Wings of Lomay

by Walls, Devri

  Arturo was silent as he dropped from his safe spot in the sky to stand next to her. Enjoying your magic does not mean you enjoy the results of your magic when it is used in a way you would rather not.

  I don’t have to enjoy it in order to—

  Yes. To reach your full potential, you do. If you don’t, you will continue to find yourself stuck in this cycle. You almost find out what you are capable of, and then you stop. You feel guilty enjoying it because you view magic as the cause of all your problems. That is the true problem.

  His words sank deep. He was right, and she hadn’t realized it. Numbly, she dropped down to the wet rock. “Magic has cost me everything. My family, Emane, my home—my free will.” She looked up wearily.

  It has given you much as well, and will continue to. You have bonded with a Tavean. This magic has given you more years with him than you can imagine.

  Kiora nodded. There was truth there, and a sparkling bit of light in what otherwise felt like blackness. “You’re right.” She sniffed. “You’re always right.”

  Arturo nudged her cheek affectionately with his nose. Stop being so surprised.

  Now, let’s try it again. He headed back up to his vantage point.

  Kiora went to push up from the rock, forgetting her arm. She nearly yelled out and quickly took her weight off it. She looked down at the blackened wound, frowning. It looked redder around the edges than it had when they left Toopai, and small red lines were beginning to spread toward her shoulder.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Return to Tavea

  AS THEY APPROACHED TAVEA, Alcander scanned the horizon, trying to confirm what his senses were telling him.

  “What is going on?” Drustan asked suspiciously.

  “What’s wrong?” Emane asked.

  “I don’t know,” Alcander said, still frowning. “Almost all the threads are gone.”

  They crested the last set of hills between them and Tavea. Alcander inhaled sharply. The castle that had once stood so majestically was in ruins. Massive vines wrapped around it, crushing the giant stones to rubble. Its towers lay in pieces around the village, leveling the once-colorful homes. Any dwellings far enough out to escape the falling rock were wrapped in vines, as thick as horses, that had traveled from the throne room. The vines hunted traitors and had traveled to the edges of the village, eradicating everything and everyone. It was the kind of destruction that came from thousands of years of wind, weather, and nature, but this had probably occurred in days.

  “I would say your sentence was carried out,” Drustan said.

  The last time they were in Tavea, Alcander had claimed his right to the throne. He had convicted the Taveans of murder and treason, and set the vines to carry out their sentence. “I . . . I had no idea,” he whispered. His jaw was slack and his arms hung limply at his sides.

  They flew closer, and Alcander dropped his bubble.

  “Where to?” Drustan asked, his voice quiet, respectful, and far from the sarcastic tone that usually colored everything.

  “The castle,” Alcander said. His spine straightened as he inclined his chin. “Then we can go to the stables.”

  “What you came for was in the . . .” Emane sputtered, realizing exactly where Alcander had intended to take them.

  “Not now, Emane,” Drustan said as they glided down. “He just lost everything.”

  Alcander slid off Drustan and walked toward the ruins of his castle with slow, stiff steps. He felt Drustan and Emane holding back and was grateful—he was having a hard time keeping his emotions below the surface.

  He stepped through a gaping hole in a section of wall that a thick vine had punched through. He looked down the hall, first one way and then the other. The vines wove themselves in and out of the halls and rooms. Doors were jerked from their hinges and chandeliers lay in pieces on the ground. But worse were the bodies—and body parts, still trapped and twisted within the vines as they draped around the castle. Right next to him was a Tavean who had been wrapped from neck to ankle. His face was purple and bloated, his body twisted in the middle where the vine had snapped him in half.

  Emane and Drustan stepped through, coming up next to him. Drustan pushed his black hair off his shoulders, averting his eyes from the bloated Tavean. “Did you know it would do this?”

  “No.” Alcander’s voice sounded empty, haunted—even to his own ears. He cleared his throat. “No,” he repeated. “We had never used it before. I knew its purpose was to defend Tavea against traitors to the throne, but I can’t understand why the first Tavean king would have designed something like this . . . something that would destroy everything.”

  Emane ran his finger over a thin vine protruding from the wall. It wiggled in response. He jumped back, watching it warily as he brushed his hands off on his pants. “They probably never imagined a scenario like this.”

  “Emane’s right. The vines were clearly enchanted to search out traitors. They never expected the traitors would be everywhere.”

  Alcander was done talking about the destruction of the last place he had been truly and completely happy—the lump in his throat was painful and his eyes burned. “This way,” he said, heading down the hall.

  They stepped over the vines that bisected the hall where they could. Some stood chest-high and they had to push themselves up, lying prone, before sliding over. As they neared the king’s chambers, Alcander felt one of the few threads that remained in the kingdom. The thread was an odd mix of evil and good, undulating back and forth between the two. He motioned to Emane, who pulled his bow from his back. Alcander held his staff out in front of him as they turned the corner.

  In the middle of the hall lay a Tavean wrapped in vines. His arm poked out at an impossible angle, his lips chapped from lack of water, his dark hair lank, skin deathly pale. He moaned softly.

  “Why haven’t the vines killed him?” Emane asked.

  “He is trying to mask his thread,” Drustan said. “And doing a poor job of it.”

  At the sound of voices, the Tavean opened his eyes, laying them on Alcander. “You,” he croaked. In anger, his thread slid back to its true form. The vines jerked tight, snapping his neck.

  Emane released the tension in his bow as Alcander shoved past the dead Tavean, continuing down the hall.

  The doors to the king’s chambers hung at an angle, half off their hinges and partially propped up by the deadly vines. The inside was relatively untouched, which made sense considering that the chambers were empty when Alcander unleashed the curse—the king had been in the throne room. One thick vine ran down the middle of the room, wrapping in and around the feet of the desk before disappearing under the bed.

  Alcander scanned the room.

  “What are we looking for?” Emane asked.

  “A key of sorts,” Alcander said. “It’s going to be about the size of a plum—round and green.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a key.”

  “The word ‘key’ does not denote its appearance—it describes what it does,” Alcander said as he started opening the drawers to the desk.

  Emane pulled a face of extreme self-importance, mocking Alcander.

  “Any ideas on where we should look?” Drustan asked, his face cracking into a smile at Emane’s antics.

  “None.”

  Drustan started going through a wooden box on a side table next to the bed.

  Emane walked to a bookshelf that spanned the length of the room, moving books to look behind them. After neatly replacing the first few, he began tossing them to the floor. “So, Alcander. The key we need to unlock something you won’t tell me about is in the king’s chambers. You failed to mention that.”

  Alcander slammed the drawer he had been searching, looking around for another hiding spot. “Yes, I did. Otherwise I would have had to listen to you tell me how ridiculous it was—and I really wasn’t in the mood.”

  “I see,” Emane said, nodding as he picked up a book and shook it. “And how were you planning on getting us
in here?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Emane swung to look at Drustan while tossing the book over his shoulder with a flourish. “Does it matter, Drustan?”

  Drustan pushed the mattress off the bed frame. “Maybe a little,” he grunted.

  “Yes, maybe a little.” Emane said, resorting to sweeping entire rows of books off with his arm.

  “I hoped since we had freed the slaves that the balcony entrances would be usable.”

  “You hoped.”

  “Again with the hoping,” Drustan interjected.

  “‘Hoping’ is not the security I was looking for,” Emane added.

  “Emane,” Alcander said, leaning forward on the desk, his hair falling in front of his shoulders, “can you shut up and look for the key?”

  Emane looked down at the hundreds of books piled around his feet. “I am.”

  Alcander turned with a huff, running his hands over the walls, looking for anything out of the ordinary. They worked silently, checking closets, clothes, under furniture. Nothing.

  Alcander dropped onto the edge of the desk, looking murderously at the floor. They had come all this way for nothing.

  “Anywhere else it could be?” Drustan asked as Emane swept another armful of books to the floor.

  “There’s a whole blasted castle where it could be,” Alcander shouted, gesturing toward the doors. “A castle in ruins.”

  “Alcander?” Emane said.

  “Maybe it’s under one of the piles of stone. Or maybe it’s in the throne room!”

  “Alcander!”

  “What?” Alcander snapped.

  Emane raised his eyebrows, pointing to the only two books left on the shelves. “These won’t budge.” He jerked on the spines to demonstrate.

  Pushing off the desk, Alcander strode over and grabbed the books. They wouldn’t move an inch. “Stand back,” he said. Extending his hand, he fired a shot. Green magic burst against the books, flaring up before dissipating into nothing, leaving the books unharmed.

  “Try your scepter,” Drustan suggested.

  Alcander fired another shot with his scepter. The brilliant white magic rippled around the books, again leaving them unharmed. Tilting his head to the side, he frowned, then extended the staff, touching it gently to the spines.

  There was a soft click. What looked like two books was actually a small box. He swung open the door, revealing a small green ball—the key they had been looking for.

  Alcander held it reverently, then crossed to the desk. He knelt down and slid the key into a decorative cutout on one of the legs. The ball fit perfectly. The key flashed green and a small wooden door swung open.

  Alcander hesitated. What if it was gone? What if his uncle had found it? He reached in. What he pulled out made his breath hitch painfully in his chest as hundreds of memories surfaced. He held the ring up so the sun streaming through the windows could catch the sapphires and emeralds.

  The ring was a thick gold band with inset square-cut stones. It began with a sapphire of the deepest blue. Next to that sat a stone slightly lighter in color, and it continued until the blue was so light, it was nearly white. Next to that was an emerald of the brightest green, followed by one that was slightly lighter, continuing that pattern until the pale green ran back into the sapphires.

  “What is that?” Emane asked

  “My mother’s wedding ring,” Alcander said as he slipped it onto his little finger.

  ***

  EMANE COULDN’T TEAR HIS eyes off the ring as Alcander walked past him, stepping over the vine on his way to the door. A piece of him wanted to berate Alcander for hauling them to Tavea for a ring, for putting them all in danger for a sentimental piece of jewelry. He opened his mouth—but couldn’t do it. Deep down, Emane understood—more than he wanted to. His mother’s ring was sitting in a box in his room in Meros, waiting for the next queen.

  The next queen. For one crazy minute, his heart pounded wildly in his chest and blood rushed in his ears, thinking of the ring Alcander had just found being placed on Kiora’s finger, and he questioned his decision to let her go. Every second he had to pretend he was fine with her choosing him, fine to step back—to be the gracious loser—chipped away at his soul. What if he had misconstrued things?

  Alcander reached out, using magic to blow the door the rest of the way off its hinges and slamming it into the wall as he stormed out.

  And there it was—magic. The awful reality check. No matter how many reasons Emane gave himself for why he was wrong or why he shouldn’t have stepped back, that one thing always came back to haunt him. Deflating, he followed Drustan and Alcander into the hall.

  ***

  KIORA NARROWED HER EYES and put her hand to the ground. The island trembled as raw power flooded it. Loud cracks and pops shattered the air as the rock tore apart beneath her, opening a chasm and allowing seawater to rush up from below. She pushed more magic out, feeling the exhilaration and trying to open herself up to nature. Her body hummed and her heart hammered faster in her chest. She grunted, fighting against the earth. The island relented, ripping in two with a horrible rending sound that vibrated around her.

  Motioning, Kiora pushed half of the island away from her. The water behind it rolled up, providing resistance before it gave way and the waves swept out to sea. Standing, she put her hands out, forcing the land down. The ocean bubbled and boiled around the huge piece of earth, spitting up geysers of water as it swallowed the island. The water sprayed down over her—drenching her. It felt wonderful as it cooled her down. She was so hot.

  She peered over the edge of the cliff she had just created to watch half the island disappear.

  Arturo landed beside her. That was impressive.

  She stood straight, throwing her head back and reveling in the rush of magic and power. She put her hands on her hips and grinned at Arturo. I’m not holding back.

  Indeed. Does it feel different?

  She knew what he was asking. “It feels different because I’m not resisting it, but I can feel my levels dropping as I use it, just like always. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. How do I tap into something I can’t find?” Turning, she stumbled, falling into Arturo. She wrapped her good arm around his neck to keep from crashing to the ground.

  Arturo jerked his head back. Kiora! You are burning up.

  She pulled to her feet and shoved the wet hair out of her face. “I’m fine. I just used a lot of magic, that’s all.”

  Show me your arm.

  “Arturo, I’m fine.” Turning, she looked over the remaining piece of island. “I think I’m going to try to combine wind and water next—see what I can do.”

  Show me your arm, he repeated sternly.

  Pursing her lips, she pulled back the small cap of a sleeve that remained, exposing her shoulder. The wound was flaming red around the charred skin, multiple red streaks tracking up her shoulder to disappear under her shirt.

  Arturo glared at her.

  “I will be fine,” she repeated for the third time. “I just have a few things to practice, and then we can go back to Emane.”

  You’re right. That magic is clouding your mind.

  Kiora took a step back as if he had slapped her.

  The wound is infected, Kiora—badly. Emane’s power of healing is not going to bring you back from the dead!

  I’m not going to die, she thought. Her body was still buzzing from the magical high and she was ready for more.

  Get on. Now.

  “Arturo— ”

  Kiora, you can get on or I will fly back for Emane myself. I can’t communicate with him and he can’t bubble, which means that one, or both, of us will probably be killed while you die out here on a rock.

  Kiora stared him down as the magical high began to fade, leaving her shaky and craving more. But as the high vanished, the throbbing in her arm returned and the heat of her fever rolled up from her toes to her head. “Fine,” she snapped, climbing on.

  The longer they flew, the
more miserable she became. Her fever was much higher than she had realized. She called up seawater, letting it rain over her in an attempt to stay cool. But as the water evaporated, the salt left an irritating crust on her skin that just made it worse.

  Your use of magic was masking how bad the infection was, Arturo thought.

  Kiora just laid her head against his neck, wishing for sleep.

  ***

  BY THE TIME THEY reached the mainland, Kiora was having a terrible time holding the bubble. Not because she was out of magic, but because she could hardly keep herself awake. Arturo kept mentally yelling at her that the bubble was thinning.

  Kiora squinted into the setting sun. Thinking maybe she wasn’t seeing things correctly, she shaded her eyes to get a better look. “Why are we over here?” she mumbled, falling back against his mane. “We’re near Lomay’s. That’s the wrong direction.”

  You won’t make the journey. I have to leave you somewhere, and the other coast is too dangerous. I will leave you at Lomay’s while I get Emane.

  It doesn’t matter. I don’t know the incantation. She tossed her head to the other side with a moan. Alcander never taught me how to get in.

  Arturo pushed harder into the wind. Stay awake! he repeated as her bubble thinned again.

  She was shaking, exhausted, and all she wanted to do was sleep. Her skin was soaked with salt and sweat, and her eyes burned with fever. Arturo landed, hard, and she jolted forward against his neck.