The Rise of Magicks (Chronicles of The One)

by Nora Roberts

  He’d delegate faeries to start growing vegetables, herbs, and grains wherever it made sense, send scouts to find what they could find, possibly barter with communities, when and if they found any.

  Flour, sugar, salt—basics they’d have to flash in from New Hope until they found a better way. He was, he thought, essentially starting out like his mother and the New Hope Originals had.

  At least he had their template to work from, and experienced troops.

  The armory would serve for now, he calculated, but they’d want to add to that, too.

  He sat in what was essentially a shack with his lists and maps. The most secure structure—which he’d added layers to—now served as a prison, not for slaves or tortured magickals but for captured enemy.

  He needed them off his base as soon as possible, and wrote down suggestions for prison camps.

  He glanced up when Mallick came in.

  “I’m sending out hunting, scouting, and scavenging parties at first light. I figure the faeries we’ve got with us can get started on growing food, for us and for livestock, but maybe we need some sort of agrodome for fruit trees.”

  “I’ll ask about that when I get to New Hope.” Mallick glanced over to where Duncan had stacked bottles of whiskey, gin, beer, wine.

  “I figured it was safer in here with me. We’ll keep some. Soldiers need a little recreation, and some can be used medicinally. And we can barter with the rest.”

  With a nod, Mallick selected a bottle of wine, opened it, sniffed. “Barely palatable. Still.” He found cups, lifted a brow at Duncan.

  “Yeah, why not? I’m sending a list of need now with you, and a list of need eventually.”

  “All right. You did well tonight.”

  Duncan took the cup of wine, tapped it to Mallick’s with the clink of tin to tin. “You, too. Then again, it wasn’t much of a fight.”

  “Because we’d prepared and planned and followed through on the plan.”

  “And because the enemy was mostly drunk assholes.”

  “Yes, but even drunk assholes can kill. We lost no one.” He sat with his wine. “South Carolina lost eight.” Looked into his cup before he drank. “Arlington lost sixty-three, with another ninety-eight wounded.”

  Duncan set down the cup, rose to walk to the window. “Tonia said it was bad. She said Flynn lost Lupa. I know Lupa and Eddie’s Joe have lived longer than they would have because of magickal treatments and healing, but still . . . I can’t imagine New Hope without Flynn’s wolf.”

  He turned back. “Do you have the names of the dead, the wounded?”

  Mallick laid a paper on the table, so Duncan came back.

  As he read, he picked up the cup, drained the wine.

  “You’d know them,” Mallick began.

  “I went to school with two of them. Len and I used to play basketball, pickup games. I dated Marly a couple of times. Ben Stikes used to play this thing—ukulele—on his front porch. Margie Frost taught me and Tonia chemistry in the academy. I knew them. I knew all of them.”

  And he could see them, hear them. He knew their families, their friends. He remembered he’d dated Marly primarily because she’d caught him with her quick, infectious laugh.

  “It grieves her.”

  Duncan pressed his fingers to his eyes, dropped them. “It has to. It should never be easy.”

  “Correct.”

  “I don’t mean she deserves—”

  “I know what you mean, boy. I trained her, I watched her become. And though I had devoted my life to just that, when the time came, I grieved for her, for the weight she’d carry.”

  “You came to love her.”

  “I did. An unexpected development.” Mallick drank again. “And tonight, though it’s another beginning and not the end, she showed what she is.”

  “She invited an attack. Not here. We’re not worth it at this point.” Though he’d make damn certain they would be. “Probably not South Carolina. But Arlington.”

  “She meant to. She’ll hold what she took.”

  “I know it. I have issues with her apart from this, but I believe in her, absolutely.”

  “I know that as well. You’re a credit to your blood, Duncan.”

  “Wow.” Sincerely surprised, Duncan searched for words. “That calls for another drink.”

  With a laugh, Mallick poured them both more wine.

  “I’ll build this place into a stronghold, and from here, we’ll expand the West. Tell her . . . Shit, I don’t know what I want to tell her.”

  “You will, when you see her again.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” Right now, he thought, he had to focus everything on making that stronghold, feeding, clothing, drilling the troops who’d hold it.

  “What I do know?” Duncan said with a shrug. “Unexpected development—I’m going to miss you.”

  “And I, also unexpected, you.”

  Mallick lifted his cup. “To the light, and to the unexpected.”

  Duncan tapped his cup to Mallick’s again, and drank.

  Fallon stayed in Arlington for two weeks, helping to organize and arrange housing, training, overseeing the transfer of prisoners, and working to relocate any former slaves and captured magickals who chose to leave.

  As more opted to remain—to live, work, train there—she supervised the redistribution of supplies and furnishings within the base.

  Volunteers cleared the houses in the outlying neighborhood of the remains of the dead, banished rats, cleaned, repaired.

  She used Katie’s blueprint from New Hope for assigning jobs—skills, experience, or interest in gaining both—for creating volunteer sign-ups.

  The attack came on the dawn of the third day after her broadcast. Prepared for it, forces who now called themselves Light for Life repelled the PWs in under an hour. It had been, in Fallon’s estimation, more an angry, arrogant barrage than a structured attack.

  There would be others, but at the end of two weeks, she trusted Colin and his troops to defend the base and any who settled on its outskirts.

  She stood with him by the white memorial stone she’d placed. She’d shaped it like a tower to symbolize a rising, and with her light, had carved the names of everyone who’d given their life to take this ground.

  Below the names, she’d etched the fivefold symbol, and had added LIGHT FOR LIFE.

  Already someone had planted flowers at its base, and they bloomed as white as the stone.

  “Mallick will be on and off base for the next couple weeks. You know how to send for him or for me if you need to. And I need those weekly reports, detailed.”

  “We’ve been over it, Fallon. Detailed weekly reports. Anything unusual or noteworthy that comes out of scouting missions, you hear asap.”

  “They’ll attack again. The PWs, and very likely government or military out of D.C. Watch the skies, Colin.”

  She let out a breath. She had to trust he was ready. She’d already sent Taibhse and Faol Ban back to New Hope. Now it was time for her to join them.

  So she turned to him. “Listen to Mallick. Learn from him. You’re in command—but you’re not president.”

  He grinned at her. “I like fighting better than politics.”

  “Clearly, but don’t forget the politics. Train them hard, Colin.”

  She looked around the base, at the soldiers and recruits on the training grounds, the volunteers working the gardens, tending the livestock. Laughter filtered out of the house they’d outfitted as a school, and the scent of fresh bread wafted out of another they’d designated as a base kitchen.

  More than a base, already more, she thought. A community in the making.

  “Train them hard,” she repeated. “Within the year, we take D.C.”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  She turned to him, hugged him hard. “Keep them safe,” she said, then swung onto Laoch. “You’re still at least a little bit of a jerk, but I love you anyway.”

  “Same goes.”

  Laoch spr
ead his wings. She flew up over Arlington, circled once, then soared toward New Hope.

  She wanted the flight rather than the flash, and used it to make maps in her head of the land below. Too many roads not yet cleared or in impassable disrepair. What had been cities, what they’d called suburbs, developments of houses, centers for shopping remained largely deserted. The land itself had taken over in the two decades since the Doom so grasses grew thick and high, trees spread like weeds. Over them, through them, wildlife roamed in herds and packs, and she imagined the rivers and streams below busy with fish and waterfowl.

  With their mad mission to eradicate magickals, to enslave, the Purity Warriors had done little to nothing to tend the land, to build. Raiders raided, and left destruction in their wake. What government there was seemed focused on rule, and the battles in the major cities, and still, she knew, on their work to contain and restrain those with powers they refused to understand.

  She wouldn’t make the same mistakes, and wouldn’t aim her focus so narrowly.

  She veered west, studied the hills, the forests, waterways, fallow, overgrown fields, and the buildings—houses, vast shopping areas, and service centers.

  Twice she took Laoch down for a closer look when she saw signs someone had settled. A broken trail, a few houses in good repair, a cow in a pen.

  She marked the locations in her mind, continued home.

  When she landed, Ethan gave a shout, and with Max, his closest companion, and a pack of dogs, raced over from the farm.

  Under a tattered, faded ball cap, Ethan’s hair was damp with sweat. Both boys smelled of horses and dogs and dirt. Max, gangly like his father, waded through the dogs to lay a hand on Laoch’s neck.

  “We were watching for you,” Ethan told her. “Mom said you’d be back today.”

  “We’ve been helping Dad and Simon with the haying.” Max gestured out to the field and the oft-repaired baler. “But they said we could come when we saw you up there. Your mom made cherry pies, and mine’s going to pick sweet corn.”

  “We’re going to have a cookout.” Already Ethan hefted her saddlebags. “Because you’re back.”

  “Sweet corn and cherry pies?” Fallon dismounted. “When do we eat?”

  Because nothing pleased them more, she turned Laoch over to them. They’d cool him down, groom him like a king.

  She hauled her bags in through the kitchen.

  Pies with glossy cherry filling, bold red through the golden latticework crusts, bread, fresh and scenting the air, wrapped in cloth on the counter. Wildflowers in a jug, peaches ripening in a bowl, potted herbs thriving on the windowsill.

  After the battle and the blood, the work and the worry, here was home.

  And here, she realized, was what she needed to bring to the world as much as peace.

  She dumped her bags—they could wait. Now she opened the fridge, found another jug. And grateful, filled a glass with her mother’s lemonade to wash away the heat and thirst of the journey.

  Travis came in, nearly as sweaty as Ethan.

  “Saw you coming in.” He grabbed another glass. “Had to finish something up, but I wanted to come by. Is everything okay with Colin, with Arlington?”

  “He’s good. The base is secure.”

  “Haven’t had a chance to talk to you really.” He glugged down lemonade. “We’ve made good use of some of the stuff you sent back—got a couple houses furnished and supplied already. The mayor and council and committees are working to help the people who wanted to come here settle in.”

  He grabbed a peach—just underripe as he preferred. “We had the funerals last week. It was rough.”

  “I should’ve been here.”

  “Everyone knew why you weren’t. We’re going to have a memorial. The council voted on it, since we always have the annual on the morning of the Fourth, but we’re going to hold one for the placing of the stars. Now that you’re back.”

  “It’s good. It’s right.”

  “The last of the wounded were discharged a couple days ago. Most are already back in training. It was rough,” he repeated, talking quickly through it as he bit into the peach. “But taking three bases—and, Jesus, Arlington—then your broadcast after?”

  With a satisfied head shake, Travis gestured with the peach. “Arlys printed it out, word for word, and posted it. Anyway, the mood around here is strong. In the last week, we’ve gotten fourteen more recruits from the outside. Mick just sent word they’ve pulled in eighteen. Eighteen.”

  “Duncan?”

  “He’s pretty remote, but Tonia told me—and she’s going to meet up with you as soon as she can get away—he had seven last count. And one’s a doctor, or was a—what’s it—intern when the Doom hit.”

  “That’s good news, and we’ll need to go over all this. But now—”

  “Here it comes.” He held up his hands, one holding the half-eaten peach. “First, we were a little busy dealing with the deserters, and keeping the wounded and medicals from getting overrun.”

  “Which is why you should have let me know.”

  “Busy,” he repeated, “and pretty much under control. Plus, in the thick of it?” On a shrug, he bit into the peach again, the underripe fruit snapping crisp as an apple. “Mom was like—wow, just wow. I’ve never seen her in full battle mode, you know? The thing was, she had Dad out, like in a trance so she could treat the bullet wound. These PWs break through the lines to try to get to the mobiles and escape, and Mom’s zap! Zap, pow!”

  To demonstrate, he jabbed one fist, then the other. “Seriously, she took out three of them before you could fucking blink. And I’ve gotta say, Rachel’s no slouch. Grabs a scalpel with one hand, smashes this dude with an elbow, then slices him open. Then Hannah?”

  He tossed the peach pit in the kitchen composter, turned to rinse off his hands. “You know, I’ve worked with her on combat training, self-defense. Let’s just say it hasn’t been her strength, right? She was moving from one mobile to the other when they hit us, and I’m yelling at her to get inside, barricade herself and the wounded. But she swings right around. Pow, pow, wham, bam. Man, she is fierce when she’s cornered. A ball-kicker. A fierce ball-kicker.”

  “Hannah?” Fallon sincerely couldn’t imagine her loving, openhearted friend kicking balls.

  “You bet your ass. It couldn’t have taken us more than a minute, two tops, to subdue them. Hannah’s bleeding a little—the guy whose balls are probably still bruised managed to punch her in the face. So Jonah and I are securing the deserters, and Mom tells me not to let you know, not then. Rachel’s checking out Hannah, and seconds that. Hannah chimes in, all cheerful, how we’re all fine, and not to distract you, and Jonah says the same. Mom gives me that look. You know, the one that says don’t screw with me, and goes back to fixing Dad up.

  “I was outvoted, and they were right.”

  “Maybe.” Because with words and gestures, Travis had taken her into the thick of it, she understood the decision. She leaned back against the counter. “Maybe, but the enemy shouldn’t have broken through, and that’s a weakness we’ll fix.”

  “They were scared shitless, Fallon. Every one of them. Even if I couldn’t see it, and I could, I could feel it. And hey, we won. I gotta get back, but welcome home. Big feast tonight.”

  He eyed the pies.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Too late, but I’m not stupid enough to risk the mighty wrath of Mom.”

  He opened the door, turned back. “But if we’d needed you, even the mighty wrath of Mom wouldn’t have stopped me from calling you.”

  Satisfied with that, she washed out her glass—and his—then took her bags to her room to unpack.

  When Lana came home, carrying supplies, Fallon hopped up from the kitchen counter where she’d set up to draw her new maps.

  “My baby.”

  Before Fallon could take the cloth bags, Lana set them down, enfolded her.

  “I’d hoped to be back before you got here, but Rac
hel needed some help in the clinic.”

  “What happened?”

  “No, no, nothing like that.” Lana eased back, cupped Fallon’s face to study it. “School’s starting soon, and they’re doing wellness checks. And she wanted to show me some changes they’ve made in the plans for the expansion. Sit while I put these things away and tell me how your brother is.”

  “You sit while I put them away.”

  Fallon nudged her mother to a counter stool, found olives from the Tropics, oil from the press her father had helped build, peppercorns, coffee beans, a bag of salt.

  “Colin’s in his element,” she began. “The troops respect him, which is vital, but they also like him. We turned that fucking palace—” She caught herself, winced. “Sorry.”

  “I think we’re beyond me scolding you over language.”

  Still, Fallon thought. “That palace of an HQ? We cleared out the unnecessary.”

  “And much of it’s been put to use here and elsewhere.”

  “It had seven bedrooms, and other rooms that we turned into bedrooms. We’ve got troops housed there. Mallick will have a room there, one with a kind of parlor for his workshop. Colin has a room to himself, it’s the smallest of them. It works. We set up other barracks, and civilian housing.”

  She went through the broad details as she put away the supplies, then sat.

  Impressed, approving, Lana nodded. “You’re combining the templates from New Hope and our own cooperative back home.”

  “I know how they work, and that they work. We need those fortified structures in locations like Arlington especially for training and to keep people safe. When Mallick gets back there—”

  “He’s not there now?”

  “I asked him to help Mick for a few days, then visit our other bases before he comes here, briefs me. Then he’ll go to Arlington. Colin’s solid, Mom.”

  “I know it. I do. But I think he could use some of Mallick’s discipline and worldview.”

  “Trust me, he’ll get it.”

  “I resented him so much when he took you away. And now I’m depending on him to help another of my children. Life is damn twisty and strange.”

  “I need him with Colin, but I need his perspective on our other bases, and future ones.”