Spellweaver

by Tamara Grantham

  Pier thirteen was a worn wooden dock that jutted out into Galveston Bay. My footsteps thudded against the boards as I made my way to the pier’s end, where blue and orange barnacles grew along the edges. The water splashed against the thick beams supporting the jetty. A few streetlamps had been built along the pier, though I noticed that each light had been busted out. Strange.

  Both Chester and Miranda had noted how dark the pier was. I knew of a few things that could bust out those lights—the most obvious being a shotgun—but it would have been much quieter and precise if someone had used a basita. But why shoot out the lights? Was someone trying to hide something?

  When I made it to the end of the dock, I spotted a whirlpool churning slowly in the water just off the pier’s edge. It was a small disturbance and would have seemed commonplace had I not felt the magic emanating from its depths. In the center of the whirlpool, the water turned dark gray, as opposed to the brown water swirling around it. Odd. I knelt to get a better look.

  Holding my hand over the whirlpool, I let my mind relax and concentrated on the magic. I’d felt it before, so it was easy to place. As I’d suspected, the grayish water wasn’t the result of natural causes, but was the side effect of magic—goblin magic.

  Miranda’s story of seeing something moving in the water came to mind, but it would have been too dark for her to have noticed the whirlpool. What was its purpose?

  Scanning the dock, I searched for any other clues to Mochazon’s disappearance but found nothing, so I kept my focus on the whirlpool. I wasn’t very familiar with goblin enchantments. Could it have been a trap? Did someone summon the whirlpool to kill Mochazon? It didn’t seem likely. The goblins wanted the blossom, and killing Mochazon would have been counterintuitive. Then what else could it be?

  The waves calmed for a moment, making the water’s surface look mirror-like.

  A mirror.

  Could it be a portal?

  Water was a reflective surface, and all practitioners knew that any reflective surface could be used as a gateway. If it were a gateway, where did it lead?

  I knew of only one way to determine the truth. I would have to go through the portal to find out.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The blaring of a tugboat’s horn echoed through the harbor as I stood over the whirlpool. Going through the portal was extremely risky on all sorts of levels. I was glad Kull wasn’t here to chide me on what a rash decision I was making, but I had to find Mochazon. And all roads led to this point in time—to this exact spot. I couldn’t move forward until I found out what was on the other side of that portal.

  I knew Geth didn’t want Mochazon dead. Not yet, anyway. And he had no reason to imprison me. I was helping him find his flower—not by choice, of course. But it wouldn’t make sense for Geth to stop me. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean the portal was safe. Geth could try to manipulate or torture me. And what if Geth wasn’t on the other side? What if it was someone worse?

  There were too many unknowns, and standing here mulling it over would get me nowhere. I stood at the edge of the dock with the wind tousling my hair. Dark water churned beneath me, splashing occasional cold droplets on my skin. I didn’t want to, but I needed to get this over with. Crouching on the dock’s edge, I leaned forward, reached out, and touched the water’s surface with my palm facing down, fingers splayed.

  At first, I only felt the damp water chill my skin. I closed my eyes and called my Earth magic. It didn’t come as quickly as Faythander magic would have. I waited, my impatience getting the better of me as I regretted not having my fairy magic. Slowly, it came.

  I focused, and soon the dizziness started. I no longer stood on the dock. My body was suspended somewhere, while the sounds of lapping water died away. A cold embrace engulfed my body, chilling my skin and then reaching into my heart. I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight the chill. It held me in its grasp, as if I’d been wrapped in an icy cocoon.

  My head pounded as pulses of grayish light formed around me. I opened my eyes to get my bearings, only to find skeletal faces of specters blurring in and out of my vision. Their screams pierced my soul, though I didn’t hear them with my mortal ears. Despite the chill, a clammy sweat broke out across my body. My heart pounded. My breathing sounded ragged and too fast.

  Soon, the blurriness cleared, and I fell in a heap onto a cold floor.

  The dizziness and nausea made it difficult for me to sit up, but I managed to crawl to a wall and leverage into a sitting position. Breathing heavily, I sat with my back against the wall and tried to get my bearings.

  A single torch lit the dungeon-like room, revealing stone walls and a cobbled floor. The air smelled musty, and the drip, drip, drip of leaking water echoed far in the distance.

  A cloaked figure entered the room. I shuddered when I recognized the man as Geth. His eyes never failed to frighten me. They glittered in the torchlight, radiating a cold hate that chilled me worse than the gray mist. He held his goblin blade at his side.

  Except for Earth magic, which I wasn’t even sure I could access at the moment, I had no weapons.

  The sound of booted feet echoed through the chamber, and soon, two more people entered the room. I recognized them as the two men from Chester’s memories. They moved together to surround me.

  “We’ve been expecting you,” Geth said.

  I rubbed my forehead as the dizziness lingered. “Expecting me?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “You have been searching for the pixie man, have you not? You have been following my men. We knew that after we captured the pixie, you would soon follow. So yes, we have been expecting you.”

  The two men crouched beside me, grabbed my hands in front of me, and tightened a rope around my wrists. I winced as they pulled it tight.

  “You’re capturing me?” I asked.

  “For our own protection, of course.”

  His own protection? What did he think I could possibly do to him?

  “It has been quite some time since we last spoke,” Geth said. “Much has changed since then.”

  “Yes, it has. Our world will die soon, thanks to you.”

  “Die? I think not. The death of Faythander is not my intention.”

  “Then what is?”

  As he paced in front of me, his two men stood behind him, their shadowed eyes watching me. The firelight gave their eyes a milky white sheen, reminding me that these creatures, who appeared to be men, were truly goblins.

  “I seek equality,” Geth finally answered. “What do you know of my people’s history?”

  I swallowed. He’d hit on a touchy subject. Only recently, my father had revealed that goblins had not evolved with the rest of Faythander’s species. Eons ago, before recorded history, there were elves born with the ability to manipulate liquid elements. Elves without this ability had grown jealous and had begun torturing the potion makers, eventually warping their minds and bodies until they no longer resembled elves. But I’d sworn to never reveal what I knew.

  “Goblins,” I answered, “evolved with the rest of Faythander—”

  “No!” he yelled, cutting me off. “Do not feign ignorance. I know who your father is—a member of the Gravidorum, the secret society whose sole purpose is the subjugation of my people.”

  My heart raced. “You know?”

  “Yes.” He leered at me. “After the death of Mr. Green, I took over leadership of the goblin rebellion—the Caxon. It is my duty to know everything about the Gravidorum so that one day, I may destroy them.

  “I have learned much since taking the mantle of the Caxon’s leader. The Gravidorum’s secret enclave meets in the tunnels beneath the elven capitol. My men have infiltrated this gathering and have gained vital information. The Gravidorum are becoming alarmed. As the Caxon grow stronger, we spread the message of our true history, and many support us. The Gravidorum seek to hide this knowledge by whatever means necessary. Even now, the Gravidorum plots the ruin and extinction of my people. I cannot let this happen!


  “Goblins are not monsters. Although our bodies have been tortured and forced into hideous forms, my people are strong. For centuries, we have resisted the torture. It is time to prove our worth. This is the reason you are alive now. Although my people have discovered much about the Gravidorum, there is one thing the secret sect keeps carefully guarded—one piece of vital information that would spell their destruction forever. We must find out this information. We must know who their leader is!” He stopped his pacing to glare at me. “You, Olive, are the daughter of Magistrate Pozin—a person who is also a key member of the Gravidorum. Tell me, is he their leader?”

  “What makes you think I would know?”

  “Do not toy with me. Tell me!”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

  “Then you refuse to speak?”

  I’d dealt with Geth before and knew all too well what he was capable of. He’d almost killed Kull and me when he’d mistaken me for the Dreamthief. How could I make him understand that I knew nothing?

  “Geth, please believe me. I’ve never been close to my father. In truth, he was never a parent to me. I looked up to the sky king more than my own dad.”

  Geth grew still. “If you will not tell me the truth, then I have no other choice but to persuade you. I am glad you mentioned your dragon father, for your memories of him will make what I am about to do so much more rewarding.”

  He threw off his cloak, revealing his once-amputated arm. Now, his arm was covered in gray scales that stretched into a claw. A gray, inky mist swirled around Geth as he knelt at my side and gripped my neck with his scale-covered hand, his sharp nails digging into my skin.

  Icy daggers bit through my flesh. I tried to scream, but his iron grip crushed my windpipe. Stars danced in my vision as I gasped for air. The snaking mist gathered around me, casting its spell. I could do nothing as I felt my mind being transported to my stepfather’s chambers.

  The sky king lay on his dais. His scales were gray with no hint of gold remaining. His dry, leathery hide hung off his bones, and the rise and fall of his flanks were the only indication that he lived.

  Geth entered the room, carrying a goblin knife. Black, with a mirror-like blade.

  I’d seen that blade before. Heidel had carried it.

  In horror, I watched as he approached the sky king and struck at Fan’twar’s arm.

  Bile churned through my stomach as I watched him tear and gouge the flesh, pink under the gray. Dark blood seeped from the open wound as Geth moved from severing through the scales into the forearm’s muscle tissue and then through the bone.

  I was reminded of Kull severing Geth’s arm.

  Fan’twar’s eyes grew wide with pain, though he could do nothing to stop Geth. His breathing became more rapid, and a low moan rumbled deep in his chest. I fought the tears that threatened to break free.

  Geth left the room with my stepfather’s arm slung over his shoulder. Behind him, Fan’twar continued struggling on his dais. Bits of the crystal chandelier, now a dull orange, broke free and smashed to the ground.

  The scene faded, and once again I sat in the dungeon with Geth and his men. He stood back and flexed his scaled fist. My head pounded where the cold had been, a hammering that made lights dance in my vision, a pain so raw it consumed me. I clutched my head and screamed as tears leaked from my eyes. Finally, after what felt like ages, the pain dulled a tiny bit, allowing me to speak.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it is necessary for every race who has allied themselves with the elves to suffer. I have taken from the pixies their most precious possession—the Everblossom. I have desecrated the king of dragons. Next, I will take from the Wults what they hold most sacred, and last, I will have my revenge on the elves.”

  The pain receded a tiny bit, though I still clutched my head. “You’re… a monster,” I choked out.

  “Monster? No. I am a person—like you, and like the elves. We are no different, and soon, I will prove it. That is, whenever I recover the blossom and discover the true identity of the Gravidorum’s leader. Have you reconsidered the answer to my question? Is Magistrate Pozin the leader of the Gravidorum?

  “Geth,” I said between gasps, hearing the desperation in my own voice. “Believe me when I say that I do not know my father. He did not raise me. When he visited, it was only for a short while, and when he spoke to me, it was only to criticize me. I was never a daughter to him; I was his obligation. He has never shown love or kindness to me, and I grew to hate him.

  “I do not know why you believe he would have shared his deepest of secrets with me—his half-breed child from an inferior human woman—when he would not even bother to raise me. You are mistaken in thinking that he has ever cared for me. How could I know his most guarded secret? I barely know the man I called my father!”

  Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, making warm, salty trails that I tasted on my tongue. I’d let my emotions go, though I hadn’t meant to. Where had that come from?

  The psychologist in me said I was only letting out an emotion that I’d had trapped inside for a very long time.

  Geth’s face no longer held that hardened, hate-filled stare. Instead, his eyes were sad, pain-filled, as if I’d struck a chord with him.

  “I see,” he finally said. “Then it appears that you and I are not so different. My own father abandoned my mother and me when I was not old enough to protect her. He left us in the worst situation—with no food, minimal shelter, and no chance for survival. My mother’s sheer willpower was the only thing that kept us alive. On the infrequent occasions that he returned, he beat my mother. As a child, I lay on my cot during the cold night, hearing her pleas and unable to defend her. Although she has been dead for many years, I still wake to the sounds of her screams. It is a sound I could never forget.

  “Years later, when I had grown into a man, I killed my father. It was not a climactic event. By that time, my father had degenerated into a sickly, pitiful creature. He made no attempt to stop his own murder. In truth, I suspected he knew it was coming. He wasted his last breaths begging for my forgiveness, but I had sworn long ago that I would never exonerate him from his crimes. No matter what, I swore that I would never become the man he was.

  “My father could never truly experience the pain he had caused me and my mother. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I could never make him suffer the way he made us suffer. Killing him too quickly is a mistake I regret every day of my life.”

  The story of his childhood was heartbreaking, but he was deluding himself to think that the suffering of others would bring relief to his own pain. I’d seen enough damaged clients who could attribute their screwy lives to events that occurred in their childhood, but I knew very few people who had overcome their past. There was only one path they could take to truly be whole again—they had to forgive those who had hurt them.

  Geth had done the exact opposite. Instead of forgiveness, he had killed his father, causing his anger and resentment to deepen.

  “Killing your father didn’t put an end to your pain, I suspect. And now, you’re taking revenge on every race possible. But hatred will never allow you to heal. It will only consume you, until you become the thing you fear most.”

  I expected some sort of retaliation, screaming and yelling on how wrong I was, but instead, he simply nodded.

  “You are right,” he conceded softly. “My hatred has become a drug that consumes me—one that I do not know how to control.”

  “But it can be controlled. If you’ll just let go of your past, forgive your father—”

  “No!” The anger in his voice returned. “That is something I will never do.”

  “Then you are more like him than you think.”

  Without warning, he slapped me. Searing hot pain exploded through my skull. I felt the sting immediately, and already I could feel my face beginning to swell. My reflex was to hold my hands to my cheek, but that was impossible to do with my wrists bound together.


  Geth motioned to his two men, who walked forward and grabbed me roughly under my arms, then hauled me to my feet.

  “If you will not talk,” Geth said, “then perhaps you can persuade your pixie friend to do what you refuse.” He pulled out his knife. Its reflective surface mirrored the firelight as he waved it through the air. The knife was more than a weapon, I realized; it was also a magical talisman used in creating portals, much like my own mirror.

  The room vanished. Instead, we sat on an open moor. Ragged trees grew around us, so crooked and bent I wasn’t sure how they remained standing upright. The sky was tinted a deep purple, and the stars overhead seemed unnaturally bright. There was no sun, yet the twilight sky was bright enough to light the hilltop we stood on. I’d seen this place before.

  When I’d encountered the Regaymor in Mog’s Keep, the Dreamthief had used a mirror to send the dark creatures away. For a moment, I’d seen a strange world in the Dreamthief’s mirror—a world that looked eerily similar to where we’d come.

  Dark magic emanated from the trees, the ground. I felt its taint in the sky, in the very essence of this place. It tugged at my senses. I didn’t know of any other way to describe it, except that it felt like death—a void that tore away emotions and left me empty of feeling. It was a black, viscous, foggy magic that stank of decay. My stomach sickened.

  I closed my mind against the magic as it tried to intrude on my thoughts. I wasn’t familiar with it, which at any other time would have piqued my curiosity, but this was a magic that was more dangerous than anything I’d felt before. If I let it touch me, I wasn’t sure there would be anything left of me.

  Something moved beneath one of the trees. Focusing, I saw a man tied beneath the branches. It was Mochazon, although I almost didn’t recognize him. His face was swollen, one of his cheekbones sagged as if it had been broken out of place, and dried blood was caked to his cracked lips. Jagged cuts crisscrossed his bare chest and arms. His once-shimmering, dragonfly-like wings were broken and bent at awkward angles, and they gave an audible snap as he struggled against the chains that kept him bound to the tree. He looked up at me with desperation in his eyes.