Valkwitch (The Valkwitch Saga Book 1)

by Michael Watson

  “Down,” Settan bellowed out across the plateau, calling the duel over. Tyrissa sighed in relief and mild disappointment. A fair amount of air magick still clung to her skin, pleading to be used. She held on to them for the moment, examining the sensation. Even while lying on the ground she felt as if she were half her usual weight. She waved a hand in front of her face. Odd. Her own motions didn’t seem slowed at all.

  “Eidar! Stand down!”

  Tyrissa snapped her head up to see Eidar stalking toward her, his steps still moving at a slightly slowed tempo and his face fixed in a deadly scowl. Tyrissa sat up and released another wild blast of air that connected with the Shaper and sent him stumbling to one side. The loss of balance was only temporary. He caught himself with one hand and a narrow pillar of stone rose from his touch to set him back upright. Eidar tore away the top of the pillar, Shaped it into a short spear, and resumed his charge.

  All of this happened at a slowed pace. Tyrissa was able to get back on her feet and assume a sideways stance, ready for the attack. Her leashed air magicks were diminished, but she figured she had enough for one last gust. Settan began to sprint over towards them, yelling once more for Eidar to stop, but he would be too late to intervene. Bad memories of another charging opponent and another spear flickered in the back of her mind, nearly distracting her.

  Get it right this time.

  Just as Eidar came into striking distance with his spear Tyrissa unleashed the rest of the leashed air magick in a wide blast that unbalanced his attack. She dodged aside the spear’s jagged point and stepped in close. The faint sense of being one moment ahead faded right as she grabbed the spear and tried to wrench it away, but Eidar’s grip held. In an instant they each had both hands on the stone weapon, though Eidar’s face softened (such as it could) and the intensity waned from the fight. They exchanged a mutual glare over the clenched knuckles of their hands, neither wishing to be the first to let go.

  Eidar tilted his head to one side as if studying a new sight. Tyrissa felt another small surge of earth magicks transmuting into air as short spines sprouted along the spear and stabbed into her palms. Her grip became slick with blood, but she clenched her jaw and refused to yield.

  “What are you?” Eidar whispered, his voice tinged with fear.

  Tyrissa defiantly held his gaze and funneled the air magicks into the spear. First the spines disappeared, followed by the spear itself disintegrating under her grip. Eidar stepped away from her and let the spear’s three pieces fall to the ground. Tyrissa opened her hands and let two fistfuls of bloody dust drift away on the riftwinds.

  “I wish I knew,” she said, flexing her hands. The bleeding had stopped and an echo of the initial pain flashed up her arms as the wounds began to close.

  Settan now stood between them, though he said nothing, seeing that the situation had calmed down.

  Eidar kept his gaze on Tyrissa, watching for another surprise, and said, “Settan, the Circle must know of this… woman.”

  “If I agree to appear before the Circle, will you let me do the telling?” Settan offered with a grimace.

  That gave the younger man pause. “Y-Yes. Of course. But we need to talk again before you do. The situation is more complicated than a close election.”

  “Meet me at the Miner’s Pick in Under Forge tomorrow, noon. We’ll speak at length. I will explain. Now leave.”

  Eidar regarded her once more with eyes that smoldered like clouds of volcanic ash. He returned to the Rift wall and placed both hands upon the rock. Handholds emerged and began to ascend, carrying the younger Shaper with them.

  “Forgive Eidar,” Settan said as Eidar became a rapidly ascending blur above them. “He’s like all youth. Impulsive. Reactionary.”

  “I can relate.”

  “I think that is more than enough training for today.”

  “Definitely much more intense,” Tyrissa said. And many times more valuable, in its own way.

  “Take some time to recover. We’ll head back up. I’ll run slower through the tunnels this time. But only this time.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  The interior of Kexal and Garth’s ‘hide-out’ sounded empty but Tyrissa knocked anyway while burning away the small core of earthen magick built up from walking through the streets of Under Bridge. With her service to the Cadre ended she had too much time on her hands. She hungered for updates on the search for Vralin and any chance to further contribute.

  Wolef answered the door. Not what she expected, but a welcome opportunity.

  “Tyrissa. Good morning.”

  “Are they already out?” He stepped aside and let her into the completely dark house, the high windows letting in none of the weak light from the street. Wolef glided through the darkened room and sparked alight one of the elchemical lanterns atop the table.

  “Apologies for the darkness in here,” he said, though he narrowed the slots on the lantern to only let out a very dim level of light. Tyrissa took a seat at the table, now that she could see. “Kexal and Garth got an early start today. They’re following up on leads on who’s supplying Vralin with elchemical materials. I believe Kexal called it ‘bonus work’, since it has only tangential value to our goal.”

  “How goes your search in the depths?”

  “It is still a challenge. Vralin has experience with Shades and knows how to make my life difficult. The actual exchange of materials for product is well-lit and well-guarded. I can’t slip past them before the exchange is over and Vralin has disappeared into the tunnels. While I’m not blind in the darkness, the numerous forking tunnels are very similar and make it hard to explore. All the same, I’ve narrowed down the area where he might be and his little Fireweaver pet has moved on. I assume I have you to thank for that?”

  “Yeah,” she answered quietly.

  “Excellent. What did you do?”

  “I… She’ll no longer be a problem,” Tyrissa said. She was no closer to understanding what she did to save Ash, and thinking about it only led in circles.

  “Since I have you here… are you willing to help me with an experiment?” Tyrissa asked, wanted to change the subject.

  “Of what sort?”

  “I’m trying to expand my experience with different elements.” Her sessions with Settan were going well, the usage of earth magick becoming easier every day, and any interaction with elemental magick was a useful learning experience. The fight with Eidar had been most enlightening.

  “Prudent,” Wolef said.

  “Can you, say, project shadows? Like an attack or some other external influence?” Throughout the entire night they watched and tailed those Thieves, Tyrissa felt no absorption of Wolef’s shadow magicks, only the alluring sensation of their presence.

  “No, unfortunately. That is a skill for the Nightstitchers, a different sort of the Shadefather’s blessed soldiers.” That was the first time she heard Wolef refer to the ‘Shadefather’, but she assumed it was a personification of Elemental Shadow, the equivalent of that vast, burning presence behind Ash’s Pact.

  “Have any ideas on what you might be able to do with me?”

  Wolef thought on this, quiet as he lifted an arm and pushed out and checked one of his filtering rods. It was white and faintly luminous. He nodded in approval before sliding it back in. Tyrissa felt her skin crawl, though she’d seen it done a few times now. Every Pactbound she’d seen so far had some kind of physical change, or integration of a filter against the magick that flowed through them. She still felt no adverse effects of her Pact and no dependency. If anything, she’d never felt healthier. She was different, and doubly so.

  “I think I know of a way. It is possible to shadow Slide with a passenger, though it is taxing on the Shade. We can try that.”

  “Let’s do it,” Tyrissa said, standing. Perhaps physical contact was required for absorbing shadow magick. Or maybe it was a result of Wolef’s sort of magick being wholly internal.

  “All right. What do you expect will happen?” Wolef
reduced the lantern’s openings to an even smaller sliver of light.

  “Shadow into Light,” Tyrissa said. “You should only do a flicker, keep it weak. You won’t have any problems, right?” The elemental wheel came to mind, Light and Shadow at the zenith and nadir in opposition. She kept the secondary goal and its resultant visions unsaid.

  “No. I should be fine. Only a flicker.” The Shade moved close to her. “Hold out your forearms, like this,” Wolef said, turning his palms upward, elbows pressed to his sides. Tyrissa did so, and he stepped in close, placing his arms atop hers, grasping tight below the elbow. Tyrissa did the same, feeling the corded muscle under his smooth skin, the heat of his body. Her heartbeat quickened. Out of anticipation, of course.

  “I can already sense an oddness in the shadows around you,” Wolef said, “An unfamiliarity, as if I were still in training. A few warnings. If we manage to Slide it will only be a short distance. It will be… disorienting, like you’re made of nothing but smoke and thought. Try not to panic.”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, and your clothes won’t come with you, being of normal fabrics.”

  “I can think of worse things,” she said quietly while thanking the Ten that the room was dark enough to hide the fierce blush crossing her face.

  Wolef cleared his throat.

  “Indeed. Let’s try it. The Sliding, that is.”

  Wolef’s form blurred and became a tenuous outline, a living shadow. She could feel his grip on her arms, the one part of him that was still solid. Wisps of shadow began to crawl along her skin, coils that tried to pull her towards him, a creeping growth of weightlessness beneath a film of darkness. The sensation inched up to her shoulders but then suddenly stopped as her skin flushed with pinpricks of heat. It was draining into her now, worming down into her core and changing into a feeling of purity.

  Now her heart raced for another reason. It was incredible, a powerful, pleasurable warmth, a pure white glow from within. Tyrissa knew it was unadulterated elemental Light, as if the sun itself shone from her heart. She closed her eyes and savored it, entirely willing to drift away on its currents forever.

  “Ty,” Wolef said, “Release me.”

  The pain in his voice brought her back and she realized that she held Wolef in a vice grip. She opened her eyes and saw that he was solid again, face illuminated by a brilliant white glow. Her glow. He was terrified, and turned away from her gaze. Tyrissa let him go and he stumbled back, retreating from her as far as possible. She looked down at her hands. The light seeped from her skin, and dripped from her fingertips like viscous, luminous sweat to pool at her feet. No, not like sweat. Blood.

  Tyrissa bled light and it was ecstasy.

  She recognized this fullness of power now and she was unafraid. She felt the same after the firekin attacked the caravan, and again after chasing Vralin to the mills. A vast supply of magick, of untapped potential. Trigged by… what? This wasn’t simple exposure and proportional response to whatever amount of magick Wolef had used. This was like a dam breaking, a flood from the first significant experience with an elemental pair.

  Wolef was whispering in his native tongue. It sounded like either a prayer or a curse. Perhaps both. She looked over at him. His eyes were shut tight and he had one arm raised to block the overpowering light, the shadow across his face feeble and useless.

  Tyrissa went to her knees, mentally and physically numb from the unreal pleasure of the magick within her. Concentrating, she willed the Light to obey her. It was utterly dissimilar from Earth and all of her practice with Settan was useless here. She tried to stop it bleeding out, to shape it into something, anything. It didn’t obey, continuing to drain out of her and turn the floor into an expanding pane of white brilliance that somehow wasn’t blinding. All this light and yet she fumbled in the darkness, ignorant.

  Am I hurting him? Why can’t I control it?

  She had to stop. Reaching down deep within to the center of the light, the center of her being, Tyrissa seized the core of the light, that burning white star. She rejected it, pushed it out. A single, all-consuming flash of radiance erupted around her, a momentary nova of life.

  Tyrissa collapsed as that crushing fatigue returned for a third time. She felt her cheek hit the wooden floorboards and a blissful, welcomed darkness washed over her.

  She ran on invisible legs and a forest blurred around her. Tyrissa thought it a normal dream at first, just another dream of the Morgwood, of memories, of home. Soon the clarity of it all confirmed her success of blending one experiment directly into another. Any sense of familiarity vanished as she saw that the trees were too broad and too gnarled, their branches hung with strands of coiled moss that reached to the lush forest floor. Dense mists obscured distant trees and a sheen of moisture clung to every surface.

  Tyrissa followed alongside a tall woman clad all in black save for the bright silver emblems pinned to her shoulders. She needed only a glance to see the winged shield proclaiming this woman as her third counterpart. The symbol was expected and quite familiar to Tyrissa by now, no longer a mysterious comfort but not yet a piece of her identity. Not quite yet. The woman’s face was resolute but unhurried as she weaved through the forest, an ornately shaped bow held in one hand.

  She followed a trivial trail of withered foliage, a line through the forest that looked long-dead. Her every footfall caused dying plants to spring back to life and her free hand placed a curative touch upon any passing scarred tree. Color blossomed in her wake as she spun death into life with an effortless mastery. Her quarry ran not far ahead, visible in fleeting glimpses through the dense terrain and leaving a trail of death. At times her free hand would snap up to the quiver across her back and caress an arrow, but patience won out.

  Her opportunity arrived soon enough as the forest thinned into a low-lying meadow crisscrossed by fallen, blackened tree trunks. Her hand whipped back and drew out an arrow. A pulse of silver light burst from her fingertips and ran up the shaft, focusing at the tip into a beacon of purity. She drew and held the shot, shouting at her quarry in a language that Tyrissa could almost understand, a dialect just beyond her grasp.

  The prey was a pale man in ragged clothes. He stopped, seeing that he had nowhere to run, the meadow too clear of cover. A growing skirt of dying grasses spread from his feet as he turned to face his killer. He was as frayed as his clothing, skeletal in figure with countless bone charms pierced through his arms and face. Any sinister appearance was held well in check by the fear in his eyes. A Death Pactbound that feared his own death, but embraced it all the same.

  The Huntress said another string of barely foreign words, a question or demand judging from the cadence. He shook head in response. A feral grin appeared on the Huntress’s face as she loosed her shot. The arrow flew true, piercing his heart with a flash of silver light and a spray of crimson blood.

  Tyrissa awoke, once again staring up at the bare ceiling beams of Kexal and Garth’s house. The image of her counterpart’s face relishing the joy of a kill was stuck in her mind. She shuddered, knowing that she had avoided thinking about that aspect of her Pact. So much power focused on inverting and countering elemental energies would have to have a grim side. Not every instance would be resolved peacefully like Ash. She would have to kill, perhaps more often than not. And yet in the dream, she had felt the heady thrill of the hunt and the Huntress’s exultation in the kill.

  If it were me killing Vralin, would I smile?

  She sat up, trying to shake the thought away and realized she wasn’t alone.

  “Tyrissa, we were in this exact position not long ago,” Hali said, “Is this a common occurrence?”

  Tyrissa looked over to see the Hithan woman watching her with passive, intellectual interest. She hadn’t seen much of her for weeks, but to Hali a few weeks would be an inconsequential blink.

  “This should be the last time. How long have I been asleep?” Giroon had theorized that there would be four of them, and that was the fourth.
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br />   “It’s midafternoon,” Hali said. Only a matter of many hours then. Tyrissa felt less ragged or groggy than the last two times this happened, a sign of progress and familiarity with pact magick energy. “Wolef left as soon as I got here, saying he was going back into the depths to continue the search. And to find a ‘suitably dark place’. What did you two do?”

  Tyrissa looked over to the spot where they did their experiment. The shadows cast by the lanterns were paler than normal and the room looked as if there was a skylight above.

  “We toyed with Shadow and Light,” Tyrissa answered. “And I may have burned him.” She saw a primal fear in his eyes, the same that she saw in Ash and Eidar.

  “Well that explains the lighting in here. Are you well enough to do something useful with the rest of the day?”

  Tyrissa answered by swinging her legs out of the narrow bed. It was then that she noticed something different about Hali.

  “Why are you dressed like that?” The Hithian wore a flowing, layered dress built of sky blue sashes that wrapped around her in such a way as to defy questions of how it stayed together. The bright cloth and exotic cut made it a far sight from the simple brown robes she usually wore.

  Hali rose from her chair and did a pair of half-spins on her heels, her feet still booted in poorly matching black leather. The sashes billowed out, dancing quickly in the air like interwoven pennants and bestowing glimpses of flesh underneath that may only be illusions.

  “This is an old Hithian court style that’s taken on a certain reverence among the remnants. Like many leftovers from the old country. Utterly impractical unless you want to make a favorable impression. Given where we’re going, I doubt I need it. It’s more of a favor to an old friend. A reminder of long lost grace.”

  “Where are we going?” They would make a clashing pair, through Tyrissa doubted anyone would even see her next to Hali.