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Awaken

Page 17

by Tanya Schofield


  “Be strong,” he whispered against her ear as he readjusted his cloak over her shoulders to cover the torn dress. “We’re with you.”

  Shopping took longer than he expected, and hours passed. Dusk was courting full dark when Jovan saw a brief flash of a brightly colored cloak disappearing into an alley – was it the Duke’s colors? If there was a chance Korith’s soldiers were here, Jovan couldn’t risk them staying even one night. He had to be sure.

  “Go on to the food tent,” he said. “I will return shortly.”

  He was off before Kaeliph could ask what the trouble was, and Kaeliph was still trying to see where his brother had gone when a breathless girl dodged past a flower cart and barreled into him at a full run, knocking both of them to the ground. The girl tried to scramble up and keep running, but her skirt had tangled around the rapier on Kaeliph’s belt.

  “Be easy, girl,” he said, trying to free the fabric.

  She slapped at his hands. “Let go, he’s coming!”

  A man nearly as large as Jovan lumbered around the same flower cart and stopped when he saw the fallen girl. Melody watched as Kaeliph immediately found his feet, putting himself between them.

  “Give her back,” the man growled, pointing a thick finger. “She’s mine.”

  Kaeliph shook his head, smiling. “She doesn’t seem to want you, friend, not that I blame her.”

  The man took a threatening step closer, his lip curled in a sneer. “You’ll watch your tongue, boy, or I’ll tear it out.”

  The girl, Melody noticed, was now kneeling, rummaging in Kaeliph’s pack. She paid no attention to the man she had been running from. Kaeliph was too concerned with saving her to notice, so Melody stepped forward to warn him.

  A meaty grip spun her around, and there was no time to react before the angry man’s huge fist hit the side of her face in a dizzying burst of blood, heat, and pain. The force of it knocked her backwards, off her feet. Kaeliph caught her, wrapping his hand over her mouth and praying to all the gods that she wouldn’t cry out— with this many witnesses to her magic, they’d be dead by dawn.

  Melody gasped against his hand, but she made no sound.

  The pair disappeared into the crowd, and Jovan, feeling Melody’s shock and pain, arrived moments later, nearly knocking over a sallow man in a tattered gray cloak in his hurry. He took one look at the blood bubbling from her nose and spilling over Kaeliph’s hand, and reached for his sword.

  “Where?” he snapped.

  Kaeliph pointed. “That way. Bald man. Curvy girl.”

  Two of the town guard had arrived in time to hear the brief description, and motioned for Jovan to stay. “We’ll handle this,” the taller one said, sprinting off in chase so fast the other guard couldn’t keep up.

  Kaeliph still had his hand clamped over her mouth, and Melody’s eyes were wide as Jovan peeled it away.

  “It’s all right,” he assured her, lifting her chin to survey the damage. “You’re all right.”

  The man had been wearing a ring, Jovan saw – two deep cuts under her left eye proved it. The whole side of her face was swelling rapidly, already beginning to bruise. He didn’t think her nose was broken, but it and her split lower lip were bleeding enthusiastically.

  Kaeliph wiped her blood from his hand and stood, attempting to shield Melody from the stares of passers-by. The man in the gray cloak was still in the alley, trying not to be noticed. Kaeliph noticed.

  “We should get her off the street,” he murmured, cutting his eyes to the alley.

  Jovan saw without looking. “I’ll take her back to the room,” he said. “Go eat, learn what you can. Make sure you aren’t missing anything.” He gently pulled the hood of Melody’s new cloak up to cover her face, and helped her to her feet.

  “Can’t take what I don’t have.” Kaeliph flashed a grin and was gone.

  She was stealing from Kaeliph. Her voice was small and surprised in his head. She wasn’t afraid of that man at all.

  Jovan had to remind himself that she had been raised in an entirely different world as he brought Melody back to the inn.

  “They were thieves,” he whispered against the side of her hood, escorting her inside.

  Why did he strike me?

  Jovan didn’t trust himself to speak until they were inside their tiny room. “He hit you because he was a coward.”

  Melody sat on the edge of the single cot, removing her hood. You’re angry.

  Jovan took a deep breath. Anger was an understatement. “Not at you,” he clarified. “Let me clean you up.”

  He sat, turning her towards him, and wiped the blood from her bruised face with cool water from the basin. He pressed at the edges of the cuts under her eye, and her lip.

  “Can you heal these?” he asked. “Like you healed me?”

  She shook her head, slowly. It doesn’t work if it’s me, she sent. I can’t distance myself from it.

  “Then I’ll have to stitch them. It will hurt,” he warned.

  It already does. The whole side of her head felt hot and heavy.

  Jovan worked quickly – Kaeliph was more skilled, he knew, but sooner was better. Melody remained still under his hands, silent tears squeezing free of her closed eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, finishing up. He could feel her nausea in his own gut. “Can you sleep?”

  She nodded, and wrapped her arms around her stomach as Jovan unlaced her new boots and set them on the floor. You’re still angry. Her not-voice betrayed her exhaustion.

  Jovan helped her lie down, covering her with her new cloak. “Still not at you,” he reminded her. He sat beside her, looking down at the ruin of her face. She winced, as if she could hear his thoughts about the man who had struck her – she probably could, he realized. He moved a strand of damp hair off her forehead, trying to focus on anything but his rage, at least until she had fallen asleep. He was in the same position when Kaeliph returned, bouncing a small pouch in the palm of his hand.

  Jovan shushed him and stood.

  Kaeliph’s grin slipped when he saw Melody’s face. “Lich be damned,” he breathed. “Is she all right?”

  “She will be.” Jovan took the pouch from his brother and looked inside. He raised an eyebrow at Kaeliph. “Dice?”

  “I got lucky.” The younger boy’s eyes twinkled.

  “You’re not lucky, Kaeliph, you just cheat.”

  Kaeliph snatched the pouch and tucked it away. “Of course I’m lucky, brother. I never get caught.”

  Jovan rolled his eyes. “Did they get the thieves?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Kaeliph…” Jovan’s anger surged, making Melody shift uncomfortably, and he tried to get his thoughts back under control.

  “Jovan, I was cheating at dice. I didn’t think inviting the town guard was my best move. Now go eat, they’ll shut down soon.” Kaeliph put a chunk of bread beside the basin. “For her,” he said.

  “I won’t be long.”

  Jovan ate quickly, gambling with half his attention – still looking for signs of the Duke and seeing none. When he returned to their room, restless and uneasy, Kaeliph was already asleep on the floor. Jovan placed a wedge of cheese beside the bread Kaeliph had left, stroked Melody’s forehead, and laid down.

  24

  Melody opened her eyes— eye, the other refused to cooperate – and lay still. Her whole head throbbed, her lip felt large and unfamiliar. She listened to the soft, even breathing of her companions, remembering… she had been struck, Jovan had tended the wound, she’d slept— her dream. That was what had woken her. When she sat up, she saw them lying on the floor - Kaeliph beside the bed, Jovan by the door. But she had to go.

  She didn’t want to. The idea of venturing out into the city alone turned her stomach and tightened her chest, but the dream— the man in the dream had been very specific. They needed to meet. Jovan, as protective as he was, would never let her go. Not alone, not to meet a stranger she’d encountered in a dream. But Melody knew it had b
een much more than a dream. Frightened or not, she would go where she had been shown.

  She pulled the hood of her new cloak around her face without a sound, and padded on silent bare feet out of the room, down the stairs, and into the city. The streets were nearly empty in the pre-dawn mist. She wrapped the cloak tightly around herself, more to quiet her anxious trembling than keep out the chill.

  It was the man from yesterday, she knew, the one she’d seen at the inn. He had been in her dream, though she didn’t understand how. She only knew it was no imagined meeting. They had talked. He had led her through these same streets and insisted that she come, insisted that she come alone. Now her waking feet carried her, unfailing, to the alley he had shown her. She was beyond terrified, but curiosity triumphed – who was this man who shone so blue, and could visit her sleep?

  “Were you followed?” His quiet voice betrayed his own anxiety about their meeting, as did the presence of his hidden companions.

  Melody turned towards the box he crouched behind. Surely Calder’s warning against using her gifts didn’t extend to others who had magic.

  No. But you were.

  She could feel his surprise at her voice in his head, but when he stepped into view, he was smiling. He was the man she had seen at the inn, and in her dream – lean, with a deep green cloak and black curls that fell past his shoulders.

  He looked around, feigning innocence. “I see no one.”

  Melody pointed to the three other crates hiding people whose blue auras shimmered in the corner of her vision. If it had been a test, she had passed.

  “Impressive,” he said. The others emerged, staring at her in both surprise and fear, and she returned their stares. There was more magic in this alley than she had seen since she left the Dweller’s Glade.

  What do you wish of me?

  “We cannot speak here,” he replied cryptically. “Come.” He led her through a maze of alleys and basements, stopping at a simple door that unlocked and opened at his touch – though it had no latch. “Welcome to my home,” he said, gesturing her inside. She looked behind, but the man’s companions had departed along the way.

  Melody entered, feeling instantly at home in spite of being underground. Several tables and chairs lined one wall, and two low couches stretched the length of the other. A fireplace dominated the back wall, which it shared with another doorway. He closed the door and slid out of his cloak, visibly relaxing.

  “I am Rhodoban,” he said with a bow, and reached for the pitcher sitting on a nearby low table. “You are thirsty?”

  Melody nodded, her head protesting the movement, and removed her cloak as well. Yes, thank you.

  Rhodoban turned, and nearly spilled the water at the sight of her. “By the Break!” he exclaimed. “What happened?”

  Melody touched her bruised face. There was a … thief, and a man ... She sent Rhodoban the few images she remembered, and accepted the mug of water. There was frank amazement on his face. Why do you look at me so?

  “I’m sorry, I’m terribly rude, but ... No user in the past five hundred years has been able to do that. You’re extraordinary.” He sat, and motioned for her to do the same. “You dream a Dweller’s dreams, and yet you cannot be – the last of them died out hundreds of years ago.”

  Melody was blindsided by the familiar vision, the memory of her friends and family, broken and bleeding in the glade. Tears spilled from her eyes, and she corrected this eager man who knew so little.

  “No, they didn’t.”

  Rhodoban dropped his water. He tripped over his feet trying to get off the couch.

  “Lich be damned,” he cursed as the vision slammed into him, and he had to brace himself against the wall. He saw them, Dwellers, sprawled haphazardly around a clearing that stank of blood – slain by no animal, but man. This was not hundreds of years ago, this was her memory, so fresh it could have happened yesterday.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, seeing the tiny bruised girl on his couch with new eyes. “I didn’t know.” He busied himself cleaning the spilled water, uncertain of how to continue. He wanted to ask her how she did it, but her dreams had already answered that. She had no idea.

  “Please,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I’d like to start again. What is your name?”

  Melody. She paused, considering him. What is a ‘user’?

  “A magic user,” he explained. “One who does impossible, inexplicable things.” He sat beside her again as she took another sip of water. “Like seeing me in a crowded place once I had decided not to be seen.” She could feel his anxiety entwined with his curiosity.

  Why did you hide in the alley?

  “Because I wish to live to see my children grown,” he said, glancing at the door beside the fireplace. Melody frowned, closing her eyes against the throbbing of her head.

  Who would wish you harm?

  “Who wouldn’t? You are no longer in your forest, Dweller. Magic here is high crime, punishable by death. I came to you last night in warning. One slip could get you and your companions killed.”

  You brought others. She searched his face. Yet you told me to come alone.

  Rhodoban scratched his head, avoiding her eyes. “Your dreams hint at much, Dweller. There is such power in you... My friends were for my safety.”

  Melody was stunned. You thought I would ... harm you?

  Rhodoban hurried to reassure her. “Dreams speak more of potential than truth,” he explained. “I took precautions.”

  Then why summon me here?

  The man leaned back, collecting his thoughts. “I sought your dream out of curiosity, to be honest, but then I saw the danger you were in. There was not one nightmare of the Lich King in you, not a single one. I doubt you know the first thing about him.”

  Kaeliph spoke of the Witherin, once, and people use the name as a curse.

  Rhodoban nodded. “As I thought. It was my intention to protect you, if I could, or warn you.”

  What is the Lich King?

  Rhodoban stood and refilled her mug with the clear, cool water.

  “This is usually a long, lyrical story, but I will try to be brief. History is rewritten through the years, but we magic users keep the true tale alive in stories and song – it is vital that none of us forget.”

  Melody closed her eyes again, focusing on Rhodoban’s words.

  “He was a man, named Phelwen Semaj, and like all men of his time, he was a student of magic. Unlike the others, he was obsessed – he craved knowledge and power above all else, and later, the time to acquire still more. The only thing to ever have distracted him from his endless quest for magic was a woman. She was Lady Ellisande, and she risked the fury of her father to study in the great libraries and teach herself the magic that was reserved for men alone. We know for certain only that they fell in love, and they were inseparable.”

  “Time and speculation has clouded much, but we are taught that in spite of his physical frailty, Phelwen wanted to journey to the High Lands. He wished to learn the magic of the Elves. He had discovered some magic to revitalize him, secrets no other scholar had unearthed, and his peers were jealous, or perhaps disapproving. But the last thing he cared about were his peers, and they knew it.”

  “Intentions have been lost over time. We know there was tainted wine, and whichever of them it was meant for, it was Ellisande that fell dead. For the next five years, there was no sign of Phelwen Semaj. And then it began. City by city, town by town, thousands died when the water supply was poisoned. A man would appear, offering a cure to any who swore allegiance to him – but there were few survivors. It was years before Semaj was associated with the atrocities, and even after, he was impossible to find. Defeat was out of the question.”

  “There were rumors of a dark ritual, one that took his life but made him immortal. They must have been true, for he plagued the land long after he should have wasted away with age. Along his path of destruction, he studied every record of magic and power, and when he had learned all he could, he
burned them – so none could follow in his footsteps. The true terror of his thousand-year reign, though, was its inescapability. Death was no salvation for those who resisted him. Phelwen Semaj used some dark power to make the dead stand, and walk, and obey his will.”

  Melody recalled the creatures from the island lighthouse, and shuddered. The memory of the once-men and the red-eyed thing that led them haunted her – almost as frequently as her vision of the Dwellers, slaughtered where they stood. She could practically smell the decay as she remembered.

  “It is human nature to survive.” Rhodoban went on, unaware of her discomfort. “Some learned to avoid his notice by hiding in forests and hills, far from the cities. They named him the Lich King, Lord of the Dead, King of Death. With every town he slaughtered, his armies grew, and he set them to digging. The tunnels they dug became the Witherin – Semaj despised the light of the sun, and he terrorized the land from beneath it. The darkness of night was safe for no man. But still he craved the magic of the Elves, and he was determined to take it.”

  “In the end, there were only five magic users with the knowledge and talent to oppose Semaj, but to do so would take tremendous power and impeccable timing. They had to try, but they couldn’t do it alone. No soldiers would risk the journey— it was suicide, they said, and they were not wrong. It was rangers who joined them, archers and scouts who followed Semaj as he moved through the Deep Woods and towards the only pass to the High Lands.”

  “Semaj could sense magic when it was used, so the Five and their force of rangers whittled away at his army from the rear, bringing down the dead with only strength and steel. By the time Phelwen realized the Five were a true threat, he was left with mere hundreds at his command.”

  “The battle in that mountain pass lasted for weeks, and those who watched from below told of magic flickering in the skies like lightning. Two of the Five fell, and the remaining three were exhausted. They had no choice but to join hands and chant the magic that would turn the tide. It was magic they feared, magic so powerful they would have only used it as a last resort. Some versions of this tale say Elves on the other side of the pass recognized the danger, and lent their own voices to the chant, but who can say?”

 

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