Glow: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Fairhaven Chronicles Book 1)

by S. M. Boyce

  And yet...

  And yet the rational, intelligent, capable survivalist within her knew better. Yeah, she could fight, but she hadn't studied many martial arts—just kickboxing, and that was mostly for fitness and fun. Sure, she had a mean knee and a killer roundhouse, but this was officially the first fight she had ever been in. Based on his glare and the scar on his face, this elf had been in far more.

  She knew when to retreat to live another day.

  Fast as lightning, she raced down the street, searing blasts hitting the road on either side of her as she dodged, the magical attacks kicking up cobblestones and dust as she ran. The elf charged after her, his powerful legs slightly faster than hers.

  He was catching up.

  “Shit,” she said under her breath. Thanks to the way everything seemed to be going wrong, the word was quickly becoming her mantra.

  In the growing darkness, a little white orb appeared directly ahead of her. It floated, dancing like a wisp in a swamp. She slowed, debating her options, not quite sure which was her bigger problem.

  The blip of light began to grow, becoming as large as a basketball and then as large as a car. She skidded to a halt, lifting her arm to protect her eyes as the wisp overtook everything around it.

  When the light receded, the path was almost pitch black. Every lantern had been blown out, and the only surviving light was the faint glow from the crystals overhead. A silhouette stood near her in the darkness, wearing a ridiculous hat and holding a familiar staff.

  Fyrn.

  He tapped his walking stick against the road, and the first detail she could make out on his face was a withering scowl. But—for the first time—he wasn't scowling at her. He studied the street over her shoulder, where a figure lay in one of the half-dozen grooves the elf’s magic had dug into the road. Bit by bit, Victoria’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. The elf lifted his head and, to her horror, his eyes were entirely white, irises gone. Babbling incoherently and drooling a little, he rolled onto his back and stared at the green crystals overhead.

  “We need to go,” Fyrn said. He walked toward a sidestreet, beckoning her to follow with a wave of his hand.

  She trotted next to him, constantly looking over her shoulder at the elf now lying on the ground in the middle of an obliterated street. “What did you do to him?”

  “He's fine.”

  “That's cool and all, but what did you do? He knows what I am. If he—”

  “He won't remember.”

  “Look, thank you for what you did, but come on! If you’re always going to play the cryptic wizard who says vague shit and doesn't give me any answers, we’re not going to get along.”

  “I erased his memory.”

  Sweet. She grinned, curious. “You can really do that?”

  “I just did.”

  “What about anyone in their homes? If they overheard—”

  “In that neighborhood, no one overhears anything if they want to live a long and healthy life.” He looked at her over the bridge of his nose, frowning in disappointment.

  Ah. She'd gone to the wrong part of town. “Sorry.”

  “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “Not trying. I'm just good at it.”

  He groaned, rubbing his temples as he turned down a second alley. “Don't worry about anyone who overheard. That spell works within a hundred-foot radius, through windows. It only affects memories that happened a few moments before I trigger the spell, so it's limited. If anyone witnessed or heard what happened, they have already forgotten. Unless, of course, someone was watching out of reach of my spell.”

  “Is that possible?”

  He paused and looked over his shoulder, catching her eye. “Someone is always watching in Fairhaven.”

  Her jaw tensed. “Good to know.”

  With a slight limp to his step, he led her onto another street, this one better lit and with nicer cobblestones than the road where she had been attacked.

  “You need a proper map,” he said.

  “Bertha drew one for me. I just forgot it at—”

  “A proper map. A real one. You must keep it on you always. I'll mark the areas to avoid, especially someone like you.” He stared at her as if to drive his point home.

  She frowned, putting her hands on her hips and stopping in the middle of the empty street. “Someone like—look, why do you even care?”

  He paused, settling his weight against the staff as he studied her with a bored expression. “Explain.”

  “You've been telling me to leave since I got here. Why did you save me?”

  “You're welcome.” He carried on, leading the way through the unfamiliar street.

  Victoria sighed, exasperated, and caught up to him. For an old guy, he sure set a brisk pace. “Thank you again for what you did back there. I appreciate your help, I do, but it's a fair question to ask. I need to know I can trust you, and right now you’re just confusing me. After all, you've been a bit of an ass up to this point.”

  He grinned as if pleased with himself. “I have, haven't I?”

  “Yeah, majorly.”

  “And yet you stayed.”

  “Well, yeah. I didn’t have a choice.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Heroes! You're all the same. Of course you had a choice, Victoria. Any sane human being would have left. She would have gone home, or gone to live on a mountain in the woods and pretended nothing had happened, that she had never been to a magical city called Fairhaven or seen ogres or packaged plits for goblins.”

  Realization crashed through Victoria. “You've been watching me. That’s how you knew about Bertha.”

  He nodded, lowering his voice. “You're a host in my city. Of course I've been watching you.”

  She bit her cheek to keep from saying something stupid. “Fine. What did you discover as you stalked me?”

  “You have heart.”

  Confused, squinting a little as she tried to make sense of the statement, she shrugged. “What?”

  “You've helped many people here, and you do it for no reason other than because you care. You chased down that thief, put yourself in harm's way to recover a stranger's purse. You help that ogre with her shop, even though you have a large pouch of denni on you.”

  “How did you—”

  “You're not nearly as covert as you should be. It’s dumb luck a thief hasn’t tried to snatch it. Never fear, I'll teach you stealth.”

  “Hey, I'm plenty stealthy.”

  “Hardly.” He laughed, a single huff of air that reminded Victoria of a car backfiring.

  What a grumpy old man. She frowned, pretending to study the buildings they passed. The buildings were straighter here, with nicer trim and elegant iron gates protecting their tiny moss yards.

  “I suppose I can't hate you for your parents,” he said softly.

  She glared at him, but he didn't flinch. He didn't even look at her. He stared ahead, a wistful look on his face as his eyes slipped out of focus.

  He paused, both hands on the staff as he leaned on it. “In the morning, you will quit your job. You will train with me for at least ten hours every day. Those are my terms, and should you fail to meet my expectations, I will no longer teach you. I am unpleasant, rude, and unfair, but this is life and death, Victoria. I'll train you. I'll show you what it means to be"—he lowered his voice, leaning in—"a host. I believe that is what you came for, wasn't it?”

  She stood a bit taller. Damn right it was. “Unpleasant, rude, or unfair, I don’t mind. Show me what you’ve got. I'm ready.”

  Chapter 17

  Flames crackling over his skin, Luak stepped out of the burning farmhouse onto the tattered remnants of the wraparound front porch. In his hand he held a Dragon amulet, yet another Rhazdon Artifact he could return to his master. He didn't even know what this one did, but it didn't matter. He had recovered it from yet another clueless human who had stuck his nose into something that didn't concern him. After all, Oriceran magic belonged to those with magical
blood, not these magicless creatures who wasted air.

  True, he had seen humans wielding magic on occasion, but human magic was inferior to the power of those with Oriceran blood. And of all the Oriceran creatures, Light Elves were the most impressive. He grinned with pride.

  A support beam collapsed, taking the roof with it. A wave of hot air shattered the windows, and he briefly closed his eyes to shield them from the shards. He studied the burning farmhouse as he mentally checked off the corpses inside—the mother and father hadn’t known what was happening, but the adult son had. Luak didn't know where the twenty-something young man had found a Rhazdon Artifact, but he had brought dark magic into his parents’ home without their knowledge. It was his fault he and his parents were now dead.

  Any sane human would leave Oriceran magic alone.

  Black smoke billowed into the sky as the farmhouse burned. Three brown horses thundered in circles in a nearby pen, panicked by the flames and running in circles to avoid a danger that wasn't even a minor threat to them.

  Idiot creatures. Not unlike humans.

  Content, Luak returned to the black SUV he had rented after the flight to Montana, his precious Rhazdon Artifact in hand. His master would be pleased that he had returned another one, but he had only just begun to serve. Fairhaven was next, and once he took the city, he would forever have a seat at the table of his master's inner circle.

  It would be a long drive back to the airport, but he could spend it deciding which law to enact first upon becoming king: either all would kneel every time he entered a room, or the citizens would bring a tribute of their finest dishes on the first of every month. Perhaps he would hold a gala where the young elvish women of Fairhaven could compete to become one of his brides.

  His grip on the wheel tightened. Being king would be so much fun.

  Chapter 18

  Victoria settled onto a couch in the middle of Fyrn’s living room. As she sat, a puff of dust spewed from the cushions and caught in her lungs, gagging her. Evidently he didn’t entertain much.

  The small cottage expanded infinitely once she walked inside, every room connected by a long hallway that seemed to stretch on forever. The living room itself, however, didn't have a single clean surface. Every table and bookshelf, and even the floor, was covered in books, scrolls, and journals. Coffee mugs and glass cups were filled with quills and an occasional pen from a human hotel. The juxtaposition of his world and hers in a single cup was surreal, as if she would wake up any moment from this crazy roller coaster of a dream.

  “You want answers,” Fyrn said, collapsing into the armchair across from her. He snapped his fingers, and his staff grew four tiny legs. It walked itself to the bookshelf and leaned against it as he laced his fingers together and set his hands on his chest.

  “Answers would be nice, yes,” she said, eyes still lingering on the self-propelled walking stick.

  He nodded, frowning a little. He must've been wondering where to start. “Do you know the word ‘Oriceran?’”

  She sat upright. “It was written on a notebook my mom and dad left for me, but I don’t really know what it is.”

  “Oriceran is an entirely different world in a dimension very similar to ours, and every twenty-five thousand and eight hundred years, Oriceran and Earth rotate close enough that the veil between the two becomes thin. Gates open between the two worlds, kind of like enormous doors. The magic from Oriceran flows into Earth until there’s equilibrium. As we speak, the natural gates between the worlds are very slowly opening. This will continue over the next millennium until the creatures from both worlds mix with each other. The last time it happened, the resulting culture clash caused unspeakable war and destruction. There’s talk in Fairhaven of both worlds looking for ways to get ready this time, some of it with good intentions.

  “But it’s so early in the cycle that trying to create a portal, a much smaller temporary door, is dangerous and can lead to death or worse. It’s illegal to magically manipulate portals into opening early, but some do it anyway. The willens are particularly gifted at it.”

  She opened her mouth to ask the inevitable question, but he held a hand up to stop her. “Willens are rodents that walk on two legs and talk. They’re petty thieves and very clever at stealing not only shiny objects, but also secrets. Somehow they’ve figured out a better way to open a portal with less risk.”

  “Wait, wait,” Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose as she absorbed all this information. “All the creatures in Fairhaven are from another world?”

  “We are, yes. Our ancestors stayed on Earth, choosing to hide themselves from humans to avoid a second great war.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Indeed. In fact, that dagger embedded in your arm was created on Oriceran.”

  She marveled at the metal artifact. “This was created on another world?”

  “It was. As I mentioned before, that dagger in your arm is called a Rhazdon Artifact. It’s a dangerous blend of dark magic and death that has been banned in every magical city I know of, both on Earth and on Oriceran. In fact, on Oriceran, all known Rhazdon Artifacts are locked away in an enormous vault in a library kept and protected by the Gnomes. The Rhazdon Artifact feeds off you, drawing its power from your life force and energy. In exchange, it gives you magical capabilities unlike anything else in our world. As far as I know, no two Rhazdon Artifacts are alike—every single one has different powers. Some even enhance you, make you stronger and, in some cases, smarter. However, judging by your decisions thus far, I'm pretty sure you don't have that one.”

  “Har, har.”

  He grinned, the first genuine smile she had ever seen on his face. “Victoria, what powers does yours give you?”

  “It's a little hard to tell, since I can't really control them. I know it can create a shield, a sword, and a dagger. It heals me, at least I think it does. I've had some pretty bad wounds since this fused to me, and I’ve walked away without a scratch every time. I was also able to see through the spell around your house. Audrey couldn't see your cottage, but I could.”

  “Damn. No, that’s not the Artifact, at least not entirely. The bubble is an experimental spell, and the fact you could see through it probably has more to do with what I need to do to improve the spell than the magic in your arm. Let's dismiss that until we can study it further.”

  “Okay. Healing, shield, sword, dagger. That seems to be it, at least so far.”

  Fyrn tapped his index fingers together, an indent appearing in his cheek as he bit it. “No, an artifact only gives three powers to its host. The healing is definitely one of them, but I think the other two are giving you the ability to summon a shield, and the ability to summon any kind of weapon you choose. In those moments, do you think of a dagger? Were you thinking of the sword?”

  “Technically I didn’t summon the sword. My dad did. When I summoned the dagger, I wasn't thinking about any weapon in particular, just the end goal—to kill Luak.”

  “Interesting. You saw your father use the Rhazdon Artifact?”

  Guilt and sadness crashed through Victoria in one powerful, painful wave. She nodded and looked at the floor.

  “Ah. No matter. In our training, we will explore this further and see if you can summon the sword as well. Now, there's something else you need to know. With these three powers, you must always make a choice—to use one of them to the full capacity, or to use two or three at partial power.”

  “I don't follow.”

  “If you were seriously wounded, you would not be able to summon a shield or sword if you also wanted to heal. However, if you had a flesh wound, you could devote a small amount of your power to healing it while you continue to wield a sword in one hand and shield in the other. Does that make sense?”

  She nodded. “I have to be careful about how much power I allocate to each of the gifts.”

  “Exactly.”

  She hesitated, running her tongue over her back molar as she tried to figure out how she wanted to word her nex
t question. “How do you know so much about the Rhazdon Artifacts? From everything you’ve said so far, being a host is a death sentence. It seems like no one has bothered to get to know the hosts, and yet here you are, offering to train me. What experience do you have with them?”

  He studied her a moment, and for a little while she thought he wasn't going to answer. He sighed deeply. “I study things that others dismiss. Power, real power, lies in the cracks that others ignore. There's so much more going on here and in your world than either of us will ever know. Every new question has an answer that leads down a rabbit hole of more questions. The pursuit of magical knowledge is eternal, and I have devoted my life to studying what others fear.”

  “That doesn't really answer—”

  “All that was to say,” he interrupted, “that I know more about most fields of study than many experts do. It is my purpose to learn and to teach, even when it comes to dark magic. It’s illegal of course, but without a solid understanding of what we’re up against, we can’t fight it.”

  Victoria sat up straighter, eyes narrowing at what he had just implied. “This dark magic is fused with my body, so are you going to fight me? Are you just studying me to take me out later?”

  “I try not to destroy what I create,” he said.

  Victoria tensed, not entirely certain she liked that answer.

  He pointed to her arm. “Roll up your sleeve.”

  She frowned, unhappy at being ordered around, but she needed his help so she obeyed. The artifact glimmered in the living room’s candlelight, the cogs and wheels of the steampunk dagger reminding her of an old, dismantled clock fused with a knife.

  “Have you tried to pull it out?” Fyrn asked.

  She shook her head. “I like being alive.”

  “Smart. How do you know removing it will kill you?”

  “The ghost.”

  Fyrn clicked his tongue. “Ah, yes. I can tell you more about the ghosts later. For now, what is yours like?”