The Color of Betrayal

The sky flashed with bolts of blue and purple, illuminating the tiny, broken corpse at my feet. The hospital lay in ruins with bits of plaster and dust filtering through the flickering light. I stared numbly at more broken bodies littering the floor. I thought I had seen all the horrors this miserable war had to offer - but gods, was I ever wrong.

I knelt and scooped the lifeless child into my arms, stroking back the wispy locks of hair.

“I’m so sorry.” My voice broke with the whispered words and finally the tears came. I clung to him as sobs wracked my body. 

Months of staffing these trauma wards, beating back the gods of death - and this is the result. All of that fighting - and for what? 

I don’t know how long I knelt there, cradling the nameless child and weeping until a hand gently touched my shoulder.

“We have to go, Muriel.” Jaron murmured. “There’s nothing more we can do here.”

I gulped for air then gently laid the small boy at my feet once more. I stood on rubbery legs and surveyed the devastation, swallowing thickly, tasting ash.

“We have to do something.” I croaked.

“We can’t do anything if we’re dead too.” Jaron tightened his grip on my shoulder. “We have to move. Now.”

As if to punctuate his words, a blast of purple magic struck closeby, kicking up another cloud of rubble. I let myself be tugged away from the carnage of our hospital and followed Jaron through the twisting remnants of the city of Elsbeth. 

The mage guild war, simmering for nearly half a year, had erupted into a full-scale conflict in the past month. Initially a personal vendetta between the Order of Aegon and the Order of Sura, it had metastasized into a battle for supremacy. Civilian lives became pawns in this deadly game. 

I had been off duty when the attack began, sleeping soundly between what seemed to be never-ending shifts. A fresh wave of injured were transported from a nearby battle field yesterday, many of which were children from an orphanage that had caught fire. None had been severely injured, but they were kept in the hospital overnight while other housing arrangements were found.

And now they were all dead. 

I trudged behind Jaron, unable to shake the images of destruction. My thoughts spiraled, a constant replay of the events of this morning. 

I woke to the tremors and booms of war. Leaping from the bed, I dressed quickly in my medical robes and began the short jog towards the hospital, knowing that we would receive incoming wounded at any moment. The hospital was in sight when the blast hit. I watched it explode in slow motion over and over again in my mind. Could I have gotten there faster? Could I have gotten anyone out? 

Could you have saved even one?

Logically, I knew that I would also be dead, but my brain refused to accept this truth. It circled back on this one question, consuming my sanity like the ouroboros tattoo on my wrist, marking me as one of the Aegons.

“Listen, Mur…” Jaron began quietly, then trailed off. It was enough to stir me from my reverie, and I looked at him expectantly. Jaron rubbed a large hand over his face, streaking blood and grime across his cheeks. His brown hair, which usually curled neatly, was now plastered to his scalp and face, caked with gore and dust. 

Thank the gods it was Jaron who found me instead of a stranger. After I ran away from my family, Jaron was one of my first friends. Together, we trained as healers. When the war broke out, Jaron’s village was one of the first to be attacked. His mother had died trying to help others escape. Many he knew died in transit to our hospital. Jaron had never been the same after that. He had confessed to me that the helplessness had nearly destroyed him. 

Eyes hollow, he turned to me and began again.

“Muriel, I think we are in trouble here.”

I stopped mid-stride to gape at him.

“Trouble?” I huffed, my chest puffing with indignation, hands clenched to my sides. “Trouble?” He made a gesture to quiet me but I continued. “Everyone in that hospital is dead, Jaron.” My voice boomed off the close buildings surrounding us. He had brought us further from the center of the capital into a neighborhood of narrow streets.

“Hush.” Jaron made a move towards me that I dodged. I turned to walk away from him. “I mean it, Mur, they may be looking for us.”

It was enough to make me pause, and Jaron knew it. I glanced at him over my shoulder, expectantly. Instead of continuing, he looked around and then motioned me towards a house on the corner of the street. While all the homes looked empty, this one looked neglected. Grass grew among stones on the path to the door. The coats of varnish and paint along the windows and doors were peeling off in flakes. 

Jaron produced a set of keys and fumbled through them, eyes constantly scanning the horizon for any other signs of life. Finally, he found the one that fit the rusted lock on the front door of the ramshackled house and let us inside. The door opened to a dusty room that housed a couch and several chairs with cracks in the leather. Jaron made his way to a small table that held a lamp, which he quickly lit with some matches from his pocket. 

It struck me then that this place must be a safehouse, and Jaron must be one of the resistance. Somehow, I was not surprised.

He sat on one of the creaking chairs and motioned for me to sit on the other one. While I am not as large as Jaron, I still doubted the chair would hold a man of my size.

“We’re safe here for now. ” He motioned to the chair again, then smirked. “The chair won’t bite.”

I begrudgingly took the seat. 

“When was the last time you spoke to your brother?” The question caught me off guard.

“A while.” I blew out a sigh. “You know we don’t speak much anymore.”

“I am well aware.” He said, “But I just wanted to know if he’d reached out recently.” 

“Marik doesn’t reach out.” I said, flatly. My twin brother and I had been at odds since I decided to leave the Order of Aegon to pursue a career as a healer. He called me soft and screamed at me that I was squandering my power. He claimed he wanted me to stay because that would be best for me, but twin magic was stronger when wielded together. What my brother wanted more than anything was power.

My eyes shifted to the dancing dust motes, bringing my back to the lingering clouds of dust in the rubble of the hospital. I closed them, and I could see the lifeless eyes of the poor boy with the long, black hair. 

“Walk me through this morning.” Jaron said, against snapping me from my memories. Trauma, it seemed, kept trying to swallow me.

“I was asleep.” I said, my voice tight. “I woke up to the sounds of the attack. I knew we would be called in, so I immediately started getting ready.” I clasped my palms together, hating the dampness there. “I only live a few kilometers from the hospital, and I thought I would be needed.” I sucked in a breath, my memory replaying those last few moments before the blast in vivid detail - a blinding flash of light and then the thunder of the exploding building. “I saw the bolt of power and the explosion. I was so close that I felt the flecks of stone cut my cheeks.” I raised my hand instinctively to touch the shallow scrape and my voice trailed off.

“I saw it too.” Jaron’s voice was barely more than a whisper. When I glanced at him again, his eyes were focused on the floor and one leg was bouncing as it always did when he was nervous. “I must have been a little further off than you, but yeah…” he cleared his throat. “I saw it too.”

We sat for a moment, the only sound in the room the swishing of the fabric of Jaron’s robe as his leg bounced. 

“Did you have time to realize what color the bolt was?” 

“What?” I asked, taken aback. “Well, it had to be purple of course.” 

Different mage guilds produce magic of different colors, depending on the power source from which the spell is drawn. Shadow mages trained by the Order of Sura, always produced magic with a purple aura. Healing magic produced halos of green when used in large quantities. Pure arcane magic, the kind I was born with and the kind my twin used always produce blue light. The Order of Aegon used their arcane magic to control much of our capital city of Elsbeth, all with my brother at the helm. He and I were meant to rule it together, until I “defected” to become a healer. Marik had never forgiven me for that. 

Jaron just stared at me. I played the scene back in my mind, slowly and purposefully - ignoring the emotions that threatened to drown me if I allowed it. I turned the corner onto the main street and had started down the cobblestones to the entrance of the hospital. The dark stone structure towered over the street, casting shadows on the small shops and cafes. There were so many flashes, some close and some far, casting the hospital in stark relief. I had reached the cafe barely half a kilometer away then a flash much brighter than the rest temporarily blinded me. Everything went white for several seconds - and then the rubble began to fly.

“It was so bright…”I said slowly. “All I could see was white.” 

“White and what else?”

I forced my mind back, reliving those last few moments again and again. I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths, forcing my heart to stay steady in my chest.

Flash. I had turned the corner onto the street. Flash. Flash. Flash. I was walking towards the hospital, heart pounding in my chest. The sharp stench of raw power was nearly overwhelming. I approached the cafe. I focused on remembering the color of the aura of the bolt of magic. I took one more step and then the world exploded into a sea of blue light, so intense it turned everything else white. 

My eyes snapped up to meet Jaron’s as I nearly leapt from my seat, causing the chair to wobble precariously.

“Blue.” We spoke together.

“My brother did this.” I shot to my feet and ran my hands through my short, black hair. The chair toppled over behind me, but I barely noticed as I began to pace. My heart now thundered in my chest and a hollow buzzing sound overwhelmed my hearing. “Gods, my brother…” I started pulling at my hair, pacing rapidly, my mind beginning to lose footing. I was progressing through the aftermath again, the dead child staring up at me with accusatory eyes. “My own blood…” I heard myself whisper hoarsely. 

Jaron’s hands gripped my elbows as he made soothing sounds and guided me to the small kitchen. He poured something from a bottle into two pewter cups, handing one to me. I took a few sips and tried to steady my breathing.

I’m not sure how much time passed before Jaron decided I was collected enough to begin speaking again.

“You and I had both worked overtime. They let us go home to sleep, but there was an attack at another border village about a few hours before the attack on the city began. They had called me because I’m a supervisor, but told me to come back as scheduled.” He motioned for me to sit with him at a dusty wooden table. “I had decided to go back to sleep. The attack woke me as well, so I rushed to get ready. I come from a little further away…” His hands tightened around his own cup, knuckles turning white. 

I opened my mouth to speak, but found no words. Jaron stared at me for a moment, then continued.

“I think they targeted the hospital.” He cleared his throat. “No, I know they did. They attacked the village and allowed enough time for the wounded to be brought in. They knew most of the staff would be there.”

“No.” I whispered. “My brother is selfish and ambitious but he isn’t cruel…”

“Isn’t he?” He spat. “He started this bloody war, Mur. He knew civilians would die and he has kept fighting because all he wants is more power.” He slammed his cup on the table, causing me to jump. “He would absolutely sacrifice a hospital full of children for a chance to kill the only person who can kill him. Especially when it would also garner so much sympathy for them. There were so many bolts - why would anyone question who hit the hospital?” He gestured to me. “You were right there, and even you said the bolt had to be purple.

“You know your brother is a power hungry psychopath who wants to control all magic. But lately he is losing public support. Hells, he’s losing support from other guilds that are supposed to be on his side. He knows that groups are gathering against him. So why wouldn’t he do it? It’s the perfect opportunity to eliminate you and have sympathetic publicity.”

It had been over a decade since I abandoned my destiny of ruling the arcane court with my brother - over a decade since I had even been tempted to reach for the power that filled my soul with greed for more. But now, I wanted it desperately. I shivered, shaking my head. I opened my mouth to again deny my old friend’s accusation, to try to defend my brother, but I couldn’t. My teeth snapped closed and I groaned, folding forward until my head rested on my arms on the tabletop. 

“You’re the only one who can stop him.” Jaron’s voice was gentle, but his words hurt. 

“If I reach for that power again,” I spoke softly, “I’m not sure I can control it.” I paused and swallowed roughly. “When I use it, it changes me. It makes me someone I’m not. It makes me…like him.”

“You aren’t like him.” 

“I am when I wield it.” I snapped my head up and looked Jaron straight in the eyes. “You didn’t know me well before. Marik and I can wield so much power that it begins to control us. It makes me crave more. You lose yourself in it - in the lust for more power.” I looked down at my hands. “I’m not stronger than it. I can’t guarantee that I won’t join him instead of stopping him.”

After another pause, Jaron spoke firmly. “I can.”

“What?”

“I can guarantee that you won’t be like him.”

I scoffed. “No you can’t. You don’t understand…”

“I do understand!” He interrupted me. “I understand perfectly. You were under its control before and you chose to leave. You chose to become a healer, because that’s who you are. You found yourself once, so you can do it again.”

I sighed.

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Well, because we were younger and because I hadn’t been using as much power…”

“Why hadn’t you been using as much power?”

“Because I didn’t like how it made me feel. As much as it tempted me, I felt like I was losing myself to it.”

“So what makes you think this time will be different?”

“Because I nearly didn’t do it the first time.” I snapped. “Because it took all of my strength to refuse it and walk away. I don’t…” My voice cracked and I swallowed around the dry lump in my throat. “I’m not that strong anymore.”

There was a long pause before either of us spoke again.

“Do you remember what you said before I pulled you from the wreckage this morning?” Jaron said, swirling the drink in his cup. 

I shook my head, unable to bear reliving the memory again. 

“You said ‘We have to do something’. You’re the only one who can do something, Muriel.”

I closed my eyes, steeling myself for what was to come. I flashed back to the image of the boy in my arms - an image that would forever be imprinted on my mind. I thought of my brother, planning for all of them to die - just to gain more power. Rage ignited from the anguish that had plagued me all day. Fury burned at the monster responsible for it. This was not a tragic accident - this was calculated, malicious, and cruel. Jaron was right, it was exactly something my brother would do if it promised him more power. And I was one of the last things standing in his way. No one around me would be safe, so long as my brother lived.

I slammed the cup onto the table, then reached across and grasped Jaron by the wrist.

“I need you to promise me that if I become like him, you will find a way to stop me.” 

“You won’t…” 

“Just promise me, Jaron.” I squeezed his arm. “Please.” 

“I promise.” 

I nodded and pushed back from the table. When I was halfway to the door, I reached for the power I had buried so many years before. 

Raw energy coursed through me and I felt it take hold. My last thought before the power took me was of the small, broken figure I held in my arms this morning. I prayed to whatever gods may listen that it would be enough to anchor myself against the coming storm.