The Stringless. Alisha Walkerden

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СКАЧАТЬ did they run away? Maître could summon them by their strings,” Serie murmured.

      “They learnt how to walk away from their strings. Their desire to protect me far outweighed their allegiance to the strings. But Maître pursued us for years. When I was ten, he found us, hiding in a little cottage on the border of Pardu. He killed my parents, but he couldn’t touch me.”

      “Why couldn’t he touch you?”

      Tristian whispered inaudibly; a small white flame appeared in his hands.

      “Like Maître, I was born a sorcerer. A human that has magic and can live for centuries. Maître has used his powers for darkness for so long that he can only produce dark magic. My magic is light magic; it is stronger than darkness.” Tristian’s fingers curled over the flame to extinguish it.

      Serie’s gaze lingered on the sparks of white light that clung to the air.

      Tristian pulled a ragged piece of parchment from his pocket, showing her the faded ink:

      La lumière brille dans l”obscurité, mais l”obscurité ne peut pas l”éteindre

      “What does it mean?”

      “It means that in the end, light will overcome darkness. Even in the darkest of moments, there are tiny rays of light that can shine through and break it.”

      “Like the Kings’ war. The one that made Maître bring about the strings.”

      “I suppose you could say that,” Tristian said.

      “I learnt about the war at school,” Serie said. “Two corrupt kings were going to destroy the world in war, until Maître intervened. It was over two hundred years ago.”

      Tristian took up the story. “The war was between King Varsna of Pardu and Chancellor Garinth of Ashwin, the country that borders Pardu in the north. War is what these men knew: they fought and then there was peace for a while and then something else happened and they fought again.”

      “What were they fighting about?” Serie asked. “We never learnt that.”

      “I don’t know. After a while, you begin to forget what the fight was about in the beginning. One small thing triggers a lot more things.”

      “What did Maître have to do with it?”

      “Maître was the sorcerer to King Varsna, and Varsna commanded Maître to curse his enemies to bow down to him. But Maître realised the power his curse had and took control of the world.”

      Serie felt her heart begin to race. “How could anyone let him do that. He didn’t have the right.”

      “What makes you say that?” Tristian asked with intrigue.

      “You said we aren’t meant to have strings. So why didn’t someone stop him?”

      “There were those who fought back at first, other sorcerers who tried to break his curse and failed. Varsna himself attempted to kill Maître. But he pulled Varsna apart by his strings and took the palace in Kalan as his own. Maître’s curse became so powerful that no one could free themselves. Maître was convinced that he was doing it for good, believing that humanity needed to be controlled so that there would be no more chaos.”

      Serie took her time to process the information, letting her heart return to its normal rhythm. “How do you know all of this?”

      “I have met many people while in hiding, some that have managed to not fully succumb to the strings’ powers. They have preserved the history that Maître wishes the world never knew.”

      Serie felt her heart beat faster, her breath constricted in her chest.

      “Don’t let anger control you, it tends to make for rash decisions,” Tristian said, placing his hand on her arm.

      “I’ve never been able to feel anger before. If I hadn’t seen Maître angry before I don’t think I would know what it was. I watched as his eyes grew darker and his nostrils flared as if he would spout fire. It’s horrifying.”

      “What does it feel like for you?”

      “It hurts. I don’t know what to do with it. I shouldn’t be feeling it. I need to remain placid at all times, because that’s what the strings want of me.”

      The sun slipped through the window again, and within moments the strings descended to her bed.

      “Help me, Tristian,” Serie pleaded.

      “My power can only keep the strings away for so long. Only you can make the choice to walk away and be free of them.”

      “I want to be free now,” she said, as the strings drove their way into her flesh. She resisted their urge for her to stand. After a few moments, she couldn’t hold off any more. They pulled her from the bed and into her usual routine. She wanted to rip them off her body as they pulled her along. She looked at Tristian as he climbed out the window. She watched as he walked freely down the path. She would walk of her own accord, even run if she could. One day.

      Serie grew restless as each day passed. It had been weeks since her first meeting with Tristian and she was still a captive of the strings. But she pursued her training every hour that he was with her.

      Serie stirred as Tristian sat at the edge of the bed. The two friends watched as the strings disappeared in the waning moonlight.

      “You are going to walk tonight,” Tristian said.

      She smiled, pushing herself to sit up in bed.

      Tristian held out his arm for her to hold, but she refused it. She pulled her legs from the bed and dropped them to the ground. She let her toes curl against the scratchy wool of the rug; she had never noticed its coarseness before. She rubbed her feet back and forth, the sensation bringing tingles in her toes.

      Tristian stood up and offered his arm again. She held on and dragged herself off the bed.

      “How does it feel to stand up?” Tristian asked.

      “It’s heavy,” Serie said, trying to hold herself up. She shivered as Tristian’s hand tapped the bottom of her spine: magic poured from his fingers.

      “This might help a bit,” he said.

      Serie felt her body become taller as her chest opened, and her shoulders loosened. Her legs held her weight.

      “Your magic couldn’t just help me walk?” Serie asked as her legs began to quiver.

      Tristian frowned. “Serie, a sorcerer cannot use magic to make someone do something. If I made you walk, you would not be the one walking, the magic would. It’s like the strings: they do the walking, not you. All I have done is repaired what is damaged, so that you can do it yourself.”

      “If a sorcerer cannot make a human do something, how did Maître bring about the strings?”

      “That’s a story for another time. Let’s focus on walking.”

      Serie СКАЧАТЬ