L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set

by R. S. Collins

  I stared at the Shadowmaster’s leering golem. The hateful creature wriggled and thrashed on the floor. The room seemed to spin, and a dank water-and-mud odor invaded the air like poison.

  Using what little motion I had left in my aching arm, I raised my hands and bound the treacherous abomination. Mud and thatch, carved into human form, painted and fixed—given life by Nire’s own foul breath. It would die now, but its wicked purpose had been served. Nire’s strength against me had been solidified by a seed of evil planted in my own home. And the Shadows—the golem had been their beacon and their passkey, admitting them straight into my stronghold once Nire broke the bonds protecting Shallym.

  Bren brought this to me. Upon the fates of all witches, I had no idea that he hated me so much. That kiss—his words of trust—lies, all of it.

  Pain dug into my arm and into my heart, and I could scarcely tell which wound was deeper. Tears clouded my vision as I tore my gaze away from the golem and studied Bren’s angry face. His once-handsome features were twisted, and he looked like he wanted to snatch his prize back from the floor and clutch it to his heart until he doomed us both.

  “How could you have done this?” My voice trembled as I fought a wave of sobs. “How could you have brought death into my one place of safety? Into our one place of respite? I thought—I thought you had come to care about this quest. I thought you had come to care…for me.”

  Bren said nothing. His brown eyes, harder than ever and half-shielded by his mussed hair, darted from the golem to me, and back to the golem.

  My insides began to shake. The throb in my arm was almost too much to bear, and the ache of Rol’s absence nearly brought me to my knees. I doubled my fist and pressed it against the wound, as if to hold down the Shadows even as they took root. There was little I could do to stop their relentless progress, but Bren—he was another story.

  “Will you say nothing?” I swallowed, dizzy from the sudden loss of-of everything. “All of this feigned ignorance of our world, our ways. Bravo. You’re a master trickster. I was completely fooled.”

  Still, Bren kept silent. His lips—lips that had pressed against mine even as he betrayed me—formed a tight line.

  “You must have known I would have to banish you from the Path. Or did you hope to win my heart and persuade me otherwise? Perhaps you planned to take me to Nire yourself?” I jammed my fist farther into my wound, trying to keep the Shadows still. “Why did you have to sacrifice Rol? Why not just kill me and have done with it? Answer me!”

  Bren’s eyes flashed. He seemed oddly frozen, and as I glared at him, snatches of his thoughts flew forward and hammered at my brain.

  Trying…

  Can’t…

  Love…

  Door basement…

  HELP…

  I blinked. The intensity of Bren’s gaze doubled.

  HELP…

  HELP M…

  Donkey…

  Ah, God…

  His eyes fluttered down, then up, and the light silver haze of his power flickered over his skin.

  HELPMEHELPMEHELPMENOW!

  The force of Bren’s focused thought was so great I stumbled back and shook my head. The fog of my emotion split open, and truth barged through.

  Bren didn’t just look frozen. He was frozen. The golem had him enthralled.

  Even now, the hideous little doll was giggling and thrashing, gasping for breath, and—no! Dread seized me with cold fingers. If it died before I could cut its ties to Bren, Bren would pass into Talamadden before I could so much as lift a finger. A new shiver rippled up my spine, this one clammy and sly, almost daring me to back away. If I allowed this to happen, we could find each other, free of all this stress, this responsibility—no. No!

  How could I even think such a horrid, irresponsible thought?

  Weakness…mind and blood…

  I shook off my growing chill for a moment and tried to begin a spell, but the pain! Already, the Shadows had claimed my arm. It wouldn’t obey my commands to move.

  My hand. Sweet Goddess. I couldn’t even lift my hand to conjure—and the Shadows would pollute any magic I offered.

  “Listen to me, Bren.” My tone echoed through Shadowbridge, and no doubt all the way to the rebelling Shallym witches, but it was necessary.

  Bren flinched as if I had slapped him. Good. My heart thundered. At least I still had that much sway. At least he could hear me. “Close your eyes.”

  Bren’s lids fluttered again, and silver sparkles pulsed across his skin—but he didn’t close his eyes.

  At the sight of his inability to act, I forced myself to plunge full into his soul, made myself reach to the deepest parts of his mind and heart. It was a horrible violation, but what choice did I have? If I didn’t reach him, he would be dead in minutes.

  “Don’t fight me,” I insisted as I moved farther toward the base of his life essence. “I’m not ordering you about for my own pleasure. You have to close your eyes.”

  Bren’s gaze seemed to catch fire, and the fury in it burned me, deep inside my own base. It was as if our souls were engaged in mortal conflict. I ground my teeth but held my concentration, urging him, fighting the golem’s presence.

  Bren’s eyelids drifted down. Slowly.

  The golem let out a long, dying breath.

  “Now!” I yelled.

  Bren hesitated, but his eyes closed.

  I muttered the spell for release as forcefully as I could, hoping it would work without the action of my fingers. Hoping Bren’s own will would fight the possession.

  My entire body was shaking as I attempted to break the golem’s hold on Bren, and bit by bit, I felt the golem’s possession recede—and slip away. My consciousness dropped like a stone, down, fully into Bren’s essence.

  Into his core of power.

  So strong. Unimaginably strong and blinding.

  I lurched back, stunned. No one is that powerful! No one except—

  I had always imagined Nire’s magic to be so old and intense as what I found within Bren. So incredibly strong. My breath caught deep in my chest, and the connection between us ripped in two.

  What is Bren? By all of the witches on the Path—what is he?

  For a moment, Bren seemed impossibly tall. Imposing. And possessed of more raw power than even an insane witch might desire.

  And then he was Bren again.

  Angry. Hurt. Holding himself and no doubt feeling like I had stripped him bare out of malice and spite—but he was Bren.

  “What did you do to me?” He was shaking. “And what is that—that weird doll thing?”

  “A golem,” I answered reflexively, and realized I was afraid not to. My arm ached so much I feared I might faint, but I forced myself to keep standing. Showing weakness in front of Bren was no longer an option. “A tool the Shadowmaster used to find my stronghold. I thought at first you had brought it on purpose, but clearly, someone gave it to you. It had you enthralled.”

  Bren’s stubborn glower told me that he did not understand.

  “The golem has a life of sorts, given by Nire. It cast a spell on you so that you were bound to it, and yet barely aware of it.” I clutched my arm tighter to me as the full realization filled my mind. “The golem made you wish to hide it, to refuse to part with it.”

  Understanding rippled across Bren’s handsome face, and my heart started to ache again. So much was beginning to fit into place—so much I didn’t want to see or to know.

  “The freak in the bathroom.” Bren rubbed his hands up and down his arms and his skin was pebbled like gooseflesh. “The greasy guy. He gave the golem to me.”

  “Alderon.” More pieces clicked into place. “My father’s mistake. And the man who took your mother’s truck. At my suggestion.”

  Bren was still hugging himself and shaking, and I wished I could go to him. I wished I could wrap my arms around him and soothe him. He was looking at me like I had betrayed him in the worst way possible, like I was betraying him again by failing to offer my
comfort.

  “I’m sorry for what I had to do to break the golem’s spell,” I murmured, fighting the impulse to kiss him. “Touching you that deeply, that intimately without your permission or consent. I know what that must have felt like.”

  “Don’t do it again,” he said in a flat voice. “Next time, let me die. Understand?”

  I winced, but I nodded. These things were a matter of personal choice. For most beings, there were things in the universe worse than death, and Bren had made himself clear. From now on, he would be responsible for saving himself.

  Which I now had no doubt he could do.

  Shadowalker.

  Whatever I had sensed inside him, it was far more than I was prepared to deal with. And far more than I understood, but one thing was clear. My earlier instincts had been correct.

  Bren was definitely not human. Not fully, anyway. What was inside him was of the oldeFolke. And ancient. As if a piece of him had existed since time began.

  Like Nire.

  I rubbed my wounded arm. The flesh had grown as cold as night and almost as dark. The Shadows inside me were working to drain my life’s energy.

  Images of Alderon pushed into my mind. Things my father had said. Some of Alderon’s fighting skill. The way the silver had sometimes played on Alderon’s skin, though never as much as Bren’s.

  There was some connection between Bren and that worthless dog, too, but what was it? Bren was not the Shadowmaster. That much I believed. But he was also connected to the Shadowmaster in some way I could not comprehend.

  Sweet Fates. Had I found a savior for my people, or a false god? Had I doomed the witches of the Path?

  My vision swam, distorting the room of the place where I had thought to live until the Shadowmaster was finally defeated. But my home, like so many other things, was lost to me now. Violated and unsafe.

  There was precious little time left, for Shallym or the other Sanctuaries, or for me. I couldn’t battle the Shadows inside me for much longer. Bren was right. We had to go after Nire right away.

  But Bren’s distant frown did nothing to reassure me, on any point.

  He would have to learn his magic and learn quickly, because I wouldn’t be able to help him much past the next day.

  “Why won’t you come near me?” he asked, catching me off guard so badly I almost screamed.

  Honesty. We were supposed to be honest, and I wanted to cry again. That was a vow I could no longer keep with Bren. Not now, and perhaps not ever again.

  “My wound,” I said, hedging. “The Shadows are still active. They will move faster if you touch the site.”

  Bren regarded me with a measure of concern and seemed to accept this half-truth. “So, as soon as we get you patched up, we’re going after Rol?”

  Patched up. I laughed in spite of myself. More tears threatened, but I held them back with a touch of my old coolness and grace under pressure. Bren had opened my heart so much that to close it against him felt like slashing off a part of my soul. But as always, what choice did I have? All that mattered now was saving Rol and helping Bren to his destiny.

  “Yes.” I fished a smile out of the depths of my pain. “As soon as we lay our plans.”

  No sooner did the words leave my mouth than Acaw entered, carrying a live oak branch. His crow-brother hopped and fluttered on his shoulder. Immediately, the elfling’s eyes traveled to my arm, and I saw his instant understanding—and the grief-stricken expression he quickly buried.

  “Your Majesty,” he said with his typical even cadence. “Shallym is in complete mutiny. The oldeFolke have taken to spelling each other, and the klatchKovens are in open revolt. The witches are demanding the Shadowalker’s blood for this attack, and if you do not take him away from here, I fear they will have it.”

  The elfling took a long, rattling breath, and with uncharacteristic emotion, he added, “It has been a pleasure to be in your service. Most of the time.”

  With that, he held out the branch.

  I accepted it, and using the broom to support myself, I offered the elfling a proper bow. “You have been most kind. Be released with a free heart, and farewell.”

  “I will do what I can to steady Shallym.” Once more, Acaw bowed. His crow-brother squawked, and the two of them turned and vanished, as was elfling practice.

  Bren scooped up his sword from where he had dropped it. He straightened, eyeing me with something between suspicion and fear. “Um, what just happened?”

  “I released Acaw from my service.” I struggled to mount the broom, leaving room for Bren to climb on behind.

  “Why would you do that?” Bren sheathed his sword as he edged up beside me, trying to look into my eyes, which I kept averted.

  “Because I won’t be returning to Shadowbridge. Come. It’s no longer safe here.” I scooted forward to be sure he had enough space to climb on. “You get your wish to fetch Rol immediately, for Middle Salem is the only logical place to go.”

  Typical to his stubborn nature, Bren held back and gave me a wary frown that made me love him twice as much, and broke my heart twice as badly. “I’m not sure about this, Jazz. Something doesn’t feel right.”

  “Rol’s absence is and painful for us all.” I nodded, and wondered if Bren could sense all that I was hiding from him now. About how the Shadows were eating into me, deeper and deeper. “Get on. We have no time to rest. No doubt Shallym’s witches will return shortly, and we should be away before they attack us.”

  “But your arm.” Bren pointed.

  I clenched my teeth. “I can handle flying with my good hand. Don’t worry about that.” Still, Bren hesitated.

  “You’re the one who said we have to be safe with each other. Just this once, trust me. Get on. Don’t touch my wounded arm again, though. Under any circumstances.”

  Bren stood for a moment, then mounted the broom. He let his hands rest lightly on my waist. Even that small touch nearly made me break into pieces, because I wanted him to hold me. I wanted to see him as the innocent boy he was when I brought him onto the Path. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and feel comfort, and know everything would be okay.

  Weakness…mind and blood…

  My mother’s voice rose and died in my mind, once and for all. If I could resist my wish to turn to Bren at this most delicate moment, there was nothing at all weak about me.

  Nothing.

  Whatever errors I had made in life, whatever mistakes I had committed, I was atoning for them all.

  “Open,” I commanded my bedroom window, and the breeze hit me full in the face as the shutters sprang wide. From down Shadowbridge Hill came the roar of the masses, killing each other. I scarcely had the strength to fly, thus a ceasing spell was out of the question, even though the golem had been destroyed. I would likely need all my strength to somehow get Bren through the Path’s barrier.

  If I could do it at all.

  As we flew through the window, heading for Middle Salem, a tear did escape. It felt cold against my cheek. Was I riding with Bren for the last time? Would I ever feel his touch again after this ride? I sighed, knowing the answers to those questions as we lifted high over Shallym. Even at such heights, we could hear the pandemonium below.

  “It’s pretty wild down there,” Bren yelled.

  “The Shadowmaster’s darkest dreams are being realized.” I shifted on the broom, keeping my good hand on its wooden neck. “We are turning on each other.”

  Bren’s grip on my waist was more confident. Less desperate than it had been on previous rides.

  And as I requested, he didn’t touch my wounded arm. Already, the Shadow chill was spreading up toward my neck and down into my chest and hip.

  “Is it a long way to Middle Salem?” he asked, yet somehow I sensed he already knew.

  “Middling-fair.” I could only hope I would maintain consciousness that long. “We have to find entrance to the Path and soon.”

  “Jazz, I have something to tell—” Bren stopped, his body tensing behind mine. “W
atch out!”

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The slither flew at us, just yards away and closing in. Its cavernous mouth widened, teeth glinting in the sunlight. A witch rode the beast’s back, her mad cackle driving it on.

  “By the Goddess!” Jazz cried.

  I knew what I had to do. I knew she didn’t have the strength to guide us away from the slither fast enough. All the hours of practice in my hideout allowed me to take control of the broom at the same time I drew my sword.

  The broom dropped fast and sudden. Jazz gasped, and I could feel her trying to regain her command of the branch. “What’s happening?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I shouted over the roar of the enraged slither and the witch’s screech. “Don’t fight it. Let me handle this.”

  Holding onto Jazz with one hand, my sword in the other, I used the power of my thought to force the broom down. I circled behind Shadowbridge Manor, the heat of the slither’s breath practically on our necks. The powerful flap of the dragon’s wings rumbled as loud as thunder while the beast chased us. I had learned from Rol that slithers couldn’t breathe fire while flying, so at least we had that on our side.

  Where is it? There!

  Jazz sucked in her breath as I guided the branch through the grove of trees behind the manor, everything a blur around us. The ground rumbled as the slither landed and smashed through the trees. By the time we reached my hideout the broom was flaming, and I could hear the slither’s claws pounding the earth as it charged toward us. I touched down on the opposite side of the stream, next to the Path. Jazz stumbled off, and I tossed the burning branch into the stream. Smoke filled the air.

  The dragon crashed through the trees. It was almost on top of us.

  “Don’t harm the slither,” Jazz cried as I raised my sword.

  I whirled around, took the sword point and sliced into the Path. Jazz gasped, but before she could say a word, I yanked her by her good arm through the opening.

  The slither tore into the clearing of my hideout and released a blast of fire just as I closed the Path behind us. The smell of burnt leaves and hair mixed with the mold and dirt odor of the Path, and I realized the slither had singed the hair on my arm.