An incredulous look passed across his features. “Yeah, right. You’re trying to tell me that you think I can help you cream some Shadowmaster dictator who’s been kidnapping and killing witches.” He ran his hand through his thick hair and laughed, but it was hollow at best. “Jazz, you are out of your mind. I’m no hero.”
It took all my years of training to keep my voice calm, to not let him see the fear his denial caused me. “I speak the truth. I need your assistance.”
“Why me?” Bren’s warm brown eyes focused on my face. “What’s so special about me?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted, feeling that strange chill of fear again. I dismissed it. The twinge of concern made no sense, and it was beginning to make me angry. “But I went in search of the Shadowalker. The spell I cast—to bring me the soul who could stop Nire—delivered you to me. You, out of all the people in the non-witching world.”
Bren raised an eyebrow, and his mouth twitched. “Your magic made me feel like I had to pee?”
I smiled despite the heaviness in my soul. “Not…exactly. But the magic brought you, the true champion, to me.”
“Can magic make a mistake?” Bren’s face darkened. “I’m nobody’s champion, except for maybe my baseball team—but even there, I make lots of errors. And my mom, she’s the only other person who believes in me, always says how I’m destined for great things, but I think she’s just being a mom.” He flipped his hair out of his face with one hand. “This has all got to be a mistake.”
“No.” I shook my head, needing him to understand. “Magic never makes a mistake. Only witches make mistakes.”
“Sh-crap,” he muttered. “I sure fit in with all the loonies here. I can’t get anything right. My dad sure made that clear enough.”
My heart ached at his words. It took everything in me not to grab his hand again, but I maintained control. “You don’t believe in yourself. That’s natural in the unconverted. Your talent is strong, though. I believe in you already. I know you can find the power to defeat Nire.”
Bren began to bounce his knee in a nervous movement, as he had last night. “Assuming I agree to all this craziness, what makes you so sure I can do it?”
Because I feel it in my heart, I wanted to scream.
The thought shocked me near speechless. “I—I—er, well. Because I am sure. I sense it.”
Bren grinned at my discomfort. I should have been angry, but seeing him happy for a moment thrilled me. My mind fished for something—anything!—to relieve the strange tension now floating between us.
“You mentioned King Arthur,” I said. “So, you must know Merlyn?”
“Yes.” Bren pulled at the lacing on his tunic. “I know about him, I mean. Never met the guy.”
“Merlyn is a shining example of what the Path accomplished before Nire’s incursion.” I got to my feet to walk off my own nervous energy. Which was in itself strange. I had never been nervous about anything before meeting Bren.
I continued, “He’s actually from your future, but his town turned on him. Tried to burn his home. Would have killed him in his sleep, but he walked the Path of Shadows back, back to a time when his knowledge and personality were of benefit to the world.”
Bren looked amused and his eyes sparkled. “So, that’s why the legend says Merlyn lived backward? Cool.” He stood and took a step toward me. Not to menace this time. No.
This time, I feared he meant to touch me.
“Witches of Merlyn’s talents are very rare.” I paused mid-step, struggling not to run out the door like a timid child. “Even Merlyn began as an unconverted human. Raw talent, no belief, just like you—and unlike the hags and klatchKoven witches you encountered in Shallym.”
“Knew there was something weird about them.” Bren smiled again, but his gaze deepened. He reached toward me, hand and heart, brushing against that part of myself I kept so carefully hidden.
A shiver coursed my spine as he touched my arm, letting his fingers slide down, across my wrist to my hand.
The warmth of his caress made me gasp, and I could not tear my eyes from his.
“So, what about you?” he murmured, his damp brown hair softening the rugged angles of his face. “Were you human before you became a witch, or were you something else?”
“Human,” I whispered, trying not to tremble from his touch as he drew me closer to him.
Once more I felt that indefinable power within him, and how his feelings surged free like the tides or the wind. What I wouldn’t give to touch that freedom, or to grasp it for myself. “Most of us begin as humans, though my parents were witches, so I grew up knowing and believing in magic.”
Bren’s face was so close now, his palms burning the flesh of my arms.
I wanted him to fully show me that soft, vulnerable side that I had glimpsed occasionally since his arrival. I wanted him to kiss me, wanted it so much—but guilt welled like a spring, drowning my passion. My spells brought him here by force. My magic stole him from his family. For what?
To fight some hopeless war with me and end up a burned husk like those poor souls in Trier?
To keep me company so for once, I wouldn’t be alone?
He leaned toward me, bringing his lips a hairsbreadth from mine, but I turned my head, gently pushing him away.
“No,” I said, not daring to look into those now warm and inviting brown eyes. “I can’t do this. Not now.”
***
Chapter Nine
So, Miss High-and-Mighty was giving me the brushoff. Thought she was too good for me. I pulled back and folded my arms across my chest. “You can’t do what?”
Jazz’s cheeks went red, and she looked flustered. “Kiss you.”
“Why would I want to kiss you?” I tried to look like it was the farthest thing from my mind. “You’re the last person I’d want to kiss. I’d kiss Rol before you.”
That did it.
Jazz looked like I had slapped her. I felt kind of bad, but not bad enough to apologize.
“At least we agree on something,” she snapped, her chin in the air and her golden eyes flashing.
She was gorgeous. I really wanted to kiss her then.
“Your Majesty,” Rol said from the doorway.
Jazz and I whirled toward him at the same time.
“This imbecile is all yours, Rol.” Jazz’s eyes spit fire as she looked from him to me. “And Bren was just telling me how much he desires to kiss you.”
With that, she stuck her chin even higher in the air and swept out past Rol. He raised his eyebrows, and I held up my hands. “Uh, no. You’re a nice guy and all, but I really don’t want to kiss you.”
Rol grunted. “I find that most reassuring.”
Shaking my head, I grinned and said, “Jazz sure has some temper, doesn’t she?”
“You have no idea how fearsome her temper can be.” He gave a nod toward the hall. “Come to the smithy. We have much to do today.”
With a shrug, I headed toward the door. “Sure, why not. Maybe you can clue me in on what I have to do to get out of this place.”
Rol kept silent, taking me down a long hall and into the kitchen, then out a back door and into the huge dirt yard. The sky was cloudy, and it was still cool enough to chill my wet head. The ocean smell was strong, even though we weren’t right on the beach. My damp shirt clung to my chest and the leather pants felt strange, but comfortable. The boots, though, they would take some getting used to.
The nicks on my face from shaving stung as I followed Rol to a building that looked like a blacksmith’s shop, which made sense since he said we were going to a “smithy.” A big pit of fire blazed at the center and all kinds of tools and weapons lined the walls. It smelled of smoke and iron, not to mention a lot like the guys’ locker room at my school.
Rol eyed me like he was sizing me up for something. “You are left-handed, are you not?”
The heat made me dizzy. I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand as I nodded.
He
grabbed a leather belt with a long, wide thing on the side of it—a sheath for a sword, I guessed. Next thing I knew, he was strapping the belt around my waist. I felt like a gunslinger when it settled on my hips.
“Stay here,” Rol ordered before disappearing through a doorway.
While I waited for him, I wondered why I was going along with all of this. I didn’t really believe that I was any kind of champion, but after what happened in the village yesterday, I had the feeling I might not be so lucky if I went there on my own again. Maybe Rol would help me get back to where I came from—if he dared to cross the royal pain in the butt.
With a sigh, I glanced at the manor, and for an instant, I thought I saw Jazz watching me from a window. But when I blinked, nothing was there. I had to grin, thinking about the look on Jazz’s face when I told her I would rather kiss Rol than her.
Served the witch right.
My smile slowly changed to a frown.
Jazz really was a witch. And I really was in some pre-medieval fortress, above some pre-medieval town.
It was all too much to take in—witches, Shadowalkers, and some serious Nazi named Nire. The Shadowmaster.
Yeah, right.
I had to be losing my mind. Maybe Dad finally got to me, and I had some sort of psychotic breakdown on my way to the beach. That would be typical. Irresponsible Bren. Impulsive Bren. It would be just like me to go insane at an inconvenient time, and lose Mom’s truck in the process.
Rol ducked back through the doorway, carrying a silver sword. The blade glittered in the dim light of the smithy. He handed it to me, handle first.
“No way.” I stepped back. “I don’t do knives and guns.”
“Take it,” Rol instructed. His voice sounded like gravel falling into a pit. “I believe it is yours.”
“Uh-uh.” I backed up another step. “It’s a wonder I didn’t slice my throat open with that shaving tool you made me use this morning. I’d cut my arm off with that thing for sure.”
Rol closed the gap between us. “Take the sword.” The giant’s eyes glittered, and he seemed tense. Nervous. Like if I didn’t take the sword, he’d get mad.
And he was my only friend here in freak-land. I definitely didn’t want him pissed with me for real. Still, the thought of holding a sword made me nervous. The thought of holding anything sharp made me nervous. I had a bad habit of making disasters with dangerous objects. Like the time I was helping Dad prune Mom’s rose bushes, and I almost chopped off one of his fingers with the shears because I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing. That episode ended with seventeen stitches in Dad’s hand, my being grounded, and having to listen to a never-ending lecture.
Irresponsible. Dad’s voice was like a hammer in my mind. Impulsive.
Grinding my teeth, I reached forward and grabbed the handle of the sword. The moment I touched it, my hand tingled and a surge of energy flowed through my arm to every part of my body. I felt wired, like I’d had at least a dozen cups of coffee.
My skin glowed silver for the briefest of moments and then it was gone, and I was sure I must have imagined it. But the energy in my body stayed. I felt as enormous as Rol, and so alive. Like I’d just hit a grand slam to win the World Series.
How do you like that, Dad? Huh? Want to come cut me down now?
I moved away from Rol and swept the sword back and forth in the air. Strange designs flashed along the blade. I could tell the edge was sharper than sharp, and the weapon was heavy, but it felt comfortable, like my favorite baseball bat. It was about the same length, but wider. Like two bats put together.
When I looked from the sword to Rol, he was smiling as he said, “I wasn’t certain before, but I had hoped.”
“Hoped what?” The sword grabbed my attention again, and I made another smooth stroke through the air.
“That you would be the one to master this blade.” Rol patted my shoulder. “You will do, boy. You will do. I should have known better than to doubt Jasmina. The queen is…tense, but quite accurate with her spellwork.”
Excitement swelled through me, and as weird as it sounds, I couldn’t wait for Rol to show me how to use that incredible sword.
And show me, he did.
He worked me all over that training yard, teaching me the proper way to hold the handle, which was really called a “hilt,” Rol told me. Swing the blade, block with it, and at least a dozen other things. Rol was a relentless coach, pushing me harder and harder, tougher than any baseball coach I’d ever had. But I didn’t mind.
Training felt normal. Natural. I had trained off and on my whole life, every year since Mom started me in T-ball. Even then, I had wanted to be good at something. To have one thing in my life I didn’t drop, break, lose, step on, or piss off. And I thought if I got really good at baseball, Dad could at least be proud of me for that.
Like that would ever happen.
I swung my blade so hard I almost spun around, but caught myself with my back foot. A look of satisfaction covered Rol’s dark face.
“Well met,” he thundered, and I thought he might be about to give me a rest break since we had been at it for over an hour. Then he whacked my shoulder and said, “Again!”
After what seemed like endless drills on balance, positioning, and footwork, Rol said, “Enough play, boy.” He raised his own sword. “Defend yourself”
He whirled and swung his blade at me, cutting a wide arc. I shifted my weight and blocked the blow, pivoting out of his path. He spun to attack me again, but my sword was already up and my stance set.
Rol charged once more. This time he angled suddenly to my right. Without thinking, I switched my sword to my right hand and slashed at him. His momentum was so great he had to flip and roll forward to avoid my suddenly greater reach.
I spun and met him with my sword up as he scrambled to his feet. His eyes blazed and he raised his sword again, as if to attack.
Then a smile cracked his face, and he said, “Time for midday meal.”
To my surprise, the cloud cover had burned away and the sun was already in the west. My stomach growled in agreement, and I laughed and sheathed the blade. Sweat soaked my hair and clothes, and my muscles felt that ache of a good workout. The sword slapped the side of my leg as I followed Rol across the training yard to the smithy.
“So tell me, Rol,” I said as we poured cold water from a rain barrel over our heads. “How and when do I get back to where I came from?”
Rol wiped his hand over his wet face and looked puzzled. “Did the queen not explain to you about the Path of Shadows and the Shadowmaster?”
I pushed back my wet hair. “Yeah, she did.”
He shrugged and poured another bucket of water over his head. “Then you know that anyone the queen takes onto the Path is trapped in his first Sanctuary until such time as the Shadowmaster kills him, or until the Shadowmaster is conquered.”
Water dripped down my face as I processed what he said. He had said it all like it was matter-of-fact. No big deal.
“So,” I replied very slowly, adding together all that Jazz had told me, “what you’re saying is that Jazz purposely brought me here, knowing that I can’t leave until the Shadowmaster is defeated, and that I might be killed.”
Rol nodded. “Aye.”
She had told me, in so many words. But she knew I didn’t fully understand that. Rage engulfed me like white-hot fire. My breathing got faster, and I ground my teeth so hard it made my head hurt.
When I got my hands around her neck…
Respond, don’t react.
Take the sword up to that castle and make her send me home. She’s got to know a way.
Respond, don’t react.
Oh, shut up.
Through gritted teeth, I growled, “I need to have a word with the queen.”
Rol raised one eyebrow and shrugged again. “As you wish. But I will be watching to see that you do not harm her. Or try to leave for the village. We have already come too far to risk you being breakfast for a hag or slav
e to an enchantress.”
I was so mad I barely registered the slave comment. In fact, I was so mad, I didn’t care if ten beautiful women wanted me as a slave. All I could think of was Jazz, and how much I wanted to take my sword and hack up her entire mansion.
Rol stepped out of my way.
I clenched my fists and headed toward the manor.
***
Chapter Ten
He would rather kiss Rol, indeed! Well, I knew a few spells that could grant that tasty wish. In my mind’s eye, I saw Rol kissing a fire-lipped camel. That was but one of my moments of temper. I had been twelve, I think. And I’d conjured it just to make Rol kiss it because he had been teasing me. Rol was a master teaser.
Unlike Bren, who was nothing but a master falcon dropping.
I flicked my fingers and blasted a vase into sparkling dust. That vase had always bothered me—all the cracks and irregular patterns. It looked messy. Mother wouldn’t have tolerated it.
Cleaning my stronghold helped me to spend my anger in productive ways. Defeat my inner weaknesses. After all, an ordered fortress was a successful fortress.
Between monitoring for the Shadowmaster and venting my frustrations by redecorating, my wrists had begun to ache before noon. A few of Shadowbridge’s rooms wound up rather bare, but all were clean. Each time I removed a flaw or piece of dirt, the tight ball of panic in my belly eased. Until I saw the next out-of-place rug or dusty chair. Was my entire life contaminated with dirt? I glanced around, feeling tense pains in my chest.
No. No. Everything was clean. Clean and bright.
I felt thankful I had few servants to wonder over my actions or feel displaced by my efficiency. Only my training master directly attended me, as befitted a proper ruler of the witches. Rol had been with me and only me since birth, first as a protector, then a trainer, and now the one witch sworn to defend me to his death. If I died young, Rol would carry on with my battles and appoint my heir. If I had an heir, Rol would support the child until the child’s second could be located. Perhaps Rol was slaying Bren at the smithy to preserve my honor. Or at least beating the brat-boy senseless.
L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set Page 7
