L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set

by R. S. Collins

  It took a lot of our concentration and power to maintain the spell, but together we were stronger. We each set about the village, releasing witches, hags, and other beings one by one while searching for the Erlking. Bodies were taken to the healing huts—those who looked like they could be healed. Those who were dead—right now there was nothing we could do for them.

  We found Rol, my dad, and Jazz’s mom. They were bloodied and bruised, too, but they were alive.

  It took us hours to search the village, first in twilight, then in pitch darkness. We had to tend to those we needed to while still under the spell, and extinguish what turned out to be magical flames. Fortunately we were able to put the fires out while they were still frozen due to our combined witchcraft.

  While the wounded were tended to by those who had the power to heal, others lined the bodies of the dead together. There had been nothing left of Dralz or her hag-spirit.

  Cries and wails filled oldeTowne and my head ached and pressure built behind my eyes. There was no time to grieve, not now. We had to be king and queen, and be strong for our people.

  Jazz and I had the leaders of each faction of L.O.S.T.’s residents break up into groups to account for everyone. The Keepers hurried after their flocks. There were so few harpies to begin with that we knew right away they were all okay, so they went to check on the livestock. The hags went about their search, as did the Dana’Kell. The witches had to be broken up into smaller groups because there were so many of the Shadow witches.

  My crow-brother had helped a lot with finding injured townspeople, and he was off circling the air once again, blending into the night sky. When everyone went in their separate directions to perform their searches, Jazz put her hand on my arm. I paused to look at her.

  “The Circle girls.” Panic crept into her voice and the magical light in her hands wavered. “I haven’t seen Helden, Kella, or Sherise anywhere. They would have been here with us.”

  I glanced at the shadows of the destroyed repository and gestured toward it. “Helden was in there with me, Quinn, a Keeper, Dralz, and the scroll keeper. Helden got out before I did, so I know she was okay.”

  “When it all started, I saw Sherise and Kella being led from one of the burning buildings by a witch I didn’t recognize.” Jazz’s eyes widened.

  My throat wanted to close off.

  “The Erlking,” we said together.

  I rubbed my hand over my face. “That monster has the Circle girls.”

  ***

  Chapter Twelve

  I had known anger many times in my life—hot anger, too. Not one of those moments held a rage comparable to the slow, hot fire that slid through my veins when Bren spoke the awful truth aloud.

  “The Erlking kidnapped Sherise.” I wouldn’t have been surprised if my words formed in the air, laced with fire. “And Helden and Kella. He stole them even as we watched.”

  “He must have been in L.O.S.T. when we sealed the breach in the shim enclosure.” Bren’s sentence came out in a choked snarl. “Hiding somewhere, probably with Aaron all tied up and gagged. He only pretended to get back on the Path after he murdered Acaw and swiped the boy. God, I’m so stupid!” He smashed his fist into his other hand. “Right here all along, hiding in plain sight, disguised as some witch nobody knew very well.”

  New anger piled on top of my fury. “He must have had assistance. Someone giving him shelter and cover, keeping Aaron quiet in the Erlking’s absence.”

  Bren looked at me then, the magical light around him shimmering silver-yellow with crimson streaks. “We have to get him. Now. That freak and whoever’s helping him.”

  His teeth clenched. A dark splash of red marked both of his cheeks, clearly visible despite the low light of our spells.

  My fingers curled into fists. I shook all over. No question what he felt—I understood perfectly. The time for petty arguments and idle disagreements had ended. The time for swords and spells was at hand.

  “I’m getting my pack,” Bren said in a low, dangerous voice. “Get yours and meet me at the Path. This time I’m sure he got on and stayed on.”

  I was slightly taken aback by the fact that he wasn’t trying to stop me from going. But I answered, “How can you be sure?”

  Bren pressed his fist into his stomach. “I feel it in my gut. He’s gone, and he probably wants us to follow him.” His voice dropped again. “He’s gone after my mother. Now’s the time.”

  I didn’t argue. Bren’s instincts had proven true too many times to ignore.

  Still furious, doing my best to use my anger for energy instead of my fear, I wasted no time heading for the home I shared with my mother, spelling on streetlamps as I went. After a few yards, Mother fell in and followed close behind me, but she said nothing. When we hurried into the house, I glanced at her and saw soot and tears mingling on her cheeks. My stomach twisted and I looked away.

  Once inside, I gathered some food, water, and a change of clothes. Mother silently assisted me, adding spellcasting and altar supplies to my pack. I belted on both of my swords—the one I had since I first held a blade, and the one I had taken from Bren’s half-brother Alderon when I slew him in the Battle of L.O.S.T. I spelled them to reduce their weight.

  As I tested my balance to be certain I could run and feint wearing both weapons, Mother stood in front of me and murmured an ancient blessing. I felt the warmth of her loving protections flow across my shoulders, loosening the tight muscles in my neck and lending me a surge of energy.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Mac and I will see to the needs of L.O.S.T. until you return,” she offered before I could ask for her help. The weariness and worry on her face made my chest ache.

  For a few seconds, words deserted me.

  Mother looked so different now. She still dressed up sometimes, for lessons and official duties, but on her own—well, her modern house, her modern dress, the way her silver and black hair hung unkempt about her shoulders, the emotions showing plainly on her face—sometimes she even seemed relaxed. That was new. Her relationship with Bren’s father had changed her.

  Had my love for Bren done the same for me?

  What could I say to this woman who once chastised me for every small mistake, this woman who now treated me as an equal, or worse, as a superior? How could I ever be my mother’s ruler?

  I cleared my throat and forced myself to meet her wet-eyed gaze. “Tomorrow is Beltane. The bonfires should be lit despite the threats, to strengthen our own wards and spells.”

  Mother nodded.

  “Bring everyone to the center of town—no, wait. To the Dana’Kell temple. That’s large enough to put the children and elderly inside.” I took a breath, started to tell her to ward the temple with all of our strength, that Nire could appear at any second, but I realized that I was being foolish. Mother mastered such things before I was ever born.

  She waited, silent, for the rest of my instructions, but I shook my head. “I trust you. Do what you think is best, and hold on until we get back. Hold L.O.S.T.”

  Once more, my mother gave me nothing but a nod. She blinked rapidly, and I could tell she was fighting a wave of emotion.

  “Sometimes being Queen of the Witches leaves little room for being the daughter of Winifred Corey,” I said, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry.”

  Mother leaned forward and kissed my cheek. I couldn’t let myself linger in her embrace, couldn’t enjoy the brief sensation of being young and safe again. Nire was coming back. More witches had been slaughtered. Aaron, Helden, Kella, and Sherise, all under my care, had been kidnapped. So many dead and missing. I had to go. Again. Much as with Bren, there was no need to discuss this with Mother. She understood, whatever her feelings on the subject.

  When she let me go, she said, “Be cautious, Jasmina.” Her frown deepened and her tears flowed more freely. “My dreams of late have been troubling.”

  “Dreams can be fears,” I countered as I backed toward the door.

  “Or visions.”
She let out a shaky breath, then caught hold of my hand. Her grip trembled like her words. “Take great care, daughter. It would break my heart again if you didn’t return.”

  “I’ll return.” I lifted up her knuckles, kissed them.

  She didn’t respond as I let her hand drop, and she didn’t call after me as I turned and ran through the unforgiving darkness, straight toward the Path.

  When I reached the shimmering wall of energy behind the general store, I noticed how shabby it seemed, with patches of darkness blended with silvery power. Here and there, the ribbon of energy seemed no more than part of the night. A new truth assailed me then, and a new wave of anger tightened my jaw. The Path would fall, and sooner rather than later. Bren and I couldn’t keep up with the maintenance, fend off continual attacks and poisoning, and see to our other responsibilities.

  The Path would fall.

  Goddess, but the thought galled me.

  All of my father’s work, Bren’s tireless labor, my heritage, the safety of my people—our people. But I didn’t have time to dwell on that. As I drew nearer to my destination, a bizarre sight and a cacophony of magical sound captured my attention.

  In a spot brightly lit by the Path’s glow, Bren stood, pack shouldered and sword belted on the left side of his body. He held two books close to his chest as he knelt before a group of chanting hags. Rol, wearing two swords and carrying a two-headed hammer, towered amongst a group of elflings. They were also singing in the quiet, inscrutable language of their kind. Witches and Shadow witches stood to the side. Some were murmuring charms, while others burned incense and candles. Still others prayed human-style, on their knees, hands clasped. Harpies circled above with Acaw’s—no, no, Bren’s crow-brother, radiating their own elemental powers. KlatchKeepers and their charges whirled in silent spell-dance, weaving the strongest protections they could offer, letting the energy fall over Bren and Rol. The closer I got, the more the magic arced toward me as well.

  I felt the joined powers sweep me forward even as my mind tried to grasp the totality of what I was witnessing. So many races, cooperating. L.O.S.T. was standing together. Could that unity possibly hold? Could it be the start of the peace and safety I so wanted to enjoy?

  And yet my mind tugged at me, insisting I notice something wrong, a little off, but I couldn’t place it. I didn’t have time to consider the problem right now.

  A hag caught my elbow and pulled me through the crowd. As people noticed me, they stepped aside, and shortly, the entire group parted to allow me quick progress to Bren and Rol. When I reached my training master, he said, “Your Majesty. I will accompany you.”

  Not a request. A statement.

  A mad fire burned in Rol’s eyes. His massive fist clenched around his deadly hammer as dozens of elflings brushed his legs with tiny hands, continuing their special blessings.

  I was not inclined to argue with Rol. He was being made a champion by the elflings, clearly charged with avenging the death of Acaw.

  Bren, on the other hand, looked the part of an ancient knight clutching precious books to his chest. He received instruction and protections from what was left of the hochkonigin.

  The phrases and his quick responses caught my attention.

  “Wait a minute!” I cried. “Bren! You’re agreeing to avenge Dralz—in the oldeWords.” I started to grab him, but Rol caught me and held me back.

  “He knows what he chooses,” Rol said as the elflings backed away.

  Hags had no remembrances for the dead. To them, death was natural, unless it came too soon. Then hags had only one thing on their mind: vengeance. Absolute. A life for a life.

  “But it’s binding. He’ll have to kill the one responsible for Dralz’s murder, or the oldeMagic will kill him!”

  Bren finished taking his oath, then allowed a hag to take the books he held and place them carefully into his pack, and tie it closed. Afterwards, she turned him to her, drew a dagger, sliced open the palm of his left hand, and extracted a measure of blood to seal the binding spell. Once the spell was sealed, she stopped the flow of blood with a few oldeWords.

  I watched, mute with horror and rage, as Bren’s crow-brother screeched and hag-spirits writhed around Bren and the hags in apparent glee.

  Rol turned me loose as Bren faced me.

  “What have you done?” I ran to him, raised both fists and pounded on his chest. His tunic felt cool and stiff beneath my blows, more like metal than cloth. The hags’ ancient magic had encased him in a type of magical armor.

  As it faded into clothes and skin, shock coursed through me, chilling my anger and turning it to amazement. The hags had never trusted a modern witch enough to lend oldeMagic to their quests. Not Father. Not even me.

  “I did what I had to do,” Bren said, his words pitched low, for my hearing only. His crow-brother shifted on his shoulder and clucked agreement as Bren caught my wrists.

  “How could you bind yourself in such a foolish way?” I tried to hit him again, and it took all my strength to choke back sobs. “You’ve put your life at risk. You must kill the hag-murderer. You and no one else. Bren, what if Nire was somehow responsible? What if the oldeMagic demands that you slay your mother?”

  Bren’s eyes blazed with the same mad fire I had seen in Rol’s gaze. “Then I’ll kill Nire,” he said steadily, easing the pressure on my wrists, but keeping a firm hold.

  I glanced over his shoulders at the hochkonigin hags and hag-spirits, who looked unnaturally focused and relaxed. Some were even murmuring comforts to nearby Shadow witches and modern witches. They seemed transformed, connected to L.O.S.T. and our purpose in a way they had never been before.

  And I understood.

  Bren wasn’t the fool. I was.

  He had done the only thing he could do to ensure the help and cooperation of the mistrustful oldeFolke. He had allowed the hags to bind him into such a spell, proving his willingness to destroy Nire, replacing his blood-ties to his own mother with blood-ties to the hags and the memory of Dralz.

  With that one action, Bren had brought the hags irrevocably into the fold of L.O.S.T. No matter what happened in the coming conflict, there would be no more defections of hags, even if Nire herself demanded it.

  “Sometimes being King of the Witches leaves little room to be the boyfriend of Jasmina Corey,” I murmured.

  Bren’s eyebrows lifted. With his expression, he told me that he agreed and that he loved me, even if he thought I was a bit mad.

  “Are you ready?” he asked as he let go my arms.

  “Ready.”

  Together we turned.

  As magical voices once more blended and rose in blessing, lending us whatever strength they had to offer, Bren and I drew our swords and sliced open the ailing Path.

  Bren and his crow-brother went first, leading Rol, and I brought up the rear. The last thing I saw as we sealed the breach was a sea of faces, modern witches and oldeFolke, gazing at us with shared fear and desperate hope. Once more I had the niggling feeling of something wrong, but Bren’s soft curse tore my attention away from that last image of L.O.S.T.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” he muttered. “Like Hansel and Gretel, but it’s not breadcrumbs.”

  “What?” I turned, barely able to stomach the Path’s shifting, slithering darkness—only that writhing darkness parted at Bren’s feet. A reddish glow led off toward the Sanctuaries of the past, as if someone had left us a beacon.

  “A trap.” Rol snarled and flexed the arm holding his hammer. “The monster left us a trail. We should not follow it.”

  Bren looked right, toward the Sanctuaries of the future, then back at the ominous red glow. His crow-brother squawked once, with a sound both angry and challenging. “Jazz and I were expecting this. The Erlking wants us to follow him this time. So, we’ll follow him. We don’t have a choice.”

  “The Erlking will be waiting for us.” I rubbed the hilts of my swords. “And his daughters, and maybe even Nire.”

  “Yeah.” Bren grimaced
. “Nothing like a family reunion.”

  Rol staggered and grunted as he regained his balance. The dying Path was beginning to drain his energy, and the snake-like rot drew perilously close to his ankles.

  Goddess. Does it bite?

  The way the crow-brother trained its black-marble eyes on the stuff, I was pretty sure it did.

  It was time to move, time to go, and I realized that once again, Bren was right. We had no real choice but to follow the path within the Path, even though it led to certain doom.

  “You go first,” I said to Bren. “You’re the one under blood-oath, so the first blows should be yours. The hags’ magic will give you extra protection, and help us track our quarry.”

  He drew his sword. Silver light blazed from the blade, chasing back some of the poisonous darkness. I expected him to make some snappy remark, but his face grew more than serious in the moving flickers of darkness.

  Silent, looking every bit the warrior he had become, the Shadowalker started down the Path, lighting our way as he went.

  I drew my sword, leaving Alderon’s blade snug against my leg for later use. Rol brought up the rear. When I glanced back at him, he had his hammer at the ready, and his broadsword a few inches out of its sheath, easy to draw on short notice.

  Back we went, through time. Past 1965 New York. Past the 1800s. Past colonial America and Salem, where Bren and I first battled Nire. I noticed Bren’s head turn toward that portal, but the Erlking’s sick red trail led ever farther, back, back, back into the past. A flutter from his crow-brother seemed to draw his attention to the task at hand, and Bren squared his shoulders and kept walking. I couldn’t see his face, but I could well imagine his grim expression. We were hunting for his brother’s kidnapper and maybe once more hunting his mother. Yet he did not hesitate. He made no protest. He wore his destiny like the hags’ magical armor, smoothly, without awkwardness. The King of the Witches. My king.

  I tried to keep my focus on Bren and only Bren as we moved. My energy waned, victim to the Path’s poisonous atmosphere. Now and again, the snake-rot lashed toward us, but we drove it back with light and protective spells. Whatever pains I suffered, it had to be nothing compared to Rol, who wheezed and gasped louder as we moved. Rol was physically powerful, but his magic couldn’t withstand assault like Bren’s or mine.