Keon had no idea where he was going, but he wasn’t about to stop and ask for directions; not when he was being chased by Demon-Mowgli himself.
Hunted. Zahara said he was being hunted; that they were supposed to catch this thing before it found him. Well, great job guys! But this was his fault, wasn’t it? He’d ran off into the forest when she’d warned him not to.
He chanced a glance over his shoulder, hoping he wouldn’t trip on a—
“Dammit!”
His arms flailed like a spider in death throes as he tried unsuccessfully to break his fall. He tumbled over his right shoulder, scraping his back against the ground as he slid to a stop. Flipping onto his front, he lay motionless, staring straight ahead into the gloomy darkness of the forest. Tendrils of mist clawed at his face as it swirled slowly towards him, refusing to relent as he swatted it away.
There wasn’t a sound to be heard.
Then it crawled out of the mist beside him, coming right up to his left ear.
He felt its breath; sharp rasps of air blowing through its nostrils, its lips clamped shut.
As he turned slowly to look it in the eyes, he saw that empty eyeshine glow staring back at him. Then the light seemed to blink away, revealing soft, human eyes. He could have almost sworn it was a reflection. They were brown, like his.
As though reading his thoughts, the creature backed off several paces. As it pulled back, its face caught the light—and Keon gasped. Though its dull, colourless features were almost completely shrouded in shadow, he could still make out its face. The face of one he knew.
The face—was his own.
“Found you,” it whispered.
And then it lunged.
* * *
The flat of a blade caught the creature mid-air in its chest, sending it sprawling onto the ground in a crumpled heap. It shrunk back at the sight of the man brandishing the broadsword, shrivelling into a pitifully small, cowering mess. Then, it let out a gurgled hiss and bolted into the forest.
Turning, Wellworn sheathed the sword into an unseen scabbard hidden beneath his jacket. Keon was annoyed at how relieved he was to see him. The feeling of annoyance was clearly mutual judging from Wellworn’s furrowed brow.
Zahara came crashing through the forest moments later, followed closely by Avana. She stopped short when she saw Keon sprawled on the floor and Wellworn standing over him. His coffee black eyes met the concern in her own, a slow understanding passing between them.
“Get him back to the camp.”
* * *
The campfire burned in the midst of the clearing, bathing the solitary pillar of rock in an orange aura. Keon sat by the flames, warming the chill in his soul; quivering as though he’d fallen through thin ice. Wellworn knelt down and handed him a warm, walnut mug of something that smelt a lot like minty hot cocoa.
Zahara sat nearby to his left, Shem and Avana flanking Wellworn on either side. Kai, Dawit and Jonas hung back, perched on the stones.
“What the hell was that?” he finally said.
He frowned as the Millionth and Fifth exchanged knowing looks as though passing notes around class.
“It was you, Keon,” said Wellworn, grim.
Keon’s forehead twitched as though he’d misheard.
“You what?”
“We call it a Mirror,” said Shem. “Imagine everything about yourself you ever wanted to hide walking around in physical form.”
“A Mirror, like Underland, is a reflection of the unseen. A physical manifestation of your human nature,” added Wellworn.
“What does it want?”
“Dominance. It’s desire is to rule over you, but you must rule over it. As long as you are free, it can’t be.”
Keon shook his head.
“I don’t understand.”
“You and your Mirror are two sides of the same coin. When your father broke it out of its Stronghold, it started a chain of events that brought you here. The Mynds were tracking it in hopes of ensnaring you.”
Keon’s confused gaze returned to the pillar of steam rising from his mug, his jaw tightening.
“Why does it look like that?”
“Entering Underland is like slicing a bone to reveal the marrow beneath. Your Mirror is a reflection of who you are inside; your heart…”
“Are you saying inside I’m a monster?”
“I’m saying that inside everyone are passions that wage war against the soul; a darkness they would rather not face. It is this darkness that the Morningstars prey upon, bending humanity to their will.”
Keon’s brow tightened further.
“That wasn’t me,” he said, shaking his head. “That thing had my face, but it wasn’t me…”
Wellworn gently squeezed his shoulder.
“Coming face to face with one’s Mirror is never easy. You learn things about yourself that are hard to accept; but accept them you must, for when you next face it…”
“Are you mad?!” he said, trying in vain to shrug Wellworn’s heavy hand off his shoulder. “I’m not going near that thing again!”
“I scared it away, but it will keep coming for you, until either it controls you or you control it. Confronting one’s Mirror is key to becoming a Torchbearer.”
“Then I’ll do it some other way.”
Zahara smiled. “You mean you’re joining us?”
Keon shook his head at the craziness of even considering it.
“I need to bring my dad home. If becoming a Torchbearer is what it’ll take to bring him back, then I’ll do it,” he looked back at Wellworn. “Not for you, or your war, or your King—but for him. For my family.”
Wellworn stood slowly, his firm stare looming over him.
He turned to address the others.
“We make for the Eastern Monument at first light. I suggest you get some rest.”
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