Silver and Shadow (The Canath Chronicles Book 2)

by S. M. Gaither

  I somewhat hesitantly hand it over, and he carries it out of sight—heading in the direction of that river I heard earlier. After a minute or two the sound of him splashing into the water reaches my sensitive ears. I’m curious about the sort of magic he might be performing with the river’s water, but I also don’t have any desire to see any other weird spells at the moment, so I look to Carys for an explanation instead.

  “He’s not human, is he?” I ask her.

  I’m ninety-eight percent sure that she’s asked him this somewhere among her million other questions. And I’m not disappointed; she nods, and she looks eager to share her knowledge on the subject, as per usual.

  “He’s one of the last Shiryos,” she explains, voice slightly hushed. “His kind were here at the beginning of Canath, before it became little more than—as he put it—a ‘dumping ground’ for corrupt creatures that were banished from other worlds.”

  “Casandra said not everyone here was bad,” I recall.

  She nods. “But the blood-toned twilight of this world is a result of more than just the queen and the creatures she’s created. She’s made it worse, but it’s been growing darker for decades now, Elric told me. When the shadowy creatures of this world kill, when they cast magic with ill intent…well, this place is very much shaped by the actions and auras of its inhabitants. So for decades, Elric’s kind have tried to counter the twilight by using their own magic, which is derived from the purest elements of nature.”

  “You said there aren’t many of his kind left,” Liam says. “Is that why it looks like they’re failing so hard at clearing the shadows out? Because of the queen’s growing power, and their dwindling numbers?”

  “Mm-hm. Their numbers were decimated a little over forty years ago, and never really recovered.”

  “Forty years ago?”

  “When Elric failed to convince the queen to change her ways, he escaped the palace with Casandra’s help. Then most of his kind banded together and attempted to use a show of force instead of reason to save this world—by getting rid of the queen and the army she had started to build. They were hoping they might rally some others to their cause, but…”

  “No one else helped?” I guess with a glance at the scarlet sky.

  “Creatures that have lived their whole life in darkness don’t recognize light for the liberating force that it is,” Elric interjects, pushing his way back through the trees. “You all have the advantage of having coming from Earth—a paradise really, despite its faults. And my kind had the advantage of having seen this world before the shadows began to take it. So we knew there were better things worth fighting for, even here.” He hands my sword back to me as he adds, “And for what it’s worth, we do have more allies now than we did forty years ago. Not necessarily of my own kind—but others who realize that things have gotten worse since the Dusk Queen took over. They’ll fight her alongside us, when the time comes to try and overthrow her again.”

  “So if we all get rid of the queen and her army,” Liam says, “we get rid of the weird darkness in this world—and any chance of that darkness reaching Earth.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I try to sound more optimistic than I am. “Simple, right? I mean, you guys might as well go ahead and start calling me Eleanor McLelland, Queen Slayer.”

  Liam snorts. “Yeah, I’m not calling you that.”

  I twist my sword—which feels lighter, almost hollow since Elric messed with it—in Liam’s direction, playfully and expertly placing the flat side against his cheek. “You will before it’s over,” I taunt.

  He continues to look unimpressed, and then his gaze drops suddenly to the ground behind me. “What the hell is that?”

  “Oh please. I’m not falling for that.”

  “It looks like a snake.”

  “No it doesn’t,” I say, rolling my eyes while simultaneously fighting off the urge to scream, jump, and spin around to see for myself.

  He takes a step backward, and the motion is enough to make my suddenly skittish self practically leap out of my skin—and let down my guard, which Liam promptly uses to his advantage; he knocks my sword arm down and then pins my other arm behind my back, twisting me away from him as he does.

  “That was a cheap trick.”

  “Yeah,” he admits. “So hopefully this evil queen person doesn’t use any cheap tricks, or else we’re all doomed, huh?”

  Carys sighs, but it’s obvious she’s trying not to laugh.

  “Sort of feels like you’re both ganging up on me here,” I complain.

  “I was just thinking that it’s another weakness we’ll need to work on,” she laments.

  “My fear of reptiles isn’t a weakness, it’s a fantastic quality that all sane people have.”

  “What if the Dusk Queen has a giant pet snake?” Liam asks, releasing his grip on my arm.

  “What if she’s part snake?” Carys says, just as seriously. “Or has snakes for hair, like Medusa or something.”

  “I’m so glad you’re both here. Have I mentioned that yet?”

  Elric clears his throat at us again. “Would you like to actually practice today, or not?”

  The mood abruptly turns more solemn.

  “Right. That.” I hold up my sword, examining it. It’s definitely lighter than before. “What did you do to my beloved StarStabber here, anyway?”

  “Is that honestly the name you came up with?” Liam says, choking down a laugh.

  “Be quiet,” Carys says.

  Elric coughs once more.

  Poor guy’s going to end up with a sore throat at the rate we’re going.

  “The staves Casandra and I carry are enchanted similarly,” he says, pithily. He retrieves said staff from within the folds of the grey cloak he’s wearing, flattens his palm, and we all watch as that weapon raises to a vertical position and extends to double its size.

  He wraps his fingers around it, and it hums with faint crackles of electricity.

  “Like those staves, your sword should now be able to draw any magic you might summon up through it— and you can release it with a swing of the blade. In doing so, it changes the magical energy’s ‘footprint’, so to speak. It also weakens it a bit, unfortunately, but it should make it all the easier to control as a result. And if I’m right about you, even a weakened form of your magic should be a force to be reckoned with.”

  I take a deep breath. “Assuming I can control even that weakened form.”

  “Yes,” he says, eying the hand that holds the key. “Control is our objective today. So then—we’ll try hand-to-hand combat, armed combat, magical combat, and then perhaps a shifting attempt, depending on how you’re doing.”

  “The plan is for me to keep records of how each different activity effects the key— and your ability to keep it buried safely inside you,” Carys says. “I’m going to make a chart.”

  “And then a series of bar graphs too, I’m guessing?” The joke falls flat in my voice, which is shaking nearly as much as the newly-enchanted sword in my hand.

  Focus, Elle.

  I hand off that sword to Carys for safe keeping, and then I turn to Liam, cracking my knuckles.

  You can do this.

  “Okay. Hand-to-hand combat first. Let’s do it.”

  Two hours later, I’m drenched in sweat, and my muscles are beginning to ache, but I’m more determined than ever to keep going. We’ve already moved on to weapon-led combat. I’ve only had one close-call with losing control so far, and I’m actually starting to feel confident in my power again.

  I’d forgotten how therapeutic it was to spar this way. To feel perfectly in-sync with my best friend. Our earlier argument is completely forgotten in favor of focusing on precise steps and swings, and our competitive banter has turned as completely playful and silly as it always used to be—no hint of bitterness or disappointment to it. So it’s fun. Carys is watching and taking notes. Soren has woken up and joined us, and he’s sitting beside her with his usual quiet, lost-
in-thought expression on his face.

  Everything feels…normal.

  Well, almost everything, aside from that dark red haze polluting the world around us, and the feeling that somewhere in this weird twilight world, there’s a so-called queen who’s out for my blood. And it’s probably just paranoia, but I can’t completely shake the feeling that said queen’s minions are watching my every moment, just waiting for a chance to steal that key I carried into this world.

  Although maybe even that all technically counts as ‘normal’ for me.

  I mean, it’s not like I’ve had a particularly average life in general.

  Then Elric says: “Okay. Now that you’re warmed up, let’s try it with magic—”

  And suddenly nothing about this feels normal at all.

  My stance falters a bit. My grip on my sword weakens. I give my head a little shake, brace myself once more and try to look more formidable than I feel. But it’s hard to feel formidable when I remember every struggle I’ve had with my magic over the years. Not because I don’t have, as Elric put it, ‘an enormous amount of untapped magic’. I believe him. I can feel it inside me, and in moments like this it’s terrifying.

  “Close your eyes,” he says, “and fix your stance. I know you know that isn’t a proper way to hold a weapon—and remember, we’ll be channeling your magic through that weapon. So now is not the time to forget your form.”

  I do as I’m told, shutting my eyes tightly and relaxing into better positioning. I can feel him circling me, studying me.

  “In your case,” he says, “I believe the sword can help you beyond simply cloaking your magic’s trail. Carys has told me that it isn’t just swords you’re adept with. You apparently have a rather extensive collection of weapons back home.”

  I nod, fighting the flutter of homesickness that comes when I think about the cabinets in my room.

  “You trained so hard with your weapons, I assume, because you refused to be a victim. You want control over all the battles you face, and having control over weapons is one way to do that.”

  I feel like squirming a little; his assessment is a little too eerily accurate.

  “So use that control to your advantage now. Don’t even think about controlling magic yet—still just the weapon. Keep your eyes closed and let your command over that blade guide you. If you’ll forgive what I believe is considered a cliché in your world—be one with that blade. Understood?”

  I nod.

  “Prepare yourself.” I can hear the challenging smirk in his voice.

  A moment later his staff is braced against my sword. We hold our weapons in this locked stance for five seconds…ten seconds…fifteen—

  “Begin!”

  He whips the staff away from the blade and slices it toward my face.

  I keep my eyes closed in hopes of a challenge.

  Blocking him is still too easy.

  I parry with the broad side of my sword and then twist around to what should be his back, judging by the sound of his footsteps and the feel of the stirring air as he rushes past.

  I swing.

  His staff meets the attack, countering hard enough that it jars my arms and sends me stumbling back a few steps. The viciousness of the attack shocks me so much that I blink my eyes open—just in time to see him advancing toward me in a second, equally vicious charge.

  I dive to the right. My foot catches on a rock and I break my fall with my elbow, bite back a hiss of pain and then bounce back to a crouched position.

  He turns on me, staff pointed toward my chest. “Eyes closed.”

  “What, so you can finish me off easier?” I attempt a laugh, but suddenly I’m not entirely sure this guy isn’t actually planning to do that.

  With a grunt and an expert, impossibly fast swipe of his staff, he strikes my wrist and sends my sword flying.

  No way.

  Did he seriously just disarm me?

  Liam lets out a low whistle, while Carys makes a soft, sympathetic noise and looks like she’s trying to stop herself from retrieving my sword for me. Elric positions himself between me and my weapon.

  My paranoia from earlier is suddenly back.

  And it’s catching, apparently, because Soren gets to his feet, his hand clenching as he watches Elric warily.

  But Elric’s voice is almost gentle when he levels his gaze to mine and says, “You stopped thinking about your sword.”

  “I...Well, yeah. I was mostly thinking about not dying. Desperation kind of took hold.”

  “And if all you focus on is that desperation, your magic will come out equally desperate and impossible to control. You’ll lose your grip on it, same as you did that.” He glances toward my sword with a frown.

  A mixture of stubbornness and embarrassment flushes my skin and sets me on a walk of shame to retrieve my fallen weapon. As I clench it, the blade’s surface swirls to black. I see my reflection: tired eyes the same pale blue as my father’s, dirty skin the same ivory shade as my mother’s.

  If I’m ever going to see them again, if I’m ever going to be able to go home and live in peace, then I am going to have to keep fighting until I set things right.

  I close my eyes.

  “Let’s go again.”

  We go for ten more minutes at least before I start to feel comfortable with this intensity that I wasn’t expecting from him. He’s faster than Liam. Trickier. But once I realize and accept this, that desperation in me settles a bit, and I can focus more on the weight of the sword in my hand. On the way its weight has been altered, its core prepared to channel my power.

  I feel that powerful magic starting to hum through me. The more tired my muscles get, the more it wants to rise up and take over the fight. But I follow Elric’s instructions and try not to think about anything except the sword. I let my reflexes handle the rest.

  After I avoid a powerful swing with a sidestep—a step that manages to be surprisingly graceful, especially for me—I sense him coming to an abrupt stop.

  I stop too, panting and bracing myself for another lecture about becoming one with my damn sword.

  “Open your eyes,” he says.

  I do.

  And I’m startled to see that the humming in my body has transferred to that sword.

  The blade is alive with electricity.

  Little sparks of it shimmer and pop, building and fizzling out over and over like those stars on the blade are exploding to life and dying just as quickly, right before my eyes.

  I gasp.

  My gaze flickers to my hand, expecting to see the earth key burning bright and dangerous against my palm—but my skin isn’t even red.

  “Just keep calm,” Elric says, smiling.

  “You’ve been channeling it for almost a full minute,” Carys says, hardly able to contain her excitement. “Didn’t you realize?”

  I shake my head slowly, looking around for traces of split sky or earth or some other form of the destruction I’m used to bringing about.

  “The world is still intact,” Liam says. He and Soren are both mirroring the small smile Elric gave me, and yet I’m still having a hard time believing that I’m actually holding—controlling—that magic thrumming through my sword.

  “Now, try to purposely summon more,” Elric encourages. “Don’t worry. The blade can take it.”

  I’m not convinced I can take it, but I feel like I’ve already come too far to stop trying now. So I hold the sword out in front of me and steady my arm. I inhale slowly, focus on the breath that’s filling my lungs and try to imagine lightning filling my sword in that same easy, concentrated way.

  The sparks flare brighter.

  Carys claps with delight, and I get a little braver.

  Lightning has always been the first kind of magic that’s flowed from me, but I’ve watched my mom control fire plenty of times—so that seems like a good way to try to push my skills. I picture that fire twisting around Mom’s arms, see her cupping it in her palm. I try to will the energy in my blood to transfor
m into something similar. As best I know, all elemental magic starts from the same stuff inside of you, but what it can—and can’t—be transformed into depends on the desire, as well as the skill and control, of the person summoning it.

  I narrow my eyes toward the tip of my sword, imagining fire engulfing it.

  A tongue of white flame flickers at the end of the curved blade. I inhale sharply at the suddenness of it, and it roars brighter and wilder. The electricity still sparking beneath it flashes quicker as well.

  “Easy,” Elric says. “Can you direct it? Let’s aim for that opening.” He points to a spot where the trees part to reveal a rocky overhang. “Try throwing it off the blade—like an attack, but into the safety of the air.”

  I try to move and take clearer aim. It feels like there’s an anvil attached to my sword, and my muscles protest every step, but I manage to trudge closer to the cliff’s edge. I perform a less-than-graceful spin move and use the collected momentum to heave the monster amount of energy through the air. It flies ten, maybe fifteen feet before it expands and then dissipates with a CRACK that leaves the air shimmering.

  The leaves it grazed on its way over the edge are singed, but otherwise there’s no destruction to speak of—at least not to the environment.

  Meanwhile, I feel like someone just ripped out half my insides.

  I drop to my knees, bracing my still-slightly-humming sword against the ground and leaning into it, trying to keep my balance.

  Soren is the first one to reach me. And I must look even worse than I feel, because there’s a definite hint of fear in his voice when he asks: “Are you okay?”

  I give an unconvincing nod as Liam crouches down on the other side of me. Even that tiny nod is enough to make the ground sway beneath me, taking my balance with it.

  Liam props me against him and glares at Elric. “Maybe you should take it a little easier on her?” he says.

  I shake my head and try—unsuccessfully— to get to my feet.