Plague of Shadows

by Michael Wisehart

  Chapter 13 | Breen

  BREEN’S FOOT TAPPED the dried leaves as he anxiously watched the slow rise and fall of his brother’s chest. How long was he going to sleep? How long till they knew something?

  Ty lay on a soft pad of green undergrowth somewhere deep within the heart of Meerwood. They weren’t related by birth, but it didn’t matter. This strange white-haired boy was just as much family to him as Adarra, and Breen would protect him no matter the cost. He was the oldest, after all. The responsibility of keeping them safe fell on his shoulders.

  But he had failed.

  His mother used to say everything happens for a reason. He could see her in the kitchen, using her rolling pin to emphasize her words. “The Creator doesn’t make mistakes, Breen.”

  Tears burned his eyes. He wanted to believe her. He wanted to know why the Creator had let this happen. He wiped a run from his nose.

  What little sky he could see through the trees was filled with stars. Breen soaked in the beauty of the ancient woodlands, trying to distract himself from the emotions churning inside. He had grown up hearing the stories of Meerwood—the forbidden forest—and the dark magic that lurked within.

  Instead of the death spoken of in the stories, Breen felt a renewed sense of spirit. Apart from battling the painful memories of their conflict with the Northmen and the spiders, he was oddly enough at peace. Safe. For once, he didn’t need to constantly look over his shoulder to see if anyone was following.

  Even Sheeva, with her unwavering watchfulness and utter lack of emotion, appeared to be finding it difficult to remain vigilant. He had even spotted the short white-haired assassin relaxing beside a small pool earlier that morning. He didn’t think she had slept at all the previous night. The eyelids covering her piercing amber eyes were beginning to droop. For someone who was endlessly expecting an enemy to attack at every corner, it was amusing to watch her remain on guard in a place where there was nothing but tranquility.

  Ty mumbled something in his sleep, then went quiet. It wasn’t the first time. Breen wondered what kind of restless dreams his brother was having.

  It had only been a couple of days since the wizard had saved them from Mangora and her spiders. Nyalis claimed that the arachnobe’s poison pumping through Ty’s veins could not be extracted by natural means. Not even Fraya, with her gift of healing, could have saved him. So, Nyalis had taken Ty to a place where the wizard could safely draw out the poison himself. Apparently, that meant traveling to Meerwood.

  Breen had insisted he be allowed to come along, and a word from Breen’s father had Sheeva accompanying them. But when Lyessa announced that she intended to join the party as well, Overlord Barl declared it would only be over his dead body. Her father eventually won.

  In the end, the only other person to join them was Gilly. The dwarf had used his gift as a voda to convey them up the East River with unnatural speed. Breen had never witnessed Gilly’s magic for himself before, other than seeing Gilly manipulate water in a cup. But that was nothing compared to their trip upriver. The rush of the wind against his face as their boat soared across the water had been invigorating. Sheeva had cloaked them with invisibility as they traveled north, another aspect to the woman’s gift that Breen hadn’t known she could do.

  It had been a strange feeling, being invisible. Everything felt slightly off. Colors were faded and dull, and sounds seemed distant, as if he were looking at the world through a piece of tinted glass.

  Once they had reached the northern shore of Crystal Lake, they had left Gilly with the boat and headed into the southernmost part of Meerwood.

  Nyalis had set up some sort of protective barrier around that part of the forest, saying it would block all forms of dark magic. Breen had little choice but to take the wizard’s word for it. He knew little about magic, personally, other than his singular gift. But give him a sturdy bow, a full quiver, and a brace of knives, and he’d be right at home.

  Breen sat down by the fire and picked up a piece of the wood they had stacked. He inhaled and smiled. Cedar. He tossed it onto the fire, sending orange sparks floating skyward. His mind wandered to his mother once more. He could almost see her hovering just over the flames. He blinked, and the image was gone.

  He lifted the bow lying next to him. It had been one of the Tallosians’. His own had broken during their fight, and this one was the only replacement available. The Northman’s bow might have been longer, but the workmanship was shoddy at best. He could pull the string with hardly any effort. Unfortunately, it was the best he could find, but it didn’t come close to replacing the one he had lost.

  He laid the bow down and glanced at Ty once again, watching the rhythmic movement of his chest. Nyalis had worked into the wee hours of the previous night, drawing the poison from Ty’s body, using several different potions and tinctures, along with some rather lengthy incantations he’d read from books he had produced from the pockets of his baggy robes. Any normal human would have succumbed to the poison long since, but whatever it was that gave Ty his power had somehow kept him holding on long enough for Nyalis to complete his work.

  Ty’s fever had broken earlier that morning. His breathing was growing stronger, and the color in his cheeks was returning as well. A good sign. He had slept through the day, tossing and turning occasionally but never opening his eyes.

  Growing tired of staring at his brother, Breen grabbed his cup, emptied out the few remaining drops of watered-down ale, and set it in front of a tree about ten feet from the fire. He walked back to his bedding and sat down. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out three marbles, spinning the clear balls in his hand before holding one up to admire its symmetry.

  He turned and took a moment to study the cup, releasing his magic and letting it fill him. The cup seemed to draw closer the more he focused. He could feel the breeze and the dampness in the air, and judge how much their effect would offset his throw, then adjust accordingly. He’d been using his gift since he was old enough for his father to explain it.

  Pinching one of the marbles between his thumb and pointer finger, Breen took a deep breath and tossed.

  He heard the clack of the marble hitting the tin and smiled.

  He held up the second marble, this time focusing on the tree behind the cup, letting his magic pick the spot with the right angle and speed to be effective. Again, he took a breath and tossed, putting more force behind this throw than the last, since pine bark didn’t produce the same amount of bounce that a more solid object would.

  The marble flew from his fingers and hit the tree in the exact spot he’d been aiming for and ricocheted backward, clacking twice as it bounced off the first marble already in the cup.

  This time, Breen closed his eyes altogether, imagining the cup from memory. Not bothering to take a breath, he simply tossed the marble in the air and waited.

  Nothing.

  Had he missed? He opened his eyes and found Sheeva standing beside the cup and holding the little ball with a devious grin.

  “You’re a good man, Master Breen.”

  Breen started and turned as Nyalis walked up and joined him beside the fire, planting his staff between his legs. The wizard had vanished for most of the day, supposedly off to do some more research. Breen never could figure out where he went. He’d be there one moment, then gone the next.

  “I don’t believe you’ve moved beyond eyeshot of him since we’ve been here.”

  “He’s my brother,” Breen said.

  Nyalis leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I’d always wondered what it would be like to have a brother, or sister for that matter. Alas, I was an only child.” He chuckled. “My parents said I cured them of wanting more.”

  Breen returned the wizard’s smile. The old man had a calming way about him, not at all what he would have expected from a wizard. Then again, it could just be this place. Who knew what kind of magic Nyalis had floating around? Breen almost shivered, but despite their being as far north as they were, the
temperature inside the forest was surprisingly comfortable. Snow would be arriving soon, and yet Breen found that his simple leather coat was more than enough to battle the slight bite to the evening air. In fact, he found the crispness rather refreshing.

  Nyalis pulled his robes close to his body. “These old bones don’t stand up to the weather as they used to. Age is a funny thing. They say it brings wisdom, but the trade-off, well . . .” He chuckled. “I think I could do with a little less wisdom.”

  “I bow to your age . . . and wisdom,” Breen said. “But speaking for myself, I wouldn’t mind possessing a little bit more.”

  The wizard studied him with a careful eye. “You have more than you know,” he said, then turned back to the fire. They both sat in silence, watching the flames as they performed their merry dance across the glowing embers.

  “Your brother has a lot of growing to do and so little time to do it, I’m afraid.”

  Breen shifted his gaze to Ty’s bedroll and watched the flickering light cast shadows across his brother’s sleeping face. “I will be there to help him.”

  Nyalis turned his head. “Yes, I believe you will.” On the other side of the fire, Sheeva stirred, settling herself against a pine and momentarily diverting his thoughts. “There is a darkness growing in Aldor,” he said, leaning on his staff. “And it knows of your existence.”

  Breen felt his muscles tense as a profound discomfort settled into his bones.

  “When your family thwarted the witch’s attempt at your brother, you revealed yourselves as a threat to the Tower’s plans. That threat will not be allowed to remain. I fear you will not be ready to stand against what is coming.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging,” Breen said dryly, but in truth, he’d been wondering the same thing. How could their small band of wielders fight against something as powerful as the White Tower? Even with Ty?

  “It’s when you find yourself surrounded by darkness that a single light can shine the brightest. When good men stand against the tide—”

  Sheeva grumbled something from the other side of the fire.

  “—and good women as well,” Nyalis offered apologetically, catching a glint of Sheeva’s piercing gaze, “there is always hope.”

  A soft moan from Ty’s side of the fire had everyone turning as a pair of azure eyes finally blinked open.

  “Ah, I see our young faeling has made his way back to the land of the living.”

  Breen was off his seat and at his brother’s side before Ty had a chance to lift his head. “How do you feel? Can you move?”

  Ty slowly raised one arm and then the other. “I think so.” His voice was weak.

  A nod from Nyalis and Breen helped his brother to a sitting position.

  Ty smacked his lips and glanced around the small campsite. “I’m hungry.”

  Breen smiled. Apparently, he wasn’t too sick to eat.

  After feeding his brother some of the broth left over from supper, Breen went on to explain everything that had happened since their battle with Mangora. He did his best not to break down in front of Ty, but the pain on his brother’s face as he recalled their mother’s death mirrored his own. Tears streamed Ty’s cheeks, and Breen put a hand on his shoulder, trying and failing to hold back his own.

  “Tell me about your magic, Ty,” Nyalis said curiously as Ty wiped his eyes for the third or fourth time. “How has it developed?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What can you do with it?”

  Ty shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

  “Have you been practicing? Strengthening it?”

  “No. Not really. I’ve mostly kept it hidden.”

  Nyalis looked a little perplexed. “And why would you do that?”

  Ty looked stunned. “Because I don’t want to end up getting arrested.”

  Nyalis leaned back against the old stump he’d been sitting in front of and sighed. “I thought you would have been a lot further along by now. I’m surprised you managed to change your hair at all, if that’s the case.”

  Ty felt the top of his head. “Change my hair?”

  “Yes. I set it to change back once you had performed a feat of magic strong enough to show me you were ready to begin your training.”

  “My training?”

  “We’ll discuss it later.”

  “I shot fire from my hands,” Ty said.

  “Nearly killed himself doing it,” Breen added in his defense. “He can also talk to animals.”

  “Can he now?” the wizard said.

  “And make you see things that aren’t there.”

  Nyalis leaned forward. “Is this true?” he asked Ty.

  Ty shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I guess.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Ty went on to explain what had happened during Performance Night at the East Inn some weeks back. Nyalis listened intently, asking a question here, making a suggestion there, clearly trying to determine the extent of Ty’s capabilities.

  “Mentalism is a very dangerous piece of magic,” Nyalis said. “It was a trait most used by you-know-who.”

  Breen shivered.

  “Being able to plant and extract thoughts is a powerful gift to possess.” He stared at Ty a moment longer, making Breen uncomfortable. “Perhaps you are not as far gone as I believed. Still, we have a lot of work to do if we are to get you ready.”

  Ty looked at Breen. “Ready for what?”

  “For what is coming.”

  Could the wizard have been more cryptic? Breen wondered. “What is coming?”

  “A discussion for another day,” Nyalis said, leaving them once again without answers.

  “Here’s a question,” Breen said. “What’s the difference between a wielder, a witch, a bulradoer, and a wizard? Oh, and a faeling,” he added with a quick wink at Ty.

  Nyalis paused to think. “That is a complicated question, my young friend. I’ll see if I can find an easy way to explain. The one thing that all of these have in common is they must first be wielders. Those who are not can’t use magic. Wielders are born with magic. Most have only a single gift that requires a transferal to use. A few, like your family, have innate magic that doesn’t require a crystal.”

  “Sheeva doesn’t need a transferal either,” Breen said. “Is hers innate as well?”

  Sheeva leaned from her perch against the giant pine, showing interest.

  Nyalis shook his head. “No. The Night Walkers are something entirely different, which I won’t explain at this time.”

  “Night Walkers?” Breen looked at Sheeva, and she sneered.

  Nyalis smiled. “That is for her to explain if she so desires. For the others, as long as you were born with magic, you are capable of learning other forms of magic, like weaves, incantations, potions, and runes. Most magic can be categorized as either elemental, mental, or arcane.” Nyalis seemed to catch himself. “But that’s a lesson for another time.”

  Breen sighed in relief. He hadn’t realized how complicated magic could be.

  “A bulradoer,” Nyalis continued, “is simply a wielder who has learned some rudimentary forms of magic and uses those gifts for the White Tower’s purposes. They like to think that they are something akin to wizards.” He snorted, loudly. “But they’d barely rank as a second-year apprentice. A true wizard spends a lifetime learning their craft, building and excelling in all forms of magic. And there was no better place for learning than the Wizard’s Keep of Aero’set.”

  Nyalis stared at the fire in thought. After an uncomfortable couple of minutes of silence, Breen finally cleared his throat, and Nyalis looked up. “Oh, where was I?”

  “The Wizard’s Keep?”

  “Forget the keep,” Ty cut in. “I want to know what a faeling is.”

  Nyalis smiled. “Yes, I guess you would. A faeling is someone born from the union of a human and a faerie.”

  Ty’s eyes widened. “I’m a . . . faerie?”

  “Half-faerie.”

  Breen swall
owed the dread he felt rising in his chest. The Fae were feared and hated even more than wielders. They had tried to subdue mankind, many setting themselves up as gods to be revered and worshipped. But they were long gone—pushed back by the wizards in the last age. Was this Nyalis’s idea of a joke?

  “Your father was Fae and your mother human.”

  “Who are they?”

  The wizard shifted uncomfortably against the old log. “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer to that. I found your mother in a cabin in the Northern Heights. She died giving birth to you. And I never saw your father.”

  Ty lowered his head, and Breen decided it would be best to change the subject. “What about Mangora? Is she a bulradoer?”

  “Mangora and Valtor are something more. They have spent their lives trying to accumulate magic. Though they are much stronger than the average bulradoer, they are a far cry from being true wizards. But don’t underestimate them. Each is dangerous in their own right, as you have seen.”

  The conversation stretched on into the night. Ty peppered Nyalis with questions about the Fae and wizards. Nyalis answered, but often the answers were vague, and Breen wasn’t sure if that was for Ty’s sake or theirs. Ty’s body was still very weak, and he fought with every ounce of strength he possessed to keep his eyes open. Breen found the losing battle rather amusing. After helping Ty back into his blankets, he watched over him until his brother had drifted off to sleep.

  “I’ll take first watch,” he told Sheeva before she could disappear back into the trees.

  Sheeva nodded and resumed her seat, flipping one of her blades into the air and catching it as it came down. Her bright amber eyes remained alert.

  “Neither of you will be required to keep watch,” Nyalis said, standing with the help of his staff. “These woods are protected. You are safe here. I suggest both of you get some rest for your journey home.” Before either of them had a chance to protest, the wizard raised his hand and mumbled something under his breath.

  Breen felt like stones had suddenly been glued to his eyelids. He tried to force them open, but it was a hopeless battle, and everything quickly faded into darkness.