Spellshift Page 10

  He leaned in slightly to their guest room. “If you need someone brave enough to cause her pain, I’d look elsewhere. I’m just here for moral support.”

  “Support?” Naia huffed. “More like guilt for dropping me.”

  “It wasn’t me dropping you that did that. It was the chunks of falling bell tower you were smart enough to stand under.”

  The sass left Naia’s voice. Her face went blank. “I couldn’t leave them to die. How did you?” She didn’t speak the words in judgment. He saw an honest confusion in her eyes.

  Garen shrugged it off. “Lots of practice I guess. This time it wasn’t so bad. I saved most of a person.”

  Morgan smiled and gave him a simple nod of gratitude. It was more than he deserved, but he took it anyway. She poured a few drops onto the cloth and tried to start again. Naia flinched away in pain.

  Morgan leaned in close and whispered to her sister, “You’re stronger than this. You’re a survivor and you have to accept the pain that comes with it. So, you can brace yourself somehow, or I can ask Garen to hold you down. Your choice.”

  Naia looked to Garen. He saw the displeasure by the twitch in her nose. Despite it, she nodded. Garen entered the room and saw the piles of bloody bandages beside her. With Morgan’s help on where to press, he kept her as still as he could. Morgan was thorough and didn’t always relent when Naia screamed. By sunset, she had scrubbed the entire wound from ear to chin.

  Morgan set the rag down, allowing all three to relax. “Now that it’s clean, the real miracle will be if Garen can help you heal it quicker.”

  Garen had shared his gifts frequently since learning he could accelerate the body’s healing. He’d learned at the Theltus Nisdal it involved a deep magic from the Gate of Truth, whatever that meant. It felt like reaching over a ledge for something barely out of grasp, but all within the confines of his soul. It didn’t rely on the elements, and since the spell drew from his Light Spirit, it didn’t use any of his depth. Healing magic was mostly a convenience for the others. It kept them from living with the unpleasant consequences of a mission—no more scrapes, burns, or cuts. He hadn’t needed to test it on something this large yet.

  “Absolutely not,” Naia said. “I’ll take my chances with time and a bandage wrapped around my head.”

  Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Really? You want to take on Sarkos looking like a child with a toothache?”

  “Yes?” she tried to keep the insult going, but she seemed much less confident.

  “Garen, I’m declaring my sister in a state of insanity. She can no longer make decisions for herself.”

  “No, no I’m not. Get your hands off me,” Naia struggled under Morgan’s grip, but she kept her in place by her shoulders.

  It was a refreshing sight to see them teasing each other. Morgan wasn’t usually this energetic about pestering her sister. It made them seem younger than ever. But Garen recognized the performance for what it was. Morgan cared for Naia enough to do anything, especially if it took her mind off the trauma and tragedies. In the storm they were caught in, Morgan would always be a heavy stone. She glanced up with a grin. “I cleaned all the smart thoughts out of her face and now she’s left with dumb ones. Fix her, please.”

  Garen smiled and stepped to the bedside. Naia thrashed until he timidly placed his hand against her cheek. The game ended. She tensed up and looked at him. Garen hoped his smile didn’t come across too goofy. It was the only barrier between him and an endless pit of awkwardness.

  He chose to focus on the magic instead. He closed his eyes and felt the work her body began. It wanted to stop the bleeding and seal the wound, but it was just getting started. Garen pulled the magic from a deeper place than his light tricks. He knew it was the Gate of Truth that allowed him to guide their healing forward and faster. Naia’s body responded well to the urge, equally desiring to close its vulnerability. The skin seemed to multiply rather than stretch. The creation felt fast and vibrant. Garen opened his eyes and couldn’t see the change at all.

  The process proved to be much slower than he hoped. He kept his focus and neither sister interrupted him. By the time he finished, the sun had fully set and the room grew dark. Morgan located the geonode lamp in the room and cast it on. Shadow concealed the left side of Naia’s face. She turned it toward the light and awaited their feedback.

  “Oh, Naia,” Morgan said. The heartbreak in her voice tipped Naia off that not all was well. She conjured a small firelight in her palm and stood by the bedside mirror. Naia moved the light around and saw every angle of the scar. It was a shade darker than the skin around it. The grains of hardened skin stretched across her cheek and down most of her jawline. The cut had been jagged and uneven, and the scar was no less. It was all he could see looking at her now, and it would be the first thing anyone would notice.

  “It was bound to happen, but it’ll fade, right?” Naia asked. He could tell how much she didn’t want to care. She wanted to pretend the life of a warrior meant a disregard for appearances. But she wanted both. It was fair desire for any seventeen-year-old, and he hated to see it stolen from her.

  “I’m not sure,” Garen said, muddling the truth more than he should. “The redness, maybe.”

  “Okay,” she said to the mirror. Naia put out the fire light and left the room without a word.

  “Naia, wait up.” Morgan followed her sister but paused in the doorway. She looked back to Garen. “Thank you. This isn’t your fault.”

  Garen nodded and motioned for her to chase after Naia. Garen shut off the lamp. He wandered through the dark hallway to his temporary quarters. The sheets were still caked in soot. He had no attendants to rely on, and he realized how spoiled he’d become living in a palace. He took his linens to a washbasin and scrubbed them clean. The mundane chore helped clear his mind. The stains were likely permanent, but Idrian didn’t seem like the kind of man to complain. He heated them dry and carried them back to his guest room.

  He saw Belen sitting alone in the dark hall. Garen paused for a moment, deciding whether to give him privacy or not.

  “Hey,” Belen acknowledged him.

  Garen tossed the bedding inside the room and sat down across from him. “Hey.”

  “Is Miss Naia okay?”

  The formality made Garen snicker in spite of the burdens on his mind. “Yeah, she’ll be fine. How are you doing?”

  Belen shrugged it off. “I’m fine.”

  “Any other family you’re worried about?”

  Belen shook his head.

  “Friends?”

  “Sis had a few people that helped us through the winters. But that’s it.”

  It was rare he talked about his sister or their life in Vikar-Tola. All he usually cared about was how to find her.

  “They sound like good people. I’ll bet you they’re okay.”

  The attempted comfort didn’t have the effect Garen hoped. Belen stiffened. “I was near the Riverside shelter when it fell. I don’t think any of them made it out.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Garen offered his apologies, but Belen kept his emotions as clenched as his fists. Garen pondered what else could let him open up. “You know, I don’t remember you telling me your sister’s name.”

  Belen shrugged. “It’s just Sis.”

  “Your sister’s actual name is Sis?”

  “That’s what I call her. So, yeah.”

  “How long were you two on your own?” Garen asked.

  Belen thought for a moment. “A couple years.”

  “That’s a long time to take care of someone,” Garen spoke his sentiments from a deeper place of understanding than Belen could imagine.

  “I know. She always took good care of me.”

  Garen suddenly questioned an assumption of age he’d made the whole time. Belen seemed so protective and fiercely determined to help her. But that didn’t mean she was his younger sister. “Belen, how old is Sis?”

  “Fifteen, I think.”

  She was four years
older than him, and he was still determined to protect her. Garen wished he could have been half as noble at that age. Instead he spent those years spying on his parents as they trained the emperor’s sons. He was thirteen before he had the first burdens placed upon him. If Belen lost his parents at nine years old, he wondered what kind of childhood that left him with.

  “How’s her depth?” Garen asked.

  “Better than mine. She taught me a lot of what I know.”

  “Good. She’ll impress them at first and stay fed. Hopefully, she’s smart enough to conceal what she can really do until we get her out.”

  “She’s pretty smart,” Belen said.

  “I believe it. She did good with you. In her absence, I’ll be the one to tell you to get some rest. Idrian’s got a full day planned for you, I hear.”

  “Yeah, I just…” Belen trailed off and hugged his knees tighter.

  Every moment Garen had to switch between respecting how much maturity Belen carried and remembering how young and alone the child was. “There’s nothing better than warm linens. Help me fit the bed and you can stay with me.”

  Belen looked embarrassed but not enough to turn him down.

  Chapter 11

  The Spellswords sat in the common room of Idrian’s estate, waiting on Micah to return. They were as rested and prepared for an assignment as they knew how to be. Belen and Idrian sat among them. Normally, speculation would drive the conversation, wondering what mission was in store. The details of that reality were a bit too heavy for idle chatter, and the topic of voices in Garen’s head proved far more lighthearted. Everyone had their own questions to unload.

  “What about now?” Argus asked.

  “Still no response,” Garen said. “But I’m not surprised. That doesn’t even make sense.”

  Fine, a gruff voice answered. First, tell him no more dumb questions. Second, and to my utter disappointment, tell him there’s no such thing as ‘spirit beer’.

  “He said no,” Garen said.

  Argus slumped in disappointment. Idrian seemed equally pained, but for a different reason. He begrudgingly wrote down the information.

  “I don’t see why we’re assuming these are normal spirits,” Morgan said. “If only five crossed over at the Dawn of Magic, maybe they’re special in some way. They don’t seem to be telling us much about their world.”

  Garen waited for a snide response to echo in his head. None came. “Alright. Forget the Spirit Realm. Who are you two?”

  More silence followed. “Come on, don’t go quiet on me now. I definitely heard him call you by a proper name. Kara, Kela…”

  My name is Kallista. Her voice was firm, each word sharp as a knife.

  “Kallista, that’s it. Is that normal for a spirit? Do you all have…names?”

  The five of us do, yes.

  Garen felt silly talking back and forth to the room. But for once, no one tried to jump into the conversation. They sat eagerly waiting.

  “She said yes. So, what’s the other guy’s name?”

  I’ll leave that discretion to him.

  Ugh. Almighty Water God isn’t enough for you people? It really cheapens the god thing if you start calling me Ampelis.

  “I’ve never been the worshipping type,” Garen said. “I’ll stick with Ampelis.” Idrian put it all in writing. His mood brightened considerably.

  Morgan sat forward with a question on her mind. “What can they tell you about the others?”

  “Yeah,” Garen said, “how do I talk to the Fire Spirit? Do I just need to light-shift with its host?”

  Ampelis groaned. Hold on, reckless. Two entangled threads are crowded enough without him. We can tell you whatever you want about Nikoro without you making any more knots.

  “What do you mean ‘knots’? Oh,” Garen turned to Morgan, “he called him Nikoro.”

  The soft whir of a levitrans rustled from outside the estate. Belen ran to the window to watch the vehicle land. The rest stayed put.

  “I suppose that leaves me,” Drake said. His eagerness was far better contained than the rest, but Garen could see the attentiveness in his eyes.

  They waited for a response. “Did you hear him?” Garen asked. More silence passed. “Does it have a name? Favorite color? A big, fuzzy spirit mustache?”

  When the response came, Kallista redefined how piercing her words could sound. Do not ask about him again.

  The confusion on Garen’s face spread across everyone watching him. “Uh, okay,” he said.

  “Can you tell us?” Idrian asked.

  Micah opened the main door of the estate and saw them sitting silently. “Good, you’re gathered and ready. I have news.”

  They stood out of courtesy, but Garen could tell their attention was still fixed on him rather than Micah. Morgan did her best to voice their feelings. “Garen was just getting into details about the spirits.”

  “It will have to wait,” Micah said, no reluctance in his voice. “We’ve declared war on the Western Kingdom.”

  “What? The whole kingdom?” Drake asked.

  “Two members of the Advising Council announced Sarkos as the rightful successor to the throne yesterday. The Western people are confused, but they have no reason to reject him. Meanwhile, I do.”

  “Well, that’s it for us, then,” Garen sat back down.

  “I don’t follow,” Drake said to Garen.

  “Micah keeps saying he can’t fight a war with Spellswords. So, I guess we’re done being any help.”

  Micah glared with tired eyes. “I can’t meet an army head-on with Spellswords. And I won’t ever try. But we know where the Apatten barracks are housed. We know how little regard they have for our lives. I don’t care who you have to strike down to get to them. Bring the cave down on top of them. Once his soulless army returns to dust, then General Tragus and I will see to deposing Sarkos.”

  * * * * *

  It set Garen’s mind at ease to see Idrian occupying Belen’s attention with stories and geonode trinkets. He didn’t want to worry about Belen running off before they could return. Garen knew their priority had to be on Sarkos and the Western Kingdom at the moment. There was no other option, but he hated imagining Belen’s sister or the man they met in Kalyx enduring another week isolated in those towers. He hoped that putting an end to Sarkos’ threats would bring them one step closer to helping those enslaved. The dry-stone feeling in his throat told him otherwise.

  Drake carried the Spellswords westward, beyond the lush plains of the Central Kingdom. The soil this far from the River Rojand was mostly sheets of reddish clay. The plains rolled into steeper hills. Patches of grass became an exception instead of the norm. They passed small mining and smelting communities. Some regions of the badlands were entirely barren. Amidst the still expanse, the Apatten facility came into view. Drake took advantage of a nearby canyon to descend into, well out of sight from their destination.

  “I think our first step should be removing any exterior guards,” Drake suggested. “It’s going to take us a long while to place that many spell anchors. We can’t afford interruptions.”

  “Well, sure,” Garen said. “But how do we manage that without raising some kind of alarm?”

  Naia smirked. “I think we just leave you behind. That should solve it.”

  “How about Drake gets an overhead view first,” Morgan offered. “Let’s see how much they’ve upped their defenses before decisions are made.”

  With no complaints, Drake shot back into the sky. Naia pulled Morgan aside with a question, but whispered too quietly for Garen to eavesdrop. The split made Garen recognize Argus’ quiet fidgeting. He placed a hand on his shield, reached for his hammer, and then back to his shield, as if he thought at any moment he’d realize he’d forgotten one.

  “You alright?” Garen asked quietly.

  “Eh, just a pest of a thought. I keep figgurin’ ways this goes wrong.”

  “Goes wrong? Like what?”

  “I dunno. I feel like I’m not pullin
g my weight on a mission like this. You guys need a little more earth umph. And if I’d have been faster, I’d already have the Earth Spirit.”

  It was strangely comforting to know Garen wasn’t the only one carrying guilt from their losses at the Theltus Nisdal. “Between the five of us, I think we can cause plenty of destruction. Then maybe Sarkos comes next on our list and you end up a full-fledged Spellsword.”

  “No chance of that,” Argus said, confident but not sour about it.

  Garen searched for a hint on Argus’ face but found nothing. “What do you mean?”

  “I already told Micah. Once I inherit that Earth Spirit, I won’t have you confusing my legend and calling me a Spellsword. I want to go down in history as the first Spellhammer.” Garen laughed for the first time in days.

  A gust whistled from above the canyon. A moment later Drake dropped from the sky next to them. He seemed perplexed and spoke as if even he was unsure of the news he brought. “There are no guards posted outside the facility.”

  All of them exchanged curious glances. “None?” Morgan asked.

  Drake shook his head. “No movement anywhere. The building looks vacant, although I don’t suppose we’ll know without getting inside.”

  Drake gathered the winds and lifted them out of the canyon. The building they moved toward was an enormous block of stone. The granite was unadorned and had no natural layers or bricks. It was an obvious use of earth magic. It had a couple of outcroppings along the eastern side. Both were dome-shaped outposts that fortified the entrances. The bunkers had a narrow slit in the stone where crossbows could defensively fire.

  Garen pulled the light toward him, confirming the posts were vacant. They walked closer. Inside, a stockpile of bolts lay unattended. Like Drake said, there were no people in sight. He led them carefully into the main hall.

  Garen saw the same room he’d snuck into prior. Over fifty red-iron pods dotted the room with mixing tables and materials spread among them. This time, there were no eyes to fool. The search started slow and cautious, but every hall told the same story. The Apatten creation had stopped. No one stuck around.