The Sword of Einiko (Swords of the Bloodline Book 2)

by A. R. Wilson

  Timidly raising one of his hands, Kidelar stepped next to Jurren. “I suppose now would be an appropriate time to venture we also require passage beyond your city to the swamp.”

  “Believe me, you have my permission to leave.” Kennehar strode out the door.

  A few of the dwarves chuckled as Jurren turned to follow Kennehar. They were such a peculiar people. But Jurren supposed it didn’t really matter. Getting a new sword for Arkose was relief enough to endure even greater ridicule or distain. Who knew what the beast from Jurren’s vision might be capable of? Whatever it took to prepare them for the swamp was worth any temporary discomfort.

  And besides, they hate the elves. How can I not respect them?

  CHAPTER 4

  Tascana fingered through another page. Each passage felt like a drop in some spiritual bucket. As the drips collected, the container swelled heavier and heavier. If only the weight of that bucket would crush the vine of dread flourishing inside her. Or simply crush her if it wished, she wasn’t picky. Death loomed as welcome a thought as the absence of pain.

  As she turned the next page, something burst in her soul. The drops swelled like a capsizing wave. Fear, panic, isolation, helplessness, repulsion. Every negative feeling and sensation washed through her until she could no longer breathe. Regret, emptiness, rage, horror, contempt. Pounding in her ears quickened like a raging drum.

  I’m dying! Oh, praise the Fates, it’s over.

  Warmth trickled into her ears. The tightness in her throat eased as soothing comfort spread into her chest. Opening her eyes, she saw Jerricoh leaned in close while gripping the sides of her head.

  She flinched.

  “That happened quicker than I thought.” He smirked, his deep blue eyes dancing with amusement.

  Wait, what? How had the color of his eyes changed? “Let go of me.”

  “Almost finished.”

  Blinking hard, he relaxed his arms and stood. “The Master was correct in his assessment of your potential.”

  Heat dripped along the back of her throat, igniting several flowers along the vine. Was this some kind of prank? “Why did you do that to me?”

  “You find healing offensive?”

  “No. Why did you make me feel like I was dying? You’re sick!”

  He burst out laughing so hard he bent to grab his knees for support. The searing in her throat spread into her cheeks. He carried on like that for at least a full minute before finding the breath to compose himself.

  “Thank you.” He wiped a tear from his eye, making long whoops of drawing in air. “I haven’t laughed that hard in decades.”

  Her hands began to shake.

  “Ah! Give me a minute.” He rubbed his side.

  Clenching her hands, she heard something rip. Glancing down she saw a torn corner of a page crumpled in her fist. Instantly, something tight pulled at the back of her head.

  Jerricoh’s screams barely registered over the pain spilling into her ears. “You will not disrespect this book!”

  Instinctively, she reached to deflect the assault. The next thing she knew the floor raced up towards her. Somewhere in the fray, she tried to scream but nothing would come out. Not even air. She tried to breath in, but it was useless. Unseen eyes pressed against her. A sharp thump rotated her from a fetal position on her right side to her left side. She stiffened, waiting, sucking in the thread of a weak breath that finally broke through the pain.

  Jerricoh grunted a sound of disapproval. “Get up.”

  Shaking, she hesitated. Though she wanted to remain curled up, she had an idea of what might happen if she disobeyed. Taking another breath, she pushed herself to a stand. She kept her focus on the ground. Please don’t tell me to look at you.

  “Sit in that chair.”

  Oh, thank you. She withered into the high back chair, her left shoulder throbbing.

  Jerricoh stood over her. A creepy, sinking feeling clouded Tascana.

  He’s staring at me.

  “This book is worth more than your pathetic wisp of an existence. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.”

  He made a sweeping gesture over the book on the table. The torn corner pulled itself together until all evidence of damage vanished.

  “This will be the only time you are granted a warning for failure to comply with proper respect. Any further mishaps will result in an actual punishment.”

  She nodded.

  His voice switched to its previous cheerfulness. “Now about your question. I have done nothing to you. The condition you suffered is the result of poor reasoning on your part. Each spell is a piece in a grand design. You must allow those pieces a place to settle in your soul, otherwise they will—” He paused, trying to suppress a laugh. “They will dissect you trying to fight for space to dwell.”

  His words felt like shards of glass in her heart. That fake pleasantness. What in the world kind of bizarre prison was this? Each spell had to find a place to live inside her?

  “Slow your reading, apprentice.”

  That one word caused her to look up at him. Apprentice. The goblin in Gaulden Forest had called her that when it sniffed out her hiding place. Her mentor in Tretchin Valley had called her an apprentice. And now this man in black with a temper to rival a mother badger used the term to describe her. For three years she had been her own apprentice, loathing the day she mastered her cache of scrolls and would have nothing else to learn. Now, she trembled under the will of someone who demanded she learn, and learn well, or else.

  “If you slow your reading, you will increase your awareness of the strength building within you. Pause, until you feel the spell rest.” He gazed down the length of her dress then back up at her. “Or not. I rather enjoy holding your precious little face while I force life back into you.”

  Tascana dug her nails into her palms. She wasn’t going to cry. Not here, not in front of him or under The Master’s watching. No matter how crude, fierce, or intimidating he tried to be, she would not give him the satisfaction of causing her to break. The sting in her eyes continued to increase and she tightened her already clenched fists.

  Jerricoh tilted his head. His blue eyes softened from the color of a pale winter sky to one at the heat of summer. They were equally beautiful and treacherous. How did he cause them to change like that? Going from light to dark at the whims of his mood, ice being the worst of the displays. Was it something he learned?

  “Read the next spell, I’ll show you.”

  She turned to the open book. Relaxing her hands, she rubbed her fingertips against the grooves in her palms, then flattened one hand on the page. She traced a finger along the lines of text until she found her place. Moving to the next word, that same melodic voice sang the spell to her in its elegant language. The unique sounds and flourishes put the communication of her own people to shame. So stunning, so exquisite. Courage washed through her, like how she used to feel when she practiced the scrolls.

  “Now pause.” Jerricoh’s charismatic voice complimented the siren perfectly. “Feel the power entering into you. Allow it to find its way.”

  Deep inside of her, in that place where she treasured the memories of her life back in Hess-Bren, she heard a warning call. A caution like the kind her mother would give her.

  “Don’t listen to him. You don’t want to be a part of them.”

  But he’s so much stronger than me. I need to learn.

  “Not like this.”

  She could feel the new spell trickle in like a thread sewing into her soul.

  “This is wrong...”

  I don’t care...

  “Good, very good, apprentice. Now, the next one.”

  “Think about what you’re doing.”

  Too late. Her eyes had already taken notice of the first stroke of the first symbol. The song had already begun.

  “And now the next one.”

  How can someone so beastly have such a beautiful voice?

  “Listen to yourself. You’re stronger than this.
”

  No. But I will be soon.

  “Tascana.”

  Shut up, Mother. You never understood.

  She dove in. So what if following Jerricoh headlong into the abyss meant becoming a warlock’s apprentice? Did she even have any real hope of seeing her mother or father again? No one could fight a dragon like the one who took her away. Her family probably thought her dead anyway. Right? What else would they think? If the only way should could stay safe was by studying magic then so be it. She loved magic. For all she knew, the Fate had provided this way for her to become a master.

  “It is time to practice what you have learned, apprentice.”

  His words sounded as though they came from the end of a long tunnel. She glanced up to find he had brought a chair to sit at the table with her.

  When did that happen?

  “You must have dinner, then off to bed.” He stood and offered his hand.

  “I thought you said it was time to practice.”

  “You will practice in bed.”

  Heat filled her cheeks. He laughed.

  “Worry not. Your practice will come in your dreams.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You will. But now, it is time for dinner.”

  She accepted the offer and allowed him to help her up. Pins and needles pricked along her legs from staying in one position for so long. How had the day slipped away from her? Only moments ago Jerricoh had set the book on the table, or so it seemed.

  Dinner was far more pleasant than the last time they shared a meal. The food was as good to eat as it was to look at. And as long as she kept her attitude in check, Jerricoh remained a most gracious host.

  Afterward, he guided her to her room. No guard stood waiting this time. No lock engaged. He simply bid her farewell and left. Even the feeling of being watched lessened.

  Tascana looked down at the white dress he forced upon her. She gripped a fistful in each hand, intending to change it back, but thought better of it. Her head still felt tender from her earlier infraction.

  He’s only a beast when I break a rule.

  Her mind screamed a hundred different justifications for such a response. Maybe The Master imposed a spell on Jerricoh to make him act that way. Or perhaps he feared what The Master would do to him if she failed to study. After all, they were both prisoners. It wasn’t like he enjoyed hurting her. The moment she complied, he went right back to acting like a big brother. Albeit an inappropriate older brother. But he did it to protect her. Right?

  The blankets on the bed lay in the same disarray from their struggle that morning.

  But that was only because I didn’t follow directions. Tomorrow will be different.

  She tugged at the corners of the fabric, pulling it to lie flat and even across the mattress. When she finished, she eased under the covers. Heaviness filled her eyes. The kind that came at the close of an endless day. Within two breaths, she fell asleep.

  * * *

  A large sheet stretched out from unseen hands snapping it loose. Mountains and valleys spread out along the ripples. The world manifested before her. Realizing she had entered in a dream, Tascana levitated above the landscapes. Various shapes rose and fell as the terrain beneath her continued to form.

  But it was wrong.

  Thrusting out a hand she caused a mountain to burst up from a valley. Rocks streamed upward like an earthen waterfall. She never knew such beauty in destruction. Again, she forced a peak to explode from the ground. And again and again. Nothing but showers of rocks birthing into the sky. Then she crushed it. With a wide sweep of her hands she tumbled every peak into the depths of the earth. Great pits opened, glowing red and orange. The once mighty peaks tumbled helplessly into their graves. Flames swallowed them as they melted into oblivion.

  She laughed. Not from delight, but relief. The power she always knew she could one day possess flowed through her. No more hiding in the shadows, afraid of being discovered. No more fearing what might happen. Now she ruled as the one to be feared. Her hands decided the fate of those around her. Racing through the air, she chose. This will rise. That will fall. Those will rise only to fall once more. She split the land and drew in the sea. The waters cascaded and crashed, massing to form an island of her creation. Waves pounded, shoving the island to rise higher and higher.

  On the horizon, a dense fog rolled towards her, filled with sadness and longing. She reached out her hand to dispel the vapor. A single pocket remained, hovering around a form hiding from her strength. Swiping outward, a little more of it faded until a thin mist scarcely cloaked the human-like figure. He stood. No longer able to hide shrouded in insignificance, he submitted to her. His face turned in a lingering shadow. Ethereal need linked her spirit to his, allowing her to sense his thoughts. He envied her. Through all his power and success, he still lacked something precious. Something only she possessed. He willingly risked his life for the chance to come near, and glimpse at the rare gem that was her. Falling to his knees, he wept, knowing he could only ever be bid into her presence at her choosing.

  She beckoned him.

  He trembled. Did he dare believe he could survive a moment before her?

  Motioning again, she pulled him closer by the power of her will. He knelt before her as one who begged for his life at the feet of a merciless queen.

  “I receive you. Stand upon your feet.” Her shoulders squared as she loomed over him

  Slowly, he complied. Shoulders hunched, head lowered, he stopped short of matching her height. His long, blond hair disheveled about his shoulders. It was so adorable the way he knew his place. The way he respected her power ,and refused to dare to ask for permission to be her equal. So charming. So willing to endure any trial, if it might win him a token of her favor. He understood her place in this world and cherished her for it.

  “Look at me.” She whispered, for she knew he hung on her every word.

  “I cannot.”

  “Why do you refuse me?”

  “I have nothing with which to look upon you. Without you, I am a shell.”

  She grinned, anticipating what she would see. “Look at me.”

  He lifted his head. Two black holes rested where his eyes should have been. “I am empty and ashamed.”

  “Ashamed of what?”

  “I will always be half of what you are.”

  She took his hands. He quivered under her touch, dropping to his former crouched state.

  “I choose you.” Her whisper calmed the tremor in his hands.

  Of all the control she exercised over the land, the conquest of forcing him to accept her surpassed them all.

  “I am unworthy of your choosing.”

  She melded their hands together, blurring the lines between where she ended and he began. “I choose you.”

  * * *

  Tascana jolted awake.

  That was so creepy weird.

  She sat up, looking at her hands as though seeing them for the first time. Is this what Jerricoh meant? Is this what it felt like to practice her magic in a dream world?

  But it felt so real. The control, the surging, the need for more. And the face of that broken soul. The sad beauty, and the way she exploited his longing. Was she really capable of treating someone like that? Watching him quake under her power, and feeling entitled to push him beyond his will?

  Is that what Jerricoh does?

  She balled her hands together. Mother and Father would be so disappointed. But they weren’t here. They weren’t the ones trying to survive a fate worse than death. If it made her stronger in the process, then the end justified the means.

  The sensation of invisible eyes settled upon her and she steeled herself against the shiver. Opening her hands, she looked at her palms. Faint lines spoke of the anger and fear she had to suppress by digging with her nails the day before. In those grooves, she saw the implications of what the future held for her. She stood on the edge of a moment. Not in the moment, but next to it. It stared at her, and she pretend
ed not to see it. She had only yielded to what she needed to do to survive. In no way could she allow herself to become the fullness of what The Master wanted from her. Could she?

  Another vine in her gut quivered. She closed her hands. What reason would The Master have for her to study magic? How powerful must he be that her studies posed no threat to him? She could scarcely fathom the strength he must possess if he demanded she learn how to form and dismantle the land around her. Then again, her action had only been a dream. Or perhaps a vision. Had anything changed somewhere in the world because of what she did?

  Knock, knock, knock.

  Rothar called through the door. “I have brought you a meal.”

  “Thank you. I’m up.”

  He opened the door only enough to pass through and set a tray on the table closest to him, then shuffled out. She went to lift the cover. An assortment of fruit and cheese lay in neat rows. She picked at a few pieces.

  Another set of knocks rapped at the door. Pulling it open, she saw Jerricoh. His long dark hair draped neatly on either side of his chiseled face. Clad all in black, he stood with his hands behind his back. In another life she might find him beautiful, but she remembered what happened when those deep blue eyes turned to ice. Her scalp prickled at the memory.

  “Are you ready for your studies?” His tone remained pleasant and even.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  His expression fell blank. “I suppose.”

  “Why does The Master—”

  Jerricoh cut her off, his eyes going pale. “Never question anything The Master requires.”

  She dropped her gaze, nodding.

  “It is for your benefit that you learn to do this.”

  Had Jerricoh’s tone softened? She looked up at him. His eye color had begun to deepen.

  Are you concerned for me? “I understand.”

  “We will return to the west library.”

  She nodded then realized she had a full bladder. Far more full than she had previous mornings. “I need a few moments alone first.”

  His gaze narrowed.

  “I— ” she paused, not wanting to admit the truth but knowing no other response would satisfy him. “I need to use the privy.”