by M. C. Aquila
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Final Words
The Waking Magic
By
M.C. Aquila and K.C. Lannon
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The Renegade Son copyright © 2019 by M.C. Aquila and K.C. Lannon. All rights reserved.
The Waking Magic is the third installment in a six-book YA Urban Fantasy series, Winter’s Blight.
Everyone is drawn to magic for a reason.
As Deirdre, James, Iain, and Alvey travel to the Wayfaring Festival, seeking answers for the brothers and magical materials for Alvey, forces Fae and human close in.
Deirdre's fight to control her magic evolves as she begins to connect with it on a deeper level. Yet she risks losing everything to General Callaghan, the leader of the Iron Guard, who hunts her to harness her power into a weapon. Meanwhile, James begins his own quest for magic, drawing him closer to the Master, a sinister being who holds the fates of James and his mother.
Joining the group is Cai, a wandering swordsman connected to the mysterious amulet Iain found hidden in an Unseelie dwarf's treasure horde. As Iain is faced with the ever-increasing danger of their journey, he believes the skilled, if uncooperative, man could secure both their safety and an end to the war before it begins.
But facing imminent dangers both within and around the group, each of them is forced to make decisions that will alter their journey and even the fate of the country.
Chapter One
“’Scuse me, sir.”
Cai froze in the pub’s doorway as a tall woman with long, thinning black hair and bright aquamarine eyes approached him in the lane, carrying a covered basket on her hip. Automatically his hand slid to the pommel of the double-edged sword at his side.
“What is it?” he asked, squaring his shoulders. His voice had an unmistakable Welsh lilt.
“You’re going to the Wayfaring Festival, aren’t you?” Her eyes darted to his sword, a mocking smile creasing her mouth.
“What about it?”
“You seem like a man down on his luck,” she said, nodding to his tattered, long coat. “Care to make some extra money for the both of us?” She held forth her basket and pulled back the towel, revealing pomegranates, which let off a sickeningly sweet stench.
“You want me to sell faery fruit, hmm?” Cai raised an eyebrow. “People would pay a human more than a faery, wouldn’t they? Since faeries are supposed to not know the value of a pound.”
“Yes, quite.” She chuckled in the back of her throat, the sound surprisingly deep. “You catch on quick.”
Cai stroked his short ginger-and-gray beard, then stepped down the lane a pace, pointing out several caravans driving slowly down the nearby road, full of young adults. “What do you say I try to sell to them now?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he continued, “I’m good at handling people; you must have guessed as much if you approached me. Some faeries have a sixth sense about a person’s character, right?”
Smiling proudly, the faery nodded. “Very well.” And she held out one of the bright red fruits.
Cai raised his eyebrows. “I know a thing or two about faery rules; don’t you need to give me the right to do what I want with this so I can sell it properly? Because if you’re trying to get me to sell them and then take all the earnings”—he turned away from her—“then forget it.”
“No, wait! You have my permission. Do as you wish with the fruit.”
Immediately Cai turned and drew his sword, driving it straight into the basket at the faery’s side, juice spattering like blood. She screeched as the basket and all the fruit fell to the ground. Then Cai took his flask of gin off his belt, uncorked it, and poured it all over the fruit.
The faery hissed, drawing away from the liquid as though stung, arching her back like an angry cat.
Cai pointed his sword at her. “I’ve seen your type before. Unseelie faeries with strong Water Magic can’t stand clear alcohols; it’s like how salt hurts Unseelie earth faeries, isn’t it?”
“You filthy liar!” Her voice was guttural like an angry beast. “You tricked me!”
He shrugged. “Since this fruit is mine to do with as I wish and since you don’t want it anymore, I think I’ll burn it. Have a good day then.”
“No!” The faery lashed out with her long, sharp nails. Cai dodged the blow. With the sudden movement, his left side throbbed painfully, making him wince.
This is more trouble than it’s worth.
Before she could swing again, he kicked a gin-soaked piece of fruit right at her face. She screeched in pain, dashing it away. In one smooth movement, Cai lunged forward with his blade and sliced one of her arms off.
Paying no attention to her bestial roars of pain, he held his sword at the ready, ignoring the intensifying ache in his left side as he said, “Leave this town or your head comes off next.”
She turned, staggering away, clutching the bleeding stump of her arm. Cai lowered his sword and let out a shaky sigh, cut short by an annoyed shout behind him.
The pub’s owner was at the door, gesturing at the fruit and at the bleeding arm, then to Cai, her face as red as her hair. “You’re barking mad! What do you think you’re doing? First you bring a weapon into my pub, and now you’re cutting off arms and—”
“You’ll want to burn the fruit and the faery’s arm,” Cai said, beginning to wipe off his sword on the end of his long coat.
“I’ll call the police, I will!”
“And I need a refill of gin.”
After getting a quick refill, which he paid for in double to placate the pub owner, Cai left the pub again. It was getting late, and scarlet streaks of sunset were just stretching over the sky. He headed toward the road, thinking of going a few miles before camping for the night.
As he walked, those he passed glanced at his dirty clothes and sour expression and gave him a wide berth. Some did a double take when spotting his sword, staring wide-eyed. Others saw the blade and scoffed, muttering about the festivalgoers and their occasional tendency to carry about fake weapons. One woman from the city, who worked in a museum that kept historical swords, recognized the blade as real and watched him closely until she was satisfied he was headed out of town.
“Nutter,” she whispered to herself before turning away, thinking the country was going downhill.
He had almost reached the road when a string of lights caught his eye. At the edge of town, right by the road, was a small Middle Eastern-styled purple tent that was worn and stained. Beside it was a bansh
ee using magic to float colorful cloth lanterns above her tent.
Cai advanced carefully, assessing the banshee. Banshees in towns or cities were usually weak and unambitious; plus, judging by her white hair, this one was quite old. Dismissing her as not a threat, he turned away.
“You seem lost.”
Stopping, Cai looked over his shoulder, hand on his hilt.
The banshee faced him, her dark eyes glinting. “Looking for something, are you? What if I could create a spell to find what you’ve lost?”
How could she know I’m looking for something? Bah. Cai glared at her. Banshees. I forgot; they are exceptionally perceptive. And nosy.
“My prices are quite affordable.” She pulled out a small earthenware jar from her shabby, wide sleeve. “Just a bit of your blood—for spells only, of course.”
He turned, his hand never leaving his hilt. “Don’t take me for a fool, faery. You’re turning Unseelie, aren’t you? You want some human blood to make you a monster, don’t you?” He spat at the ground in front of her.
“I am willing to take an oath that your blood will not be misused.” She smiled, showing sharp teeth. “I saw what you did to that faery minutes ago. You are familiar with our rules, aren’t you?”
“I only did that because that faery was an idiot. She probably came from Neo-London. These Unseelie faeries running away from the city these past few weeks…,” Cai scoffed. “They’re dumber than all the rest. And I’m fine with dealing with a stupid faery who gets in my way, but I’m not about to waste time on you.”
“Gets in your way?” The banshee tilted her head. “It did not seem to me like that Unseelie was in your way. It seemed like you did not want her to peddle that fruit.”
Smirking, he shrugged. “Faeries are always up to no good, aren’t they? And—”
“And it’s worse when it happens right in front of you. It’s much harder for you to ignore—”
“If this analysis of me is a sample of your skills,” Cai said, interrupting, “then I’m not impressed.”
“Then what about a spell to find what you’ve been searching for these past dozens of years?”
Cai twisted his fingers around his sword’s hilt. “You’re trying to manipulate me into making a deal.”
“I am being honest. I know you are looking for something precious to you, something that belonged to your brother—”
Jerking his sword partway out of the sheath, Cai growled, “I’m warning you, faery.”
“Cai!” a mellow voice called. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
Taking a step back, Cai looked to see a dozen more caravans heading down the road toward the town. A light-haired man sauntered to him, his yellow-green eyes bright with recognition.
“All right, Gunnar?” Cai greeted him.
“Who is this?” the man asked, glancing at the banshee.
“She’s no one, just someone I am done speaking to.” Cai turned away but glanced back at the banshee a couple of times. The banshee watched them go but did not make any move to follow.
“Are you staying the night here?” Gunnar asked him.
“No. Do you have something to say to me?”
Gunnar scratched the back of his head. “Yes, well, did Singh catch up with you?”
Cai shook his head; Jacob Singh was a mutual acquaintance and the head of security at the Wayfaring Festival. Gunnar worked for him as an informal scout; he was half elf, making him adept at movement and perception in the wild places the festival was held.
“Singh wanted you to know there’s this castle on the way to the festival grounds—the old castle on the cliffs that faeries turned white after the Cataclysm. People have been disappearing around there on the way to the festival, more and more each year. There’s definitely some kind of monster there.”
“And?” Cai folded his arms. “Does Singh want me to immediately go off on a quest to slay the beast?” He sneered. “I’ve never completed a quest properly in my life.”
“Well, Singh thinks you’re skilled enough, I suppose.”
“Just tell people to stay away from the castle.”
Gunnar snickered. “Singh said you’d say that. Look, it wouldn’t hurt for you to at least try to chip in. You’ve been coming to the festival every year—you’re still hunting for some necklace, right?” When Cai didn’t answer, Gunnar continued in a lower voice, “Just think: the next person that monster kills, it might’ve been the person who would’ve brought that necklace to the festival. I don’t know if you can do anything or not, but at least consider looking into it, will you?”
Cai traced his thumb on the pommel of his sword. The familiar grip and the thought of a fight lit an old spark in his chest.
“I’ll check it out,” he said, nodding. “But I can’t promise more than that.”
Chapter Two
The gray clouds above were laden with rain as Deirdre, wheeling Alvey’s chair, followed Iain and James into the small trading post. There were only a couple of buildings there, inhabited by the foresters and militia that patrolled the area. It was a safe spot for humans and Fae to rest and resupply, and there were several caravans parked in the area for the night.
“I am utterly spent,” Alvey whined, wrapping her gray shawl more snugly around her shoulders. “’Tis getting late!”
“It’s only midafternoon,” Deirdre said.
“There must be an inn here.”
“This place, um, doesn’t have any inns.” James looked back at the two of them.
Deirdre lifted her head and asked, “Why don’t we take a break here? We’ve been walking since lunch.”
Nodding in agreement, Iain gestured to the line of caravans. “I’ll get a few things, yeah? And then we’ll move on and find a place to spend the night before it starts raining. There must be more old buildings around here we could camp in.”
“Great. Another night under a dripping roof,” James grumbled. “Probably infested again too.”
“That was an adventure, all right,” Deirdre said, rubbing at a scrape on her left hand.
The first evening after leaving the caverns of the Unseelie dwarf behind, they’d found a recently abandoned building just as it started raining buckets. Aside from a few leaky spots, it was a reasonably comfortable night.
But last night had been another story. They had settled in an old barn that had holes aplenty in the roof. And worse, a swarm of Unseelie gnomes had made it their home. The gnomes had first tried to scare the intruders away by skirting around in the dark, rattling the abandoned farming tools, and whispering threats. When none of that had worked, the gnomes attacked.
They leaped from the dark and scurried on all fours, fiercer than angry street cats, slashing and biting at them with clawlike nails and sharp teeth. The gnomes were not charming: pale and bloated, their once-red caps stained a muddy brown, their torn clothes a bleached white, making them look like ghosts.
Once Deirdre discovered the gnomes were not very heavy, she enjoyed grabbing them and punting them away. It was like playing football, especially when she decided the front door of the barn was a goalie net.
“Most goals through the door wins!” she shouted merrily, sending a howling gnome flying through. Her friends didn’t quite respond with enthusiasm.
Finally Alvey, who had been fighting with surprising accuracy with an old hoe, pulled out the star-shard flower from the Summer Court; the light of it made the gnomes cringe and fall back. Then she thrust the flower at Deirdre and instructed her to walk around the barn and drop a petal with each step.
Glancing at the gnomes hissing and spitting in the dark, Deirdre asked, “Is it okay if I run around the barn?”
“I said walk!”
“Okay, okay!”
As Deirdre obeyed, the gnomes focused their attacks on her. Iain guarded her back as she walked quickly around the barn and dropped glowing, pointed petals, which the gnomes did not touch. With each petal she pulled, in a wink another grew in its place. The second she dropped the la
st petal, the gnomes let out a ghastly scream and dashed into the dark forest.
Once the initial relief wore off, it was a sore, wet night, their hard-won sleeping quarters growing damper by the second. After patching up her own scratches, Deirdre had offered to help James, who had gotten a few bites. But he waved away her help, muttering that he was fine.
He’s been like that ever since I scolded him, she thought, glancing ahead as James and Iain squabbled briefly about something. Or maybe he’s just tired. We all are. Maybe if we find somewhere comfortable tonight, we’ll all get a good night’s sleep, and—
“I’m going to sit.” James pointed at a bench in front of a public bonfire where some travelers were warming up and eating.
“By the fire, aye?” Alvey asked. “Good. I am freezing.”
“I think we’ll find somewhere better tonight.” Deirdre wheeled Alvey forward, smiling at James.
He shrugged. “Maybe. And maybe it won’t rain.”
Deirdre glanced up at the clouds. I wonder… I’ve only listened to Earth Magic the past couple of days. But can I do anything else?
“Alvey?”
“What?”
“Can I hear other kinds of magic? Like magic in rain and things like that?”
Alvey groaned, dragging her hands down her face. “Of course you can! Faeries like you can contact all forms of magic.”
“Right, okay.” As they settled down by the fire, Deirdre sitting by James on a semidry log used as a bench, she looked at the rain clouds high above. How could she reach out to them when they were so far away? But she straightened, resolved to give it a shot.
How are you today? She looked up at the clouds, grinning at herself, feeling silly. It’s not raining now, so you’ve got water in you, right? I remember learning years ago about the water cycle—gas, solid, and liquid. But you’re all vapors right now, right? I wonder what that’s like? You’re kind of at the mercy of the wind, but you’re also spread out so much.
