My trepidation flares. Reading stories from other religions is flatly forbidden. Mother Eliss would surely want this book burned.
“You won’t believe how outlandish some of these stories are,” Gwynnifer breathlessly tells me. “The Noi think the Wand’s a dragon goddess’s tooth!”
“A tooth?” I exclaim.
Gwynnifer nods, her gaze wide-eyed. “And the Amaz believe their goddess grew the White Wand from a tree with a wave of her hand.” She waves her own hand to illustrate.
I’m almost dizzy with conflict. It’s a dangerous, forbidden thing, these fantastical stories, but I’m so curious.
“Go ahead and read it,” she offers. “I’ll stand guard.” Gwynnifer hands me a small lumenstone lantern, then closes the drapes over all the windows and snuffs out the larger lanterns, casting most of the room in darkness. She stations herself by the window that overlooks the entrance to the armory, pulls its drape back a small fraction and cranks the window open a bit. She peers out, her hand protectively clasping the wand sheathed at her waist.
I glance at the wand covetously, my affinity colors sparking as I wonder when she’ll let me take it in hand. I pull my knees up, ready to hide the forbidden book if Gwynnifer’s mother comes upstairs again, then dare a peek inside, reading by the lumenstone’s golden glow.
Gwynnifer starts her volume with the Wand’s true story. She’s drawn large, sweeping illustrations to go with the text, the drawings beautifully rendered in ink and watercolors. There’s a series of drawings depicting the Ancient One pulling the sacred White Wand from our starlit Source Tree and gifting it to the First Children—the Gardnerian Mages. A two-page spread shows Galliana astride her giant raven, wielding the White Wand during the Demon Wars at the beginning of time.
I pet the fluffy black cat as it curls up beside me, only half-aware of the sound of carriages clopping by down below and the muffled, easy conversation of the Mages on guard in front of the armory. Moonlight washes its dim, silvery glow over the room through the geometric glass ceiling.
The Alfsigr Elf section of Gwynn’s book tells of a prophet elf, Syll’en, who came upon the White Wand floating in a forest stream during primordial times. Syll’en wielded the Wand as a rune-stylus and battled a horde of the Shadow Wand’s demonic monsters, thus saving the Light Elves from complete annihilation.
The Noi stories tell of the Vu Trin warrior, Chy Tan, who pulled the White Wand tooth out of their sacred dragon goddess’s mouth. In the story, Chy Tan led her Vu Trin army, all of them astride wyvern shapeshifters, to defeat the Shadow Wand’s demon army with the power of the tooth used as a rune-stylus. Chy Tan then returned the tooth to the sacred dragon, who hid it in a heavily warded underground lair.
I turn the page and find a picture from a Noi text, carefully cut out and taped into Gwynnifer’s journal—a circle formed by a starlight dragon holding the White Wand and a dark gray dragon holding the Shadow Wand. My eyes freeze on the image, riveted. The two dragons flow together seamlessly, curling white against curling gray, White Wand against Shadow Wand. I’m pulled in by the image’s beauty and the way the complicated symbol comes together, dragon on dragon.
Perfect.
I jerk back and give a quick shake of my head, as if forcing myself out of a spell. Unsettled by the image’s hypnotic draw, I firmly close the book and set it aside.
I look to Gwynnifer, who remains standing watch by the window, still as a statue, her eyes pinned on the street below. I let out a long sigh, which triggers a wide yawn, then slouch back against the pillows behind me. The sleepy cat purrs as I pet him, lulling me into deeper relaxation, and I languorously splay my wand hand out in front of me, admiring the looping fasting lines.
So much has happened today.
A lovely, private warmth suffuses me as I think about Tobias’s entrancing emerald eyes, his captivating smile. Soon the wagon traffic drops off, and the soldiers’ conversation is low and soothing. My eyes flutter, heavy with fatigue, and eventually I give in and let them fall shut.
I dream of white wands. And white birds. And white dragons battling shadow dragons. And two horned demons searching, searching, searching for the White Wand...
* * *
“Wake up, Sagellyn.”
Gwynnifer jostles my arm with urgency, and I spiral rapidly into consciousness. She’s kneeling next to me, her eyes wide with fright. “They’re here.”
I blink sleepily as the lines of the shadowy room sharpen. “What...who’s here?”
She gives a swift, terrified glance toward the window overlooking the entrance to the armory. I can just make out the echo of men’s voices below, their conversation sounding oddly formal.
“The demons,” she tells me, her words roughly stitched up with fear. “They’ve come for the Wand.”
Chapter 6: Council Envoys
“That’s them!” Gwynnifer whispers, moving over to the window. “The glamoured demons from my dream.”
I kneel next to her and peer out the glass. The armory’s two military guards face a pair of young men wearing Council envoy uniforms, all of them cast golden by the lantern-light. The Council envoys bear no Mage-level stripes, only the gold Mage Council M embroidered over their hearts.
My body slumps with relief. The Council envoys are square-jawed with refined features, one taller than the other, their expressions formal but pleasant. Decidedly undemonic.
Gwynnifer drops down, out of sight of the men. “I can’t let them see me,” she breathes, her brow knotted with urgency. “If our eyes meet, they’ll know I have the Wand.”
“They look perfectly normal—”
“They’re glamoured. The Wand showed everything to me in my dream. It showed me what’s coming—a shadowed, winged one. A river of fire. Demons. First these two, then a whole army of them. Bigger than the biggest army you can imagine.”
I peek out the window and study the young men. The taller envoy is doing the talking, his voice deep and resonant as introductions are made. The other man looks on, serene and watchful, his posture relaxed, as if whatever they’re here for requires no great urgency. The taller man’s mouth tilts into a grin, and he says something in low tones that sets all the men laughing.
I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s all quite placid, with no sense that demons are about to swoop down on our heads, or that the fate of the world rests on this encounter.
“They’re in league with the Shadow Wand.” Gwynn’s voice is panicked, her hand clutching my arm. “You just can’t see it.”
“See what?” I glance back at the men, who are caught up in casual conversation and the idle showing of Council paperwork.
“They’ve glowing red eyes,” she insists. “And spiraling shadow horns in their true form.” She pulls the wand from its sheath on her belt, her fist tight around it. “If they find this, they will kill everyone. There will be absolutely nothing to stop the power of the Shadow Wand.”
Gwynnifer looks down at the wand, a tortured look on her face. “I... I don’t want to give it up.” She lets out a long, shuddering breath and caresses the wand’s spiraling handle with her fingers, shaking her head tightly as she gives me a grim look. Then she swallows, pulls the drape closed and thrusts the wand out toward me, as if with great effort. “Take it, Sagellyn. Take it, before I change my mind. You need to set the counter wards, now.”
I draw back in alarm. “I don’t know how—”
“You don’t need to! You’re a Light Mage. The Wand can access rune-sorcery through you. Just take it!”
The wand gleams bright, as if fashioned by moonlight. All my affinity lines snap tight and strain toward it, the sensation overriding all caution. Overcome, I reach out and clasp my hand around the wand.
Multicolored stars explode into my vision as every rune on every rune-stone surrounding us flashes with a bright glow. I gasp as a prickling line of energy shoots up
from the floor, through my legs and my body, up into my wand-arm and out over the wand. The wand briefly flashes a blinding white that abruptly fades as the energy settles around my hand, and a warm sense of rightness floods over me, along with the fleeting image of a starlight tree with alabaster birds roosting in its branches.
I pull in a deep, shuddering breath and look to Gwynnifer, stunned. “Where did you get this wand?”
Gwynnifer ignores my question, her lips trembling. “Whatever you do, Sagellyn,” she says, pointing her fingers in a V toward her own eyes, “don’t look those men in the eye. Light affinity or no, if you look straight at them, they’ll know you have the Wand.”
Fear ripples through me as the opening of a door sounds out from street level.
“What brings you here?”
My attention is instantly riveted by the familiar, deep voice. I move back to the window with Gwynnifer as she pulls the drape open a sliver, my heart galloping.
Gwynnifer’s father, Mage Croft, has come outside and is facing the two envoys, the armory’s Level Five guards bracketing him.
Every muscle in my body is tensed as I ready myself to bolt out of view if the envoys’ gazes lift even a fraction up toward our tower.
“Do you have a permit?” Mage Croft asks.
“We’re looking for a wand,” the taller envoy says. “A white wand.”
The words rock through me, and Gwynnifer and I exchange a terrified glance. My hand tightens around the White Wand, which has started an almost imperceptible thrum, like it’s gathering power. I hastily slide the Wand into my tunic pocket just as a soft rustling above me draws my eye. I catch a fleeting glimpse of white birds perched on the branch-rafters above, but they snap out of sight so quickly, I wonder if I imagined them. My gaze flits back down toward the men.
The tall envoy hands Mage Croft a scroll, which he carefully reviews before nodding and handing it back, as if satisfied.
“There’s two wands here fashioned from pale wood,” Mage Croft says, clearly well-versed in the armory’s inventory. “One fashioned from Snow Oak.” His tone takes on a rapturous edge. “Beautiful wand, that one. Magnifies affinity power twenty-fold. Thirty-two layers of wood. It was requisitioned by our navy, but proved to be unreliable in its ability to amplify magic. Caused one too many explosions. The other wand...” Mage Croft waves a hand dismissively. “That one is useless.”
“These two wands,” the tall envoy says casually, “are those the only white wands in the armory? Have any others been requisitioned? Or possibly...stolen?”
Mage Croft’s posture grows rigid with offense. “No one has the keys, save for me and the Council.” He gestures toward the armory guards at his sides. “And you can see we’ve Level Five Mage guards. This is the safest armory in Gardneria. Rune-warded, too.”
“Does anyone else pass through here?” the envoy presses.
“No one. Only me.”
The tall envoy’s head starts to tilt up, and Gwynnifer and I pull down out of sight, our breathing uneven, my heart racing.
“And that building there,” the envoy asks. “Is that your dwelling?”
“Yes,” Mage Croft affirms. “I keep watch day and night over the armory, along with the guards. I’m a Level Four Mage myself. Only my young daughter and wife are here with me. They don’t have access to the armory, of course.”
“May we view the white wands?” the man asks as Gwynnifer and I peek back down again.
“Certainly.” Mage Croft motions to one of the Level Five Mages, and the guard disappears through the armory’s door.
My heart thumps in my chest, and I struggle to breathe normally. After a few moments, the Level Five guard returns with two white wands in hand, and I notice that one looks identical to the Wand in my pocket.
Mage Croft takes hold of the wands and offers them to the tall envoy. The young man accepts the wands, bouncing them slightly, one at a time, as if he’s testing the feel of them.
They can’t be demons, I adamantly tell myself, struggling to calm myself as panic mounts. Yes, it’s odd that they’re looking for a white wand, and odder still that the wand in my pocket seems to be magically firing up, but they don’t look demonic in the slightest, and Gwynn’s story of glamours seems far-fetched.
“What exactly are you looking for?” Mage Croft inquires.
The envoy worries the wands in his fingers. “A Wand of Power. Taken from the Urisk during the Realm War by Vale Gardner’s fastmate.”
Mage Croft nods and motions toward the wands. “That would be the longer one with the spiraling handle. I’ve tested that wand myself, several times over the years. The magic’s all drawn out of it.”
“We’ve our own wand tester at the Mage Council,” the young man says.
“Well, I wish him luck,” Mage Croft says starchily. “I certainly can’t coax a thing out of it. What powers did it have?”
“Causes trouble. It’s completely unpredictable. It’s said to have freed a group of Urisk whores who promptly ran off to join the Amaz.”
The envoy hands the spiraling wand and the shorter wand to his companion, who places both in a leather bag with a Mage Council M embossed on its front.
Both envoys bow their heads to Gwynnifer’s father. “Thank you for your time, Mage Croft,” the taller one says.
The envoys then salute the two armory guards, fists to hearts, and the two guards salute them in return. Then young envoys walk off into the night, chatting amiably as they go.
Normal men, normal night. Everything in order.
Gwynnifer’s story partially deflates in the wake of their peaceful departure, although she looks wan and worn out, as if she’s suffered a brush with death.
I deflate a bit, too, as the drama of the evening ramps down, some of the tension leaving my shoulders.
Did I imagine the glowing pulse from the wand? The flashing light of the runes?
I reach into my pocket and slide my hand over the wand, my fingers curling tight around its smooth, spiraling handle. I breathe in deep, and a subtle pulse of heat emanates from the wand like an answering caress. Disquieted, I reason that it’s only the pull of my light affinity at work here, but it does feel so good and right to have this wand in my hand.
The image of the starlit tree filled with ivory birds takes hold once more, unfurling in the back of my mind.
Chapter 7: Escape
“You must take them if you’re going to properly protect the Wand.”
Gwynnifer is holding out a bag of the rune-marked stones. The night-blackened sky outside her tower bedroom has turned deep blue on one side, heralding the imminent arrival of dawn.
“You need to place them all around your home to keep the demons from tracking you,” she insists, her tone imperative. “Bury them, so they won’t be found.”
I open the woolen pouch’s green satin string and peer inside, shaking the bag of rune-marked onyx stones. Gwynnifer rifles through the grimoire copies she’s sending along with me, like a military commander outfitting a soldier for battle.
My head is fair spinning from exhaustion. We’ve been up straight through the night, the excitement of our fastings swept aside by the Wand’s dangerous, sweeping adventure.
What if her story is true? What if I really do need to save the White Wand?
“Remember what I told you,” Gwynnifer says as she slides one more transcribed grimoire into a large bag.
“Don’t look the demons in the eye,” I answer somberly, braced for my getaway.
Gwynnifer nods. “You’ve got a real chance of getting out of Valgard, Sagellyn. If you can clear the city lines without them on your trail, the Wand will be safe. You will, in fact, be Galliana.”
A slim line of fear pulls taut, even as excitement rises in me at being compared to the heroic Galliana. I slide my hand into my cloak’s inner pocket and find the spir
aling wood of the Wand’s handle. The strange feel of a wand inside my pocket both thrills and unsettles me—power seems to imperceptibly thrum inside this Wand, and it sets off a barely detectable vibration against my thigh.
I close my fist around the Wand. “I’m ready,” I tell her. “I’ll get it safely to Halfix.”
* * *
We finish breakfast before the sun is fully up, and my parents arrive soon after, fresh from their visit with Tobias’s family.
As I get ready to board the transit carriage with my parents, Gwynnifer’s mother gives me a warm hug and hands me some nut muffins wrapped in parchment. Gwynnifer stares at me grimly as Father and Mother Eliss exchange congratulations with her father.
“I’ll write,” Gwynnifer tells me, her tone adamant, as if willing my survival and receipt of future letters.
I’ll miss her, I suddenly realize—a friend I’m actually allowed to be close to and share adventures with, unlike the Gardner children.
Tears sting at my eyes when I hug her goodbye, and I struggle to keep them at bay as the carriage door closes and my parents and I set off, the already bustling streets bathed in predawn blue. We amble past a sprawling guildmarket, and I spot Geoffrey dangling from a tree limb, grinning and waving goodbye to me. I smile at Gwynnifer’s moss squirrel of a fastmate and wave back.
The streets are surprisingly busy with merchant traffic, farmers bringing in vegetables for the market, cider for the taverns, sacks of flour for the bakeries. Everything is now washed in a rose hue as the sun rises, turning a portion of the sky a stunningly bright red.
Red skies at night, sailor’s delight. Red skies at morning, sailor take warning.
The ominous mariner’s rhyme chimes in my mind as I press my face to the glass and watch a young man pick out a scarlet apple from an outdoor fruit stand. He drops some coins into the merchant’s hand, smiles and takes a bite of apple. Then he turns his head toward me.
Light Mage (The Black Witch Chronicles) Page 5
