by Kade Cook
Ashen studies her student as her grey aura swirls methodically around her still frame, slight flickers of flowy crystalline streaks wrapping around her winding and encasing her with shimmering streams of melting icicles. The edges of Ashen’s lips curl as a faint glow transforms from beneath Gabrian’s palms. “Now focus all of the feelings into your limbs…guide it slowly with your mind. Imagine it washing down into your arms. Let it flow like the movement of the river, feel the life within it slip forward and into the palm of your hand.
Cool painless pin pricks itch at the bottoms of her palms. A gentle vibration lobbies from her fingertips to the middle of her hand—an eager pressure growing colder at the center of it. It pushes against her palms with a familiar tingle of energy, much like that of the energy orb she learned to create and contain within her hands when she started training with Ethan months ago. It hums with a life of its own, spinning round and round, gathering sustenance as it does.
Letting the girl become acquainted with the sensations, and allowing her to have this moment of freedom, Ashen sits quietly, grinning at the frozen orb manifesting beneath Gabrian’s palms—glowing in a light blue hue from the magic running through her veins. Seeing the orb grow and swirl into the size of a large sun-kissed orange, Ashen touches her lightly on the arm. The warmth in her hands soaks into Gabrian’s flesh, jarring her from her daydream. Her eyes open slowly, heavy and clouded from her journey, and gaze upon the Elder. Ashen switches her brow and tilts her head—her eyes darting to the table.
Blinking rapidly and re-entering the moment, Gabrian focuses toward the flattened cool surface and raises her hands, unblocking her view of what lies beneath. She gasps, wide-eyed and open-jawed at the misshapen yet frozen creation sitting before her as the darkened monster within becomes pacified in the elation of her new trick.
“I did it,” Gabrian squeals, her hands fly up and gently clap the sides of her cheeks but she jolts, promptly removing them from her face. The contrast of her warm flesh against the chill of magic still lingering on the surface of her hand frightens her. “Oh no!” she exclaims, staring at Ashen who sports a rather cheeky grin. “Is this dangerous?”
“No,” she chuckles, reaching out and taking Gabrian by the wrists. “You are fine, but we will need to make sure we get you familiarized with this new magic as quick as we can.” She laughs, reaching into a box beside her leg to pull out a hand towel. She wraps it around Gabrian’s dampened and chilled fingers then looks her straight in the eye. “We can’t have you going and freezing hell over before it is supposed to, now can we?”
Gabrian’s eyes twinkle and she snuffs out a chuckle. “No, I suppose not.”
33
AN ARTIST AND SORROW
Now able to engage the soothing mental images necessary to manipulate the water vapors in the air around her, Gabrian spends all her time in Ashen’s studio perched on a wooden bench, honing her skills. She rises early before everyone else and works late into the night—sometimes even the tolling of midnight passes before she lays her head down to rest. What started out as a roughly malformed blob of ice upon a cold stone slab now takes on true structure, the appearance of actual figures with meticulous detailing. Her curious side once again takes over, yearning to learn, waking her up inside.
But it comes at a price.
Her lack of sleep, missed meals, and constant use of magical elements takes their toll on her health. The shadows harbouring beneath her lids darken—displaying the depletion of her body’s own energy, a red flag for all to see. The scratching beneath her skin is beginning to irritate again, clawing sharply at times, and making her well aware of its wanting. She deliberately tries to hide herself away—avoiding all beings in the house who contain an aura.
Even with the windows open in the frozen chamber, she feels the suffocation building with lust for Ashen’s crystalline presence, becoming almost too much to bear. No amount of dark essence drawn can lull the wild calling within, constantly whispering to her to feed it—snapping up the stray fragments that waft up and taunt her hunger from would-be sleeping victims below.
Her nights are becoming long—painting the ever-growing circles darker—and the sleep-filled time of her life has become that of a mere memory, a fruitful wish of deliverance. So, she stays awake and away, her nights always bleeding into the morning.
Once again dwelling within her abundant moments of solitude, Gabrian hears the sounds of life below drifting in on the winds through the open windows. The sound of husky bantering voices rumbles through her ears, mixed with higher-pitched laughter, stirring her from her craft. Crossing the room, she peers out the window to seek out the culprits of disruption. Rachael sits, tanned and carefree—a drink in one hand and the other busy multitasking on the laptop that rests in front of her on the table, no doubt staying on top of things at the office—while Ashen sips an icy golden beverage, hooting at the large man-children challenging each other into a sparring match like two mountains clamoring to claim the same spot and the victorious title that comes with it.
Watching Shane and Broghen try to continuously outmaneuver the other’s next move lifts the edges of her mouth and she chuckles, covering her hand to her lips as she does. Their strengths and speed, mirroring in almost every aspect of who they are—Schaeduwe, the defenders and the Guardians of the Realm without contention, and in watching them, Gabrian understands why.
Her focus follows Shane. She watches as his smile grows, his eyes sparkling in a way that she hasn’t seen in quite some time. Not since they met. Somehow the light she sees in his eyes now seems to have gotten lost along the way, maybe even a part of who he is as well. Seeing her Guardian this way in a different light—alive and vibrant—yearning to exist but cannot, shadows the smile she wears, fading along with her few moments of joy, sucked away by heavy pangs of guilt tearing at her because she is the reason why.
Gabrian slips away from the window with a heavy heart and returns to her bench, hoping to smother the sinking feeling consuming her from the inside with her studies. Seeing the ghost of Gabrian’s face fade from the window above, Ashen excuses herself and wanders up to the studio. Standing silent at the top of the wooden stairs with her drink in hand, she leans against the side of the door, watching her student for a few moments, lost within her new world of ice, but then makes her presence known with a loud cough, clearing her throat. “What are you building there?”
Gabrian’s eyes draw away from her sculpture, the blue haze illuminating from the source of her touch, receding as does the size of her pupils. She gives Ashen a lopsided grin as she turns to greet her. “It is Theo.”
Ashen straightens her stance and idles over to stand above Gabrian, getting a better look at her art. “Theo?”
“Yes, back home I have a Raven that is intent on stalking me, so I named him.”
“Theo,” they both say simultaneously, Ashen nodding her head in comprehension.
“I would have thought that to be strange before, when your Borrower gift had surfaced but now I guess it makes sense.”
Ashen’s words ring strangely in Gabrian’s ears, her eyes narrowing as she tips her chin back to rest on her right shoulder, searching, not fully understanding still much of anything that transpires within this new world. “What do you mean by that?”
Slipping to her left, Ashen reaches under the table and slides out the other wooden bench, setting herself down in front of Gabrian. “Well, Ravens and Borrowers are kind of like natural adversaries. The presence of a Borrower makes a Raven skittish, they are highly attuned to the energy that a Boragen being omits. Even if the Borrower is containing it existence, a Raven can see them for what they are when no one else can and they have no issues with letting everyone else know. So, in part, they are like an alarm system which irritates the crap out of many Borrowers, especially the ones who don’t want to be found.
Gabrian’s face lifts, her sullen downturned mouth no longer heavy with grief as a chuckle forces its entry. “That explains a few things.
Ethan grumbles every time Theo makes an appearance. The bird never fails to cackle relentlessly at him until he is gone.”
Ashen laughs, recalling a few times Vaeda’s Raven guide has given Ethan the gears for being too close. “Oh, speaking of Ethan, he called the other day, wondering how your training was going.”
Gabrian’s inner light flickers and her smile falters just for a second but holds. “And what did you tell him?”
“I told him you are hiding yourself away up in the studio all day and night, perfecting your gift,” Ashen says, leans forward, wrinkling her nose and folding her hands together in her lap.
Gabrian sits unmoving, her eyes cling to the curve of Ashen’s lips, waiting for something unpleasant to leave her mouth.
“He said it sounds about right.” Ashen snorts, unfolding her hands, and raises one of them to give Gabrian a quick rustle of her up-tied mess of tangled locks.
Exhaling loudly, releasing the breath she had been holding, Gabrian rolls her eyes and shakes her head, suddenly missing her friend.
“All right, kiddo, with that being said, it is time for lunch,” she says, rising from her perch and places a gentle hand on Gabrian’s bare shoulder. “…and I will not take no for an answer.” She strides across the floor, and stops at the edge of the stairs, looking back over her bronze shoulder. “I will even get Broghen to skip the grill with your steak—nice and bloody. Just the way you like it.”
Gabrian’s eyes drop to the icy replica of her stalker awaiting her return from far away, and nods in agreement to Ashen’s insistent invite. Pushing away from the marble slab table, she follows Ashen’s lead.
Maybe it is time to rejoin life for a while…at least for lunch.
34
DEADLY DREAMS
Between the building sadness, absence of rest, and the desire to dishonourably feed testing the strength of her will, Gabrian’s mind becomes a raging warzone beneath her calm exterior—the internal battle manifesting into a migraine after lunch. She calls it a day and heads toward the loft, certain her decision will appease Ashen’s concerning glances for her obvious need of rest, and Gabrian’s body finally crashes and shuts down.
The entire afternoon she lies motionless in the upstairs library—no longer battling, dreaming of walking through a meadow, the one that always appears in her dreams…the one where she drifts amongst the wild flowers, free and without bounds. In the distance, she hears the sounds of her familiar black-feathered friend. He comes to greet her, hovering in the air nearby to send out a welcoming coo from above.
She closes her eyes, tilting her face upward, and smiles, welcoming the warmth of the sun as it gently caresses her skin with blessings of its maternal kiss. Little prickles of chills start to dance across her flesh, weaving seamlessly at first with the euphoria of the sun’s magic. But they soon drown out the warmth as a cloud hurries across the yellow star and casts a moment of darkness, chilling the air. Gabrian lifts her long dark lashes and gazes up to the sky. Crystalline circles feather carelessly across her view, dancing recklessly around her as they descend.
Reaching upward to touch the iridescent frozen dust, they jump and sway with the motion of her hand. The more she moves, the more they seem to react to her—drawing and transforming around her, filling the space with spectacular and chilling performances. The once warm meadow of coloured blooms, now bleached with white, is being summoned by Gabrian. Jubilant with her easy success, she spins—embracing it.
As she dances in the wild spectrum of the moment, Gabrian’s senses heighten in joy to feel each snowflake—every one singing to her in a different voice. Within the walls of white, dancing around, a mirage of colours edge gracefully toward her—intent on catching her attention.
A gift from the Ancients, she thinks, for her successes. A gift she must accept. It calls to her. It spirals and sparks in the distance, inviting her to accept its offering of life—free, alive with vibrancy. Its very existence is all for her—a gift to restore faith and strength.
And so she does.
***
Rachael, noticing that Gabrian headed to bed after lunch, does not question her decision. She knows how destructive her headaches are to her friend’s wellbeing, and seeing the slow deterioration of her health, a nap is probably a wise choice. But after four hours, she decides to check on her in case she needs something, like a drink or if she is hungry—to let her know supper is a little earlier than normal due to an invite from across the way. Old Blue insisted they come over to celebrate the beginning of the weekend with him and his crew.
Making her way up the twisty stairs, she feels the cool breeze as it comes in off the water, seeping in through the open window—nipping at her toes. Topping the stairs, Rachael spies Gabrian’s blankets astray on the floor and edges closer, tiptoeing lightly across the room to gather them and covers her back up—trying not to disturb her friend. Placing a cup of water on the nightstand beside the bed, she reaches down and tugs on the abandoned linen, laying it gently over Gabrian to save her from the chill.
****
Gabrian sees the iridescent light gathering closer and closer until it is swirling right in front of her. Breathing in slow at first to savour every ounce of its exquisite taste, she begins to deepen her inhales, pulling in the colours with desperate desire. It is hers. It is a gift, and she accepts it graciously, deepening her draw, deeper and deeper—entangling herself within it.
****
Rachael stops hauling at the bedding. A strange heaviness lunges over her, draining and pulling at her from the inside. Thrusting her hand out to steady herself on the edge of the nightstand, she staggers—lightheaded and weak—growing more tired every second. Her sight dims—dancing with white orbs of light sparking in the approaching darkness.
She stumbles to the floor, realizing what is happening.
Asleep and unaware, Gabrian is killing her.
***
In the frozen meadow of shimmering essences, flowing dark hair of a familiar woman floats in the icy wind, approaching Gabrian as she devours her gift from the Gods. The woman’s eyes flare with fear, her arm reaches out to touch Gabrian’s flesh. “Stop, Gabrian.”
With no recourse, her voice gets louder, “You have to stop, Gabrian. This light is not for you.”
***
Feeling the scraps of life clinging to her soul slowly failing, Rachael crawls up the side of the bed, grasping onto Gabrian’s arm and screams out with one last breath, “Gabrian, wake up.”
Hearing the voice finally sinks in, stirring her from her entangled world, and Gabrian’s lids open, blinking herself awake only to see her best friend’s body lying motionless on the floor beside her bed.
Lurching forward, and flinging the bed sheets across the room, Gabrian slides to the floor, quickly cradling Rachael’s body within her arms. “No, Rachael, wake up. Open your eyes,” she pleads, her own body beginning to rock back and forth, holding tightly to the limp corpse within her arms. “No, no, no, no…” she repeats, frantically rushing her fingers to push against the side of Rachael’s neck, searching for a pulse—some sign of life.
Beneath her touch she finds a beat, a final thread of life still fighting.
The floor beneath them shifts in a dizzying mirage. A low hiss bites at Gabrian’s ears as a dark mist seeps through the cracks in the floorboards—making its appearance, approaching them, and closes in—readying for frenzy. Gargons, Gabrian gasps, watching the toxins creep across the floor—the breath of death here to finish off Rachael’s final claim to life, moving in to feed on what is left of her essence.
Leaning forward, Gabrian pushes her forehead to touch against her friend’s—willing her lender’s gift to engage and return the life she just has stolen, but it refuses—corrupted by her own entanglement with the Gargons months ago, she is useless.
Gabrian watches, her eyes wide and unblinking, as the mist rises and takes form into skeletal forms of souls lost between worlds, vaporous creatures draped in ragged cloth—dark and
tattered. They are here, manifesting beneath, and slithering ever closer—crawling on all fours over Rachael’s limbs, spewing out mouthfuls of spindly web that bore seamlessly into her flesh.
Feeling the hold she has on her friend slipping away, the magnitude of fear riling inside shifts and transforms into elated anguish, and Gabrian tightens her grip on Rachael. Squinting her eyes into mere slits across her nose, glaring at the nearest monster, she screams a throat-searing cry. Releasing the hatred outward, she pushes her own life force, her aura, out forcefully toward the darkness surrounding them. A violet hue crackles along the fringes of her violent strike of grey aura. Releasing one of her hands from the steel grip it has on Rachael, she raises it and tries to push back at the Gargons hovering over them. With another yell, her palms burst in pain—igniting into a blinding violet light, sending a hailstorm of purple fire sizzling across the ominous misty form and stalling its advance. The light rips through the haunting mist and the voyeurs hold—dissolving the entangled webs draining Rachael of her soul. Gabrian screams out again as another larger blast surges from her palm, throwing Gabrian and Rachael—flinging them backward hard against the bed, sliding everything behind the blast in the opposite direction—and finished off the marred remains of the Gargons, sending them to dissipate back into the world they came from.
Her extended palm burns and stings from her urgent demands, and she winces in the discomfort, but wraps her fingers back around Rachael, snug against her chest, readying for another battle.
