“We crafted Hollow Hill to be a temporary home,” Simith replied to her comment, lifting his eyes to the two dozen trolls milling the area. He paused on the wagon before returning his attention to the bandage. “A sanctuary ought to feel like one.”
She doubted Katie would ever see it, glued to Relle’s side from the moment Simith brought her back. Jessa was grateful for his quick thinking. The iron bothered Relle, who moved in and out of consciousness, but it lessened the agony of the curse. The pain seemed to follow her even in her sleep. Katie, pale-faced and dry-eyed, sat vigil, feeding her sips of water and holding on to her hand like a lifeline.
Watching them, Jessa struggled with her guilt. They wouldn’t be here if not for her…but they had also chosen to come. Let us help you. Let us in. This was the trust Katie had meant. She’d never have found Simith without them. To let guilt consume her lessened the sacrifice Relle had made to secure their escape. Trust was more than sharing confidences. It was allowing others to be there in times of need.
That was what she told herself anyway. Believing it was easier said than done. The guilt remained, thick as mud in her chest, but the knowledge helped to keep her from drowning in it. She had to resist the old pattern telling her to withdraw into numbness. She’d been living in the cold a long time now. If she wanted to live, she had to let go of that shell.
“I must leave soon to alert the hamlets of our presence here,” Simith said, tucking the corner of her bandage under the wrappings. “Our tracks will be visible to any morning flyers.”
“I’ll come with you,” she said immediately.
His eyes met hers before sliding away. “It’s better if you remain. I’m not sure how they’ll react to me.”
She watched him pull down her sleeve, deliberate fingers easing the bunched fabric over her wound. He was nervous. She doubted it was for his safety.
“It’s been a long time since you came home,” she said. “It might be easier if you had company.”
He released her arm, shifting on their grassy bench to face her fully. His sharp brown eyes were guarded.
“Let us first speak of what there is between us. You told me my dreams are your memories. Relle said my death would cause yours. Why?”
Jessa took a deep breath. “Wayward magic.”
She launched into what she hoped was a comprehensive retelling of Ionia’s explanation of the memory-dreams and the link forged between them when he healed her. As she spoke, his jaw clenched so hard she worried his teeth might fuse permanently together.
“This was the cause of the weakness I felt?” he asked.
“And the cold. We have to stay near each other or the single life force we share gets stretched too thin.”
He stood, clasping his hands behind his back, pacing three steps away, then back. His eyes lifted to hers, a wall she couldn’t see through. “You have also seen my memories?”
“Some of them. There hasn’t been much time for sleep.”
His expression hardened to marble. “You’ve seen me in battle?”
She hesitated. Did he worry she judged him? Because she didn’t. Cruel chaos blanketed the battles she’d witnessed. Death like warm rain over fields of horror and fear. And Simith, slicing through the lives in his wake, his battered heart patched with hate thumping go, go, go.
She nodded. “Sometimes.”
Simith held her gaze, searching. His hard look melted away, replaced with inexpressible weariness. He sat heavily beside her again, his elbows on his knees, his face bracketed by tightly curled fists.
“Jessa,” he whispered. “Forgive me. I never intended this.”
She leaned back, startled. “It’s not your fault.”
“You shouldn’t have to watch such atrocities. I swear to do all I can to separate us.”
She lifted a hand, wanting to unclench one of his fists, unsure whether he’d allow it. “Simith, this was an accident.”
“Please.” He looked up, mouth severe, gaze beseeching. “Don’t do that. I am responsible for so much damage. So much,” his eyes grew damp and his voice wavered, “so much harm. You must not defend me.”
His terrible shame squeezed her heart. There were things he’d done for which he rightfully felt responsible, but not this. Not her.
She took hold of one fist and cradled it gently between her palms. “‘They whose guilt within their bosom lies, imagine every eye beholds their blame.’”
His eyes softened with awe. “What are these words?”
“A little Shakespeare. Another maker of verse.” She tried at a smile. “Listen to me now. This link between us is not your fault. Even Ionia said she’s never seen magic react the way it did.”
“Then what is the cause?”
“Partly, she thinks it’s because you refused to let me go even after your magic was gone. You…split yourself apart to save me.”
They stared at each other, the words settling between them like the memory of that moment. He didn’t refute them. His fist opened, fingers curling around hers. They gave a slight squeeze of acknowledgement.
“You said partly,” he noted. “Is there another element?”
“You could call it that,” she agreed with a sigh. “I’m pregnant.”
“You,” he blanched, “you were with child when it happened?”
She nodded.
“The second heartbeat,” he murmured. “What a fool I am. I thought you were simply different. I never even considered—”
He broke off, gaze flicking upward. Jessa followed where he looked, but saw nothing.
“What wrong?” she asked.
“Stay beside me.” Tension sang along the rigid lines of his body. “I’ll make sure we aren’t separated.”
“What do you mean? Are we in danger?”
Before he could answer, a line of pixies appeared along a mossy balcony spanning the length of one wall. It blended so well with the ivy she’d have never known it was there. Clad in rust-colored tunics, their long hair dressed in feathers and hollyhocks, they looked like creatures out of a child’s fable—a lethal one. Each held a bow in their hands, arrows already aimed at the occupants below.
“Trolls,” an older pixie with silver-black hair spat. “You trespass.”
Jessa squinted at him. He seemed familiar.
King Drokeh descended from the wagon. He didn’t reach for a weapon, his hands extended from his sides as he faced them. “We intended no trespass. We were invited here.”
“By whom?”
“By me.” Simith stood, drawing Jessa up with him. He regarded the older pixie stoically, but a slight tremor shook the hand that held hers. He touched his heart. “Father, I greet you.”
“Simith,” the other breathed, his bow drooping. A wave of emotions flitted across his face, too many to fully see. The hard lines settled back into place. If possible, he looked even angrier. “You should not have come back.”
Then he lifted his bow and fired.
Continue the story with the final installment: “Through a Valley of White Mist.”
The only hope of defeating the fairies lies at the heart of the Forgotten Vale. To reach it, Simith and Jessa will have to bargain with the lich who dwells there, a terrifying wraith that feeds on reason and sanity. If they don’t find a way to outsmart its traps and obtain the magic they need, not only will the war be lost, but their lives as well.
Pick up Forgotten Magic, book three of the Magic Underground trilogy, today!
About the Author
A child of two cultures, Anela Deen, a hapa haole Hawaiian girl, is currently landlocked in the Midwest. After exploring the world for a chunk of years, she hunkered down in Minnesota and now fills her days with family, fiction, and the occasional snowstorm. With a house full of lovable toddlers, a three-legged cat, and one handsome Dutchman, she prowls the keyboard late at night while the minions sleep. Coffee? Nah, she prefers tea with a generous spoonful of sarcasm.
For more information about the author, please visit: https:
//amidtheimaginary.wordpress.com/my-books. Don’t forget to grab your copy of Forgotten Magic for more fantasy adventures.
The Greatest Sin
A Sacrifice of Body
Lee French & Erik Kort
Control taunts Algernon, dancing out of his reach with a whiff of smoke and shadow. Adults toy with powerful magic, producing unexpected results. When the two collide, blood is in the air.
Lee French & Erik Kort
In the world of The Greatest Sin epic fantasy series, a teenager grapples with the intense guilt of having violated the most basic tenets of his family's religious beliefs. The frustrations of adolescence propel him into a confusing maze of adults with secrets who want much more from him than they admit.
A Sacrifice of Body
Two horses pounded through the mud of the packed earth road with rain falling in thick, opaque sheets. Algernon clung to his mother with numb, frozen fingers, desperate to stay on the horse with her. His father and Grandma Katona shared the second horse, her wounds still knitting after her taste of death.
Chilled spatters of thin, grainy mud slapped Algernon’s bare feet. His ragged indoor clothing, ill-suited to the wretched weather and soaked, weighed him down.
Not more than his shame.
More hooves thundered behind them, echoing in Algernon’s head. Shadowy figures followed far too close. They’d repelled his mother’s flames, leaving his family no choice but to flee.
What did those people want? Why had they blocked the only road to safety?
But he knew the answer. They wanted him and his parents. Others like them had already tried to abduct Algernon and kill his grandmother.
Tried and died.
The dark shapes would catch them. Father would crack one with his elven staff. The rest would swarm and overcome Mother’s fruitless fire, Grandma Katona’s wounded wit, and Algernon’s exhausted everything.
He’d even lost his sword when their house had collapsed into the sea.
Algernon had no idea where they could go from here. No matter how well people in the area regarded his family, he doubted anyone from the nearby small towns would fight these fiendishly determined pursuers on their behalf.
He closed his eyes, too tired to think.
The driving rain consumed him. He smelled it, he heard it, he tasted it and nothing else.
Until the horses’ hooves clattered on stone in a cacophony all around him. The rain stopped.
Algernon opened his eyes inside a stone archway leading to a courtyard. Behind them, the pursuers stopped at the threshold.
“Where are we?” he asked in a whisper.
“Corlyn Sanctuary,” Mother said.
He’d heard of the place but knew little about it beyond its affiliation with the Order of Spilled Blood. His mother sometimes spoke of it as a destination.
The horses clopped at a slow pace through the short tunnel to emerge in a wide room with a high ceiling. Hoofbeats echoed off the bare stone walls. Damp warmth smothered Algernon, though not enough to chase away the chill settled into his bones.
Their pursuers remained outside the tunnel, their horses stamping and neighing.
“Why aren’t they following us inside?” Algernon asked.
“These are hallowed grounds where no one is allowed to fight.” Mother stiffened in the saddle. “It’s enforced by magic.”
Algernon tore his gaze from the people outside to scan the large room.
Four people awaited them in the spacious entry. Three wore simple wool clothing with fur linings to protect against the draft. One, a woman, smiled at Mother with polite, cheerful greeting.
The fourth person, a man in less common clothing and wearing a dark cloak, also smiled at Mother, though his expression felt more calculating and victorious. He had damp black hair tied in a tail and a curious scar along his jaw.
“I was beginning to think you’d never come, Tara,” the scarred man said.
“Maybe we should take our chances with the ones outside,” Father said.
“Oh yes, please do.” The scarred man laughed. “They’re more than ready for you.”
“Shut up, Miru,” Mother snapped.
Miru. This man had sent people to Algernon’s home to kidnap him and his grandmother. Fending off those barbaric thieves had cost Algernon a great deal. They’d slain a man he considered family and left him barefoot and homeless, among other things.
Grandma Katona spat her anger and distaste for the man.
Mother clucked her tongue and pulled the reins to turn the horse.
“I don’t know what’s going on, but Tara, please.” The smiling woman stopped smiling. She touched the bridle for Mother’s horse and pleaded with her eyes. “You’re soaked to the bone. The boy has no shoes or cloak. These horses are exhausted. If you go back out now, you might as well lie down and die.”
“Are you here to hand us over to Miru?” Father asked with a growl. He held his reins ready to turn his horse also.
“No, Adyn, of course not,” the woman said. “We would never condone such a thing. He won’t lay a hand on you while you’re here. Come, I’ll show you to rooms you can use.”
Mother glanced at Father. Father flicked his gaze to Algernon and back. He nodded.
“Fine.” Mother sighed and slumped her shoulders. “Algie, get down. This is Sharin.”
The two other people rushed forward to help them and take control of the horses. Algernon needed assistance to climb down from the mount’s back. Shivers wriggled over his body, and his muscles refused to flex.
With help, he failed to hurt himself while falling off the horse.
Grandma Katona hardly fared better. Her wrinkles had deepened to furrows across her face and her white hair hung wet and loose in a tangled mess halfway down her back. Both of her hands curled as if she had no power to straighten them.
Mother and Sharin supported Algernon through the large room. They used a wooden door carved with a sunburst to leave it in favor of a wide hallway.
“When did Miru get here?” Mother asked.
“Not long before you,” Sharin said.
Held between them, Algernon tripped and stumbled over a rug with swirling faded red and orange designs on a black background. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered.
“What did he say?” Mother asked.
“Nothing special.” Sharin shook her head. “He wanted to wait for some friends to arrive.”
Mother growled in the back of her throat.
“I didn’t know,” Sharin said. “If I had…”
“If you had,” Mother grumbled, “you would’ve let him in anyway because the doors are open to all who make no quarrel within these walls.”
The two women quieted. Algernon wanted to sit. He opened his mouth to ask how much farther they had to walk. Gibberish and nonsense fell out.
Sharin grunted in distress. “He’s freezing, Tara. Why isn’t he wearing shoes?”
“I don’t know,” Mother said with a frown.
Algernon hated making her frown.
They hauled him through rooms he barely noticed to reach a tiny room with a bathtub. Mother and Sharin worked without a word to strip him down and clean him up with warm water.
They treated him like a child incapable of caring for himself.
On the horse, he’d thought he wanted this. The debacle resulting in the destruction of their home had left him craving the shelter his parents provided.
In the tub, he wanted them to leave him alone. He could take care of himself.
As they turned off the taps, he warmed enough to protest.
“Mother, I can do this.”
“Hush, Algie.” Mother tapped his nose. “You nearly froze.”
“But I’m fine now.” He hoped he didn’t whine.
Sharin smiled and patted his shoulder. “Let your mama be your mama.”
“I don’t—” He stopped before he hurt his mother. But he didn’t need a mama anymore.
Mother raised her brow at him. “Y
ou don’t what?”
He blew out a breath and stopped fighting. “I don’t know.”
“Everyone is out of sorts when they’re cold and hungry.” Mother tousled his wet hair.
At least she gave him a towel when she deemed him done with his bath and let him dry himself. Then they swaddled him in blankets and handed him a bowl of stew.
Wary of attempts to feed him like an infant, he took control of the spoon.
Sharin left the four of them in a small sitting room with one couch and two chairs. An inner door led to a bedroom. Algernon already knew he would stay in a separate room down the hall, as would his grandmother.
Grandma Katona sat on the couch beside Algernon, wrapped in a more dignified robe and slippers. She also had a bowl of stew.
Mother and Father had removed their outer layers and sat in the chairs with steaming mugs.
“The destruction of the house was an unfortunate accident,” Grandma Katona said, “but at least it only took the lives of thieves and murderers.” She sighed. “Those monsters killed Ernold.”
Mother gasped.
Father blinked. “They...but why? He’s a harmless old man.”
Grandma Katona sighed again and shook her head. “He was a witness.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Mother whispered. She hung her head over her mug. “It was my fault.”
“It’s Miru’s fault.” Father glared at the wall.
Grandma Katona nodded. “I agree. This is most definitely Miru’s fault. Don’t blame yourself for it.”
Algernon ate his stew and let them forget about him. The less his parents knew about what had happened at the house, the better.
Magic Underground: The Complete Collection (Magic Underground Anthologies Book 4) Page 146
