The Scrying (The Scrying Trilogy Book 1)

by Jaci Miller

  “Who gave you that?” He asked catching her by surprise at this sudden unexpected verbal interaction.

  His voice was deep, cloaked with a husky tone that indicated an extended period of silence. Sexy, she thought, groaning outwardly at the absurdity of where her mind had just gone. The stranger cocked his head at the sound and once again tightened his grip on the sword.

  “Sebastian,” she replied softly, watching as a spark of recognition crossed his face. He continued to stare into her eyes for a few more seconds, an awkward silence surrounding them as she shifted her weight uncomfortably. “He said you would understand.”

  Lowering his sword, he placed it back into the sheath that hung from his left hip. He climbed the steps toward where she stood until his brilliant green eyes were level with hers.

  “You are a Callathian?” He asked although she was sure he already knew the answer. “From the new realm?”

  “Yes,” she responded shyly, aware of the sensations his proximity ignited in her. “But it’s Callan now.”

  He seemed to ignore her last statement. “Then you are also an Arcanist.”

  “Apparently, that is correct as well,” she confirmed, still not use to the new title that she now found herself being referred to as.

  The warrior nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration as he began to connect his past life to the things that were happening at this moment. She could see him shaking off the centuries of sleep that had claimed him, his thoughts racing as they linked the past to the present.

  He moved up to stand on the same step, his body inches from hers, his bright green eyes burrowing deep into her own. Her breath caught in her chest as his gaze intensified penetrating what little defenses she possessed. As his energy mingled with her own, she shifted uncomfortably realizing that the man standing inches from her was causing her heart to beat a little faster.

  Breaking his gaze, she looked down at her own boots, the toes now covered in dust. She took a deep breath, steadying herself and her unabashed thoughts before slowly raising her eyes back to his. A slight smirk played mischievously at the corners of his full lips making her even more uncomfortable in his presence. This time she was unable to look away, mesmerized by the perfect shape of his jawline, the way his nose was slightly crooked at the bridge, and the long scar that ran from the outside corner of his left eye, intersecting his eyebrow and separating it into two sections. His dark lashes framed his light green eyes perfectly and his long thick hair curled gently at his shoulders.

  This man and his imperfections were beautiful.

  The warrior leaned in closer, reaching into her energy with his own. His head cocked slightly as the playful smirk intensified, his eyes flashing with something too quick for her to recognize.

  As her heart pounded in her chest and her will to block him from entering her private domain weakened, he suddenly pulled back, moved around her, and began walking up the remaining stone steps.

  Inhaling deeply as a shudder ran through her core, she turned and followed him with her gaze until he had reached the top. He looked down at her and smiled, a small dimple appearing on his left cheek and in his deep, husky voice said, “You may call me Rafe.”

  Embarrassed and confused by the effect that Rafe’s proximity had on her she was unable to move up the stairs after him, paralyzed by the feelings that were conflicting with one another inside her. Tingling warmth had crept over her as she stared deeply into his green eyes and for a brief second, she had felt powerless. He had mesmerized her, making her feel out of control, a sensation that she did not enjoy. Control was something she had mastered a long time ago. She did not relinquish it easily. He, however, had managed to bypass her defenses effortlessly, his energy rushing through her, sending her into a tailspin. Her pounding heart betraying her as she shamelessly allowed herself to be distracted by him.

  Shaking her head, she glanced up at the man who now stood staring down at her from the pinnacle of the wide staircase, waiting. Tentatively, she climbed the remaining stairs, joining him at the top.

  Fully aware of his presence beside her, she surveyed the lush grounds that lay before them. The grass was a stunning deep green, the silver dew sparkled on its surface creating an illusion that the landscape was swaying methodically back and forth. The stone building with the guard towers she had seen from the bottom loomed majestically in front of them, perched on a hill not far from where they stood. She could see ivy, covered in large purple flowers, twisting and climbing its way up the sides of the turrets. Flags still waved proudly at their metal tips, the passing of time visible in their faded colors and tattered ends. The moat that surrounded the barracks was filled with brilliant aqua-hued water and she could easily see the sandy bottom through its crystal-clear depth as they crossed the bridge that led to the barrack’s large iron doors.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed something coming toward them in the sky. At first, it was only a speck. An insignificant mar on the pale blue perfection of the morning sky, but as it drew closer, she recognized the shape. It was the large black bird she had seen in the city market earlier, and it was making its way toward them at an impressive speed, its wings pushing hard against the air currents as it propelled its large frame forward.

  Before she could open her mouth to warn Rafe, the large bird swooped in, landing gently on his shoulder, its large knowing eyes trained suspiciously on her.

  “Ah, I wondered where you had gotten to my friend,” he said, raising his leather-bound forearm, the large bird moving down off his shoulder, his eyes never straying from Dane.

  “This bird belongs to you?” She asked realizing that this must have been the reason that Rafe knew she had invaded his world and could so easily sneak up on her.

  “He does,” he answered looking at the bird with pride. “His name is Farrimore.”

  “He is extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “I suspect you haven’t no. He is an ancient Hawkitete, a rare bird that hails from the farthest regions of this world. They are a remarkable breed,” he said stroking Farrimore under his beak. “They have a keen sense of sight and smell, are strong, agile fliers, able to fly for long periods of time without resting. Their powerful beaks can easily rip through a man’s skin. Hawkitetes are extremely intelligent, vigilant, fiercely loyal and are known for their protection skills, making them a popular familiar for warriors in battle.”

  Farrimore ruffled his feathers as if he recognized Rafe praising him.

  “He seems extremely attached to you,” she commented, noticing how the bird kept nudging Rafe’s shoulder with his head.

  “We have been through a lot together, he is a very faithful companion.”

  She nodded noticing the softness in his tone, an indication of the deep affection he had for his magnificent feathered friend.

  Following him up to the large iron doors of the barracks, she smirked as she caught Farrimore glancing over his shoulder, eyeing her with mistrust. His loyalty to his master was certainly not in question.

  As they came to the entrance, she noticed there were no handles visible on this side of the iron doors. She watched curiously as he placed his hand on a large metal plate embedded into the stone on the right-hand side, muttering something to himself under his breath. Slowly, the heavy doors began to shudder and groan, swinging inward, ancient hinges grinding as they opened. Turning to face her he said. “You will find that many doors in the Warlician barracks are magically closed, only warriors and specific incantations can open them.”

  Nodding, she realized how lucky she was that Rafe had found her and would be able to lead her to the items she needed without any obstacles that could cause her time and grief. She was beginning to wonder how Sebastian could put so much faith in her knowing she was going to be so far out of her realm, literally. She shook her head in frustration as she
walked through the massive iron doors, her ire at Sebastian forgotten as she entered the home of her warrior ancestors.

  They stood in what seemed to be the training grounds, an impressive arena space surrounded on the far side by coliseum-style seating. A massive combat pit claimed most of the center of the arena, the area encircling it filled with equipment and gear. Ancient weapons hung in racks from the stone walls, their sharp edges glinting in the sunlight. An area containing targets and fighting dummies, besieged with the scars of training, was to the left of the pit. Another filled with contraptions she assumed was used for strength and conditioning, to the right and a special area dedicated to the crafting of a warrior’s magical abilities lay in the shadows of the back corner.

  Following Rafe through the arena toward a door located under the seating area, she sensed a change in the energy that sizzled through the surrounding air. She could feel a calming strength rising inside her as the ground beneath her became more familiar, her own energy recognizing the path of her ancestors. There was a familiarity implanted in her surroundings, an ancient echo from the past that encased her in a comforting embrace. She could sense traces of an age-old magic, its essence floating aimlessly. Feeling its curiosity as it recognized her blood, her own magic throbbed through her veins in response, heightened by the foreign essence that seeped around her. Her blood ached to meld with the ancient magic, her own magic feeding off the essence of old. She could feel the power of her ancestors in this place, a forgotten shadow of the past. Relaxing she allowed the ancient magic to penetrate her skin, flowing into her unimpeded.

  Suddenly, an uneasiness passed through her, a cold, unyielding sensation that crept under her skin. There was something behind the sensation, a presence in her mind. At first, it was fleeting, a wisp of a memory, a twinge that tugged at her conscious. But, as the ancient magic of her ancestors mingled with her own essence, she could feel it grow, a dark, menacing shadow that forced its way into her mind.

  She tried to block the unfamiliar energy from invading her thoughts, but its presence remained—growing stronger as the magic in this world took notice. An explosion of pain rattled through her head as she tried to call out to Rafe, blackness obscuring her vision. A dark energy wrapped itself around her mind, pushing itself deeper into her conscious. It was saturated by a heavy smell of rot and decay, a putrid stench that overwhelmed her senses. She fought to regain control, as she felt herself slipping into a dark abyss, her body collapsing to the ground. There was something evil in her mind, an unforgiving, unfeeling presence burrowing into the deepest recesses and flooding her with its memories.

  A shadowy smoke hurtled through the universe, an entity older than time, a chilling cold surrounding it, evil dripping from its depths. It was fueled by an unsated hunger, a primeval yearning to feed, to destroy, to survive. An empty hollowness was left in its wake as it was drawn to its destination by the scent of magic. This universe was full of magic, ancient and powerful, a feeding ground perfect for its kind, a place where thirst, hunger, and death combined. It careened through time and space, a shadowy predator racing toward an unsuspecting prey. The horror and fear that its presence would incite, the destruction it would unleash.

  The magic of the universe beckoned, pulling it forward through the magical barrier surrounding the unsuspecting realms. The scent of blood, flesh, and death was all around, nothing would survive. Its evil cut mercilessly through the realms, feeding off the magic, carnage ridding the lands of the vermin, their blood turning the countryside red. It fed and killed, repeating the cycle as each realm fell under its reign of terror. It relished how the puny inhabitants tried to fight back, their valiant efforts squashed under its rampage, their horror a stench that fueled its rage.

  As its power grew, theirs diminished, this universe was now its domain, and it would wipe clean the existence of the magical beings that wrongly thought it theirs.

  Chapter 21

  The headache exploding in a kaleidoscope of colors behind her eyelids caused her to wince in pain. Nausea rolled in waves over her body, its intensity causing her stomach to clench. As the last of the disturbing memory faded from her mind and the dark energy’s grip released her, she felt a twinge in her consciousness and then nothing. She tried to open her eyes, but she was too exhausted, so she remained in the blackness.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard a voice calling her name over and over. It was faint, a hollow, whisper that echoed in her mind. She wanted to answer, to open her eyes but she couldn’t. The dark energy had exhausted her. She could feel the film of sweat that covered her skin, prickling in the heat. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest and she was finding it difficult to breathe.

  The voice was getting louder, the throbbing in her head no longer drowning it out.

  “DANE,” the voice said again, its tone vibrating off the inside of her skull. “Can you hear me?”

  She wanted it all to stop. Quiet, she begged.

  “DANE!” The voice said again, this time with more force and less patience.

  She could feel strong hands grasp her shoulders shaking them roughly. The indent the fingers made on her bare skin tingled as a strange raw sensation ran through her. An unknown magical essence was seeping through her pores its energy making her feel safe, its power comforting as it provided her with a renewed sense of awareness. The headache diminished and the malaise that tortured her body began to calm. Slowly, she opened her eyes, allowing them to adjust to the light before focusing on the face that stared down at her.

  I know you, she thought as she recognized that perfect jawline, the scar in the eyebrow, and the sexy laugh lines that framed brilliant green eyes.

  His brow was furrowed, and his perfect lips were drawn tight. She could not tell whether Rafe was concerned or irritated by her lack of response. She smiled up at him seeing his face soften as he waited for her to gain control. As her mind once again became her own, she realized that the strong hands encircling her shoulders belonged to him, as did the unknown calming energy that she could still feel pulsating through her veins.

  Struggling, she managed to push herself into a sitting position, shaking the remaining cobwebs of the vision from her mind. “Sorry,” she muttered feeling the strange tingle on her skin where his hands still touched her.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Better, thanks.”

  “What did you see?” he asked casually.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You had a vision, didn’t you?”

  “Why would you think that?” She asked trying not to show surprise at his uncanny perception.

  “I have been around a very long time, Callathian. I understand the magic of this world, a magic that has been suddenly thrust upon you. Telepathic connections are part of a Warlician’s power it is a way we communicate with one another. All Warlicians have this ability but only a few are blessed with the capacity to connect minds with another kind. Your ancestors are what we call Timestoppers, they were gifted with the ability to enter another’s mind and see their thoughts and memories. It is a rare gift but one I assume you possess, although currently, it seems you are unable to control it.”

  “My father is a Timestopper. He was the only one left in my world until my second awakening,” she whispered. “But I wasn’t trying to see anything, not willingly anyway. Something entered my mind flooding me with its memories.”

  “Has anything like this ever happened to you before?” He asked, the concern showing on his face.

  “Once,” she replied thinking back to the time she touched Lilith’s arm in the alleyway.

  He nodded helping her to her feet, wrapping his strong arm around her waist to steady her as she wobbled slightly. He gazed deeply into her eyes, the intensity of his stare making her feel uncomfortable. Pulling her in toward him he leaned closer, the tingle on her skin escalating as their b
odies touched. She could feel his hot breath as it grazed her cheek his lips moving to within inches of her ear. “You must learn to control this power Callathian, or it will control you.”

  Releasing her, he took a step back. “What exactly did you see?”

  Taking a deep breath, she relayed her vision as best she could, her mind slightly blurred by the residual pain. He listened intently, his eyes flashing with hatred as she described this world’s past—his past. The pain of the memories evident in the way he clenched his jaw as she spoke.

  “It knows who you are Dane. It can feel you through Dywen’s magic.”

  “What does?”

  “The ancient dark.”

  “The entity that you banished? The one that destroyed these realms?” She asked, surprise heightening her voice.

  He nodded. “This is what the Guardian of Deities feared, that awakening the magic in these realms would, in turn, rouse the ancient dark from its slumber. It has recognized that Dywen is waking and the ancient magic is drawn to you. If it figures out who you are, it will try to control you before you have a chance to gain your ancestral powers, before you become a threat. You are extremely vulnerable without the full power of your ancestor’s magic. If it attempts to assail you again, you must try to resist, don’t let it enter your mind. Once the Druidstone has been reactivated, and you have received your birthright, your telepathy should be manageable.”

  Turning he extended his arm to Farrimore who gracefully flew down from the wall and perched on it.

  “Come Callathian,” he said as he strode toward the iron door at the far end of the outer sanctum. “We won’t have much time. The Second Rising will be set in motion soon enough. It is time for you to accept your destiny, to become who you truly are.”