Digital Magic (The Chronicles of Art Book 2)

by Philippa Ballantine

  He was the centre of her rage, he could feel it like he could feel the agony of the fire in his skin. It was as if he were the representative of everything male and foolish.

  “Tell me!” She roared and the flames bent at her mighty breath, leaping towards Bakari. “Tell me why you came!” He should have crumbled then, broken up into terrified lumps of charcoal, but the memory of another warmth filled him; a love that was stronger than flame or death, and a courage he had often wanted to have.

  Bakari’s blackened hand reached up towards the almost unseen sky and he called. He demanded that this world obey him. I am a warrior and this is my realm.

  The fire dipped, feeling a change in the atmosphere. Bakari held his breath, not taking in anymore soot and stench; he wanted cleanness and coolness.

  The heavens opened as a terrific clash of thunder heralded the break of a storm above the inferno. Greer looked up and screamed in frustration and abrupt comprehension. Huge tides of rain fell into the fire and suddenly it seemed a petty thing compared to the downpour and power of the storm. The flames hissed and died abruptly. Greer the goddess was dwindling as he watched, fighting against water that was quenching her rage.

  Bakari tipped back his head and let it pour over him, cooling and healing where it ran. He laughed out loud and let himself rest.

  16

  Gifts

  Greer howled in rage and swiftly cut the connection to the Line. She felt a brief moment of disorientation, and then she was looking across the chamber at Bakari’s still form, while feeling humiliation burning her cheeks. The chill of the rock had invaded her bones, and she got up carefully. Extension treatment provided her with the body of twenty year old, but somehow a lingering residue of age hung in the bones. It was as if the mind could not accept the Extension as well as the body did.

  A quick finger to Bakari’s throat confirmed that he was still alive, but quite beyond her now. It was puzzling, but somehow he’d managed to evade her magic.

  She sighed, tapping the tips of her nails against her teeth. Her attention never left Bakari. The senses that had replaced sight saw things others could not, but still occasionally it would have been nice to ‘see’ things. She tucked a stray lock of Bakari’s hair behind his ear and turned away.

  Her mind was boiling with ideas.

  She had to find Nill and unlock the secrets within that unique creature—but then she also had to get the Mask. A resolve began to form while her fingers twisted and danced, uncoupling the chains of magic she’d installed about Bakari.

  If he could not be made to break, then he still could have a use. The fool Ronan had obviously fallen into friendship with the Liner—in all his incarnations Puck had a tendency to become fond of people for the oddest reasons. Not that it mattered, all that it did was afford Greer a way to manipulate the mercurial and annoying Fey—something he usually refused to allow. You could bend Ronan all you liked, try and force him to do anything, but it would be like trying to blow a wind caught feather into cup. Yet threaten that which he loved, and if he truly believed harm would happen, then he would obey.

  Greer bent and opened her box of tricks, and her hands felt surely amongst the weaponry of her Art. The dull black knife, only the length of her slender hand, found its way under her fingers and slipped into her palm easily. It was an old friend. The questing fingertips of her other hand found the tiny medical kit. There’d never been any use for it before.

  She stood contemplating for a second; a lock of hair did not quite convey her strength of purpose and she needed Ronan to believe, to understand that there were consequences for misbehaving. With a sigh, Greer decided that cruelty was her only choice.

  A moment of profound attention, a minute of determined sawing, the crack of bone; and Bakari’s right smallest finger lay in her hand. The knife was keen and glad of the blood. She staunched the wound quickly, applying the seal and antiseptic—she didn’t want Bakari to die prematurely. Tucking the finger into her pocket, she smiled out of reflex. Blood dripped from the sheared stump and ran, cooling, down her leg. She didn’t care.

  Bakari hadn’t even stirred. Perhaps the pain had dimly reached him, wherever he was, but he would be too cautious to return to a reality he couldn’t control.

  A faintest noise like the tips of branches dragging along the door frame, and a scent of light decay, alerted her to her ally’s arrival. The Seed prompted the darkest fears in all who saw it, but her lack of vision dulled the effect. Still, when she opened the door, the warmth of its power caressed her. There were few creatures left in this realm that had such strength.

  Though Greer could not see the Seed’s curved claws and alien face, she knew it was dangerous. When it spoke the voice was hushed, like it came from a long way off, and each word was enunciated precisely. “The Healer is come.”

  “You found Nill?” Greer’s heart thudded.

  “No name, but it is the one. She used the earth magic to escape me, entering the underhill.”

  Greer’s lips tightened and she could not halt the surge of jealousy. Of all the magics left, earth Art was the oldest and most powerful; it also lingered in greatest strength, hidden deep, but ready.

  The chill of the Seed moved closer. “And the Fey was with her. Puck.”

  So, Ronan had found her—that was to be expected. Her Art would draw his, but he could not understand what she really was, he’d been too long gone from his own home.

  “Can you find where they went?”

  A hiss of frustration broke through the silence of the chamber. “The earth magic is not broken to the Master’s will here. It conceals them.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Greer replied as steadily as she could, feeling the blood course down her leg, reminding her of her leverage. “Ronan will come to me himself, and the Healer will follow.”

  The cool hardness of the Seed's carapace pressed against her leg, chilling her to the bone. “That is good, Seer, but I need to feed. Your sacrificial man was not enough: he had no Art, not even any human magics.” The wheedling tone in its voice was familiar, but she needed the Seed. It, too, had its part to play.

  Greer rolled up her sleeve swiftly, and the creature's bony mandibles pressed against her flesh. “Very well. Take what you need, for you will have to work hard in the next few days.”

  The pain was swift but bearable, as all sensory things had come to be to her. The cavern was silent for a while, but for the sound of the Seed’s ravenous sucking.

  Nothing much changed in Aroha’s world over the next few days. Somehow, though, she and Nana never seemed to find themselves alone to discuss what had happened. It wasn’t like her grandmother was being deliberately deceptive: she could hardly be blamed when the neighbor’s child fell sick and she had to help, or when Sally and the rest of her siblings invaded. Still, Aroha felt a vague unease. Nana hadn’t even seemed to notice her changed arm.

  The truth was that the mere was beginning to weigh her down, so much so that even moving felt like an effort. She felt stronger for it, but knew that such a gift would not come without a hefty price. She was afraid to bring it up with Nana, afraid what the answer might be.

  As for Daniel, he’d retreated to the old house closest to the seashore, which the villagers had cleared for him. Aroha should have gone down there, she knew, but again the feeling of disquiet made her long for the normality that Nana seemed intent on supplying.

  On the third night, reality would not be delayed. Nightmares might torment her, yet there was more to be considered.

  The Folk were under attack; she could hear their torn howls of agony floating down from the mountain, sliding under the bed and burrowing into her sleeping head. Her spirit answered the plea while her body remained tucked in bed. The mere came to her soul’s form and the weight of it seemed the only truth, as she walked through the walls of the house and followed the cries up the hill and into the forest.

  Mist enshrouded their realm, but Aroha brushed through the punga ferns and the slippery ro
cks unimpeded by physical limits. She reached the airy heights were the Folk made their home and came upon a sight she’d never thought to have imagined.

  The Folk no longer danced away from her eye, hiding in the corner of her vision. They were in too much pain and danger for that. A true nightmare was visited on them; creatures who looked nothing more than angular assemblages of blades. The bone white creatures darted among the wisps of the Folk and forelimbs curved in ugly scimitar shapes swept among them.

  The mere became even heavier, pulling down on Aroha’s dream arm and making it ache with physical sensation. It would not let her leave the tree line, though she ached to. The Folk were beautiful, like jeweled sketches in the night, faint but glorious. It made her weep to see them cut down like so much unwanted grass.

  It was a stark reality. She could feel their pain and their desire not to go. They had held on so tenaciously to the earth and now they were being so easily and violently severed from it.

  Aroha. The Folk Lord was beside her in all his tattered glory. The echo of tears marred his pale, wispy face. You must flee.

  No, Aroha’s hand tightened on the mere, I can help.

  There is no help for us, beloved child. We were too soon come to this realm, too rash. Our Lady always accused us of this, but we would come—because of you.

  Aroha’s heart sank at the look in his emerald eyes, more real than any other part of him. They had been drawn here by her? She shook her head, not wanting their deaths on her head.

  Do not blame yourself. The Folk Lord’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder, the softest and warmest of touches. We, above all Fey, missed this world and its wild beauty. With your coming we were able to return.

  And this? Aroha watched with a trembling jaw, as the foul creatures finished their work. Why is this happening? Is this my fault, too?

  Your wakening has hatched a Seed, and with it, a power that is nameless and dreadful. It has a strength that we no longer have, for we are but echoes of our former might. But do not stop, beloved light, for it is your fate and your right.

  He was stepping away from her, towards the creatures as they finished their work. In the Lord’s hand was a memory of a spear, something that had once made mortals tremble; now it was merely a softening in the ether.

  “No,” Aroha sobbed, but already she could feel her body calling her back, even as the Forest Lord was turning to his enemies. She did not want to see him go, nor to feel the strength and glee of the foul creatures. With a cry of horror she slid back to herself, awakening to the darkness of her room.

  She lay gasping there for a moment, feeling the room around her but knowing it would never again feel safe. Her eyes were open in the darkness, reliving the scene, feeling the horror and resignation of it again. Despite what the Lord had said, she could not avoid the guilt. It came pressing down on her until she had to bite her lip to not cry out.

  Nana pushed the door open, for a second standing in the light from the kitchen. She wasn’t in her nightgown; that much Aroha could tell from her outline.

  “Aroha,” her voice sounded very old and very tired. Coming over, she sat down on the corner closest to the pillow and took her granddaughter’s hand. “I so hoped that you would be older before this happened.”

  “So did I,” she said raggedly through held back tears. Now that the time had come for this conversation, she suddenly just wanted to roll over and pull the covers over her head.

  Nana clenched the hand she held, reading her mind. “Don’t we all, my love? But even under the sheets, the monsters still exist. It’s best not to lie hidden and not know when they are coming.”

  “And they are coming, aren’t they?”

  A long silence in the darkness. “Yes,” the word sounded like it was being pulled out of her.

  Aroha had the horrible understanding, that this was the end—the real end of what had been her childhood. It tightened her chest and made her want to scream in denial, but that wouldn’t change anything. She nuzzled closer to her grandmother, curling around her knees, nestling her head on her lap, trying to store this moment up.

  “What do we do?” Aroha finally asked.

  She felt Nana’s sigh go down the old woman's bones and into her own. Nana had always been so powerful in Aroha’s life, but now she seemed as fragile as a fairy dream. It was enough to make her granddaughter screw up her eyes and only just manage to hold back a howl of despair.

  Her grandmother didn’t notice, and neither did she answer the question. Her voice was smooth and dreamy now, from a long way off where things weren’t nearly as dire. “I was a soldier to your grandmother. We were distant relatives, ancient cousins. Her name was Anu, and back then, mine was Brenna.”

  “You’re not my Nana, then?” a tear crept free.

  A hand tightened on hers, “I will always be your grandmother, child. I was given you to look after—a sacred trust. And I have loved you as no other person in my selfish Fey life.”

  And the images flashed across the tiny gap: her proud ways, her duty to her Queen and a high minded distain for all that was human. She was no longer that person, that powerfully beautiful Fey, she was now totally Aroha’s Nana, filled with love and concern for her above all things. She’d sacrificed everything to be that person and had found unexpected joy in it.

  Aroha felt the connection between them deeper than it had ever been, right here on what was surely the brink of death. For that was what it was, coming down from the mountain, coming down to find her.

  She was panicking: not knowing what to do, unable to think of a way to escape. The forest was no longer friendly and there would be no sanctuary this time. She could imagine being hunted there, and saw images of the cruel deaths of the Folk.

  “What do we do?’ she whispered into her Nana’s pale pink dressing gown.

  “We have no choice. We will fight. I will not let them have you, child.” There was strength and despair in those words.

  Aroha couldn’t hold back her sobs.

  “There, there, child. I still have power, and we still have time to make a protection circle.”

  “A what?”

  Nana sighed again and her unguarded thought flitted through Aroha. I should have taught you more. However, she gave no voice to such negativity. “Get dressed quickly, child, and I’ll be back.”

  By the time Aroha had sleepily stuffed herself into a warm jacket, jeans and boots, her grandmother had returned. Gone were the simple floral dresses and bun; instead she was wearing clothes very similar to her granddaughter’s, while her silver-grey hair was tied into a long ponytail. Rather than turning on the lights, Nana instead used a small torch, daring only its limited round of brightness to show Aroha what she had in her other hand.

  It was a dark box, made of some murky metal which she’d never seen before, the width of a handspan and bound in tooled leather. It looked old and mysterious.

  “I could only bring what I could carry from the Fey,” Nana explained in a hushed voice, “and could risk nothing that would bring the attention of the Unmaker’s Seeds.” She paused and lightly touched Aroha’s head. “Anyway,” she put the box down on the bed, “I did dare this. It has particular qualities of concealment, enough for a few essentials.”

  Nana opened it almost reverently. Inside, it was full of small vials and jars, packed tightly together. She ran her fingers over them. “Small stones from the Fey mountains, each with their own power, a mouthful of the water of Lake Assis,” she muttered. “Valuable things, I suppose, but what I need is…ah ha!” She held aloft a twisted little bottle, pearly in colour and full of what looked like multicoloured dust.

  “You know,” Nana said with a wink to Aroha, “There is such a thing a fairy dust—like in Peter Pan. This was a gift from the sprites, before I left. You’ll meet them someday, I hope. They are the creatures closest to the Mother goddess, and this is their greatest gift.” She tucked the vial into her coat pocket, closed the box and put it into Aroha’s hands. “You look after thi
s for me, dear.”

  Her granddaughter frowned, but put the box away in her inside jacket pocket. She would have asked why, but Nana was already taking her by the hand and leading her towards the kitchen.

  It was dark and cold down here tonight, something Aroha would never have thought possible of her grandmother’s realm. Still they stood close together, like conspirators; the torch’s light formed a puddle on the ground in front of them.

  “The sprite’s gift should not be used selfishly.” Nana’s hand grasped hers. “The Seeds will murder all the villagers, even if they have you, my dear. They enjoy fear and killing.” She led Aroha out onto the porch. From here, the village was invisible. There were no lights on at this time of night, and the moon was too new to care. Aroha felt that the lump in her throat was big enough to choke her.

  Nana kissed her on the top of the head. “I will stay here and begin the circle, but you must go and gather the village. Bring them all up here.”

  It was impossible to tell what her expression was, she kept the light from it deliberately, but Aroha knew that she was frightened. “It’s all right, Nan,” she said as bravely as she could. “They are not here yet—we still have time.”

  “Certainly we do, you clever thing,” Nana’s voice also played that game. “But run, all the same. I’ll be waiting.”

  Aroha flew down the little hill, her heart thundering in her chest, tears of terror ready to break free. So little hope in the night, but she’d hold onto it as best she could. Nana had said it would be alright.

  Ronan’s breath running along Ella’s neck woke her. Under the hill it was still warm and safe. His skin was against hers and all was right with the world.