“Okay, is it a song or a spell or a crafting?” He sighed. “Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Its name is Song, but it’s a powerful crafting.” I shrugged. “It must have once been a basic spell, but the incantation was recited so often, asked for by so many practitioners by name, that it became aware. Once achieving that level of power, it became able to decide who it would serve.”
“So it’s possible you’ll do your thing and nothing will happen?” He sounded relieved.
“Yes, but I’ve called it once before and it came.” I neglected to tell him how eerie I found it. “I had hoped it could find…but it couldn’t. Roland had samples of my blood. Even faded, they were powerful links between a mother and child. I believe he used them to shield her from me.”
“I guess it’s worth a shot,” he finally said. “Anything to give us an edge and save time.” He pointed at my arms. “Why did you get the tattoo? That doesn’t give it power over you, does it?”
“No.” He must have sensed my hesitation. “It’s complicated. It can’t control me, but if it did decide I was interesting, it could stay. Inside me. Not influencing me exactly, but talking to me.”
The growl returned to his voice. “And if that happens?”
“Then there’s nothing to be done.” I shivered. “Let’s hope he finds me and his task boring.”
Lindsay scratched at my skin. “Are the others alive as well?”
The snap of Dillon’s teeth told me he hadn’t considered the possibility. “No. Song is the one sentient crafting I have. The others are larger spells, unwieldy spells, but nothing I want to lose.”
He inclined his head. “Why not write them in your grimoire?”
“Where do you think I found them?” I laughed. “You’ve seen what the book has done to me. Grimoires exhibit various levels of awareness as well. We feed them our blood or…other things in exchange for their knowledge. If we wrote the spells down, we would imbue yet another book with magic. So practical spells are committed fast to memory, but impractical ones are tattooed.”
Appearing to ponder the implications, he settled on asking, “Over time, wouldn’t it have the same cumulative effect on your skin?” Then he groaned. “That’s why Aldrich’s covered in runes. They’re not just a handy reference, but they imbue him with power. Remind me to warn Harper.”
I nodded, as if I were certain we’d survive our confrontation to have such mundane worries.
A throat cleared outside the tent, drawing my attention. Dillon’s gaze touched on his table, then locked on me. “That’s our ride. You’re ready?” He extended his hand for mine, but Lindsay knocked my arm aside before we touched. “What’s your problem now? We’re burning daylight.”
“I’m coming with you.” She stood, planting her feet wide. “I can help.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the offer but—” Whump.
Before I could yell a warning, Lindsay had turned his outstretched arm into a lever, flipping him over her shoulder, winding him as his spine hit the packed sand floor of his tent. I leapt to my feet as she dusted her hands together, Dillon sprawled in a mass of twisted limbs at her feet.
Leaning over him, Lindsay smirked. “See?”
“Snapping my spine,” he said on a groan, “is not…helpful.”
“Lindsay,” I chided. Kneeling at his hip, I examined him before he brushed my hands aside.
“Let’s go.” Bones popped as he sat upright and pushed to his feet. Rolling his shoulders, he measured Lindsay a moment. After taking my hand, he said to her, “Come on if you’re coming.”
He didn’t have to ask her twice.
Featureless scenery spread as far as the eye could see. Sweat made my palms slide where I’d grabbed the edges of the dune sled. Well, sled might be generous. This was more of a utility cart, outfitted with metal rails for gliding over the desert. Paint flakes stuck to my hands, and cramped quarters meant I felt every flex of Lindsay’s muscles as she sharpened a blade she’d chosen from the armory before our departure. Strokes from blade over stone were precise, even from practice.
Perhaps sensing my attention, she lowered her weapon. Its forward-curving blade gleamed.
Our gazes locked, and hers was somehow clearer, made sharper by the sword in her hand.
“Are we close enough for you to try?” Dillon’s voice shattered the moment.
She resumed her task while I clambered onto the driver’s seat beside him.
I cast another glance around and saw nothing but sand. “This should be fine.”
He pulled on the reins, and our ride coasted to a stop.
Calling Song was risky, and I wasn’t certain it would work for locating the grimoire. It was a specialized crafting meant to locate a person using, of course, blood. I had a hunch my grimoire held enough of my blood, and my mother’s blood, for the spell to take root and give me direction, but when dealing with a spell possessing a mind of its own… I’d heed all necessary precautions.
Starting with how I planned to make my attempt well outside the colony. Since Aldrich had summoned the crafting to locate the queen in the mines, I wanted distance from that connection.
Patting my pockets, I touched warm metal and withdrew a small knife. I followed it with his compass, taken from the desk in his tent, and a scrap of paper I’d wrapped around a clay marker.
“I’m tempted to ask but I won’t.” Dillon shook his head. “I’m afraid of what else you’ve got in your pockets considering what all you managed to cram down that skimpy top from before.”
I grinned. “I am a bit of a packrat.”
“A bit, says the female who shoved a quarter of a salt shipment, a knife and a horse—”
“A horse carving,” I clarified.
His laugh petered into a sigh. Then he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I’m stalling.”
“I hadn’t noticed.” I was too grateful for the reprieve.
Another soft press of his lips and he scooted aside, giving me room.
I positioned the knife. “Once I begin this chant, if Song answers, I can’t stop. The sound is what anchors him to me.” I sank the blade into my skin. Blood welled and I dabbed runes on the compass before I passed it to Dillon. “If the spell works, you can follow his directions with this.”
He avoided smearing the markings. “How will I know if it works?”
“The needle will spin south.” I unbuttoned my shirt, exposing my throat. “Watch for it.”
While reading the runes from my arm, I wrote them across my chest and onto my neck. The familiar sensation of magic glided over my skin. I was being tasted by the crafting I was about to call. Before the first note rose in my throat, pressure coiled about my chest and stifled my lungs.
A silken voice hissed through my mind. Ssspeak the wordsss.
I did. Pitch flat and notes falling shorter each repetition, I couldn’t breathe well enough to sing for it. After noticing my issue, the crafting eased its grip on me and fell into contented quiet. I blushed when Dillon shifted his focus onto me. His heated stare drew even Song’s attention. In my haste to divert the crafting’s interest, I fumbled a beat, and Song’s annoyance made me gasp.
Asssk what you will. Your favor isss granted. My price isss met.
Careful to keep my chant smooth, I replied in kind. I have misplaced a family heirloom, my mother, Alisha’s, grimoire. Her blood and mine ink the pages. Can you locate the tome for me?
Thoughtful silence met my request. I can. It isss far. I would hear my sssong while I work.
Gulping air, I renewed my efforts, pausing only to tap the compass.
“It’s moving.” He cracked the reins. “Here we go.”
The sled lurched, and I let it rock me against my seatback. Finding comfort was unlikely, but I did try. Shielding my eyes from the sun, I scanned the horizon for any clue as to our destination or the book’s whereabouts. Sand was the only landmark and dunes the only break in its contours.
Hours passed. Night fell. Still we travel
ed. Before long, the dawn’s rays burned my eyes.
Dillon’s gaze cut my way more often now, but I pretended not to see. Lindsay had inched up behind me, so her shoulder supported the rickety seatback, allowing me to recline as best I could.
Ah, yesss. Song chortled. Your book liesss here.
Tightness in my chest eased in slow increments. Song’s anticipation made my nerves thrum.
The wind shifted and the stench hit me. Retching sounds rose from behind me as Lindsay’s stomach emptied over the side of the cart. Our mare shied until Dillon positioned her upwind of whatever lay ahead. Palm treetops sagged in the fetid breeze, and mirages sprang to shaded life.
“The oasis.” Dillon twisted to check on Lindsay. He tried on a smile. “Maybe we got lucky.”
Bad luck perhaps. I shuddered. Something was very wrong here.
My tasssk has been fulfilled. A word of caution, your book is ssstarved.
Shock at its warning seared away as Song exited my body through its runes. Pain contorted my limbs and wrenched me sideways. I fell from the sled onto the sand. Curling onto my side, I spat blood and grit. Down here, the sense of unease was greater. Blood leaked from the corner of my mouth and mingled with the sand. A discordant sensation, sharp and dangerous, made my vision blank and stomach roll. I heaved, coughing and blind until strong hands set me on my feet.
“What the hell happened?” Dillon held me at arm’s length, no doubt examining me.
“It’s the book,” I said hoarsely, blinking hard to clear my sight. “It’s done something…”
And if the grimoire was at fault, then I was at fault.
I swallowed hard and regained my balance. It was time I learned what we had done.
Chapter Sixteen
Lindsay groused when Dillon ordered her to remain with the cart, but I was grateful for one less witness to what my carelessness had wrought. If I had doubted Song, my confirmation of the book’s nearness showed in the weight of my legs as I trudged through loose sand, slipping until a firm hand pressed me to a harder body for support. Spell-crafted roads were rarer than oases here.
Open desert forged its own rules. You learned them or it taught you a fatal lesson.
I swatted a fly from my ear and wrinkled my nose. Judging by the stench, someone had been educated here recently. Another landed, buzzing with excitement at finding an unexpected feast.
Dillon’s steps slowed. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes.” Exhaustion was setting in, the same as it had when I lost the mare in the first place. Already my thoughts churned sluggish and my limbs quaked with desire to lie in the warm sand. “It’s the book.” Words sat heavier on my tongue than usual. “Siphoning energy. Trying to sate.”
I shook my head, but the jumbled sentences bounced around without ever reforming.
“M’tired.” Dillon’s injured leg buckled. He hit the dirt and toppled me alongside him.
His eyes fluttered a moment, then calmed. Air whispered from between his lips.
“Dillon?” I shook his shoulder.
He rolled toward my voice. Instead of scooping me against him, his hand fell limp to his side. I shook him again, harder this time. He gave a sleepy smile and mumbled sweet-sounding nonsense before falling back to sleep. Huffs of his breath stirred sand beneath him less and less.
Shaking him a third time proved fruitless. My fingers had lost most of their grip and slid off his shirt as if I’d meant to dust lint from his pocket rather than grab him and shake him. No part of my body obeyed even the simplest commands. I was relaxing into the spell slower, but easily.
Slumped onto the side where I’d landed, I rolled onto my stomach. Lethargy weighted my arm, but I found my pocket after several tries. When my fingers bumped glass, awareness sizzled beneath my skin. On its heels, panic flared. Dillon lay so still and his breath moved no sand now.
Grasping the vial, I winced as heat worked through my tired limbs. I shoved upright and stared as blood swirled in a magical suspension. My mind tumbled through weak excuses as to how this was a bad idea that would be made worse, but I crushed its complaint and unscrewed the lid. A whiff of the vial’s contents made gooseflesh rise, but survival dipped my finger and I inked protective runes.
Acid burned my skin, and a moment passed where I was sure Aldrich’s magic would flay the flesh from my bones. Twisting the cap into place, I let the razor pain slice through my arm, burn through my shoulder into my chest, carving out a part of me agreeing I should lie down and die.
Struggling to my feet, I had a choice to make. Either I dragged Dillon to the cart, if I could, and risked burning the boost Aldrich’s blood had temporarily given me, or I left him here while I confronted the book. Considering neither was any real option, I checked his pulse and decided I would go on alone. It was, after all, my grimoire and my fault it was unleashed in the first place.
Leaving Dillon crumpled on the sand ate at me from the moment my back turned on him.
I had no choice. Use too much of Aldrich’s blood and the grimoire’s binding would fail.
Now that I knew the book’s location, I had a responsibility to contain it before someone was hurt. Almost on cue, the breeze rustled my hair in an insidious reminder someone most assuredly was already. The stink of death and magic filled my nostrils and steadied the racing of my heart.
The grimoire was close.
Cresting a small hill dappled with clumps of dying grass, I rubbed my eyes and wondered if I was seeing a mirage. Straining my eyes didn’t alter my view one bit. The mare stood grazing several yards from me. No one appeared to have tampered with her saddle or my bags. Her reins dragged the ground between her forefeet. Untied, untouched and unconcerned, she continued her munch-step-munch pattern while my sense of unease made me eager to retreat behind the dune.
Dread pounded a staccato beat in time with my steps as I began my roundabout approach of the mare. Pulsing magic washed over my skin, tasting yet again. The grimoire may have noticed me, but the mare was oblivious. If she ran, I’d be out of time to capture her and reach Sere.
So I approached slowly, circling wide so she would see me coming.
As my perspective shifted, I located the source of the stench and retched loud enough for the mare to lift her head and prick her ears in my direction. While she returned to lipping grass, I did my best not to stare at the ramshackle series of hitching posts. Or the camels collapsed at their bases. Dry desert air hindered decomposition, and the bodies could only be a matter of days old.
How was she unaffected? Unless the book realized she was its only means of transportation?
Moving faster now that the mare was aware of me, I was reminded of what Mother had once said about death magic having its own scent. It was a footnote in my education, and this was my first time experiencing it. Our temple practiced white magic, but black magic was gossip fodder.
While part of me pointed out the grimoire only knew what we had written onto its pages, its use of a spell not in my repertoire, one my mother should have had no knowledge of, chilled me.
Or at least it did until I pondered applications for such a spell…and its price.
A wary snort dragged my focus back to the mare. She watched me stumble, ears swiveling.
I held still long enough for her to dismiss me. Then I resumed inching closer.
The grimoire’s spell licked over me, sampling my altered energy until my legs trembled. Tasting Aldrich’s power excited it. Even the mare twitched her skin as if dislodging biting flies.
A sharp smile cut my mouth as I began murmuring the binding spell.
The grimoire’s hunger slammed into me once I finished reciting the first verse. Its curiosity was overcome by survival instinct. Pulsing teeth spiked with energy sank in my essence and tore.
I screamed.
Clutching my chest, I willed myself another step closer. I owed a hefty sum for the purchase of the wind spell I’d lifted from its pages. Energy loaned to me during my escape, well, I owed it for th
at too, but not this. Not the days it spent exhausting all its reserves in search of fresh prey.
Debt piled up to my eyeballs. After its taste of freedom, its massive expenditure of energy, I knew the grimoire would scoff at my customary blood offering. Depleted as it must be, it would crave sacrifice, ache to glut on some poor demon’s energy as his life extinguished. Only I saw no demons here. The residents must have escaped after their livestock fell ill. No doubt rumors of an oasis plague were circulating in nearby cities as I stood here, debating the safest course of action.
“Isabeau.”
My head snapped up and my gaze scanned the path behind me. Dillon was crawling toward me, toward the book. Teeth that had been content gnawing at me sensed him and retracted. An instant later, I heard his grunt of pain, saw him fall to his side and sensed his gaze as he reached for me.
While the book toyed with its latest catch, I eased close enough to the mare I could toe the reins from their coil on the ground to me. Before I bent, she shied and danced left. I stomped on the lead and held her in place long enough to wrap the leather strap around my hand. I threw my weight into restraining her as I reached her side and tore at the buckles and the straps holding her saddle in place. When the saddle and bags hit the ground, I worked her bridle and freed her head.
A toss of her mane and she was gone. Thank the goddess that was done.
Dropping to my knees, I emptied the bags until the grimoire tumbled onto the sand. Vial in hand, I smeared runes across the cover and all but screamed the binding spell. Seconds passed. A minute stretched into infinity. Nothing happened. I chanted the spell a second time, then a third as I clutched the vial, hoping I’d used enough of Aldrich’s blood but afraid of wasting my best weapon. A furious roar rattled my ears as tendrils of its energy were sucked back into the book.
It bucked across the ground, reminding me of an animal writhing in its death throes.
Eversworn: Daughters of Askara, Book 3 Page 19
