First Of Her Kind (Book 1)

by K. L. Schwengel

  A beam stood wedged between chunks of stone, and Bolin leaned back against it to catch his breath. Ciara stirred and he pressed his cheek against her head.

  "Hush, love," he whispered. No telling what would happen if she woke now, but he had a feeling it would be better for them both if she didn't.

  Bolin had to rest twice more before finally stumbling from the runes and onto the soft earth of the swamp. He carried Ciara until they were well clear of the wreckage, then sank to his knees and laid her gently beside a log on the moss-covered ground.

  His first attempt at a whistle through cracked lips failed. He tried again, amazed by how much concentration it took, but a faint whicker rewarded the effort. Sandeen had bolted, but he hadn't gotten far; a tangled thorn bush had caught the reins and held him fast. Bolin lead him to where Ciara laid. He rested a moment, before lifting her and depositing her unceremoniously into the saddle. She slumped forward, and Bolin kept a hand on her while he hauled himself up behind her. He got Ciara situated, and turned Sandeen to the south.

  * * *

  Voices and images bombarded Ciara's unconscious. She drifted somewhere between worlds, not sure where reality left off and hallucination took over.

  She fought with the old woman who tried to take her power, with Donovan because he'd become part of the woman, and even with Bolin because he tried to stop her.

  No, not her. The Ciara she had been she could no longer find. Instead she saw something full of fury and thirsting for blood. For a time she reveled in it. The sheer power and exhilaration of knowing that nothing could touch her. She soared above them, laughing at their pitiful efforts to restrain her. But they attacked her full force. Except one. He tried to control her, to hold her back. She knew him. She offered herself to him, tempted him with his heart's desire, and showed him what they could be together. He almost gave in.

  No, just like the others, he wanted only to use her for his own ends. She meant to strike him down for his insolence but he showed her a better enemy. He helped her destroy the one who tormented her.

  Memories scattered. Cold and sharp like fragmented shards of glass. Chaos ruled in a constant onslaught of color and sound. Now Ciara understood -- far too late -- why Meriol had kept her away from that part of herself. She understood why it angered Bolin that she hadn’t learned control. But how could you control a tempest?

  Yet Bolin had. Effortlessly.

  Afterwards, only stillness surrounded her. Ciara thought she nestled in Bolin’s arms, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of a horse’s easy gait. Had she apologized then? Mumbled something? She didn't know. She ached -- in her soul more than her body.

  She drifted in and out, wanting to wake up, but unable to force her eyes to stay open. And then the realization that she had tried to kill Bolin -- had actually wanted to kill him -- twisted in her gut. She surged up, flailing; fighting through the fog in her head, but strong arms encircled her and drew her in.

  "It's all right," Bolin whispered to her, and placed a soft kiss on each eyelid, holding her until she slipped back down into dreamless twilight.

  * * *

  Bolin pressed his and Sandeen's limits that first night, wanting to put as much distance between them and the crone's cavern as possible. He drew from Ciara's pendant to keep him awake and in the saddle. He needed only to make it as far as the borders of the Greensward. After that, what happened to him didn't matter.

  Sandeen stumbled, and Ciara muttered something in her sleep as she stirred in Bolin's arms. The first light of dawn scattered across the landscape in fragmented bits. If the Goddess loved him, the gathering clouds wouldn't bring rain with them. Still, Bolin pushed Sandeen further until he found a cluster of thick bushes beside a boulder that would provide at least some shelter from the weather. He somehow managed to dismount and get Ciara from Sandeen's back without either one of them landing on the ground. He laid her beneath the bower of branches, and went back to tend his stallion. Sandeen stood with his head lowered and hip cocked. He didn't even stir when Bolin slid his saddle and bridle off.

  It would take at least two days to reach the northern border of the Greensward. Another partial day to Galys Auld. All without supplies of any kind. On his own, in good health, it would have been a difficult trip.

  Bolin leaned against Sandeen's shoulder. He needed rest, but didn't dare lie down for fear he wouldn't get back up. The physical pains were bad enough, but they couldn't come close to the searing aftermath of wrestling with the crone's power. The effects of that lingered inside him like a million knives; every move, every breath, reminding him of how stupid that gamble had been.

  Ciara cried out and Bolin shoved off Sandeen. He caught her by the shoulders as she lurched upwards. Her eyes were open but focused on something only she could see. She clawed at it, arms flailing, and Bolin had all he could do to pull her into his arms and quiet her. He sat with his back against the boulder, and Ciara huddled in his lap.

  "Is it over?" she whispered.

  Bolin sighed. "Aye."

  "Did we win?"

  "Rest, Ciara."

  "I'm sorry."

  He kissed the top of her head. "Go back to sleep."

  She settled herself more firmly against his chest, and Bolin bit his lip to keep from screaming in pain. Two days may as well be twenty.

  Bolin pictured the sigils of Ciara's pendant in his mind, tracing them over and over as he gathered the magic stored there. The elders of Galys Auld would have felt the battle in the swamp. Anyone with a smidgen of power within a hundred leagues of the fen would have felt it, though likely very few would have understood it. Unless they had completely shut themselves off from the outside world, the elders would send scouts out to investigate.

  The magic in the pendant flowed through Bolin, and he directed his thoughts toward Galys Auld and one elder in particular. Many leagues lay between them. He had no guarantee of success in what he did, only a faint hope, and a prayer tossed to the Goddess.

  * * *

  Ciara approached consciousness with trepidation. The closer she got to it, the clearer the memories became, and she had no desire to face them. The reality of what she'd done made her want to vomit. She had turned on Bolin, and in the moment she had tasted the true essence of power, no one and nothing could have stood in her way.

  Yet he had, regardless of the danger to himself. Bolin had called her back from the edge, and she had hated him for it.

  Ciara groaned. "By the Goddess, what have I done?"

  "Nothing she would approve of." Dry, devoid of even the faintest wisp of humor. Bolin at his best. Or worst.

  Ciara blinked and the sunlight rippling across a beamed ceiling came into slow, painful focus. "Where are we?" Three simple words never took so much effort.

  "Galys Auld," he said. "In the Greensward, if that helps any."

  His tone made her shiver. Ciara rolled her head on the pillow to look at him. He slouched in a chair next to the bed; legs stretched out, hands loosely clasped in his lap. He wore his hair pulled back off his face, which accentuated the fading bruises across his cheek, and the hollow shadows around his eyes. His expression held not the anger or disapproval she'd expected, but worry and pain.

  Ciara's mouth worked. She needed water. And the thought brought it, courtesy of a tall, slender woman who propped Ciara on one arm and held the cup to her lips until she finished. She eased Ciara gently back down, and arranged the soft coverlets around her with infinite care.

  "How long have we been here?"

  "This is the fifth day," the woman answered.

  Ciara's mouth gaped open.

  "It was by the blessing of the Goddess we found you and Danya Bolin on the road," she went on. "I doubt either of you would have made it here otherwise."

  "What happened?" Ciara asked. Trying to snatch the memories and piece them back together took too much effort.

  Bolin's brow furrowed. "You don’t remember?"

  She shook her head -- and decided not to do that again any
time soon. It felt as though someone had cracked her in the skull with a very large rock. Or a smithy's hammer. "Not all of it." She closed her eyes until the throbbing subsided. She could feel Bolin watching her. "Is Donovan . . ."

  "Dead?" Bolin finished. "Unfortunately not."

  Something in her rankled at that. "Are you ever anything other than cold?"

  "Occasionally." Not the answer she had expected. "And were Donovan other than who he is, I would perhaps dredge up some other emotion for you."

  "There's no need for such cruelty, Danya Sciathe," the woman scolded. She had taken a seat on the edge of the bed, her weight little more than a feather.

  Bolin quirked a brow at her. "She needs to hear the truth, Nialyne." Then to Ciara, "Eventually you'll understand the threat his existence poses."

  Something else niggled at her. "The old woman?"

  He sighed. "Aye?"

  "She called you nephew."

  "And?" No change in expression or posture.

  Ciara frowned. "Are you?"

  "Why?"

  "If you are . . . if the Goddess is your mother . . ." Saying the words out loud made them sound absurd. She felt her cheeks flush and gave up with a limp, dismissing wave of her hand. That apparently amused Bolin given the miniscule lessening of his frown. "Is she dead?"

  He shrugged. "We can only hope. If not, it wouldn't be for lack of trying. And, in case you're wondering, if she is alive, it's not a good thing. She was imprisoned in that swamp for a reason. She knows she greatly underestimated you. So did Donovan. They won’t make that mistake again."

  That took a moment to sink in. The thick comforter slid down as Ciara jerked upright, belatedly thanking the stars she had on a nightgown. The head spin couldn't compare to the sudden panic that made her palms sweat and bile rise in her throat.

  "Again?" Ciara's pulse raced, and she started out of the bed.

  But Nialyne's hands were on her shoulders, pushing her back down into the pillows with more strength than her slight build suggested. She said something over her shoulder to Bolin, the tone obviously scolding.

  "Shh, child," she said to Ciara. "You're safe here."

  Ciara resisted. "What if they come here? What if they look for me?"

  "They undoubtedly will be looking for you," said Bolin.

  "Bolin." Nialyne's soft voice took on an edge Ciara hadn't ever heard directed toward Bolin. She felt herself brace for his response.

  But he merely leveled a look at Nialyen, with a tensing of his jaw, and a slight lift of his chin. Ciara had quite a bit of familiarity with that side of him. The woman apparently knew it as well and inclined her head slightly.

  "I overstep my bounds," she said. "My apologies."

  "Bolin," Ciara said, "what am I supposed to do?"

  His gaze slid back to her. "A little late to be worried about that now." He held up his hand to forestall Nialyne's imminent reprimand. "It seems Nialyne would prefer you get rest, and not worry about other things at the moment. In that she's probably correct. You'll be safe here."

  "But-"

  "Danyala Ciara," the woman drew her attention. "Galys Auld cannot be broached by one such as he. We'll keep you safe while you heal."

  "And then what?" Ciara didn't miss the unspoken exchange between Bolin and Nialyne. Being exhausted didn't make her blind. "Bolin?"

  Nialyne smiled at Ciara and brushed a stray hair from her face. "And then, child, we will teach you the ways of the ancient power."

  Ciara's breath caught. Her chest tightened and she shrank back into the bed as though she could will it to swallow her. She hadn't dared to look inside where Andrakaos lay coiled in his chamber. She knew there were wards surrounding him, but didn't get close enough to see who had put them there. And her earth magic, though there, felt tattered and bruised. Much like her body.

  "Ciara."

  She swallowed. Her gaze locked with Bolin's. He held it even as he pushed wearily out of the chair and took Nialyne’s place on the edge of the bed. He cupped the side of Ciara's face, his hand warm against her cheek as he gently caressed the line of her mouth with his thumb.

  She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. "I can't."

  "That's no longer a choice," he said. "You can't go back to ignoring what you are. You need to learn to deal with it."

  "And what if it destroys me?"

  "We won't let that happen."

  "I tried to kill you," she whispered, and her heart tightened.

  "I’m not so easy to kill," he said, a rare smile easing some of the lines on his face.

  "But I wanted to," she insisted, trying to make him understand that, in that moment, she had become what Donovan and the crone had wanted her to be. She choked back a sob.

  "Definitely not one of your better choices," he teased, and the look in his eyes, usually so cold and hard, softened into something else. "Nothing can touch you here. Do you hear me? Nothing."

  "You're staying, too, right?" But Bolin shook his head, and the tears trickled down her cheeks. "You're going after Donovan."

  His expression clouded. "I've a duty to the Emperor that has been neglected."

  "But you're coming back, right?"

  Bolin wiped tears off her cheek. "Aye. Until I do, you'll do as Danya Nialyne instructs -- without argument."

  Ciara looked at the woman standing at the foot of the bed and nodded. Bolin's fingers wrapped around hers and she knew without looking what he slipped into her hand. Panic flitted through her and Ciara pushed the pendant back at him. "No. I -- I can't. I-" She squeezed her eyes shut. Her magic lay in tatters in her soul -- every bit of it pulsing with either ache or anger. She didn't want to even think about going near any of it, and the pendant would just add to her misery. She met Bolin's gaze. "Keep it for me?"

  His brows drew together but he dipped his head in agreement. "You should rest now." He brushed his lips against her forehead before he left her.

  * * *

  Nialyne caught up to him outside the stable as he readied Sandeen. "You shouldn't be leaving so soon."

  Bolin cocked a brow at her. "I should have left days ago."

  "You could barely stand days ago, and you're not all that steady now."

  "Steady enough." He tightened a strap holding one of three sacks to Sandeen's saddle. "Do you honestly think the Imperial Mages didn't feel that disruption? The Emperor will want answers."

  "So you're going to Nisair?"

  He moved to Sandeen's other side and avoided Nialyne's gaze. "I'll send a messenger."

  "And that will suffice?"

  "It will have to."

  Nialyne came around the stallion, blocking Bolin when he would have sidestepped her. "At some point, you're going to have to stand before him in person again."

  Bolin looked past her, his jaw working. She knew full well why he'd no desire to see the Emperor any time soon -- or, for his sake, any time at all. They had not left on good terms when last they talked. That had been nearly four years ago, and Bolin had managed to rely on Imperial messengers all that time. He saw no reason to change now.

  "You can be insufferably stubborn, are you aware of that?" Nialyne said.

  "Unlike the woman who raised me?" He slid his gaze to her, a playful smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Nialyne's face pinched as the barb hit home. Bolin laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Promise me you'll be careful around Ciara. We've no idea the full extent of her power, and she has little idea how to control it. I'll return as soon as I can."

  "As soon as you find Donovan, you mean?"

  Bolin slid his foot into the stirrup and swung onto Sandeen's back. "Finding him isn't my intent."

  Nialyne laid her hand on his knee. "You can't go up against him alone. Not again."

  "Take care of Ciara," he said, and nudged Sandeen into a canter.

  He reined in on a hillock overlooking the lower reaches of the Greensward, where Galys Auld nestled, barely visible between the trees: Impossible to find if you didn’t know where to look -- or h
ow to look. Donovan knew both.

  Bolin sighed into that bit of reality. His hand went to his throat where a silver chain held Ciara’s pendant close to his skin. It had changed form when she'd embraced her power. Four sigils now, in place of three, and along their pure silver edges ran a darker sliver -- a touch of ancient power that pulsed in steady rhythm, like a heartbeat.

  The girl had no idea what she'd done. Not to the charm, or to him. Goddess willing, Nialyne and the rest of the Galysian elders would know how to handle her. Bolin hadn’t lied about not being an easy man to kill, and though many had tried, Ciara had come closer than any. Still, it had taken all Bolin's resolve to leave her side.

  Sandeen tossed his head and pranced beneath him, and Bolin patted the stallion's thick neck. He cocked an eye at a late afternoon sky that foretold clear weather and a bright night, perfect for travel. Sandeen spun on Bolin's light touch. He'd unfinished business to tend to, and then, the Goddess and Emperor willing, he would return to Galys Auld.

  ~Finis~

  ~Continued in Book Two of the Darkness and Light series.~