Another group of Genna’s friends approaches, and she immediately falls in with them, making her own way to the Command Tent.
I blink after them, Vale still visible far down the path, like a dark specter moving alone through the night.
“Mage Tessla Harrow.”
I flinch in surprise at the low, mocking voice emanating from the shadows to my right. I turn and see his eyes before I make out the rest of him. It’s dark here, between such a long line of tent walls, away from the main routes. No torches.
His eyes are large and frigid green, every color of green in pale alternating lines, like ice picks. The savagely cold lines of his affinity crawl over me like a creeping frost.
Mage Malkyn Bane.
The Level Five Mage who killed Daisie that horrible night as she huddled in the shadows of the livestock pen. He killed her without a moment of hesitation.
And he enjoyed it.
I’m suddenly aware of how isolated we are here, all alone, the closest people still quite a distance away.
His icy eyes flick over me, making my skin crawl, his chill seeping further into me. “So this is what was hidden under all the filth.”
My heart picks up speed. I’m frightened of him, and he knows it.
He unhitches himself from the tent pole he’s leaning on and moves toward me, his hands hidden casually in his tunic’s pockets.
“Did you whore yourself out to that Kelt?” He asks the question so lightly that at first, I’m sure I must have misheard him.
But his smile grows lascivious, and I realize I did not mishear. My shoulders go tense with offense. “Excuse me?” I sputter, taking a step back.
He laughs and moves closer. “The Kelt,” he clarifies. “Were you his little whore? I think you were.”
A flicker of terror flashes up my spine, and I open my mouth to protest. But before I can respond, his hand flashes out and grabs my arm. Ice sears through me, knifing, twisting, a sly affinity wind coming in close on its heels—invading, probing, hurting.
“Leave me alone!” I cry out, wrenching away from him, the harsh sting of his ice still painfully encircling my arm. I turn and run for the crowds, for the warm torchlight.
For safety.
His cruel laugh sounds out behind me. “We’ll find out,” he calls after me. “We’ll find out soon enough, Tessla Harrow.”
* * *
Heart thudding, I finally reach the Command Tent. I spot my grandfather up ahead, tottering on his knobby cane, just one more Mage in a sea of refugees.
“What’s the matter, child?” he asks as I hastily approach. “You look as if you’ve seen an Icaral demon.” He eyes me with paternal concern.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, my voice hoarse. I glance over my shoulder worriedly, terrified Malkyn Bane might be trailing after me. “It’s nothing. I just...it’s just that...” I’m unable to speak for a long moment as I look into my grandfather’s kind, watery eyes, deeply spooked by Malkyn’s icy grip, his open leer. “Things have been hard, that’s all.”
I can’t share this with Grandfather. He’d assure me I misheard Malkyn, never able to believe anything ill of one of our blessed Mages—believing that all of us First Children are pure and blameless in a sea of Evil Ones.
I look around nervously once more, scanning the vast crowd for Malkyn Bane.
Is he fasting tonight?
I pity the poor young woman chosen for such a cruel monster.
Grandfather reaches out and places a quivering hand on my shoulder. “You’ve nothing to fear, my dear. We’re among our own people now.” He glances toward the sky and smiles at me benevolently. “The Ancient One will protect us and provide for us.” He looks at my tunic and skirt, as if noticing them for the first time. “And don’t you look lovely!” He beams at me, tears coming to his eyes. “See how well they provide for us here? Simple Lower River Folk, and they dress you in rubies!”
No, Grandfather, I want to tell him, wanting to shake his delusions clear away. They despise me and call me names. This dress is Fain’s doing. And you’d despise and shun him if you knew half the truth of his life.
Grandfather pulls me into a bony hug that’s full of genuine warmth, and I lean into him, letting him offer what comfort he can. It’s parchment-thin, this sense of protection, the momentary feeling of being taken care of, but I cling to it, fighting the urge to burst into tears. And I suddenly wish I could confide in my grandfather—talk honestly with him for once and have him truly hear.
I’m tired, Grandfather, I yearn to tell him. Tired of struggling. Tired of never knowing where our next meal will come from. Of fighting and never having enough of anything. I wish someone else would take the reins for a while and let me rest. Just for a little while. Why does it always have to be so hard?
I’ll talk to Fain, I reassure myself. He’ll understand. He knows what it’s like to struggle and not fit in. To be attacked and misunderstood and thought to be morally unclean.
He knows what it’s like to feel completely alone.
He said he’d look for me after the fasting, I remember. Comfort washes over me at the thought of at least one true friend. And he’ll believe me when I tell him about Malkyn Bane.
“Tessie!”
Rosebeth’s high-pitched, little-girl voice sounds over the jovial murmur of the crowd. She rushes toward us, her pretty skirts swishing, and my grandfather beams at her.
“She’s coming!” Rosebeth squeals, full of bouncing energy.
A long line of military men with grim expressions march in, parting the crowd. Some stream into the Command Tent, while others position themselves along the length of the path.
“Who’s coming, dear?” my grandfather gently asks her, his hand resting on her agitated shoulder.
“She’s come back from the front!” Rosebeth says breathlessly. “And she’s going to meet with us! Can you believe it?”
“Who is?” I ask her, realization starting to dawn, but I can’t quite bring myself to believe it.
“Mage Carnissa Gardner!” she cries, overjoyed, tears brimming in her eyes. “Mage Vale Gardner’s mother! Oh, Tessie, can you believe it? We’re going to be fasted by the Black Witch herself!”
Chapter 20: Mages
There are flags everywhere. Hanging from the tent’s colossal support beams, streaming from the rafters. I take in the sight of the black fabric marked with silver Erthia spheres. I’m used to the red Keltic flag with its iron-black X. It was a crime to hoist our flag on Keltic territory, punishable by death. And now, here they are, everywhere.
Our flag. The flag of Gardneria.
Grandfather and I follow the flow of the crowd. We’re ushered onto a long bench by a gray-haired woman wearing a white armband, who throws me a look rife with suspicion. Have Genna’s rumors about Jules and me reached everyone here?
The tent is being filled from front to back with orderly rows of refugees, a broad aisle cutting through its center. Young soldiers line the tent’s edges, some holding torches. Our uniformly dark garb and the wavering torchlight lend a sobering air to the growing gathering, but there’s a heady excitement in the air. Murmurs of anticipation ripple through the crowd, and heads repeatedly turn back to search past the open entrance flaps.
We’re all on the edge of our seats, waiting to meet her.
The Black Witch.
All twelve of the base’s Level Five Mages stand in an arc around the back of the dais. My eyes immediately light on Vale. He’s standing next to Fain, the two of them speaking to each other, their faces grim. I recoil as I spot Malkyn Bane there, too, off to the right, near a knot of priests. I shrink down at the sight of him, heart hammering, hoping to hide from his icy gaze.
I peek through the crowd and spot Vale’s sister, Vyvian Gardner, and his bespectacled brother, Edwin Gard
ner, standing near Vale and Fain. Vyvian’s clothing is appropriately somber, but still devastatingly elegant. Her tunic rises high at the neck, and gleaming gems are loosely scattered all over the dark silk.
Rosebeth is seated across the aisle from me, overflowing with joy, color high on her dimpled cheeks. She’s seated by Myles and is surrounded by her brothers, her parents and Myles’s entire family. Elated by the sudden turn of their fortunes, they’re all smiling, an ecstatic mood in the air.
A parcel of farmland has been offered to every newly fasted Gardnerian couple, portioned out from the recently annexed Keltic territory. There’s also the possibility of more land and money for every Gardnerian child born.
All the couples who are about to be fasted have bright futures ahead of them.
But not me, I dispassionately observe. No one here would fast to me.
Genna and her friends sweep in and settle near Rosebeth. After Vyvian, Genna’s easily the most beautiful woman here. The dark silk she wears shimmers silver along the folds, and pearls edge her sleeves and collar.
Genna spots me and looks me over from head to toe, obviously surprised to see me clean and dressed in such elegant clothing. She shoots me a malicious look, then leans over to whisper to the young woman standing next to her. They both narrow their eyes at me, and there’s a knowing smirk on Genna’s face. As if she’s certain my pariah status is cemented in stone.
I remember Vale’s surprising rejection of beautiful Genna and look toward him. I feel a jolt when his eyes lock on to mine at the exact same moment. I can feel the sting of his fiery surprise from clear across the room, and he looks sharply away.
I turn to Fain, and his head jerks up slightly as he catches my eye, warm recognition lighting his expression. Fain’s mouth turns up into his usual impish smile, and he throws a line of cool water out to me from across the room. The affinity water flows in to meet my unsettled fire, momentarily tamping it down and soothing me.
He knows, I realize. Fain knows I can read affinity lines. It’s a rare skill, and usually held only by Level Five Mages.
Breathing in deep and feeling bolstered by his show of support, I smile back at Fain gratefully.
Vale’s attention is still on me, even though he’s keeping his eyes averted from mine. Lines of his fire occasionally whip out to meet with my own affinity lines.
Then a sharp, painful prod of ice cuts through Vale’s fire and Fain’s water. It tears at my fire like a cruel taunt.
Startled, I look to the right to find Malkyn Bane staring at me, a disturbingly
malicious grin on his face.
I glance away and slump down further. Ice jabs at me again, and again. Angered, I send up an internal wall of fire against it, pushing my lines out with as much force as I can summon. Laughing, Malkyn turns away, his ice retreating.
He knows, too, I realize. He knows I can sense affinities. Or at least, he knows now.
I turn and see Fain eyeing me quizzically, his head tilted with concern.
Small dots of ice probe at my fire, featherlight. Horrified, I realize Malkyn’s testing my wall. Testing for a weak spot.
I’m not only a pariah, I realize with icy clarity. I’ve become prey for both Genna and Malkyn Bane.
I grit my teeth, link air to my fire lines and send up a stronger wall of fire that shatters Malkyn’s icy probe, driving it back with gale force. His eyes light with surprise.
Deeply rattled, I wind more wind around my fire lines, securing my wall. Bolstering it with a long line of wood.
Just try it, I seethe at Malkyn Bane. Try to torment me now.
Suddenly, everyone around me rises. A murmur of anticipation ripples through the massive crowd as every head in the room turns toward the entrance of the tent.
I rise along with the crowd as a new contingent of soldiers march in. Voices swell with excitement all around me, and I’m instantly swept up in it.
She’s coming. The Black Witch is coming.
My memory of her is crystal clear. Our valiant destroyer, riding in on a dragon that fearsome night, raining fire down on our enemies.
Saving us all.
Soldiers fan out as they enter, everyone’s fists going hard over their hearts with a communal thump, and I join them. Grandfather is weeping beside me.
I can feel the Black Witch’s rush of fire power before I see her.
The soldiers part, and she enters, her forest-green eyes dazzling with ferocity.
The crowd whips into a frenzy at the sight of her, roaring their support. People burst into tears and thrust their hands out toward her as she passes, her stride powerful and controlled, like a wildcat’s.
Her black hair is long and streaming over her shoulders, the lines of her face severe and beautiful. Carnissa Gardner’s affinity lines are so strong, her power so immense, that magic courses off her body in visible waves. Tendrils of black mist flow from her like a terrible mane.
A rush of her affinity fire slams into me and nearly drives all the breath from my lungs. My throat goes scorching hot, so intense is the power of her fire as it whips out in a turbulent frenzy.
I feel almost Magedrunk again from the effects of Carnissa Gardner’s power, her fire flowing into me, coursing around the wall I’ve sent up. Her affinity dwarfs every other affinity in the room, and I’m momentarily unable to sense a single other line of magic.
As she ascends the dais, the roaring outpour of support takes some time to settle down. She holds up her hands, awe-inducing lines of power streaming off them. The room silences, save for the occasional quiet sob of joy.
“Mages.”
It’s just one, simple word, but the crowd catches fire. Cheers erupt, near deafening, my own heart swept up along with it.
Tears sting at my own eyes as my grandfather continues to weep.
Mage.
It used to be a slur. But on her lips, it’s become a mighty word of power.
This is a new world for us. A Gardnerian world.
She waits, and slowly the crowd quiets.
“For too long,” she booms out, “we Mages have been crushed down. Enslaved. Abused. Mocked. They thought they could push back our borders until we were left with no ground to stand on. They thought they could steal our homes and every meager possession we owned.” Her tone grows fierce. “They thought they could wipe us off the face of Erthia.”
The crowd briefly erupts, yelling out their protest. A maternal smile comes to Carnissa Gardner’s lips, and she raises her arms, as if she’s embracing all of us. “My beloved First Children, you have waited so long. Waited for the age of the Evil Ones to draw to a close. I tell you this, Mages.” She pauses, and her eyes seem to catch fire. “The Ancient One has a mighty fist, and the Reaping Times have come.”
The crowd goes wild—Mages shouting with defiant joy, slamming their fists to their chests. People are calling her May’im—revered mother in the Ancient Tongue.
When the Mages finally quiet again, Carnissa Gardner looks toward a knot of priests. “Bring the children forward.”
The priests and a group of elderly women usher a group of about twenty young children forward onto the dais, white bands around the women’s arms. Volunteers from inland, here to help all of us refugees.
There’s a boy of about two with pudgy cheeks, his wide eyes looking out over the crowd in terror, his mouth set in a wide, trembling grimace. A little girl of about four years old whimpers as she grasps at a worn blanket, her eyes tightly shut. There are two babies being gently rocked by volunteers.
So many children. Looking so lost.
Orphans, I realize with a sharp pang of grief.
“Mages,” the Black Witch calls out, looking over the crowd. “The Evil Ones think they can make orphans of our children. They want to see Mage children begging in the streets and coweri
ng in the shadows.” Her eyes burn with outrage. “But they do not know who we are. They do not know that every Mage child is the Ancient One’s beloved.” A righteous challenge lights her eyes, tendrils of power circling around her. “Who will take in our blessed children? To raise as your own, giving them the protection of your name?”
Hands shoot up, Mages calling out, “We will!” and “We’ll take a child!” A husband and wife seated near me give each other quick glances and volunteer as well.
Couples and their relatives go to the dais. The children are given out to their new families. The terror-stricken little boy is lifted into the arms of a young couple, his terror dampening to confusion as he’s surrounded by encouraging smiles. The little girl with the blanket is the last to leave the dais, surrounded by adults kneeling down to her level, her new father talking to her in hushed tones. Eventually she stops crying and lets herself be led away by her new family.
Practically everyone in the room is blinking back tears. I look to the Black Witch, my own eyes burning with emotion. A great love for her washes over me. She’s created a new world for us, made sure our most vulnerable are now cherished and cared for.
The Black Witch bows her head and draws her fist over her heart as the crowd stills. “Pray with me, blessed Mages.”
A tall, bald priest raises his hands above the crowd, and the entire room places fists over hearts once again, bowing their heads.
Everyone except for Vale.
I’m shocked to find him standing straight and stiff, his eyes burning with defiance as his siblings take on the posture of prayer beside him.
How can he refuse to pray with all of us at this moment? How can he fail to be moved? A hot flame of censure flares inside me, and I press my fist to my chest, bowing my head in defiance.
“Oh, most holy Ancient One,” I intone with the others. “Purify our minds, purify our hearts, purify Erthia. Protect us from the stain of the Evil Ones.”
Our prayer ends, but this time there are no cheers. Most of the room is crying. And now I’m crying, too, along with Grandfather.
Wandfasted Page 12
