by Aaron Hodges
When she finally stilled, her father stood unmoved before her. Reaching out, he wiped a tear from her cheek, his eyes shining with a grief all of his own. “There is no other way,” he whispered. “It is my life’s duty to sponge the curse of magic from this land. For years I tried to use the power of the Light to wipe it clean, but the deed requires the Three. I must return the Gods of the Earth and Sky to flesh, so that I might use their power to save our people. You and Braidon are the only hosts left.”
“No!” Enala’s voice rang from the walls. “I won’t let you have them.” Flames gathered in her palm as she pointed at the Tsar.
The Tsar only shook his head. “You do not have the power to stop me, Mother. Your brother, your dragon, they’re gone now. Look around: you’re all alone, there is no one left to help you.”
Enala did not back down, but Alana could see the defiance in the old woman’s eyes falter, then turn slowly to despair. The soft crackling of her magic died away, and her arm dropped to her side. Her eyes flickered to Alana, her pain reflecting in the light of the Tsar’s sword. The lines on her face deepened as she looked back at the Tsar.
“Spare the girl,” Enala said. “She and her brother are not the only ones. Take me instead.”
Chapter 20
“No!” Alana screamed at her grandmother. Desperately, she fought to reach her across the wooden floor of the inn, but the Tsar’s bonds refused to bend. “Please, don’t do this, Enala!”
Enala’s face wrinkled into a smile. “Ah, but I must, Granddaughter.”
Alana shook her head, her heart burning with newfound pain, an awful ache she had never before experienced. “But…I’m not worth it,” she whispered.
The smile fell from her grandmother’s face. “Nonsense, girl,” she growled. “You are the future.”
“No, you can’t...”
“I can, and I will,” Enala replied. “My time is done; yours is only just beginning, Alana.”
Between them, the Tsar chuckled. “If you ladies are quite done?” He flicked a finger in Enala’s direction, and the old woman rose ponderously into the air. Another gesture, and she drifted towards him. “And I thank you, Mother. Your sacrifice will allow my daughter to begin her life anew, once I am done shaping it.”
“Monster,” Enala spat, though she made no attempt to free herself.
Straining her arms, Alana fought to break her father’s magic, but the invisible bindings refused to give. She sagged in their grip, a sob tearing from her throat, and watched in despair as the Tsar rested a hand on her grandmother’s shoulder.
“Why have you always hated me, Mother?” he asked, his voice reflective.
“I loved you,” Enala murmured, her voice little more than a croak.
“No.” The Tsar shook his head. “I remember your disappointment, the day you discovered the gift wasn’t in me, the day you realised I took after my father.”
“I only ever wanted the best for you.”
“Lies!” the Tsar snapped, pointing a finger. “I was never enough for you, always lacking, always the magicless son you never wanted. In all your tales and stories, it was always magic that brought wonder to your eyes. I could never live up to that. Just like my father.”
“I never—”
“You think I couldn’t see it?” the Tsar interrupted. “Your scorn for him, your disappointment as he aged, as his mortality began to show?”
The Tsar trailed off, and Enala hung there in silence, her eyes shining. Finally, she swallowed and spoke, her words barely a whisper. “I loved Gabriel until his dying day. Every wrinkle, every new white hair, was a blessing. I love him still. Even now I hope to see him again, to find him waiting for me on the other side. Though I pray he cannot see what his son has become.”
“My father would be proud of what I have accomplished,” the Tsar roared. His fingers bent like claws as he raised a fist. “And you will see him soon, Mother. That I promise you.”
Turning away, he reached into his scarlet robes and withdrew a leather pouch. Glass rattled as he slapped it down on the inn’s counter and unfurled it, revealing an array of glass vials. A mortar and pestle appeared next. Taking up vial after vial, the Tsar began to add them to the mortar, whispering beneath his breath all the while.
“What are you doing, Father?” Alana asked, her voice laced with venom. “Making us a cocktail?”
The Tsar flicked an irritated glance over his shoulder, and then returned to his work.
“You really think you can face her, son?” Enala cut in.
Slamming the mortar onto the bar, he spun towards them. The Sword of Light leapt into his hand, its blade aglow with power. “I have this, don’t I?” he snapped. “With power over all magic, what chance does the Goddess of the Earth have?”
Enala smiled. “So much knowledge, and yet so little wisdom. Can you truly be so ignorant, my son?”
The Tsar’s face turned a mottled red. Baring his teeth, he took a step towards the old woman before catching himself. With an effort of will, he forced himself back to his work. Taking up the pestle, he resumed his muttering as he ground the ingredients into a paste. When he was done, he lifted it to the light, inspecting it closely before nodding to himself.
“It’s done,” he announced, facing Enala.
“Are you afraid, Father?” Alana asked as he stepped towards her grandmother. A frown crossed his brow as he seemed to hesitate, and emboldened, she went on. “Don’t worry, she’s only an old woman. Or is it the Goddess who has your knees trembling? I’ve seen her, you know. She’s about ten years old. I’m sure you can take her, though. Go on, get on with it.”
The words burned in her mouth, but she felt a moment’s satisfaction as her father’s face darkened. Baring his teeth, he appraised her with cold eyes.
“Keep it up, my daughter. It will only quicken your fate.”
Returning to Enala, he grabbed the old woman’s face and forced open her mouth. As she cried out, he poured half the potion down her throat and then held her jaw closed until she swallowed. Finally he released her and swallowed the rest of the potion himself.
“Bah, but that tastes almost as bad as Jonathan’s muck,” Enala spat.
The Tsar snorted. “That lunatic knew nothing of magic,” he said, leaning casually against the bar. “His experiment would never have worked, not with you dead. Natural magic requires a soul. With yours in the void, the power he stole would have withered and died. That is why I am so careful to preserve the lives of my Magickers.”
“By condemning them to a life without a past,” Alana snapped.
Her father raised an eyebrow. “A task you savoured until quite recently, as I recall.”
Alana shuddered as she remembered the part she’d played in her father’s reign. Placed in charge of the young Magickers, she had the task of preparing them for their initiation. When the time came, she would take them before her father, and he would unlock their power, forcing them to face the beast within.
Those who survived, she took with her own magic, wiping the memories from them, reshaping them forever as her father’s servants. And those who failed…
Her heart twisted as she saw again her charges changing, their eyes darkening to black as they succumbed to the demons within. Even then they could not escape her father’s will. Using his power, he had bound their powers to his, to be his creatures, his assassins in the night.
Shame welled in Alana, not just for the horror of her deeds, but for the delight she had taken in them, that she still took in them, in the depths of her soul. She had joyed in her power over the young Magickers—their helplessness in the face of her magic. And when they had dared defy her…
“I was only what you made me,” she whispered.
Her father laughed and turned away. She cursed at his back, but with a wave from her father the air changed, and she was hurled backwards against the wall. The breath hissed from her chest as she struck, leaving her gasping desperately for breath.
“Now, no
w, my daughter,” her father’s voice carried across the room. “Don’t break my concentration. If this goes wrong, you may end up host to the Goddess after all.”
“I hope she tears you in two,” Alana gasped.
Her father had her back to her now, though, and didn’t seem to hear. His voice boomed out in some strange language, and lifting his arms, he advanced on Enala. As he neared the old woman, his eyes became unfocused, and Alana recognised the look of someone reaching for his magic. A second later she sensed it arrive. Its power bubbled through the rundown inn, seeming to set the very air aflame.
Reaching Enala, the Tsar reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. The old woman flinched at his touch, but wrapped up in his magic, there was nowhere for her to go. Eyes shining, Enala turned to look at Alana. To Alana’s surprise, it wasn’t fear or anger that shone from her grandmother’s eyes, but a look of peace. Her lips moved silently, forming the words she dared not speak.
I love you, granddaughter.
Tears burned in Alana’s eyes as the Tsar tightened his grip on her grandmother. A sudden convulsion shook the old woman, her mouth opening wide.
“No!” Alana screamed, but the two of them had entered the trance now, and neither heard.
“I summon you, Goddess of the Earth!” Her father’s words rang out like thunder. A moan came from the floor near Alana, and she was surprised to see the innkeeper clawing her way towards the door. Another shout from the Tsar returned her attention to the centre of the room. “I summon you, Antonia, return to his mortal realm. I bid you, take host in this vessel, in the body of the woman marked by the name Enala.”
His voice dropped to a low hiss then, his words becoming rapid and indistinct, and while Alana strained to hear the rest, she could not make them out. Her eyes were drawn back to her grandmother.
Alana’s heart froze in her chest as she saw the old woman’s face. Gone was the familiar sapphire of her grandmother’s eyes; in its place shone the violet gaze of the Goddess Antonia. An icy fear spread through Alana’s veins as she glimpsed the rage in those ancient eyes. When she had met Antonia in her dreams, the Goddess’s anger had seemed fleeting, passing in an instant. But here, now, there was a timelessness to her rage, an anger that promised to never die.
The air wavered as the Goddess turned on the Tsar. With a flick of her hand, the forces holding Enala’s body in the air shattered, and Antonia dropped lightly to her feet. Folding her arms, she studied the Tsar, her lips twisting into a scowl. Her foot tapped impatiently on the wooden floor as she waited for him to respond.
But Alana’s father was still chanting under his breath, his eyes distant, unaware of the change that had come over the old woman. Arms raised, he seemed to be building to a finish. Alana was baffled—why was her father still trying to summon the Goddess, when Antonia was already standing before him? She shuddered as the violet gaze flickered in her direction. To her surprise, the slightest smile touched the Goddess’s lips.
“By the Gods!” Antonia burst out suddenly. “Are you going to stand there all day mumbling to yourself?” She stamped her foot as though to emphasise her point.
The Tsar jerked as though he’d been stung. His eyes widened when he saw the old woman standing free of his bindings. He cried out as he recognised the violet eyes shining from her face.
“That’s…that’s not possible!” he gasped. Stumbling back, he lifted the Sword of Light, placing it between himself and the Goddess.
“What would you know, mortal?” Antonia growled. She advanced on him, the earth trembling with each step.
Alana gasped as the powers pinning her to the wall snapped as though they’d been severed by an axe. She staggered slightly as she landed, her muscles burning with the disuse. As she recovered, a wave of warmth swept through the room, radiating out from the glowing figure. The magic wrapped around Alana, every pain, every ache vanishing at its touch. Looking at her arms, Alana gaped as her bruises faded away, her cuts and scrapes healing in an instant. The pounding in her head from the blow Quinn had struck vanished.
A groan came from nearby as the innkeeper sat up. Her hands clutched at her chest where Quinn’s sword had pierced her, but now the skin was whole. The only trace of the wound that remained was the blood staining her clothes. She looked at Antonia in wonder, tears brimming in her eyes.
“Thank you, Goddess,” she whispered.
“Stop this!” the Tsar boomed.
He raised the Sword of Light. A brilliant radiance lit the inn, and Alana moaned as the warmth was sucked from the room. It had done its work though, and her strength restored, she crouched down and crept to where the innkeeper sat. Silently she offered her a hand, then turned to watch her father face off against the Goddess of the Earth.
“Your power is mine, Goddess,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You cannot harm me.”
Antonia only smiled. “I have no wish to harm you, Theo. I never wanted to return to this realm. It was I who first gave up this body, all those years ago, so that you might be born. It pleased me to watch Enala grow, to become the woman I knew she could be. I am only sorry she lived long enough to see her child become a monster.” The Goddess’s eyes flickered to Alana. “But perhaps it is not too late for her grandchildren.”
“Enough!” the Tsar shrieked. “You do not fool me, Goddess. Your tyranny ends today. No longer shall you and your siblings wield your power over this realm.”
He lifted the shining sword, but as Antonia stepped towards him, he faltered. Swirling green light appeared in her hands, and the Tsar’s eyes widened with fear. A smile touched Antonia’s face. With a flick of her finger, power went crackling through the inn. Alana gasped as her ears popped, the pressure building until she thought for sure her skull would crack.
Go, Alana, a voice whispered in her mind. Save yourself, as your grandmother wished.
Alana gasped as she recognised the voice as the one who had led her to her grandmother. A sob tore from her as she looked at the Goddess, and saw her head dip in acknowledgement. Eyes burning, Alana swung away, grabbing the innkeeper as she did so. Somewhere behind them was the door to the outside, though how they could avoid Quinn and his Stalkers, Alana didn’t know. All she knew was they had to get out, had to escape that room before the end came.
“You cannot defeat the Light!” Alana heard her father bellow. Together with the innkeeper, she staggered toward the door.
“No,” came Antonia’s reply. The rumbling energies burning through the room went out as though quenched by a bucket of water. Alana glanced back to see the Goddess standing alone, bathed in the eerie white of her father’s sword. “But I do not need to.”
For a moment her words gave the Tsar pause. He towered over the Goddess, confusion on his ageless face. Then a sneer twisted his lips, and with a bellow of laughter, he lifted the Sword of Light and drove it through the Goddess’s chest.
Chapter 21
“You sure about this, sonny?” Devon rumbled.
Braidon flicked Devon a nervous grin as they paused on the edge of the settlement. Still in the treeline, he had not yet summoned his magic, and raising a hand, he gestured for the others to halt. The twenty Baronians they had selected to join them came to a stop, their blackened leather armour fading into the shadows beneath the dense canopy.
“As sure as I’ll ever be,” Braidon muttered.
Movement came from nearby as Joseph crouched beside Devon. Irritation cut through Braidon’s fear, but he fought to keep it from his face. The man’s injured arm was strapped to his chest, but even wounded, he was a threat. Braidon couldn’t believe Devon had let the former leader join them, not when so much was at stake. But his friend had been firm, insisting they needed the man’s knowledge of the territory, and of his people.
Shaking his head, Braidon returned his gaze to the settlement. It was too late now to reconsider the Baronian’s presence, though looking at what faced them, he wondered if Joseph was already regretting his decision to join them. A dozen S
talkers could be seen wandering the narrow alleyways between the buildings, and in the centre of the square…
“You’d better be, boy,” Joseph hissed, his dark eyes transfixed on what faced them.
“Don’t worry about the beast,” Devon whispered. “It won’t lift a claw unless the Tsar wills it.”
“How reassuring,” Joseph muttered. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not risk my people against a dragon.”
“Good thing they’re not your people anymore, isn’t it?” Braidon snapped.
Between them, Devon raised his hands in a consolatory gesture. “Easy,” he said. “Don’t want to be giving ourselves away just yet.” His amber eyes turned on the Baronian. “As for your people, what about the ones in that settlement? Did you not make a deal with the people here to protect them?”
“Against other rogues, not the Tsar himself,” Joseph argued, but his head dropped imperceptibly, and after a moment he went on. “The dragon won’t attack, you say?”
“Not your people,” Devon replied. “Not when Braidon and I have the Tsar’s mother and daughter. If everything goes to plan, it’ll be coming after us. We only need you to free the villagers and distract the Stalkers long enough for them to get away.”
“Fine. Just make sure you shake the beast before the rendezvous.”
“Don’t worry, your safety is our top priority,” Braidon said spitefully. “Now, if you’re done?” Joseph glared at him, but said nothing, and Braidon nodded curtly. “Then we’d better get going, Devon. I can sense something happening in there.”
Even as he spoke, the power he sensed in the inn redoubled. Magic rippled through the air, shifting and building, until it seemed his very bones were vibrating with the strength of it. Swallowing his doubt, he reached down and stoked the flames of his own power.
A roar answered his call as it lifted from the depths of his soul. Ignoring the beast that took shape before him, Braidon gripped it with his mind, forcing it to his will. He reached out with the power in hand and wrapped ghostly threads of white around himself and Devon. As they touched the brilliant blue of Devon’s lifeforce, they changed, seeming to merge with the green of the forest. He did the same for himself, and beside them Joseph slowly faded until he was just a silhouette against the world around him.
