The Brothers Three: Book One of The Blackwood Saga

by Layton Green

  “For the most part. If a small regiment rushed the wards, some might make it through.”

  She nodded, then insisted on a light training session with Will as the others set camp behind a dune. He went through the motions, as exhausted as he had ever been in his life, then collapsed onto the beach after Mala returned to camp. He stripped to his underwear and lay in the shallows as the waves washed over him.

  He lay there for a long time, watching the tangerine sun sink into the gulf with the languor of sand through an hourglass. Will enjoyed the dreamy blurring of the horizon, the dragonflies spinning in the soft dusk air.

  Lance brought him rations and a flask of whiskey from a bottle Alexander had been saving. Val and Caleb stopped by as well, but eventually they all wandered back to camp. At one point he heard singing, and turned to find Mala performing a dance that looked similar to flamenco. Alexander led the others as they clapped and stomped in a circle around her. Only Allira stood apart.

  Mala’s hair was down for the first time on the journey, more lustrous than Will had imagined, and as she shimmied and swayed inside the circle, taking long pulls from a flask as she danced, Will realized he had been wrong about her. She was flat out beautiful, even with the scar.

  A dome of darkness settled, the widest and deepest night sky Will had ever seen, swarming with silver specks of light that were as unattainable as the gypsy woman dancing behind him.

  To what worlds did those constellations belong, he wondered? Was the multiverse one unfathomably large entity, the stars and planets its cells, the galaxies its limbs, the different dimensions and universes its organs? Was it God incarnate?

  He felt overwhelmed by it all, yet at peace in his nest of sand beside the sea.

  He lay on his back for so long the noises from camp faded and then died. A few minutes later, someone approached and stood beside him, someone he recognized by the flash of sapphire at her side, the tinkle of her jewelry, the heady rush he got from her scent.

  Mala sat down unsteadily, clutching a flask. Will’s own flask was almost empty, and he realized he was a little tipsy himself.

  Or maybe a lot tipsy.

  “Can’t sleep?” Will said.

  “I’m not quite ready for the festivities to end. That particular cliché about gypsies is true.”

  Will thought he detected a hint of flirtation, but he must have imagined it. He craned his neck towards camp. “Who’s on guard?”

  “Hashi.” She lay down next to him, her arm brushing his.

  Or had it? He always had trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality when it came to beautiful women.

  Welcome to the male gender minus Caleb, he thought.

  “So, Will Blackwood,” she said, “why don’t you tell me where home truly is?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?” Both her proximity and the question caught him off-guard. How had she learned his last name?

  Her arm brushed his again, and this time he didn’t imagine it. Needles of electricity arced up his arm. She lay on her back beside him, staring at the stars. “What I meant was what I said. I overheard Lance using this name.”

  Will was tired of avoiding the issue, tired of playing mental games. What did it matter, anyway? “We’re from another world,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You’ve probably never heard of it.”

  He looked at her to gauge her response, but she didn’t seem surprised. “I gathered as much.”

  He tried to judge whether she was joking. Mala didn’t joke very much.

  Actually, she didn’t joke at all.

  “It’s not possible to live in this world and be as ignorant as you,” she said. “Especially someone traveling with an azantite staff.”

  “Thanks,” he said drily.

  “How did you arrive here?” she asked. “A wizard spell?”

  She actually believed him. Funny, he thought, that someone from a world without electricity doesn’t have a problem conceiving of travel between the stars.

  “The part about Zedock is true. We’ve no idea why,” he said, still not ready to tell her about the sword, “but he came to our world and threatened us.”

  Mala turned towards him, lips curling. She knew he was holding something back. “And Zedock sent you here?”

  “Someone named Salomon did. I think he’s a powerful wizard. To be honest, I have no idea why he’s involved.”

  She laughed in his face. “Salomon the Lost, I presume? You need a better story.”

  Will decided not to press that particular issue.

  She returned to gazing at the stars. “Alexander told me about his conversation with your brother. You need to return home, but you also need a way to deal with Zedock. Though I’ve no idea why he traveled to your world. Perhaps the staff?”

  She moved to her elbows and picked up her flask. Will joined her in a pull. “When I first asked if you were a gypsy,” Will said, “you looked at Caleb.”

  “He has gypsy features,” she said. “You do know that Blackwood is a common gypsy name, derived from the Blackwood Forest?”

  Will took another drink. A longer one.

  She studied his face, then tipped her head back and laughed. “You didn’t even know, did you? Your father—or was it your mother?—told you nothing.”

  “Our father,” Will mumbled, “and no.”

  “What was your father’s name?”

  “Dane Blackwood.”

  “Intriguing,” she said, her violet eyes expanding, “If he is indeed your father. It would explain the staff,” she mused, “and the travel between worlds.”

  “What happened to him?” Will said quietly.

  “He disappeared over a hundred years ago. He was one of the greatest wizards of his generation, a spirit mage no less.”

  “A gypsy wizard?” Will asked, aching to know more about his father. “Was he part of the rebellion?”

  “He was part of the Congregation,” she said softly.

  “Oh.”

  “It wasn’t that simple. His mother was a gadje—a non-gypsy—who came from an aristocratic Londyn family. She joined an expedition to the Barrier Coast, fell in love with a gypsy wizard, and bore a son. Because of his power and his mother’s pedigree, Dane was well-received by the Congregation, but he also identified with the plight of our people, and worked to combat prejudice.”

  Will hated to admit his ignorance of his own father, but he wanted to know so much about his life here, his true origins. Why hadn’t his father returned? Had he not been able to? If he had, would he have left his wife and sons to their fate? Had he ever truly loved them?

  Will shifted sand between his toes. “What happened to him?”

  “The disappearance of Dane Blackwood is legendary among our people. Some say he was murdered by the Congregation because he had joined the first Revolution in secret, some say he went on a journey to the stars and never returned, as spirit mages sometimes do.”

  “I assume that revolt didn’t fare too well?”

  “It was crushed without mercy, an entire generation of gypsy mages destroyed. The Congregation has never forgotten their betrayal, and my people have never recovered. My people,” her voice turned bitter, “are quite superstitious, and refuse to give up their traditions. They also believe in some inane prophecy that their faith will one day be rewarded.”

  “You don’t share the same beliefs?”

  “I do not.”

  “Then why not take the Oaths and join the Congregation?” Will asked.

  “Because I don’t share their beliefs, either.”

  Will put a hand to his temple. He needed time to absorb all of this. “You don’t think Val can do it, do you? Become a wizard.”

  “If they have the talent, wizards usually start at a much younger age, when the opening of one’s mind comes more naturally.”

  “You don’t understand my brother. I remember watching Val in a . . . footrace . . . when I was ten. After the race was over, I asked our father why Val was the only one vomiting. Dad said it wa
s because Val wasn’t the fastest runner, but he hated losing the most.”

  “You’re loyal,” Mala said. She ran a fingernail down his arm. “A good quality in a man.”

  Will watched her finger trace a pattern across the muscles on his forearm. Mala drained the last of her flask and tossed it aside. “You have lots of good qualities,” she purred, then moved a thigh across his body and straddled him.

  Will’s chest began to pound, his palms dampening with sweat. Mala lowered her face towards his, long waves of hair brushing against his face and chest. Her lips were coiled in a mischievous grin, and her tongue flicked across the top of her teeth.

  He thought he must be dreaming. He tried to croak out something clever, but his mouth was too dry. Just before their lips touched, she put a finger between them. He stopped moving. She traced her finger along his lips, enough for him to taste her, then pulled away. He let out a soft groan and reached for her.

  This time she held him off by putting that same finger against his neck, as if taking his pulse, and then sat upright. Her grin lessened but didn’t entirely fade. “Just as I suspected,” she said.

  He picked her up as if she were weightless, setting her down beside him. She didn’t resist. “What?” he said dully.

  “Your condition has nothing to do with battle.”

  He stared at her, not even bothering to contest her statement. “You did that just to see how I’d respond? So what, you could potentially save my life one day?”

  He stood and pointed a finger at her. “You want to know what’s really wrong with me, Mala? It’s a condition called Severe Panic Disorder. It’s triggered by emotional stress and it causes the hypothalamus to go haywire, resulting in an over-secretion of cortisol and epinephrine that sends the body into shock. It becomes even more debilitating and self-fulfilling when the victim’s fear about the panic attack itself starts to multiply. The effects can be managed over time, but let’s just say I’m having a few new experiences right now. So save your pop psychology and thanks for embarrassing me.”

  Her grin finally disappeared, replaced by a sober expression he couldn’t quite judge. “Your brother was right,” she said. “You are a rare person.”

  “Rare as in handicapped.”

  “Believe in yourself, Will Blackwood. Keep working. You might get killed in the process, but if you want something badly enough,” she cocked her head, and he could have sworn she batted her eyes instead of blinked them, “you’ll get it or die trying.”

  “Whatever,” he muttered, flopping on his back.

  She rose and retied her hair. He realized she didn’t sound nearly as intoxicated as when she had arrived. Had she faked that, too?

  “It’s time for my shift,” Mala said. “You should rest.”

  She started walking up the beach, and he said, “You’re not even going to apologize? Unbelievable.”

  She looked back a final time, the mocking smile in place once more. “For what?”

  Will had no idea how long he had lain on the sand. At least an hour had passed since Mala had left. She thought she was trying to teach him a lesson, but pity had never been much of an instructor for Will.

  Or had that been a lesson at all? What would have happened if he had been more like Caleb? What if he had pressed their lips together, taken charge like the type of battle-tested warrior-lover she was probably used to?

  In the bosom of night, with nothing but stars and silence all around, he stood, brushed the sand off, and trudged back to camp. He slid into his sleeping roll and closed his eyes. The damnable thing of it was, he could still taste her finger, and it was the most intoxicating substance that had ever touched his lips.

  When he shifted to his side, he felt his leg sink into something soft and sticky, something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Before he had time to react, he was yanked forward.

  Something had him by the leg, and he was being pulled rapidly on his back along the sand, through the sea oats and into the trees. After he spit sand out of his mouth, he managed to scream for help, and then he was careening through the forest. His head bounced off a small tree and he fought to stay conscious. He tried to free his leg, but he was being pulled too fast.

  Seconds later he saw the thing that had trapped him. Fear gushed over him like a waterfall, waves of gooseflesh rippling over him at the sight of the nightmare creature.

  Standing in the forest was a grayish humanoid as tall as Hashi, with a chitinous arm extended in Will’s direction. An inch-thick strand of web was retracting into a hole in its palm as it pulled Will forward. A grotesque sac the size of a small boulder protruded from its back, and bristly black hairs covered the hump. The head was vaguely human, except for four black eyes set in a line and two clawed mandibles clicking beside an oval maw.

  Will tried to reach for his sword, but the thing extended its other hand and another silken rope shot out, attaching to Will’s sword hand and jerking him forward even faster. The creature caught Will in midair with two long, segmented arms, reached up and stuck him on top of the hump, secured him with strands of web, and then loped away.

  Will could only scream.

  -33-

  Val woke to his brother’s shouts and saw Will whipping through the sea oats on his back, as if something unseen was pulling him by the ankles. Val started yelling, waking the others as he crashed over the dunes in the darkness.

  Will was out of sight before Val made it to the edge of the forest. Val took a few steps before realizing the impossibility of following him in the dark, then cursed and fell to his knees, pounding on the sand. Lance and Mala caught up with him, the others just behind.

  Fochik came running out of the forest. He looked as surprised as everyone else, and Val pointed at him. “What did you see? What did you see?”

  “Nothing,” Fochik said, his accent thick with worry. “I see nothing. Who yell?”

  “My brother,” Val snarled. “Something took him. Weren’t you on guard?”

  Mala took Val by the arm and spun him around. “That won’t help,” she said.

  Caleb eased Mala away. “We have to stay calm, Val. Losing it won’t help Will.”

  Val took a deep breath and pressed his fingers to his temples, then showed them where he had seen Will dragged through the sea oats. “Can we track him?”

  Hashi got down on his haunches, looking for impressions in the sand. Allira and Fochik joined him. They moved into the forest and, after a few minutes, Fochik whistled to gather the party. “Easy trail,” he said. “Broken branches, leaves.”

  Staff in hand, Val hurried forward with the others. Fochik kept a steady pace through the forest, though it felt agonizingly slow to Val. Guilt and rage and despair all roiled inside him, but he reached deep and shoved them away, replacing his emotions with a white-hot forge of determination.

  “Alexander!” Val said, his voice sharp. “Can you use magic to track him from here?”

  “Aura tracking is not a skill with which I’m familiar. As soon as we have a clear sighting, rest assured I’ll do what I can.”

  Val cursed again, but there was nothing he could do. A few minutes later, the pines thinned and the forest opened up, broader hardwoods creating a higher, more intricate canopy. Fochik lingered over a spot on the ground, then rose and slowly shook his head.

  “What?” Val said.

  “No more trail,” he said.

  Val stepped towards him. “What do you mean, no more trail? How is that possible?”

  Hashi approached from behind, joining Fochik in scouring the ground. He looked equally grim and perplexed.

  Val put his hands to his head. “This isn’t happening.”

  “There’s something you should know,” Alexander said. Everyone turned to face him. “That last copse of pines is where I set the wards. We’re just on the other side. Whatever took Will . . . he must’ve known. He must have watched me.”

  “But how did it pass the wards?” Marguerite asked. Caleb was right beside her, staring at t
he ground with a numb expression.

  “It didn’t,” Lance said, and now all eyes were on him. “You said the wards only work from the outside in, right? It must’ve known this and set a snare. Judging by what Val saw, it pulled Will out.”

  Mala turned to Alexander. “Is that possible?”

  “The wards were designed for living creatures larger than a raccoon,” he said slowly. “So theoretically, yes, a snare of inorganic material, or even organic material of a certain size, could circumvent the wards.”

  “Good Christ,” Val said. “So we’re dealing with something which understands magical wards and which is capable of yanking us out of camp any time it wants. And it has my brother.”

  Mala grimaced. “It’s been biding its time. Waiting for its moment to strike.”

  Val started to pace. “There has to be an option. Something we can do.” He looked at Mala, but her silence was damning.

  Allira, Hashi, and Fochik were bent to the ground, spreading outward in a wide circumference. When they had moved out a hundred feet, they stopped and looked confused.

  Val trembled.

  While Hashi and Fochik increased the range of their inspection, Allira leaned down where the trail had gone cold, sniffed the grass and leaves, then traced her hands gently over the ground. Finding nothing, she got on her hands and knees and looked up. Val followed her gaze. The closest tree limb was thirty feet above the ground.

  Allira looked thoughtful. She walked to the tree supporting the branch and shimmied upwards. As poised as any trapeze artist, she walked out on the branch, dropped to all fours when it thinned, then hung upside down and pulled herself along the branch. She stopped when she reached the spot above where Will’s trail ended, moving her hands along the underside of the branch. After a few moments of probing, she pried off a piece of bark and returned to the ground.

  Val hurried to her as Allira held out the piece of bark to Mala, who ran her hands over it. Both women had to peel her hands off.

  Val gently felt the bark. It was extremely sticky, as if coated with a clear and powerful adhesive. “What the hell is that?”

  “I’m unsure,” Mala said. “Perhaps the material of which the snare was made?” She thrust the piece of bark towards Alexander. “Can you use this?”