While their house was large, as the only living occupants of the household, many of the rooms were vacant. Other rooms were stored with her grandfather’s odd collections of Cadiran relics, amassed over his years of training and becoming a Keeper.
Keepers were the protectors of the wards between the two realms. Earth, with its limited magic and knowledge, needed protection from the magic of Cadira. And Cadira needed to stay a secret. For over a thousand years, that had been her grandfather’s job.
Most doors in their home remained locked, especially if the rooms were being used to house ancient artefacts. Eliza recalled a rather vague memory of accidentally summoning an Igiulon demon one night while exploring—she’d been nine, and it had been directly after her grandfather had warned her not to step foot in any of the rooms. She’d picked the lock, completely dismissing his warning, and touched a rather old staff.
A smile twitched at her lips as she passed the door now, and she could almost see the singes by the doorknob from when she’d tried to escape. In her head, she could still see the claw marks on the other side, close to where her head had been.
The training room came into view; closed off by a simple white door. The room held all the instruments her guardians used in order to teach her magic. Eliza had learnt at a young age that the room itself was protected with boundary spells in case she lost control of her magic.
For as long as she could remember, the room smelt of sulphur and sage. Eliza sucked in a breath as she entered. She faced the room she’d spent almost twelve years in—learning, practicing, training. Eliza had been taught how to read and write and enchant at the small table under the large iron-latticed window that looked out over the courtyard. Mounted bookshelves took up the longest wall, full of texts about the world Eliza was born into. At a young age, she’d craved all the knowledge she possibly could about that world, and had managed to get through so many, but it had never quenched her thirst.
Kay walked in next and went to the table, shrugging off her shawl. She draped it over the back of a chair and turned to Eliza with a smile. “Defence magic today, I think. Since you seem to be so determined to think Faeries are following you.”
Eliza huffed, puffing out her bottom lip. “Why don’t you ever believe me?”
“Remember the boy who cried wolf?” Kay asked, leaning back. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re the girl who cried ogre one too many times. When you get eaten, then I’ll believe you.” Her smile looked sweet, but Eliza could read the message beneath it: you either have proof, or you have nothing. Especially in this world.
“Why don’t we ever practice with my other abilities?” Eliza asked, staying by the door.
Kay pursed her lips. “Whatever do you mean?” Her hand dropped from one of the titles, and when she turned around, Eliza got her full attention.
The room took on a warmth Eliza couldn’t escape. She rolled her sleeves up before crossing her arms.
“I know how to summon flames, and create tornados, and find water. I think I’m adept enough with elemental magic, but I can see ghosts. Why don’t we ever talk about it?” Her heart thundered wildly in her chest as she waited.
She could see the thoughts ticking over in Kay’s mind—the contemplation in the set of her lips, the answer in the slow tilt of her head. Kay was either an open book, or a box of mysteries, wrapped in colourful shawls with secret-keeping eyes that watched everything.
Kay tapped a violet-painted nail to her lips. “Because that isn’t my place.”
Why am I not surprised? “Why doesn’t Grandpa?” Eliza asked. Adrenaline rushed through her. Rarely did she talk back to her guardians; she never needed to. But she felt a desperation within her that gnawed at the fears she’d tried so hard to keep bundled up within her. “He’s a Keeper of the Wards.”
“It is something neither of us can teach you, Eliza. And it is not the place of either of us to do so.”
“Why?” Her arms dropped to her sides, and a dull ache thrummed at her temples.
With her head cocked, Kay watched her with a keenness that made Eliza shudder. “Why are you suddenly so interested?” Kay asked, voice low. Her grey brows furrowed. “What’s gotten into you?”
Eliza swallowed the lump in her throat. “Maybe the uncertain future is bringing out my need for answers?”
“Well, it’s certainly bringing out an attitude I don’t quite appreciate,” Kay said.
Eliza couldn’t help flinching, curling in on herself. Why is this getting to me? She thought back to the whimsical stories Kay and her grandfather told her about ancient queens who defeated spreading darkness, and dragon-riders who won battles. If the king wanted to see her, it had to have something to do with magic: she wasn’t special beyond the fact that her grandfather raised her.
Raised her to take his place, one day. Was that day coming so soon?
Kay’s eyes softened, and she walked to where Eliza leaned against the door. She reached a hand up and touched Eliza’s hot cheek. “Is this meeting with the king really bothering you so much?” Kay asked softly.
Eliza released a shaky breath. “Yes,” she replied honestly.
Kay gave her a soft smile, tipping her chin up so their gazes met. “Eliza, where is your sense of adventure?”
Eliza barked a strangled laugh, covering her mouth. “I dropped it in the cemetery last night while running away from the Faery Knight who suddenly appeared the same night as that stupid letter.”
Kay pursed her lips, unamused. “That could just be a coincidence.”
Eliza eyed her warily, then, hackles rising. “Why is it suddenly just a coincidence?” she asked. Kay took a step back, and whatever progress they’d made disappeared. “Why don’t you and grandpa want me to do more with my magic?”
“Because what you can do is dangerous,” Kay hissed. The room became abnormally silent. “You do not speak about it, you tell no one, especially in Cadira. Do you understand me? Centuries ago, they hunted Witches with your kind of magic and butchered them. Even the Blood Witches were targeted.”
Blood Witches. Eliza’s heart stopped at the name; what she knew about the illusive tribe of Witches came only from the stories Kay or her grandfather told her. They were powerful, they were deadly, and they protected only their own. Guarded by immortal warriors, the Witches were hidden from the rest of Cadira in the Labyrinth Mountains, never heard from, never seen. If even they had been targeted…
Eliza swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. She wracked her memory for any mention of necromancy in any of the texts she’d studied but found none in the recesses of her mind. None. She went cold. She hadn’t even stopped to consider what her magic might mean in Cadira—it hadn’t even crossed her mind.
She did not ask any more questions, couldn’t find her voice to do so. She merely nodded in acceptance, not voicing the question that nagged at the back of her mind:
What am I stepping into?
~
Eliza bit down on the inside of her cheek as she ran her hand over the line of old leather-bound books in the training room. Her finger came back, caked in dust. When had she last looked at these books?
She could almost feel the excitement of the world electrifying in her veins. The little girl in Eliza lived off the thrill of learning about the world she’d been born to, of understanding the way magic worked, how heroes were born, and if evil had truly been defeated.
But in all her years of excitedly reading and researching that world, she hadn’t come across anything that could explain her. No entry, no mention. If she thought hard enough, she could have sworn she might have read about the witch burnings and massacres for any who could see, speak, and listen to the dead. It came to her almost like an afterthought since Kay had mentioned it.
It nagged at her, though, knowing that there had been others like her in that world. Part of her couldn’t help but wonder if that had been the reason for her being exiled from Cadira. She shook her head. If that were it, she thought, I�
��d be dead.
The realisation sent a shiver down her spine.
Black leather adorned with gold and silver caught her attention. Eliza pulled the volume down from a shelf above her head and ran her fingers over the soft cover. Engraved into it, a golden Ouroboros stared back at her—the snake eating its own tail glimmered with symbols of magic; fire, earth, air, water, healing, and… by the head, beneath its eye, Eliza spotted the upside-down crescent-moon symbol for necromancy.
The book had no index. She scanned the pages for any mention of necromancy, too afraid to use a spell, if only because the thought of leaving a magical trace sent her stomach turning.
She skimmed the pages as she went, occasionally stopping at passages she vaguely remembered.
Magic is the essence that makes up the world; it flows through the land and connects each and every living being to one another. Magic is a lifeline, centring the land and its inhabitants. It does not belong to every human and creature, but those who do have an affinity to use the magic offered to them are presented with a connection to the land that others will not feel.
Magic cannot be learnt; it is an affinity that one is born with. It cannot be created, and it cannot be destroyed, as it is a power that is given by the land.
However, should the land be destroyed, then magic could potentially disappear. Many Witches and Warlocks have argued the depth magic runs in our land. From the Courts of Light to the Fae Territories, all the way to the dragon riders of Laziroth, magic is heavily debated.
If one should take this into consideration…
Eliza heaved a sigh, skimming the rest. She knew that much—common knowledge, she thought, especially in Cadira. Kay had described the sensation to her long ago as like having a sixth sense—the connection to the land had given her an edge. Eliza had yet to have that feeling, and sometimes yearned for it, deep within herself, where her magic dwelled. That connection she had lost so long ago felt like a phantom limb now.
The thin pages felt fragile between her fingers, like dry leaves in autumn, ready to crumble. She flicked through them carefully, keeping an eye out for the simple word that held enough meaning to dictate whether or not she would survive in that world.
But she pushed through that inkling of fear. It won’t help me in the end, she thought with a heavy sigh.
Eliza’s fingers shook as she flipped through the pages; the longer she skimmed passages about dragon riding and elemental magic, illusion work and healing, the quicker the words started to blur together until…
Necromancy is the ability to commune with the dead. Amongst the Blood Witch tribes, it is considered a sacred art in foretelling the future. In other sects of magic users, communing with the dead is considered dark and evil magic. While magic is generally a sacred art connected to the land and drawn from it, necromancy is considered a darker form of manipulation. Those who find an affinity to the darker magic are said to conspire with darkness, that they plan on taking the light from Cadira, and drown the land in absolute darkness. Necromancers are not natural.
For several hundred years, known necromancers were hunted down for their dark use of magic. Since the initial massacres and trials, necromancy—and those associated with it—have gone into hiding.
Eliza closed the book, face pale. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she could hear nothing over the pounding of blood in her ears.
Not me, she thought, hands shaking. I don’t want that.
But what could she do? The danger was there, written in swirling black ink—any with her power were dangerous. Maybe Kay was right. But if she was, then why was Eliza being thrown into that world once again?
Fear—undeniable and heavy—dropped into the pit of her stomach. Every part of her went cold. If it were a crime to have her power, then what would Eliza face as punishment? If there had been trials and massacres, then what would happen to her if the king knew?
She swallowed the lump in her throat. It made sense, she thought, as to why they wouldn’t tell her anything. Either they were sworn to secrecy or they were trying to protect her from something.
With a flick of her wrist, the book slid back into place on the shelf above her head. Heart pounding, she left the training room behind and didn’t fully comprehend where she was going until she was out on the street, facing what would normally be a welcome sight.
Instead, chills shuddered through her, cold and exhausting.
I don’t need to go. Eliza stepped out and crossed the street, wrapping her arms around herself as she did. I don’t need to see Cadira. Can’t I just say no?
She shook her head and sighed loudly, stepping into the quiet comfort of the cemetery.
In the reflection of a plaque, Eliza rolled her eyes at herself. Stop being such a Gods-damned coward, Eliza! It didn’t stop the small pang of fear that had nestled itself in her gut. She wasn’t even sure if it was fear she felt anymore; every lesson she’d had on trusting her instincts, on listening to the sixth-sense that connected her to the magic of her world, told her there was more to the meeting than her guardians let on.
It’s not fear, she thought, stopping abruptly by a set of identical mausoleums. It’s a warning. And anyway, I’m not being a coward. It’s called self-preservation.
“Necromancy is going to get me killed,” she said aloud, shaking her head. “Seeing the dead isn’t that evil anyway.” She kicked a loose stone out of her way. She collapsed to the ground, leaning her head back against the warm stone of the mausoleum.
“The living shouldn’t wallow amongst the dead.”
She started, leaning away from the sound of the voice. Eliza looked up into a withered, almost translucent face, and startling blue eyes.
Standing over her, the old man leaned a white, bony shoulder against the stained stone wall. He looked like he might have died during the 1920’s; he wore a three-piece blue pin-stripe suit and a bowler hat. His dark brows knitted together as he looked down at her.
He nodded towards a gaggle of tourists that walked past and eyed them with a smile.
“Death is just another thing that happens.” The old spirit spared her a knowing look. “Don’t let it fool you; it pretends to be the end, but it’s just another stop on the long train to immortality. For people like you, death shouldn’t even be a fear.”
Eliza shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “Why?”
“Well,” he said, laughing softly, “you might very well be the only person alive who can answer all those damned ‘what if’ questions about what happens after death. You might very well be like a God in their eyes.”
“What if I don’t want to be? What if even I fear death?” she asked.
He smiled. “Then it must be an awfully tragic affair if that’s how you see it. To fear death is to fear immortality, and to fear that means to fear eternity. Is that so bad?”
Spirits were always sprouting some kind of bullshit from their old lives in her opinion; it used to confuse her as a child, but now she ignored it. Life lessons, they called it, but Kay had always called it mumbo-jumbo.
She ground her teeth together and pushed off the side of the mausoleum. His laugh grated on her as she left the shadows and entered the bright, New Orleans day. The sounds of the city washed over her; the rumble of cars paired with the soft chatter of tourists. Eliza could feel the excitement of the people, feel their racing hearts as if she herself was experiencing the same sensation.
Life: that’s what she felt twisting its way through the winding streets of the French Quarter. Not death or darkness, but pure, undiluted life. It coursed through her like a pulse, one she couldn’t ignore.
3
DEMONS
Eliza awoke from her fitful sleep with crusty eyes and a blaring headache. Dreams of sword-wielding Fae and gold-eyed ravens, bloody crowns and massacred Necromancers had plagued her, leaving her more exhausted than when she’d gone to bed.
While she hadn’t been entirely afraid of the king before, now she couldn’t stop jumping to conclu
sions about what the letter might really mean—her death, and maybe the deaths of Kay and her grandfather, too.
She rolled over with a tired sigh, her bleary eyes barely taking in her grandfather standing in the doorway. With a start, she threw her legs over the side of the bed.
His silver eyes conveyed nothing. He merely beckoned her with a gloved hand, as if to say, “Come,” and like a good ward, she did as she was told.
Eliza knew well enough that the simple command couldn’t mean anything good. Dressing quickly, Eliza ignored the shiver of wrongness that danced down her spine. Almost uncertainly, she reached for her magic, for that connection to the land. But she couldn’t mistake the brush of ancient power that made her heart accelerate, or the strange flare in Cadiran magic that rose in response.
Was she really as ‘unnatural’ as the book had made her out to be? She shook her head and looked herself over in the mirror; at her dark-brown hair, pulled into a messy bun, never quite straight or just a little too tangled for curly. Not to mention the dark bags under her dull-green eyes.
She quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a simple grey t-shirt, donned her worn Docs, and exited her room without looking in the mirror. She already knew what she would see: a 5’7’’ girl with a bit of curve, olive skin that was officially pale because of autumn, and messy hair from a lack of sleep.
The red, white, and black roses that grew along the creeping vines seemed to brighten as she passed, and she breathed in their sweet scents as she walked. Sitting at the wrought iron table, Kay quietly sipped her tea, Odin sitting on her lap, purring in contentment as Kay’s fingers brushed through his long fur.
Kay didn’t look up as she murmured, “He’s waiting by the car.”
Again, no acknowledgement, no gleam in her violet eyes concerning the king’s letter and the revelation of the Faery Knight who followed her… or of their talk yesterday about necromancy.
The Lost Prince of Cadira (Shadowland Saga Book 1) Page 3
