Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  A low, wailing moan curled through the trees. A moan that wasn’t quite human. She’d heard that sound before. A sound that struck a chord deep inside her, fear resonating through her body until her instincts demanded that she run.

  There was nowhere to run to.

  “Now!” Sela cried.

  The fear in her eyes stopped Larkin’s questions. She gestured frantically. “Everyone, inside. Now! Talox, help Denan.”

  Caelia took off at a run. Talox hauled Denan over his shoulder. Hagath was frozen in terror. His wounds still bleeding, Ture picked her up and sprinted for the dome. Ramass stumbled after them.

  The moan came again. And seeing the four Valynthians’ dread, Larkin suddenly remembered where she’d heard it before: her vision of the curse first coming into being. The torn shadows with hungry mouths had ripped apart the domes of those defending the White Tree like they were made of wet paper. She started to leave the dome to assist the others.

  Eiryss’s hand locked around her wrist. “You can’t help them.”

  She was right.

  Breathless, Caelia stepped inside. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  No one bothered to answer.

  “Will it hold?” Larkin asked Eiryss in a shaking voice.

  Ramass reached the dome first, Ture carrying Hagath a step behind. He set her down and steadied her against him.

  “Flare,” Eiryss said. “Every last one of you flare.”

  The Valynthians didn’t hesitate. Caelia followed a beat later. Larkin’s sigils glowed silver and gold. Eiryss grasped their magic. Hagath played her pipes, her notes as carefully placed as a surgeon’s blade. The two of them fed the magic into the dome, which gleamed brighter by the moment.

  Denan and Talox stumbled into the dome. Talox laid Denan down next to Tam, who was completely unconscious.

  Denan wiped sweat from his reddened face. “Water. Does anyone have water?”

  Ture handed him a waterskin. He drank greedily.

  A smell permeated the air. The smell of an open grave.

  “Hurry,” Ramass whispered. “Oh, light, Eiryss, hurry.”

  “I’m trying!” Sweat ran down Eiryss’s temples.

  “What is it?” Talox asked.

  The Valynthians didn’t answer. They didn’t seem capable of it.

  Larkin had seen the curse’s origins, but it wasn’t the same. She hadn’t been in any danger, and she hadn’t had to watch her friends—most of her kingdom—die.

  Larkin swallowed hard. “Can’t you smell them?” Tam looked at her blankly. “He’s called back the shadows from the White Tree.” Had the Black Tree called back all of them? Some? Were their people still being attacked?

  She should have planned for this. But she hadn’t even considered it.

  “Does that mean our people are safe?” Denan asked.

  “Only if we defeat the Black Tree,” Ture said.

  Eiryss finished her weave and flared it into place. Hagath stopped playing as Eiryss circled it, smoothing a line here, straightening another there.

  “Will it hold?” Ramass asked.

  Before she could answer, there was a sudden ripping sound, as if the night itself had been broken in two. And then the shadows were there. They took the shape of formless, torn shadows filled with tearing and screaming mouths of endless black.

  The weave rippled violently. With a cry, Eiryss dropped and began shaking uncontrollably. Blood leaked out her nose. Her ears. Ramass pulled her into his lap.

  “You idiot,” Hagath cried. “You didn’t tie it off.”

  Larkin didn’t understand. All she knew was that the attack on the dome was somehow affecting Eiryss. Larkin rushed to help her.

  Hagath intercepted her. She pushed her toward the weave that was falling apart. “You’re a weaver. Take it!”

  Larkin grabbed the flailing threads and held them steady, wishing she’d paid more attention to the visions. “What do I do?”

  “Just hold it.” Hagath pulled out her pipes and played, the strands shifting back into place. “Toss it up—it’ll tie off when you do.”

  Larkin lobbed the magic, as she’d seen Eiryss do. It melded with the dome, which shimmered. Behind her, Eiryss stopped shaking.

  Ramass knelt beside her. He gently stroked the hair from Eiryss’s forehead. “Three hundred years, and you still don’t tie them off fast enough.”

  Eiryss didn’t open her eyes.

  “Will she be all right?” Ramass asked Hagath.

  Hagath glanced up at the dome. “Her chances are as good as any of us.”

  Larkin couldn’t look up at the shadows anymore. It was too terrifying. She tried to take stock of everyone. They seemed all right, if battered and bruised.

  “How long will it hold?” Talox asked.

  Above, cracks formed, spreading and widening.

  “Not long,” Ture said.

  “All of you flare.” Hagath drew a fortifying breath and began to play.

  Larkin flared her numerous sigils. The ones from the White Tree felt warm, while the new ones flared cold, though both buzzed uncomfortably under her skin. But the more Hagath drew, the less they felt like anything at all.

  Above the hole, the orb growing from the combination of black, silver, and white magic reminded her of ominous storm clouds, lightning arcing throughout. The cold emanating from it made the sweat freeze on her skin. The orb grew to the size of a wagon wheel by the time the last of Larkin’s magic had been drained.

  Larkin went to the font. Her sister still lay motionless. “Sela, if you can hear me, it’s now or never.”

  Into the Dark

  Sela’s eyes opened, the iris the disconcerting opalescent of the White Tree.

  “Did you reach the heartwood?” Larkin asked.

  “The edge of it,” the White Tree said.

  “Will that be enough?” Ramass asked.

  “I don’t know.” The White Tree sat up, sticky sap streaming from her body. From her torso, a white root half again as wide as Larkin disappeared into the font. It cracked along the seam of Sela’s skin. Her back was an open wound that closed off in the next moment, leaving a horrible scar.

  Larkin was horrified at how her sister’s body had been used in such a manner, just like the Black Tree had used her. The White Tree reached for Larkin, who lifted her down. The root the White Tree had left behind cracked down the middle. The cracks spread until it was nothing more than dust. Sap dripped into a deep, black hole.

  “Everyone step back,” Ramass said.

  They all clustered around the perimeter of the dome as the shadows tore at it from above. The orb shifted like liquid clouds, lightning flashing. Hagath’s song shifted. The spinning orb dropped out of sight.

  They all waited, breath held. And then, from deep beneath, a boom echoed. The tree shook violently, throwing Larkin to the ground. Above, the shadows ceased their attack and wailed. Branches cracked and fell. The sound grew deafening, until Larkin had to cover her ears and curl into a ball.

  The violent shaking shifted to tremors. Larkin dared to peek around her. The platform was littered with branches of varying sizes. The dome was gone. There was no sign of the shadows. She felt for Denan’s hand and squeezed. “Are you hurt?”

  He shook his head and looked around. “Everyone all right?”

  “I’m never going to be all right again,” Caelia groaned.

  Tam mumbled and shifted in his sleep.

  “Caelia and I are fine,” Talox said as he helped her to her feet.

  “We’re still here,” Hagath said of the Valynthians.

  Eiryss sat up. “Light, my head.”

  Hagath smacked her arm. “Tie off your cursed weaves, then!”

  Larkin had no idea what they were talking about. There was still so much she had to learn about magic. Ramass jogged to where Vicil had been.

  “Ture,” Ramass said. “Help me get this branch off Vicil.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Denan said.

 
Larkin agreed with him—let the branch pin the man so he couldn’t attack them again.

  The two men didn’t respond, but soon came the sounds of men straining and the rush of leaves as the branch moved.

  Larkin realized Sela hadn’t answered and pushed to her feet. On the right side of the font, the White Tree knelt with both hands pressed to the bark, her eyes closed in concentration.

  “Did the orb destroy the heartwood?” Larkin asked.

  The White Tree didn’t answer.

  “Hagath,” Ramass said, a note of panic in his voice.

  “What?” Hagath said. “It’s just Vicil.”

  Panic stole over Ramass’s features. “He’s not healing.”

  Hagath hustled over to them.

  Not healing. That wasn’t possible. Unless . . . Larkin stepped past Ramass and Ture. Vicil lay unmoving, the side of his head caved in. Larkin watched, waiting for it to fill out. Nothing happened.

  “What’s going on?” Eiryss called. Her hand was still pressed against her head, her steps unsure. She wasn’t healing either. They moved aside. “Vicil?” She looked at Ramass in bewilderment. “Why isn’t he healing?”

  “Because the Black Tree is too injured to heal him.” The White Tree stood behind them, her curls a clumpy mess. “You’ve grievously injured him.”

  A ragged cheer rose from the Alamantians. Not the Valynthians. Not Larkin. Eiryss dropped down beside Vicil and scooped his body into her arms. “Vicil! Oh, Vicil. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this. Any of it. I’m so sorry.”

  Denan made a slicing motion for the Alamantians to be quiet. He didn’t need to. They all watched Eiryss shamefacedly.

  “So we just wait for our magic to come back and send another orb down the hole?” Caelia was clearly trying to contain her excitement.

  “I’m afraid not,” the White Tree said.

  As if to punctuate her words, a low moaning sounded. Everyone stilled, their gazes shifting, watching for the shadows.

  “Even now,” the White Tree said, “he’s rallying.”

  “We don’t have enough magic for another dome,” Hagath said in a whisper.

  The White Tree’s solemn gaze shifted to Larkin. The moment had come, then. The orb hadn’t been enough. It was time for Larkin to use the enchantment the White Tree had taught her.

  “All my magic is gone.” Larkin didn’t want to admit her relief at this. I don’t want to die.

  Denan shifted so he was between the White Tree and Larkin, as if he could protect her from this. “What’s going on?”

  The White Tree didn’t take her gaze from Larkin. “The rest of you need to get as far away from here as possible.”

  “Why?” Denan demanded.

  Denan. Light, he was going to lose her again. Forever this time. This would break him in a way he would never recover. She couldn’t do that to him. She didn’t have a choice.

  Another moan sounded, louder this time.

  The White Tree’s gaze shifted to Denan. “Larkin isn’t cursed. He can’t stop her.”

  “Stop her from what?” Denan was dangerously close to losing his temper. Larkin tried to take his hand, but he jerked free.

  The White Tree’s eyes slid to the font.

  “You want her to go inside?” Talox asked, incredulous.

  “She’s the only one—” the White Tree began.

  “I’ll go.” Eiryss struggled to her feet.

  Ramass hurried to her and braced her up. “I just got you back.”

  “I’ve had two lifetimes,” Eiryss said with a gentle smile. “Larkin has barely begun one.”

  “You don’t have barrier and warrior magic,” the White Tree said. “She’ll need both if she has any chance of succeeding.”

  Another moan, louder than before. The White Tree glanced up and then around at the Valynthians and Alamantians. “Do you want to live or die with her? Because if you don’t leave now, you won’t have a choice.”

  So many people had already given their lives for Larkin. So many more had been willing to. How could she not do the same for them? Calmness stole over her. “Go. All of you. Let me do this for you. Let me save you the way you have all saved me.”

  “But we’re supposed to protect you.” Caelia’s eyes were round with tears.

  Larkin wanted to hug them. Say goodbye. But the first of the shadows appeared, lunging for their heads. Caelia flared, but the thing was already chewing through her magic.

  “Go!” Larkin backed toward the font. “Live!”

  Talox moved first. He ran to pick up Tam and headed across the platform. “Caelia!”

  Caelia gripped the gold chain around her neck, her eyes wide with understanding. She nodded to Larkin—that simple gesture conveying respect and a goodbye. Ture grabbed Hagath by both arms and hauled her after them.

  She reached back. “Larkin!”

  Ramass pried Eiryss away from Vicil. “Come on, love. We have to go.”

  “It’s not fair,” Eiryss cried. “It should be me. It should have always been me.”

  Like Ture, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. The carriage was far too loaded, but it started down anyway.

  Eiryss gripped the bars. “You are exactly the queen your people need, Larkin!”

  Larkin let the words wash over her. Let herself feel the truth in them. Then she faced Denan and the White Tree. Denan set his chin, his gaze resolute. And she understood. He wouldn’t leave without her. He would stay here and die beside her.

  She couldn’t let that happen.

  She went to his side and pressed her hand to his chest. “I’m giving you a gift. Don’t waste it.”

  He set his jaw. “I can’t lose you again.”

  Anger flared inside her. “If you stay here, my little sister dies with us. Sela doesn’t deserve that.”

  He wavered.

  “I won’t be there to take care of my family.”

  “Talox and Tam will do it.”

  “They have their own families. Like it or not, my family needs you.” He still didn’t waver. “We don’t sacrifice out of duty,” she repeated Denan’s words. “We do it for love. My sacrifice is dying. Yours is living without me.”

  Larkin saw the moment that he realized he would leave her. His eyes slipped closed, pain washing over him.

  Tears threatened to surface, and her throat tried to close off. She swallowed hard. “I want you to be happy. To be whole. Marry and have children. Understand?”

  He didn’t answer. But that was all right. Because he was going to live.

  The White Tree stood before Larkin and motioned to her amulet. “Squeeze it in your fist until it breaks skin. Channel all your magic into it.”

  “But my magic is drained,” Larkin cried.

  The White Tree pressed her hand to Larkin’s stomach. Magic flowed into her in a rush. Too fast. It was too fast! But Larkin couldn’t reach the words to protest. Her sigils gleamed so bright her skin appeared translucent.

  For a moment, Larkin was at one with the White Tree, as she had been with the Black Tree. And she understood. The White Tree was giving up every last ounce of her remaining magic so the enchantment would be strong enough. To save mankind, the White Tree was dying. She had known this moment would come. And she’d gone into it willingly.

  I’m sorry, Larkin thought. Sorry I was so angry with you for joining with Sela. You were only doing it to save us.

  In return, music rushed through her. Birdsong, gentle wind through branches, rich soil in her roots, the connection to thousands of trees throughout the forest. For a moment, she knew what it was like to truly belong. The way Sela must have felt all these months.

  A vision flashed in her mind—one she’d had long ago. She stood in the White Tree’s dead boughs, shedding her garments one by one. She wove a barrier over herself, a kind of armor with pockets of air. Then she pointed her hands over her head and dove.

  From there, the old vision became new. She cut through the water, her magic lighting her way all
the way to the bottom of the lake. She took a locket from around her neck and popped it open, taking a glowing seed from within.

  The vision faded as fast as it came, leaving Larkin reeling as she tried to understand what it meant.

  “There’s a chance,” the White Tree’s voice echoed through her. “If you can weave . . .”

  But then the voice was gone. Sela collapsed. Denan caught her. Larkin stumbled as the rush of magic stopped. The White Tree was dead.

  Denan’s gaze met Larkin’s, his eyes filled with so much sorrow it broke Larkin’s heart. He couldn’t bear to leave her, but he would do it anyway.

  “That’s why I love you,” she said. “Because you do what you must. You always have.” They were kindred spirits in that.

  He pressed his lips to hers—a desperate, frantic kiss. A shriek tore them apart. One of the shadows dove for them. Larkin flared her shield. More appeared, swooping at them.

  Denan hunched protectively over Sela. “It’s too late now. We’ll never make the carriage.”

  Except Larkin had barrier magic now. And she’d had enough visions and real-life experience of Valynthian magic that she created the weave from memory. In moments, the three of them were encased in armor.

  “Go!” she cried, as more of the dead screeched and tore at them.

  Denan sprinted across the platform. Larkin turned in the opposite direction, stood over the font, and gripped the pendant in her hand. Below her was the black nothingness.

  She glanced over at Denan just as the carriage started down.

  His gaze locked on her. “In this life or the next, I will always find you!”

  Then he was out of sight.

  Bracing herself, Larkin launched into the dark.

  Light

  Larkin fell fast and hard, her hair and clothes whipping upward. Shadows dove after her, ripping out chunks of her hair. Until they yanked her to a standstill in the center of the tree. She lifted her arm to flare, but one clamped its teeth down on her sigil. More tore into her, their teeth biting, claws shredding.

  But the damage wasn’t to her flesh, but her soul. Larkin lifted her head to scream, and they dove down her throat. Larkin saw hundreds of nightmarish memories. Assassinations, rapes, mass murders, kidnappings, robberies, tortures . . . so much evil that her mind broke, shattering into a thousand pieces. Only then did the assault cease.