He blinked and took a step toward him. Mordren held out his hand, and Owen stared at it for a moment, noticing how powerful it looked. Then he took it and followed Mordren out of the fort.

Owen didn't look back.