I slide up my tunic’s sleeve and hold out my forearm to him, the sight of my sealed fastmarks triggering the harrowing memory of his family’s estate being swallowed up in blue fire.
“Lukas,” I say as he takes hold of my arm, places his rune-marked wand’s tip to my skin, and murmurs a spell. “I’m sorry about your family.”
Lukas’s gaze flicks up to mine, a flash of anguished conflict passing through them. His affinity fire rears then abates, as if he’s violently stamped it down. “Do you mourn your aunt?” His voice is full of virulent emotion as he keeps his wand’s tip pressed to my skin.
Discord wrests hold of me.
Aunt Vyvian was family. Someone who had been in my life since I was a young child. But how could I possibly mourn the woman who threatened to harm my brothers? Who used me as a tool to maintain her political power and gloated at the thought of my pain?
Who was responsible for the death of my beloved uncle Edwin?
My angry conflict morphs into a knifepoint of grief for my uncle.
“No,” I force out roughly, my fire now a disjointed mess that’s running chaotically hot against the underside of Lukas’s shield. “I don’t mourn her.”
Lukas slides his fingers dexterously along the small runes worked onto his wand’s hilt as if he’s playing a complicated instrument. Threads of glowing blue course from his wand to flow across my skin.
I study him with concern as runic sorcery tingles over me. “But, Lukas,” I press, “this was your whole family...”
Lukas’s firelines spike with a surprising level of ferocity. But then his invisible flame pulls in taut once more as a hard wall of his earth magery clamps down around his lines and his searing green gaze flashes to mine. “I do not mourn them,” he spits out in a blaze of conflicted pain, then focuses back down on the work at hand.
My mind reels from his admission, which is even more jarring, because we can’t lie to each other and I can feel the truth in his words. But then I try to imagine a family with only Aunt Vyvians in it. And I realize, with deep remorse, that Lukas’s entire life has been that way. No one to truly care about him. Everyone around him worshipping and loving power and prestige above all else.
“Would you mourn me?” I ask, the question escaping me as rune sorcery courses over my skin.
Lukas is silent for a moment, his gaze pinned on the blue magic branching along my wrist.
“Yes, Elloren.” His gaze lifts to mine. “I would mourn you for the rest of my life.” I send an answering rush of warmth toward him as I take in the impassioned look in his eyes. The very same look he gave me last night, when he merged every last part of his desire and his magic with mine.
Raw longing.
And something even stronger than that.
Our fires mingle in a heartfelt caress, tears stinging my eyes as I hold Lukas’s emotional gaze and the web of blue lines pulls into my arm, teasing through the shield just under my skin to form a stronger barrier.
Another crack of thunder booms, breaking through our momentary bond.
Lukas glances at the storm-darkening sky then cuts me an uneasy look as he gently releases my arm and resheathes his rune wand. “We need to go,” he says as he briefly caresses my arm.
“How far do you think we can get before the storm breaks?” This part of Gardneria is famous for its storms, and the longer they gather, the fiercer they are when they finally let loose.
This one has been gathering for a while.
“To the base of the Caledonian Range,” Lukas says, as white bursts of lightning briefly illuminate the angles of his face, giving him a stark look. “We need to put more distance between us and Vogel. We’ve only a small window of time.”
Dread wells up inside me. “Before what?” Thunder cracks as lightning skitters across the sky.
Lukas’s eyes are a flash of warning. “Before night falls and he’s able to hunt you with stronger magic.”
* * *
The storm continues to gather, like some enormous beast that’s patiently tracking us. As the day slides closer to night, the clouds thicken and billow angrily, shaking out thunder and lightning like an enraged fist but still holding back the torrent.
Every so often, Lukas signals for me to halt beside him, an urgent look in his eyes as we dismount. He slides his arm around me and pulls me into an impassioned kiss, sending his fire and earth magery into me to bolster the shield beneath my skin in a hard, tangling rush. His all-encompassing magic never fails to make me gasp and shudder against him as the horses fidget beside us. And every time, the trees’ oppressive aura draws back, as if they can sense the staggering level of magic at play.
As we advance through the forest, I find myself hungering for the next time Lukas will pause and pull me into his fiery kiss, the terrible world around us momentarily singed away whenever Lukas’s magic fuses with mine.
A lightning-riddled dusk descends as the forest changes and staggeringly immense trees loom over us, their gigantic, crenulated trunks washed a sullen, flickering red by our Amaz runic lanterns.
The Caledonian Sithoy forest.
I glance around with no small amount of awe and trepidation as we enter forest that’s famed all across Erthia. A forest I’ve only read about in books and sensed when touching its bloodred wood.
We’re only a few paces into the Sithoy when the trees’ surrounding aura begins to change. Their ire begins to envelop us with claustrophobic force, like a deep, weighted rumble pressing against my lines.
I crane my neck up, a slight vertigo taking hold as I view the Sithoy’s distant, lightning-illuminated canopy with mounting concern.
The black-needled Sithoy trees rise taller than Valgard’s cathedral, and both Lukas and I have to force back their hostile aura with double the usual magical effort or it starts to feel like a weighted invasion of our minds, difficult to think around. Even with both of us lashing invisible fire magery in periodic streams, it’s as if we can barely contain these trees.
I’ve the strong sense of them watching us with deep-seated hatred as we weave around their massive trunks. And I’ve the disturbing sensation of their collective aura not only pressing against my lines, but plucking them gently. Directionally.
As if mapping my magic’s flow.
“The trees here,” I say to Lukas as I glance warily around. “They’re dangerous.”
Lukas glances back at me as we ride, giving me a significant look. “I can feel their press of power as well, Elloren. But they’re like a Level One Mage. All power with no access. Don’t let them intimidate you.”
He sends out another blast of his invisible magic, but it barely puts a dent in the trees’ encroaching rancor.
And still, that disturbingly subtle brush against my lines that so easily traverses Lukas’s shield.
You’re not easily intimidated, are you, I sullenly think at the colossal trees, feeling besieged by their rippling invasion.
Thunder has begun a low, more insistent roll, the sky webbed with constant, forking lightning as the storm-dampened air rapidly cools. I’m having a hard time shaking the chill that’s seeped into my bones, no matter how forcefully I pull on my fire affinity or press my hands against my horse’s warm neck.
Night descends as the storm’s winds rise then strengthen with punishing force against the forest’s distant canopy, huge branches swaying overhead as the wind howls through the trees and the sky begins to spit a needling rain. The red-lantern-illuminated landscape grows rocky and hillier as Lukas and I draw ever closer to the edge of the Caledonian Mountain Range, blessedly leaving the Sithoy portion of the forest behind.
The oak, maple, and evergreen trees that now surround us are smaller and sparser.
And less able to infiltrate my magic.
A small clearing opens before us. It’s haphazardly strewn with dark boulders, a rocky hillock at its edge.
I flinch as lightning creates an earsplitting crack of thunder and the horses startle, the cold, misting rain turning to harder drops that splatter against the trees and dampen my cloak and my face.
Lukas stops then dismounts, motioning for me to follow his lead as he takes a moment to soothe his fidgety mare. We tether our horses inside the forest edge, under an isolated grove of oak trees with a thick, sheltering canopy.
“Stay with the horses for a moment,” Lukas directs and I comply, wind whipping at my hair as it begins to send up a disconcerting howl and I do my best to calm the restless animals.
Lukas moves to the center of the small clearing, holds his wand aloft, and sounds out a series of spells, low in his throat, as his strong, red-lit form is buffeted by the intensifying rain and wind.
I give a start as loose branches fly in from the woods and circle Lukas in a tight spiral, more branches soaring in to join the cyclone of wood until I can’t make Lukas out. And then the whooshing spiral abruptly flows toward an indentation in the hillock’s wall of rock, Lukas’s tall form visible once more. Wood crackles against stone as Lukas rapidly weaves the branches into a domed structure against the concavity, lines of his earth magery flowing around the wood in slender vines that cinch the branches tightly together.
Lukas is coldly efficient as the storm turns into a violent deluge, and I find both his stunning display of earth magery and his ability to remain so calmly competent in the face of everything to be deeply steadying.
As I watch through the sheeting rain, he burns a door into the structure and angles its top outward to create an awning of sorts. Then he strides toward the dwelling he’s created, points his wand at the entrance, and sounds another spell.
Debris flies out of the enclosure, and Lukas hurls it at the forest with a sweep of his arm. Then he sounds another spell, and a rush of thick fog billows out, lit eerily red by our lantern light.
Another ear-piercing crack of thunder sounds as lightning forks down from the clouds, slamming into the forest not far from where we’re standing, and my pulse skitters in response to its proximity. I continue to soothe the spooked horses, patting necks and speaking to them in low, calm tones as rain batters down, the smell of scorched storm energy on the air.
“We should get our packs out of the rain,” Lukas calls out as he strides over to me, his hood off, his black hair curled into wet tendrils.
We unhitch our rain-drenched packs and our lanterns from the horses, and then loosen the girths of their saddles. I give mine an apologetic pat for not taking the tack off and giving it a proper grooming, but we have to be able to go quickly if needed. Gathering my pack and lantern, I follow Lukas, half running, into the shelter, hoping the horses will be all right with the natural covering they have. At least with the amount of rain here, there’s plenty of grass for them to eat.
Ducking down, we both slide into the enclosure just as the storm fully unleashes and turns violent, the rain an impenetrable curtain shot through with lightning flashing and thunder booming in a fierce, overlapping chorus.
Lukas lowers himself to one knee in the dwelling’s center, his face and form lit by the flickering scarlet glow of the lanterns he’s set down beside him. He raises his wand and murmurs a spell as he draws his other hand back, palm forward, as if drawing something into the wand.
My whole body warms as rain is drawn from my cloak, my skirts, my skin, and flies toward Lukas’s wand to be instantly consumed into a tight, churning ball of water that’s suspended in the air, just over his wand’s tip.
Lukas pulls the water off himself as well and feeds it into the expanding sphere, then hurls the ball of water out of the dwelling through its small entrance, my body and clothes now dry and much warmer, the smell of damp diminished.
With a look of deep concentration, Lukas points his wand at the shelter’s domed ceiling and gracefully moves it back and forth, his motion as precise as an orchestra conductor’s. A slim stream of black vines courses out from his wand’s tip and threads all through the structure’s roof, creating an increasingly watertight surface. Then he sheathes his wand, pulls off his cloak, and hangs it across the entrance.
It’s not a large structure he’s fashioned. Just big enough for the two of us to lie in comfortably on the dry moss, and just high enough for Lukas to stand if he stoops a bit.
“Lukas,” I venture as the immensity of the situation bears down. His eyes meet mine. “Do you think Vogel will find us here?”
“I think it’s unlikely. This is a big stretch of wilderness we’ve crossed. I don’t know of any search spell with that range. And a tracking beast would need to follow your scent, which is near impossible with this rain.” He regards me squarely. “But it seems as if Vogel’s tapped into some primordial system of magic...”
“Demonic magic,” I amend firmly.
Lukas nods in grim agreement. “Perhaps. The old magical rules might not apply. Vogel’s wand seems to be amplifying his magic, so I’m not sure what he’s capable of.”
A chill ripples down the sides of my neck just as a resonant whump, whump, whump sounds overhead, cutting through the storm’s sheeting chorus.
A frisson of alarm streaks through me as we both look swiftly up, the sound like a more forceful, rhythmic thunder. My eyes meet Lukas’s in a flash of sudden, urgent concern as a succession of shrieks split the air.
Lukas and I move swifly toward our shelter’s opening, push away the cloak’s edge, and peer up into the rain.
My spark of alarm detonates as repeated flashes of lightning illuminate the sky to reveal a horde of Gardnerian military dragons tearing through the storm, just above the forest’s canopy.
Countless broken dragons, soaring relentlessly East.
“What does this mean?” I say after the gigantic horde finally seems to have passed.
“The Gardnerians have cut down all the Vu Trin,” Lukas gravely reasons, his lightning-lit eyes narrowed and his face slick with rain as he scans the sky. “Mage forces are likely massing near the Eastern Pass in preparation for an invasion of the Eastern Realm.”
The ramifications of this hit home with devastating force.
The Realm that holds almost everyone I love. The Realm that’s the only hope for thousands upon thousands of people.
I remember the stories Yvan told me of Gardnerian dragon horde attacks on Keltish villages. Children and families torn to shreds. Entire villages decimated. Horror takes hold of me as I imagine this nightmare visited down on the people of the Eastern Realm.
“I’ve caused this,” I rasp, my fire affinity rearing against Lukas’s shield with anguished force. “There’s now all-out war because of me. Thousands of people are going to see their lives destroyed. And I have no way of stopping it.”
Lukas shoots me an incredulous look then takes hold of my arm and guides me back into the shelter. He yanks his cloak back down over the shelter’s entrance.
“Elloren,” he says firmly, still holding my arm, “this war would have come to the Realms with or without you. Do you think Vogel would have left the Eastern Realm alone if you hadn’t come along?” His brow lifts in further incredulity. “No. He would have marched in and enslaved them. If he had his Black Witch, it would only have happened that much faster.” His gaze on me sharpens. “Right now, he’s likely bringing in Fifth Division trackers so they can locate our trail as soon as this storm passes. Mark my words. You’re the only significant threat that stands in Vogel’s way, and you will learn how to fight back. You’re potentially the deadliest weapon that both Realms have ever seen.”
The only weapon of the Prophecy left, I think with terrible clarity as an aching grief twists my heart. But I’m a weapon rendered useless by my lack of control over my magic, while Vogel’s dragon army bears down on my family and friends and countless innocents.
What if Vogel catches up to me before I gain any control over my magic?
/> “Vogel can’t find me,” I roughly insist, grabbing hold of Lukas’s hand. “If he does, he’ll force me East. He’ll turn me into a monster...”
Lukas eyes the hand I’m clutching him with, his brow tightening as he takes my wand hand into his, his fingers weaving through mine as his grip on me tightens. “Elloren,” he says, giving me an intense look as my magic cyclones through my lines and clamors against his shield, “you’ve got to get hold of your magic. You’re going to punch right through my shield. And if Vogel chooses to send out a search spell and happens to guess our direction correctly, you’ll bring about everything you fear.”
I struggle to do what he’s asking of me. To gain control of my magic and tighten my lines against it, but my affinity flame is whipping out in chaotic streaks too powerful to subdue. My mind circles into panic as my magic slashes fiery tears in Lukas’s shield and I rail against the nightmare I’m caught up in.
There’s a massive forest around me filled with trees that would strangle me with their limbs if they could and rip the affinity lines clear from my body. Beyond that, I have no truly safe place to train. Even the Eastern Realm is a danger to me. We’ll have to sneak in somehow, since the Vu Trin want me dead.
And the Wand in my stocking, the Mythical Force for Good, is no match for Vogel’s Shadow Wand.
It hides from Vogel’s Wand.
My heartbeat ratchets up as I face the full horror of the situation head-on. “I’m scared, Lukas,” I confess, my voice growing hoarse as my magic slams against his shield with riotous force. “I can’t control it. I can’t control the magic in me.”
A look of deep concern flashes over Lukas’s features as he holds on to me, the line of his jaw hardening.
In one decided movement, he closes the distance between us, pulls me in, and brings his mouth to mine, blasting fire straight through my lines.
I gasp against him as Lukas’s magic blazes through me, staggeringly hot and strong, his fingers threading through my hair then clenching tight, keeping my mouth firmly against his. The full strength of his affinities flashes through me, feeding into my violently out-of-control power with scorching heat. Melding with it then reining it tightly in, rapidly restoring the shield.
The Shadow Wand Page 40
