“Oh no,” the boy said. “This is good. It’s fresh water here. Might be some iron ore nearby in the earth, that’s probably what you’re tasting. Wait till we get back to Faylinn. They boil the seawater, but it still tastes like salt. The better you get at your Perception Shay, the more you can block it out.”
“Faylinn?” Alec asked.
“He came into his power a few months ago,” Taryn explained. “He’s already moved to Faylinn.”
“I still say it’s horrible,” Sussan said, frowning at the glass.
“It’s just water.” A boy smirked from across the room, his eyes turning blue with Accuracy. He launched a small nut and, with a perfect plink, it landed in her glass. “It was just water.”
“Owen!” She slammed her glass on the table, water sloshing, and glared at the boy as her eyes flared with the orange light of Perception.
“So, you are Alec Deverell?” The brown-haired boy next to Sussan pulled a lopsided grin. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet. My name’s Daren Kinsley. I must say, the soldiers have been talking about you a lot this week.”
Alec grunted. I bet they have.
“They were all surprised at your transformation. I can’t speak for the rest, but I’m quite glad,” Daren continued. “I’m from Tremain, originally. I’ve helped my father mine ore in the mountains for years. We saw your performances from time to time when we brought ore to Alton. Sold a lot to your father. He always gave us a fair price, too.”
Daren waited for a response before continuing. “Well, at least they train the Shay of Speed for sword skills. I’ve watched them practice. Compared to most of the Rol’dan, you’re an expert already.”
“Yeah. An expert. That’s why I got run through.”
“Well, you were fighting the general. He’s the best swordsman in the Rol’dan army, if not the entire land. You put up a real good fight; I was impressed.”
Alec wasn’t—the general was still alive.
“So … Alec, is it?” A boy with black hair glared, his eyes glowing purple with Empathy. Alec felt as if someone poked around his brain. “Why do you dislike the Rol’dan?”
Alec started. Night’s shadows! Did he read me? “I … I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“Maybe it’s because annoying Empathy users barge into people’s minds.” Daren winked at Alec. “This here is Fanior, our newest intermeddler.”
“Empathy Rol’dan,” Fanior corrected, puffing his chest.
“Same thing,” Daren said.
The sound of breaking glass drew everyone’s eyes to Rylan. The remains of a goblet fell from his fist. Opening his palm, he examined a tiny cut. Taryn sighed, reached over to touch his hand, and her eyes glowed emerald green with Healing. She flinched and opened her palm as a similar cut faded away.
“Hey, thanks,” Rylan said.
“I have to start sometime, I guess.” Her hand lingered on top of Rylan’s before she shyly took it away.
Alec watched the brief exchange, and heat spiked his vision. As Alec reached for his glass, his hand bolted, flinging the glass, and its contents, over everyone.
Taryn smiled as she grabbed her napkin to dry herself.
“Sorry,” Alec said.
“That will get better, too,” Daren said. “It took a few weeks before I ate much of anything, or block out noise to sleep. With Perception, every sensation is amplified, so much it’s hard to function. Your body adjusts to the power eventually.” He forced down a piece of bread, like he was trying to eat mud.
“So how’d you get your power a few months ago, before the trials?” Alec asked.
Daren pushed bread around on his plate. “A trial isn’t the only way one can come into their power. There was a mining accident back home. I came into my power then.”
The doors to the small dining room opened, and a throng of servants paraded in, placing platter after platter of food on the table, a mixture of aromas filling the air.
Sussan clasped her hand over her nose. “I’m going to be sick.”
Daren put an arm around her shoulder, though he looked as green as she did. “It gets easier … with time.”
The door opened again and two soldiers wearing the floor-length purple cloaks and deep purple vests of the Empathy Rol’dan came in and stood on either side of the room. They crossed their arms over their chests and glared at the group. A glimmer of purple light flickered in their eyes.
The door swung open a third time. With a flourish, King Alcandor made his entrance, pulled out a chair next to Alec, and sat. Alec tensed and lowered his eyes, his muscles twitching with pent-up Shay energy. Crows. Why did he have to sit next to him?
Silver forks and knives scraped across plates in silence. The king didn’t eat; instead, he stared with nearly translucent blue eyes, his posture motionless except for a single, long finger running circles across the rim of his goblet. When his gaze reached one of them, they tensed, squirming in their seats. After several long minutes of his scrutiny, all eating stopped and nervous tension filled the room.
As the servants removed uneaten dinners and served dessert, Fanior, the annoying Empathy user, spoke.
“So, Your Majesty,” he said. “Will you be accompanying us to Faylinn?”
King Alcandor’s goblet lingered before his mouth. He glared at Fanior, his stern eyes glowing with Empathy. Fanior turned pale and jerked his head down.
“Miss Trividar,” the king said, ignoring Fanior.
Taryn dropped her fork with a clatter.
“I believe your father is a fisherman in Galva?”
Taryn swallowed. “Uh, yes, sir.”
“And Alec …”
Alec cringed.
“You are from Alton?”
He didn’t answer. His tongue felt as thick as a rope.
“Kardos Deverell is your father?”
He nodded.
“He does excellent work. I have known only one other who has managed to surpass your father’s skills.”
Alec slowly lifted his eyes.
“Ah! You are wondering who?”
From the folds of his cloak, the king pulled out a jeweled dagger. Alec clenched his fists under the table. The last time Alec had seen that blade, it had dripped with Taryn’s blood.
King Alcandor turned the blade, offering Alec the handle. As much as Alec wanted to tell the king to shove it up his backside, his curiosity made him look. He took the dagger and studied it in his open palm.
Discolored with age and use, ivy carvings accented the dagger’s ivory handle, as well as numerous multicolor jewels—more a work of art than a weapon. Alec studied the blade and changed his mind; it wasn’t only art. He’d never seen a weapon like it. It was absolutely amazing.
“Who made this?”
King Alcandor’s eyes fixed on Alec. “A man named Zareh. But the secrets of his craft died with him over two hundred years ago.” He took the dagger. “He was a strange little man, but definitely had a way with metal, much like your father.”
King Alcandor continued to question everyone, but his gaze rested on Alec the most. He placed his hand on Alec’s forearm. Alec’s first impulse was to yank it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. A tug of contentment pulsed through him, pushing whatever revulsion he had away.
“Well,” the king said as he rose from the table, “all of you should rest this evening. Tomorrow you will begin your journey to Faylinn. I hope you will transition to your new lives in the Shay Rol’dan well. Though I have enjoyed our evening, I will depart immediately. I look forward to greeting you once again when we are reunited.” With a toss of his cape over his shoulder, he walked toward the door. “And, Alec, I wish to have a word with you … alone.” Then the king left the room.
Alec sat stunned. Daren cleared his throat and made a frantic motion for him to move. Alec followed. What in Brim’s name did the king want with him?
In Alec’s mind, he’d only meant to do a quick jog. But with his first step he was al
ready in the next room, his body arriving far before he realized. When Alec stopped, he found himself only an arm’s reach from the king.
Alcandor smiled. “You will learn to control it in time. Eventually, it will be as common to you as breathing.” He reached over, slid his arm through Alec’s, and winked. “So you don’t go darting off on me.”
Alec nodded, but doubt flicked through his emotions. Just as quickly, it was gone.
A pair of soldiers opened the doors, and the duo emerged on the lodge’s landing. The king led Alec stiffly, arm in arm, down the steps. Sunlight shone low over the treetops, and a hint of orange reflected in the layer of dark clouds, framing the edges of the trees and the lower mountains like a painting.
“Look at them,” the king said, motioning to a large fire where the others celebrated the end of their trials. “They know little of what true pleasure is. They believe one can experience life to its fullness with a silly celebration. A warm fire. Simple music. Dancing. Those ignorant children do not understand what fullness is.” The king stared at Alec, his icy gaze penetrating. “You don’t even realize it yet. Right now, you can only taste the first sip of your Shay power. Those commoners will never fully experience life the way you will. They are nothing compared to you.”
He led Alec along the outskirts of the camp and then stopped and placed a hand on each of Alec’s shoulders. Where he touched, peace filled Alec. He should be disgusted, shouldn’t he? Why couldn’t he pull away?
Alcandor leaned closer, staring fully into Alec’s eyes. “I wanted to speak to you privately, away from the other Shay Rol’dan. I see great potential in you. The talents you wield are beyond your years, and your soul burns with Rol’dan fire. Yes, you are special, and this is your destiny.”
All his life, Alec’s father told him he wasn’t good enough, that he didn’t try hard enough. But now the king—the very man whom Father taught him to hate—told Alec he was something more. Alec didn’t know what to think.
“I must leave now, Alec, but I anxiously await your arrival to Faylinn. Once your training begins, every Rol’dan will see your talents. You will be glorious among them.”
Backing a few steps away, King Alcandor’s eyes glowed golden-yellow with Speed. He gave a curt nod in farewell, and then he ran into the woods.
The pleasure abruptly left Alec and loathing washed over him. He shook his head, coming back to himself. What just happened?
Alec stared at the empty space left by the king. On one side of Alec, people celebrated. On the other, the lodge of the Rol’dan towered with arrogant splendor.
He belonged to neither world.
All Alec wanted to do was disappear, to run away.
He paused. Why couldn’t I?
He headed toward the celebration, to the tent where he’d stayed before he’d changed. Without speaking to anyone, ignoring the awe-inspired stares of his former tent-mates, he grabbed the bag he’d brought with him. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had—the remnants of a life now gone.
He turned from the competitors—the music and laughter had stopped—and stared into the line of trees on the outskirts of the camp. The Forest of Vidar stretched before him. And before Alec could talk himself out of it, he awakened his Speed and ran into its depths.
Chapter Eleven
ALEC SKIDDED TO A STOP, and the leaves whirled around his legs before settling to the ground. He leaned against a tree, shoulders heaving, lungs burning. The vast green expanse of the Forest of Vidar surrounded him. Trees stretched as far as he could see. He turned. Every direction looked exactly the same. Crows! In the midst of all the running, he’d gotten lost.
Sliding off his bag, Alec cursed and tossed it to the ground. He’d have to retrace his steps, though it was getting hard to see.
His stomach dropped.
Images of the Dor’Jan flashed in his mind, the nightmares and stories from childhood surfacing. Night Beasts. Soul Stealers. They had lots of names. If they were real or imaginary, he didn’t know. He’d always figured they were tall tales meant to keep children in at night. It had worked, too. He didn’t want to find out if the stories were right or wrong.
Alec raked his hand through his hair. There was little choice but to make the best of his stupidity. He gathered a pile of sticks and branches, stacking them as he’d done many times before. After work, Alec’s father would often make a similar fire. Alec always thought it ridiculous to sweat over the forge all day and then “relax” near another fire at night. However, right then, he was thankful his father had taught him how.
He grabbed a piece of bark along with some old leaves and brown pine needles and prepared the kindling. From the pile of wood, he pulled a long, straight stick and looked to the darkening sky. He spun the stick, forward and backward, applying pressure to the bark. At first, he started slowly, and then his Shay took hold.
The energy traveled from his chest, up his shoulders, and into his hands. Along with the speed, the friction increased; blisters formed on his palms. Alec gritted his teeth, and when he could hardly continue, a thin trail of smoke drifted upward, and an orange ember glowed.
He spun the stick quicker still, forcing the throbbing from his mind. A small flame sparked to life. He gingerly picked up the bark, cupping his bleeding palms around the tiny flame. He placed it in the campfire and then built a second fire.
As he positioned himself between the two protective flames, the sun sank, surrounding him with darkness unlike any he’d ever seen. Exhausted, both physically and emotionally, Alec wilted to the ground. And as the night came to life, he drifted into a fitful sleep.
***
Alec jerked awake. The low flames crackled, but the dark forest was otherwise silent. He stoked the fire with a few more logs, and a spray of sparks swirled upward into the night sky. Something had woken him. An owl? Some other night creature? He wasn’t sure, but he had the strange sensation that something watched him from the shelter of the trees.
He leaned toward the darkness, and a symphony of crickets answered. The flames flickered and cast shadows, giving the trees the appearance of life. The nearby branches reached for him, resembling dried and withered hands.
A shudder rolled through Alec, but he pushed back his terrible imagination. Nothing there. Just branches. Nothing at all. Even after calming himself, his eyes fixated on the branch-like hands. Then, one branch moved.
He blinked and stared at the spot. Must be the wind. Or an animal? All sorts of creatures came out at night. But even so, fear rushed back, his heart thundering. He stood slowly, placing a hand on his belt. He realized, with a groan, he had no sword.
What in the Darkness was I thinking? Running off in the forest without a weapon? Crows, I’ve lost my mind!
He wasn’t allowed to bring one with him to the trials, but he was a Rol’dan now, for Brim’s sake. He could’ve stuck around long enough to get a sword. Or nabbed a knife from dinner, at least. Coming into his Shay had affected more than his body; he’d become stupid as well.
Slowly, he knelt and grabbed a stick—like it would do much good against a wild animal. If something were to jump out, the thing would have to work a bit before getting its meal. Gripping it, Alec ignored the pain of coarse bark against his injured palm.
The branch moved away from the tree and circled outside the light of the fire, moving like a man.
He relaxed. Not an animal. He prepared himself to bash the nightforsaken thief over the head. But what glided into the fire’s illumination was no living man.
A robed creature emerged, its skin ashen gray. The skin stretched, dried and sunken, over its skeletal frame. Whatever hair it had once possessed now wisped in gray fringes, partially hidden under a dark hood. Colorless. Soulless. A Dor’Jan. Alec’s blood ran cold.
The stick in Alec’s grip quaked. The dark beast drew closer—then another, and another joined the first. All different heights. Some resembled men, others women. All with gray skin stretched over bone, all with sunken cheeks. They stared wi
th hungry, darkened eyes, drained of any natural color.
Alec’s Shay tugged, like it wanted to reach out to the Dor’Jan. He gasped and grabbed his chest. The creatures lingered at the edge of darkness; only the flames kept them away.
Alec’s eyes darted to the fire. It was dying and needed more wood. He moved to grab a log, but froze, his muscles like marble. His Shay wrenched. He inhaled sharply. Crows! What in Darkness was going on?
Collapsing to his knees, Alec crawled to the fire as if dragging through sticky mud. His Shay pulled, fighting against every advance. He reached for a log, but his rebellious arm froze, unable to grasp, unable to move at all.
Alec forced down the panic, focusing only on the log just out of reach. His arm trembled, refusing to do the simple task.
“Dear Brim, I can’t do this,” he prayed. Not that Brim would answer. Not that the god-legend was even real. Sweat streamed from his face and dripped on the blanket of decomposing leaves. “Someone, please help me.”
But no help would come.
Alec would die. Alone. Maybe it was better this way. He wouldn’t have to disappoint Father.
The firelight dimmed, and the creatures stepped closer. If Alec gave in, he wouldn’t have to worry about being a Rol’dan. He’d be … dead.
With his last bit of resolve, Alec reached, this time not for the log, but directly into the embers. Alec screamed. The fire seared his flesh, but the pain freed him from Dor’Jan control. Hope surged. At least he’d die fighting like a Deverell! He drew a flaming stick and thrust it toward the nearest Dor’Jan.
The creature hissed and lurched back. Alec whipped around, his heart hammering, as another Dor’Jan closed in on him. The creature cowered from the flame. As Alec’s Speed flared to life, his body froze.
His eyes widened as his limbs resisted. Crows, what’s happening? He pushed with all his strength, but his muscles became like stone. What had changed? Why couldn’t he move? It happened as soon as his Shay—
Realization smacked him. His Shay power. The Dor’Jan. They were connected somehow. As if pushing back bile, he withdrew his Shay. The heavy weight lifted, and his body regained control. He swung the flaming torch just as a Dor’Jan closed in. It backed away.
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