by Aaron Hodges
“Your mind will drift,” Tillie’s voice cut through her thoughts. “It is to be expected. When it does, allow yourself to examine what distracted you, then turn your mind back to the breath.”
Alana shivered, turning her thoughts inwards once more.
In, out. In, out. In, out.
Her mind flickered, centring in on the mindless process of her breathing. Other thoughts continued to press against her, but as each rose into the darkness of her mind, she took it firmly in hand, considered it for a moment, then sent it spinning back out into the void. To her surprise, the exercise came naturally to her, and she found the chaos fading away, the cacophony of ideas and worries becoming but a drop in the infinity of her mind.
Finally, only one sensation remained to her—the strongest one of all.
Fear.
Fear that she would be captured, that her brother would be taken from her, that he would disappear into the bowels of the Tsar’s citadel and never be seen again.
Fear that she would fail.
Taking another rhythmic breath, Alana allowed the emotion to fill her, to rise to the surface. Her body shook, the hairs standing up on her arms as she saw again the stepwell, the Stalkers racing down the steps, dragging away the boy. Then the circle of trees, the vines encasing her brother, the twisted mouths opening to snatch him away. And, finally, the eyes of Quinn as he stepped into the firelight, magic at the ready.
Trembling, Alana scrunched her eyes tighter, her body taut with the power of her fear. Time passed, unknown, uncountable, as she sought to release the feeling, to allow it to pass from her. Finally, she shuddered, her shoulders slumping as the tension rushed from her. Her breathing relaxed into the gentle rhythm of sleep—but she was not asleep.
Opening her eyes, Alana found herself adrift on a sea of darkness. Watching the infinite black, Alana knew she should be panicked, that she should fear the eternity around her, but she felt only peace.
Slowly she drifted, alive but not alive, free but still trapped. For the longest time she was alone. Then, like a fire igniting in a cold room, she became aware of something else. She turned amidst the black and found a distant source of light. It glowed scarlet through the darkness, calling to her.
Unbidden, her ethereal body shot towards it, and she watched the light grow, swelling until it became an angry ball of red and orange. Emotion pulsed from it—fear and anger, jealousy and love, all tangled together in an endless puzzle. And within, she could sense something else, something different, something hidden.
Drawing closer, Alana allowed her mind to flow through the knot, seeking out its puzzle. It called to her, begging her to solve it. A tingle of energy swept through her as it touched her mind, and somewhere deep within a voice called a warning. Retreating, she waited, a speck of light drifting in the void.
When nothing happened, Alana approached again. Her mind circled the knot, picking at its tangles, pulling threads. It began to spin, slowly at first, then more quickly as it unravelled. Lines red and orange spun off into the void, shooting stars lighting the facets of her mind.
Unease rose within her as she watched the knot shrink, as though with its release, she had lost the peace she’d found in the void. Fear returned, piercing her spirit, filling her with sudden terror.
She retreated from the knot, allowing her work to cease, and alarm tingled in her soul. The knot was almost gone now—only a tiny ball of flaming red remained. She was so close to discovering what lay at its core. She could still sense it calling to her, its secrets just beyond her reach.
Resisting its call, Alana pulled away. Rage washed over her, as though some other’s emotions now possessed her. She shrank from it, racing away, darting through the darkness, up towards the light that appeared far above…
Alana awoke with a gasp. Trembling, she opened her eyes and found herself still sitting on the floor before the fire. Braidon and Tillie sat unmoving, their eyes closed, the soft whisper of breath the only sign of life. Looking around, Alana saw the lamp in the corner had burned low, and the light outside was fading into dusk.
Hours had passed.
Her gaze was drawn to Braidon. He almost looked asleep, but as Alana leaned in, she saw his eyelids flickering. She smiled, remembering Tillie’s warning that only the experienced could master her drill. Apparently her brother had taken to it far faster than the old woman had expected.
Looking back at her brother’s face, anxiety touched her. In the darkness of her mind, she had sensed a danger, an unknown threat the old woman had not mentioned. Now she saw a shadow cross her brother’s face, the slightest tremor to his lips, a twitch on his brow. She leaned closer, and saw his hands were shaking. Reaching out, she touched a finger to his wrist. His pulse was weak and erratic, his skin clammy to the touch.
“Braidon,” she called, tugging at his arm. “Braidon, wake up!”
When her brother didn’t stir, she gripped him by the shoulder and shook him. His head lolled on his shoulders and slumped to the side, his eyes still closed. She caught him by the waist and pulled him upright. A low whisper came from his lips as she turned his face to look at her.
“Braidon!” she screamed, her voice echoing through the room.
Beside her, Tillie jerked to wakefulness. Blinking, she looked around, frowning when she saw Alana with Braidon.
“What’s going on, Alana?” she asked.
“He won’t wake,” Alana growled, turning on her. “You did this!”
Tillie shook her head, the light coming back to her eyes. “I did nothing.” She leaned closer, staring at Braidon’s face. “You both fell asleep. I took the chance to refresh my spirit.”
“I did not fall asleep!” Alana snapped. “Does it look like he’s sleeping?”
The old woman’s frown deepened as she looked from Alana to her brother. “He could not have advanced this quickly. Even the finest students take a few attempts to delve into their subconscious.”
“What does that mean?” Alana hissed, grabbing the old woman by the wrist.
Ignoring her, the priest leaned closer, inspecting Braidon’s face. Shaking her hand free of Alana’s grip, she pressed her hands to Braidon’s cheeks. “Braidon,” the old woman called, her voice soft. “Come back.”
Alana sat with breath held, watching the old woman closely. Her heart was pounding in her chest. While she did not understand what was happening, she sensed something was wrong. She recalled the rage she’d felt, the fear and anger tangled up at the centre of her soul, and felt a sense of impending doom.
“What’s wrong with him, Tillie?” Her voice was tinged with desperation now.
Tillie shook her head and waved her back. “Braidon!” she called, more urgently now. “Come back, before it’s too late.”
“Too late?” Alana shrieked, her chest tightening.
In a rush of panic, she shoved the priest aside and took her brother’s arms in hers.
“Braidon!” she called, then again in her head, Braidon, Braidon, Braidon!
Her cheeks flushed, heat rushing to her face. It spread down her neck, a warmth that lit her body aflame. It swirled in her mind as she called her brother’s name again and again, fear giving rise to desperation, desperation to panic. As the heat reached her hands, she felt her ears pop, and suddenly the heat was gone.
Exhaustion swept through Alana like an incoming tide. Slumping back on her heels, she gasped in a breath of air and released her brother. Closing her eyes, she fought back tears.
“Alana?”
Her eyes snapped open as her brother croaked her name. Across from her, Braidon sat blinking, his blue eyes streaked with red. Her heart leapt as he yawned and stretched his arms. “What’s going on? We done?”
Ignoring his question, Alana threw herself forward and wrapped him in her arms. “You scared the Goddess out of me!”
Braidon cried out in protest, but it was several minutes before he managed to disentangle himself from her. He sat back, confusion written across his youthful fa
ce.
“What’s got you so worked up?” he questioned. “I was just napping.”
“You were not asleep, young Braidon,” Tillie’s voice cut in. “You were meditating.”
Braidon snorted. “Felt a lot like sleep to me.” He shook his head and yawned again. “Although I’ll admit I had some strange dreams.”
Silently, Alana reached out and hugged him again. He flashed her another smile, though there was doubt in his eyes now. A long silence stretched out. Braidon broke it suddenly with a yawn. His eyes flickered from Alana to Tillie.
“Err, if we are done, you don’t mind if I take an actual nap, do you?” he asked.
Alana forced a laugh and nodded. Rising, Braidon crossed quickly to his bed and dragged himself under the covers. Within minutes his soft snores filled the room. Alana watched him for a moment, reassuring herself he was okay, before turning her eyes back to the priest.
“What happened to him?” she asked, voice hard. “He was in danger, wasn’t he?”
Tillie was eying her closely now, a slight frown on her forehead. “Where did you say the two of you came from?” she asked, ignoring Alana’s question.
Anger flared in Alana’s chest at the woman’s impertinence. She caught the priest by the front of her olive-green robes.
“I asked you what happened to my brother!” She ground out through clenched teeth.
The old woman stared back at her, eyes hard. “Release me,” she commanded.
Despite herself, Alana did so, but she refused to drop the matter. “It was his magic, wasn’t it?”
After a long pause, Tillie nodded. “He shouldn’t have been able to go so far so quickly, especially in his exhausted state. That’s why I thought he was merely asleep. It was fortunate he didn’t manage to reach his magic before we could call him back.”
“What would have happened then?”
“The consequences would have been...severe.”
Alana’s lips drew back in a snarl. “What do you mean, ‘severe’?”
There was no humour on the old woman’s face now. “He would have been lost…” Her voice trailed off. Alana was about to press further when she continued. “Do you know the story of the demon who destroyed Sitton?”
Alana opened her mouth and then closed it again, surprised by the sudden change of topic. Wordlessly, she shook her head.
“That demon was once a great man, descended from the line of Trolan kings who had ruled over the west for centuries. His name was Thomas, and he was a powerful Magicker.”
A tremor went down Alana’s spine at the woman’s words. She knew the tales of Thomas—of the ancient king who had stood with the Gods against Archon. A myth, surely? Yet she sensed there was more to the old woman’s story. Swallowing, she asked the question burning on her lips. “How did he become a demon?”
“His magic took him.”
“Took him?” Alana could not keep the fear from her voice. “What do you mean?”
Tillie sighed. “Magic is not an inert force—it lives! Lives to fight, to make war, to break free. A Magicker is forever at war with the force inside them. Each time they touch it, they risk losing themselves in its power. Once lost, they become what we know as demons, drowned by their own magic, taken over by its energies.”
“And…my brother…” Bile rose in Alana’s throat as she stumbled to her feet. “How could you not have told us?”
The priest rose quickly beside her. “It is not something you speak of during ones first attempt at meditation,” she snapped. “The fear would make the exercise impossible.”
“You’re telling me he might never have woken up?” Alana shrieked, hardly hearing the woman’s words.
“Calm yourself, Alana,” the priest snapped suddenly, her eyes flashing. She caught Alana by the wrist and dragged her forward. Alana swallowed as her gaze was caught by the crystal blue eyes. “Your brother is stronger than you know, girl,” the old woman continued, “but he will never be able to grow if you continue to smother him.”
Alana tore herself free, anger giving her strength. “Smother him?” she gasped. “I’m protecting him!”
The cold eyes stared back at her, unblinking. “So you say.” The woman strode after her. “Who are you, Alana? Where did you come from?”
“None of your goddamn business!” Alana said, baring her teeth. She pointed a finger at the woman’s chest. “And if you so much as touch my brother again, I’ll kill you!”
She swung towards the door, but her brother’s voice called her back. “Alana, no.” Freezing midstride, Alana turned back to see Braidon sitting up in his bed. His eyes caught hers, holding her in place as he continued to speak. “She’s right,” he whispered. “This power is inside me, whether we like it or not. I can’t ignore it. I don’t want to hurt anybody. If she can teach me to control it, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Alana swallowed. “But it might kill you.”
Braidon’s eyes flashed. “It can try,” he said, his voice like iron now.
Crossing the room, Alana buried herself in his arms once more. “I don’t want to lose you,” she sobbed into his shoulder.
His soft hands stroked her hair as they held each other. “You won’t, sis,” he whispered. “Trust me.”
A spasm racked Alana’s chest as she nodded, aware her tears were soaking her brother’s shirt. “Okay,” she croaked finally. Lifting her head, she looked into his eyes. “Okay, I trust you, Braidon. But you have to be careful, okay?”
He nodded, a crooked smile on his face. “I’ll be fine, sis.” He winked. “Remember what happened with the Stalkers.”
Alana smiled, stroking a hand through his soft hair. “That was instinct,” she murmured. “Just be careful when it’s the real thing. We don’t even know what your power does, remember?”
Braidon sighed. “Okay, Alana, but only because I’m afraid you’ll have another tantrum if I don’t.”
“That wasn’t a tantrum!”
Her brother snorted, humour dancing in his eyes. “Sure. So, you weren’t going to slam the door on your way out?”
Scowling, Alana shoved him back on the bed. “I take it back, go ahead and use that magic of yours. Don’t think it’ll protect you from me, though.”
Laughter spread around the room as Alana sat on the other bed. She didn’t look at the old priest—her anger at the woman’s omission was still fresh, and Alana wasn’t sure whether she could keep the rage from her words. Before their laughter could fade into awkward silence, the door to the hallway banged open.
Spinning around to face the newcomer, Alana relaxed when she saw Devon step into the room. Water dripped from his jacket as he pushed the door closed behind him.
“Bloody rain,” he muttered, glancing around the room. One bushy eyebrow lifted as he saw the tears on Alana’s cheeks. “Am I interrupting something?”
Alana quickly wiped the last of her tears away and shook her head. “No,” she replied, more sharply than she intended. Silently, she cursed herself for allowing the warrior to see her weakness. “What kept you so long? Did you find a ship?” she asked, more harshly than she intended.
Shaking his head, Devon moved to the spare seat by the fire and lowered himself into the chair with a groan. He held out his hands to the blaze, allowing its warmth to wash over him. “You could show a little gratitude, you know,” he said gruffly. “I’ve been out all day in the cold searching for this ship. And poor old Kellian, who knows how many strings he’s having to pull to get to his funds on such short notice.”
Heat flushed to Alana’s cheeks at his admonishment. Her eyes dropped to the ground. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I do appreciate it, I swear. It’s just...been a stressful afternoon.”
Devon chuckled. “Getting a little restless in this little room?” He waved a hand. “You can relax, I found a ship that leaves tomorrow at first light.”
Alana’s heart lifted at the news, then sank as she realised Kellian still had not returned. “If Kellian get
s the gold.”
“Oh, he will,” Devon grinned. “He’s a good man in a pinch, don’t worry about him. He’ll come through. Now, what’s say we get some supper? We’ve some time to wait yet before he returns, I think.”
The loud rumble of Alana’s stomach was all the answer he needed.
Chapter 22
Quinn sighed as he lowered himself down into the chair behind the mahogany desk. It had been a long and drawn out night, filled with urgent meetings and the furious scribbling of messages. The morning was already approaching, and he still had not slept. His back ached from the hard days of riding, and his heart was weary with failure.
When the river had finally receded, he and his men had spent a day and a night racing across the Lonian plains, following the fading tracks of their quarry. He’d thought they’d continue heading north, but instead the party had veered east towards the Lonian capital.
Now Devon and his friends had vanished into the human cesspool otherwise known as Lon. Quinn’s men were scouring the city, checking in with contacts and informing the city guard, but amidst Lon’s slums and backstreets, it would not be hard for the Magicker to disappear. Despite their best efforts, they might be forced to wait for another outburst of the boy’s magic.
In the meantime, he and his men would keep a low profile, so as not to alert Devon of their presence. If they were lucky, the giant warrior or his friend, Kellian, would slip up and reveal his presence. Quinn knew the men well—neither was suited to a life of poverty and anonymity.
No, the more he considered it, the less he thought it likely the two would seek to remain in the city. And if they left its crowded streets, there was only one other place they could turn to—Northland.
With the Trolan revolt, the Tsar’s plans to conquer the independent state had been put on hold, but it would not be long before his eyes turned north once more. It was well known that the northern state still allowed Magickers the freedom to wander its streets. This could not be allowed to continue—lest they return to the Three Nations unknown and continue the spread of wild magic.
