by Beth Alvarez
“I’d rather not.” She gave him a sarcastic smile in return. “I don’t think I’d last too long down here.”
“No, probably not.” He held up the mage-light as if he expected it to illuminate farther than a few paces before them. They had taken turns carrying it so he could practice passing the energy back and forth. How quickly he’d gotten the hang of it—and figured out how to relight it himself—made her wonder how truthful he’d been about his level of experience with magic, but she hadn’t inquired. She suspected he wouldn’t have answered, anyway.
“Speaking of lasting, I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat, is there?” Firal laid a hand over her stomach. The berries they’d found along the path above-ground hadn’t held her over long and a dull ache gnawed in her middle. She’d refused to eat more of the sour fruits from the odd trees.
Daemon grunted, laying the mage-light on the floor between them. She was surprised when it didn’t go out. They hadn’t even begun to speak of how to set energies in a cycle to temporarily sustain themselves. She chewed her lower lip, watching as he pulled a pouch from his belt and tugged at the ties that held it closed.
“What’s that?” Firal asked, unsure she wanted the answer.
“Dinner.” He shook it a few times, as if to loosen its contents, before he held it out.
She gave him a distrustful look, but leaned forward to peer into it. “If that’s full of bugs, I swear...”
Daemon snorted. “It’s just jerky.” He pulled a reddish sliver from the pouch with two claws. Her eyes narrowed, but she took it. He fished out a few more pieces to pass to her before he slipped one under his mask. “Beef. Don’t worry, it’s actually pretty good. Dry, but good.”
She scowled. “If you had that, why did you try to feed me scorpions last night?”
“Because I wanted scorpions. I told you, they’re a delicacy.”
“I would have rather had the jerky.” She slouched against the wall. “Though I’ve never had it before. I’m not used to things like soldier’s rations.” When she finally took a bite, her face twisted with the effort it required to chew. The flavor was enjoyable, at least.
He chuckled at her expression. “You get used to it.”
“I’d rather not have to,” Firal said. “But it isn’t bad, even if it is a bit chewy.”
“Not sure what else you’d expect from dried meat.” Daemon leaned forward until he could grasp the ankles of his outstretched legs. “Would be better with a drink, though, I’ll say that. We’ll have to find somewhere to refill the water skin. The runoff is too muddy.”
Firal smirked. “Oh, I can take care of that.” She planted a hand flat on the floor. A silvery gleam formed under her fingers. She lifted her hand slowly and water collected under her palm in a rippling sphere. It rose from the floor, levitating, and she moved her hand underneath it to grasp it like a ball.
“What—” Daemon said, startled.
“I thought you’d seen a lot of mages and magic?” She lifted the sphere of crystalline water with a giggle and drew a sip off the top. The sphere rippled and shrank, but never lost its form. She held it out to him, wiping her mouth with the back of her unoccupied hand.
He reached to take it. The water ball wobbled as she passed it to him, but settled into his palm as he curled his claws around it. He pulled it closer, studying the ripples in the surface. “Incredible,” he murmured, turning it in hand. He lifted it before his mask and the sphere burst. He shouted as the water poured down his front, his eyes flaring with angry crimson light. “You did that!”
Firal cackled.
Daemon shook water from his scaly hand and scrubbed his wet fingers against his leg. “That’s enough,” he growled. “No more magic for tonight.”
She laughed harder, but wiped a tear from her eye and nodded in agreement. “Yes, that’s enough for now. We can begin again in the morning.”
He glowered but said nothing more. He folded his arms over his chest and settled against the wall to sulk.
14
Arrival
After a time, Firal began to wonder if the corridor would ever end. She threw the mage-light down the hall and watched it bounce into the endless dark.
Unamused, Daemon gave her a sidewise glower. “Don’t lose my coin.”
“How could I lose it? It’s not like it could go anywhere.” She scuffed her toes against the floor and sighed, trudging toward the tiny glow some distance ahead.
He slipped past her and she watched his silhouette as he picked up the glowing coin. She expected him to keep walking, but instead, he cast a glance toward the ceiling and then sank to the floor.
“Are we stopping?” Firal asked.
“Stupid thing to ask, considering I just sat down.” He turned the coin between his fingers, his claws casting eerie shadows on the walls. “We’ll rest here for tonight. For a few hours, at least.”
“How do you know it’s nighttime?” She sat close by, relieved for a chance to rest, and plucked the mage-light from his hand. She put it back on the floor where it had landed. They had no firewood, and it wouldn’t have been wise to light a fire where there was no ventilation anyway, but she wrapped herself in her cloak and pretended the light offered warmth.
“It feels like it, for one thing. For another, I know you can’t read them, but there are distance markers at each of the intersections.” He gestured down the corridor and slouched against the wall behind him. “Judging by the number of miles we’ve traveled, it has to be past sundown.”
Firal searched the walls for signs of markers, but saw nothing. “Are you sure you don’t know what these tunnels are for? You seem awfully familiar with them.”
“I live here,” he replied flatly.
“With the rest of your people, I know. I saw the palace.” She rubbed her hands in an effort to restore warmth to her fingers. “There were tapestries. None of those document the history of the ruins or what’s under them?”
He crossed his arms. “There are some stories,” he conceded. “But as I said, the tunnels were here before us. If I had to guess, I’d say they were part of some kind of shrine or a temple. A place of worship built by the first inhabitants of the island.”
Her nose crinkled. “How do you figure?”
Daemon shrugged. “They say this island was where Brant planted the seeds of life, before the soul-blight began and he withdrew his roots. The people who grew from those seeds were so ashamed of their corruption that they built the ruins to keep everyone away, protecting the place where life began, just in case Brant decided to return.”
“Dramatic,” she murmured.
“There’s a bit of poetry in it, I suppose. The ruins are called Kirban. In the old language, the one written on these walls, it means Heaven.” He snorted softly. “I guess in the end, it at least became a safe haven. Some still think the land is sacred.”
“And what do you believe?” Firal asked, tilting her head.
He grunted, staring into the darkness. “That it doesn’t matter what’s here or why. Oak trees care nothing about the acorns they drop that sprout beneath their branches. The Lifetree—Brant—is no different. We were born and then abandoned. Left to all our atrocities and abuse of power.”
“You sound soul-blighted, yourself.”
“I am what they made me,” he replied.
Firal studied his feet for a time, then allowed her eyes to travel to his mask. “And what are you?”
“A man.” He flexed his hands in front of him, the light glinting off his sleek scales. “That’s why I have to learn to use this power.”
“So that you can abuse it, too? Like you accuse everyone else of doing?” She arched a brow and gathered her cloak a little closer.
“So I can control it,” he growled, “and right what the mages have done to me.”
An uncomfortable stillness fell in the wake of his words, as if the ruins themselves feared what he might mean.
Eventually, Daemon sighed. “Sleep, mageling. We’ll
continue in a few hours.”
Firal said nothing else, and the silence in the corridor became oppressive.
The cold drove them closer together as bone-deep exhaustion pushed her toward drowsiness. She stifled her complaints in favor of sharing his warmth, and the fading glow of the mage-light lulled her to sleep.
Firal showed Daemon how to draw water from the earth before they began travel the next morning, demonstrating methods to spin it into a long thread to fill the water skin. It only took him a handful of tries to figure it out, though he certainly lacked the grace that she possessed.
The following day, he taught her to identify edible roots from those that broke through the stone and dangled overhead, and she showed him what she could of magic. They shifted earth and stone, moved plants, drew water from the earth and air. The lessons were rudimentary and brief, so they could preserve as much of their energy as possible for travel. When night fell, she roasted fat tubers with her Gift, a feat he couldn’t seem to replicate.
Another sunset and sunrise came and went, visible through the gaps in the ceiling, and Firal counted the days on her fingers. Daemon assured her they were getting close, though the never-changing hallways did little to inspire confidence in the claim.
“We’re not going to make it, are we?” she asked at last, crouching beside the mage-light he’d laid on the floor. They’d stopped before sunset, this time. Without proper food or rest, the fatigue of the days behind them had become overwhelming. The blisters on her feet had long since been replaced by thick scabs under the straps of her sandals. Firal had feared infection, but Daemon provided some sort of moss that stopped the bleeding and stained her skin, and inflammation had never set in.
Daemon hesitated. “We can still get there before the solstice.”
“How?” Firal sighed and hugged her knees. “I don’t feel like I can stand again, never mind walk any farther. I don’t even know how much farther it is.”
His mask shielded his expression, as always, though the look in his luminescent eyes spoke volumes. “There is one way.”
She tried not to scowl. She already knew the answer, but she asked anyway. “And that is?”
Daemon said nothing more. He straightened, gazing down the open hallway. His posture indicated he was thinking, his clawed fingers twitching with a desire to draw the lines of power she’d forbidden.
She watched for some time before she spoke. “You really believe you can handle a Gate on your own, don’t you?”
“I’ve done it before,” he said.
“You’ve opened a Gate by yourself?” It took effort to keep from laughing. The magelings had taken carriages to the capital for a reason. It took at least a half dozen Masters to open a Gate large enough for a single person to pass through, and even then, they couldn’t hold it for more than a few moments. Moving hundreds of magelings through Gates would have taken an incredible amount of power—more than the temple staff possessed.
“I didn’t know it was that dangerous. No one told me. I saw a group of mages open one a long time ago and I just...” He glanced over his shoulder and she thought she saw worry in his eyes. “I never knew how many mages were involved. I wasn’t close enough to feel who was manipulating the flows.”
Firal stared at him in disbelief. “And you worked out how to do it on your own? Just after seeing someone do it once? You couldn’t even make a mage-light!”
“Well,” Daemon said with a hint of chagrin, “opening a Gate did seem a lot more interesting than making a light. I must have done it a hundred times without knowing I shouldn’t.”
She bit her tongue in frustration. He could have had them out of the ruins in a moment if she’d given him free rein with his power. If he had doubts about his ability now, she only had herself to blame. She’d said no Gates and he’d kept the agreement. But whether or not he had opened them alone in the past, letting him do it again was foolish. Firal pushed herself to her feet. “Let me help.”
Daemon blinked in surprise. “Have you ever opened a Gate before?”
“No, but I can help.” Firal lifted her chin. “If nothing else, I can offer more energy to help you keep it stable.”
He regarded her silently for a time. Eventually, he nodded.
She hadn’t expected him to agree. She inched closer as he drew his hands together before him. Energy shifted in the air.
Firal reached for the moving flows, relaxing, pouring out her strength to where he could reach it.
He seized it without warning, before she was ready, making her gasp as his energies merged with her own. Power surged through her body like an electric shock, roaring in her head and making all her hair stand on end. The raw might filled her until she thought she would burst. Every inch of her skin prickled with pins and needles. Every pulse of energy stole her breath, and stars flashed before her eyes until her vision filled with light.
“Firal!”
She gasped, jerking hard, her eyes flying open as he shook her. Trying to rouse her, she realized. Spots of light and shadow swam in her vision as her sight returned. Sunset lit the sky afire overhead and she lay on the ground, her head cradled in Daemon’s hands. She blinked hard, suddenly aware she was panting for breath. “What was that?” she managed, her voice quivering.
He exhaled, his shoulders sagging with relief. “What do you mean, what was that? Didn’t you feel any of that?”
“I don’t know what I felt.” Firal pushed his hands away. Her entire body trembled. “What happened?”
Daemon seemed reluctant to let her go, resting his hands on his thighs. He knelt beside her in a hollow of a grassy field. Hills swelled around them on every side, effectively hiding them from sight. “I took hold of you, like you said, opened the Gate, and...I don’t know. I pulled you through the Gate when you didn’t move, but as soon as we were through, you fell in convulsions.” The unsteadiness of his voice surprised her. Was he concerned?
“There was so much energy, I thought it would burn me to cinders.” She swallowed. “Was that...you?”
His eyes hardened, a guarded look replacing emotion.
She sat up, smoothing her skirt with shaking hands. “I’ve never felt anything like that. It felt like everything was out of control.”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted.
He smoothed her dark hair back from her face, his claws lingering against her cheek.
Startled, she locked eyes with him. He was concerned. And a little frightened, she thought, though he tried to hide his fear. The power she’d felt in him had been enough to tear her apart. She took comfort in knowing he hadn’t intended her harm.
Swallowing again and trying to ignore the sharp, metallic taste lingering in her mouth, Firal looked around. “Where are we?”
“Just outside of Ilmenhith.” He stood and offered his hand.
She ignored it and struggled to her feet on her own, gazing out over the landscape between them and the Eldani capital.
A simple market stood on the other side of the wide, grassy field ahead. She teetered on her feet, almost unaware of Daemon’s hand on her arm to steady her. After the unyielding stone floors of the tunnels, the soft turf underfoot was a comfort to walk on. Firal paused to remove her sandals and strode across the tickling grass barefoot.
With the arrival of dusk, thick cascades of netting had been drawn across the fronts of tents and market stalls to hold the coming night’s insects at bay. Up and down the streets, lamps atop metal poles were illuminated with mage-lights rather than flames, keeping things almost as bright as they would have been during the day. Unlike the bazaar she had visited before, this one seemed less busy now that the sun was setting.
Past the market, stone cottages with thatched roofs stood among larger buildings that looked to be shops and inns. The odd mix of structures ran all the way to the wall encircling the inner city. Beyond them, the palace’s spires stood as dark shadows against the softer backdrop of the night sky.
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“Disgusting.” Daemon snorted his disapproval, shaking his head.
“What?” She tried not to laugh. “The city is miles from the ruins, and who knows how far from the tunnels. It isn’t as if they’re encroaching on your territory.”
“That depends on how big you think our territory is.” He grasped her elbow and urged her forward. He had donned gloves to hide his hands and had drawn the hood of his cloak up as well, effectively shadowing his mask.
“There’s no need to hurry. I still feel a little odd, but I’d actually like to take a moment to look around, just to see if—” She cut off with a squeak as he quickened his pace and nearly pulled her off her feet.
“You don’t need to look. And in case you’ve forgotten, all your money is back in Kirban, so I’m fairly sure you have nothing to barter with but your body.”
Firal gasped and dug in her heels. When he turned to protest, she struck, yelping when the slap landed on the metal mask she’d somehow forgotten. She cradled her injured hand and glowered.
“I wasn’t insinuating you would, you know.” He released her arm and adjusted his mask beneath his hood. “But if that’s the way you’d like to be, then go ahead. Entertain yourself while I find a place for us to sleep. They post guards at the gates when the sun falls below the horizon. I won't be able to get past them, which means we'll be stuck outside the city proper until morning.”
“Fine.” She huffed and held her chin high as she crossed the dusky field to join the crowds at the edge of the market.
Once alone, it took a moment to gain her composure. She still felt odd, off-balance and unfocused. Her skin still prickled with the residue of energy. If that was the power that went into opening a Gate, it was a miracle Daemon had never unmade himself. She tried to shake the thought as she let herself be swallowed by the bustle of people. A number of merchants tried to coax her into looking closer, waving strands of gems and silver in the air. Now and then, she paused to inspect their wares.
The broken necklace she still carried in her dress hovered in the forefront of her mind. She imagined one of the jewelsmiths in the market could fix it, but the strange, lingering sensations of power muddled her head and kept her from looking at their work too closely. The women wandering the crowds with baskets of fruits and fresh bread, however, caught her attention. The smell made her stomach growl and she silently begrudged having nothing to trade for a loaf. She’d just started to wonder how she would find a meal when Daemon surfaced in the crowd beside her.
