He arched his long sword at the more immediate threat. The elf brought his blade down to parry the blow, but Orin’s sword carried both blade and arm down with it, swiping the elf’s legs out from under him.
He hardly saw the elf fall to the ground as he turned to meet the threat behind him. His final opponent stared, distracted by his partner’s screaming, and Orin slipped the blade through his ribs.
When he glanced toward the female elf again, he saw her breathe deeply and mumble something, her red lips barely moving. She seemed less of a threat, so he walked over to the screamer and silenced him. Humans ran up, but they stopped at the edge of the camp. They surveyed the massacre, amazement clearly marking their faces.
He readied himself to meet them, but they seemed hesitant to come any closer. Sighing, he relaxed a little, grateful for the interlude. He hadn’t expected to make it away from this alive. Perhaps he had intimidated his way out of the situation after all.
The elven woman barked something at him, and he turned toward her. Her hands were balled into tight fists at her sides and she seethed with anger. The tall, slender elf wore a tight-fitting cloth dress. Strange attire for traveling.
Orin raised an eyebrow at her, and she sang something at him. Although he couldn’t understand her, her tone was haughty and incensed.
Briefly, he considered cutting her down, but he wanted her to suffer; he wanted to pay her back for what they had done to his wife. As if mocking him, the elf sneered, her lips glistening in the firelight.
Lifting her hand and twisting her fingers in an odd motion, she reminded him of a child making a shadow puppet.
When she pointed at him, crackling electricity shot from her arm, starting at her elbow and exiting at her fingertips. The bolt slammed into him, causing his muscles to spasm, and he bit his tongue, hard. He had no idea when he had left the ground, but he didn’t have much time to wonder before he felt his head hit something solid. He tasted blood in his throat before he blacked out.
Chapter 9: Premonition
Samara walked around a wide boulder. Soft, thick carpets of pine needles collected along her dragging footsteps. Rocks lay scattered over the hill she descended, and she had to weave her way through boulders and tall pines that reached into the sky like wooden monoliths. The lowest branches of these needle-like trees sprouted high on their thin trunks, making the forest floor fairly easy to traverse.
Red tendrils crawled over the whites of her eyes. A pounding headache lingered in her temples, and as soon as she stopped for the day, she intended on making good with that willow bark she had gathered. She had walked all day, and the western horizon had just begun to consume the sun. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to wipe out the irritating sting she felt whenever she shut them, but they hurt worse afterward.
Illtud had insisted that she use only her inner power when casting spells. He had explained that using your own magic was like using a muscle; the more you used it, the stronger it became. She understood the logic, but she was so tired.
Eventually, she came to a ledge that she needed to lower herself from. She noticed easier areas to get down, but they lay a distance from her trajectory, and this spot looked simple enough. She sat on the ledge, her feet dangling over the side, then twisted and began to lower her body. Her feet sought purchase, but found only soft earth that crumbled under her hide boots.
She hung, struggling to hold herself up, her arms and head still poking over the top of the ledge. She tried digging into the side with her toes, but the ground just gave way. She was considering sliding down—after all, the drop wasn’t that far—when she spotted a huge cat stalking through the trunks, following her trail.
The animal moved soundlessly, its shoulder blades bobbing with each careful step. Black patterns dotted and striped its yellow fur, and two massive fangs curved below its jawline.
Samara stared at it, wide-eyed, amazed to see one in person. She had heard stories of the panthera, her tribe’s totem, her whole life, but the creatures were rarely seen on the Hunting Grounds. Clinging to the edge, she watched it move quietly along, sniffing at the ground occasionally.
She wished her father were there to share this. The beauty and power of the panthera fascinated her. Sweat dripped down her temples, and she shifted to relieve her aching arms. The cat froze in midstep and stood as still as the rocks around it, staring at her with wide, golden eyes.
Springing forward, it reached out with one powerful paw to pin her against the side of the ledge. She dropped, avoiding the dangerous claws, sliding partially down the slope, then tilting backward to land hard on her back. The impact knocked her breath out, despite the soft ground.
She gasped for air, watching the cat pace at the top of the ledge. She attempted to stand up, but the panthera pounced down before she could climb off her knees. The ledge was to her back, and the cat blocked any downhill escape. It stood ready to spring, its muscles taut, its tail jerking mischievously, toying with its prey.
Frightened now, Samara felt the magic calling to her, but she still didn’t want to hurt the majestic animal. Hit it with lightning, protect yourself, Illtud said, panic tinging his voice.
A few strides away, a tree grew near the base of the ledge. The animal let out a low growl, and Samara ran for the tree, hoping to put it between herself and the cat. Before she made it, a paw smashed her to the ground, face first. She heard a snapping sound as she hit the earth, and she felt the cat’s claws digging into her backpack, pushing her uncomfortably into the dirt. She found it difficult to breathe with the weight on her back and her face pressed into the dried pine leaves. Screaming, she struggled to escape.
The energy swirled violently, begging her to use it, and she grasped at it, but before she could do anything else, she heard a snarling growl, followed by a bark. Suddenly, the weight disappeared from her back. She rolled over and screamed from the sharp pain that shot through her left arm, her elbow bent at an irregular angle.
Through tears of pain, she glimpsed an enormous wolf snapping down at the cat’s neck. At the last second, the panthera leaped back, then sprung forward just as fast and slapped the dog across the face, leaving deep gouges. Yipping, the wolf rolled away, despite being almost as big as the panthera. Use the magic! Illtud said again.
Using her feet to push herself backward, sliding on her rear, she watched the panthera leap at the wolf. Just before it landed, Samara cast an arching blast of electricity that struck the cat directly in its side, and it rolled away, yowling in pain.
The panthera leaped onto its feet after its fifteen-foot tumble and ran away from what it had assumed would be easy prey. Samara watched it bound through the trees until her vision blurred. She turned to deal with the wolf, but as she summoned her weakening reserve of inner power, fatigue overwhelmed her, and the world darkened.
*****
The wolf stood up and turned toward the unconscious girl lying next to the roots of a tree. Illtud wished Samara had used her gift of stealing magic to cast the lightning spell, because now she lay helpless in front of this other beast, and he was useless in this trapped form. Not for the first time, he cursed Havelle for ensnaring him in the gem.
The wolf started walking toward Samara, and Illtud did the only thing he could think to do. He sent a mental shout at it, even though he had never been able to communicate with animals. He watched it yip and recoil. Gratified with his results, he was about to send another when he heard a familiar mental voice. Stop, please! the voice pleaded.
Shaman? Illtud inquired.
Aye, it’s me, Sigmia said. Why didn’t you do that to the panthera?
If Illtud had been able to breathe, he would have breathed easier. It didn’t occur to me at the time, he answered. That was a close one. I think she dislocated her arm. The wolf sat close to Samara, and Illtud watched it change from animal to clothed old woman. Well, aren’t we full of surprises? It seems you barbarians know magic after all.
It’s not magic, Sigmia said. It’s a gift the spiri
ts bestowed upon me. When she finished transforming, Illtud spotted the gashes on her face; however, she seemed not to notice them as she sidled closer to the girl.
Are you going to be okay? he asked.
I’m fine, but I’ll need some silence for a bit to help heal Samara.
Gingerly, she lifted the girl’s arm, then carefully laid it in her lap. Digging through her pouch, she pulled out several plants and a small stone mortar and pestle. I believe that Samara could use her power to heal, too, Illtud said.
I know she could, spirit. She was my apprentice first. Pulling out a long bundle of a leafy plant, Sigmia went to work grinding the minty smelling herb into a paste.
I meant she could use magic to do it. I have no experience myself, because a mage must focus on one art or another. Healing is very specialized, but I believe Samara could do any magical skill she set her mind to.
Perhaps, Sigmia said. Now I need quiet. She spread the paste over the girl’s elbow, then put some over her own scratches. Afterward, she took out a couple of flint rocks and started a small fire next to her. Lighting the bundle of leafy twigs, she began chanting and blowing the smoke in Samara’s face.
After some time of this, she gently picked up the girl’s arm again, then yanked it. Samara screamed and gaped up at the shaman, her eyes wide with terror, her breath coming in short gasps. “Hush, girl,” Sigmia said gently. “Hussshhh.”
Samara’s scream subsided, and her eyes drooped. “Sigmia?” she mumbled.
“Yes, it’s me, darling. Hush now, go back to sleep. I’ve got you,” she told the young girl, stroking her hair.
*****
White light saturated the field of blackberries and blotted out the forest beyond in blinding brightness. Natalia knelt in front of her, smiling. Samara could hear nothing; no wind, no birds, nothing. For a bit, she thought perhaps she had lost her hearing, but then her mother spoke. “Hello, Samara.”
“Mommy? Where are we?” As she asked the question, the clearing started to slowly darken, yet she felt such joy. She loved her mother, and here she was in front of her, with nothing else in the world. She wanted to leap into her mother’s arms and never let her go; instead, she stayed rooted to her spot.
“Oh, Samara. You’re such a gifted girl.” Natalia pushed a lock of Samara’s hair behind her ear. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
Fear nagged at Samara. “Mom?” She stared into her mother’s brown eyes, but they lacked their usual glint. Instead, they were dull, lifeless. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“I love you, Samara.” The clearing had completely darkened by this point, and all Samara could see was her mother.
“I love you, too, Mom,” she responded, her voice thick with confusion and worry. Natalia suddenly swooned, then coughed, blood pouring from her mouth.
“Mom!” Samara shouted, leaping forward, embracing her mother.
Natalia’s head landed heavily on her daughter’s shoulder. Hugging her mother as tightly as she could and holding her limp form, Samara felt wet warmth pouring over her chest.
*****
“MOM!” Samara shouted, sitting up into a dark night. She could still see her mother’s hair and shoulders leaning on her, but she felt no weight. The image slowly began to fade, and the memory of the panthera sank in. She looked around in a panic, breathing heavily.
She spotted something lying not too far away in the dark, a blue aura highlighting its shape. “Mommy?” she shouted again. The thing let out a small whine, then darted off through the darkened woods.
Samara called for her mother over and over into the night through her sobs, the auras growing brighter with each shout. So panicked was she that she failed to hear Illtud’s gentle voice in her head. Samara, relax, it’s okay, you’re safe.
Illtud repeated this several times before she finally heard him. Her panic subsided in response to his soothing voice, but she still felt a pang of loss. Her mother was dead; she knew it. She cried loudly into her hands.
“She’s dead!” Samara wailed into the night, her voice carrying through the woods.
Who’s dead? she heard Illtud ask.
Through her grief, she suddenly felt angry.
“My mother is dead!” she shouted, leaping to her feet. “You said she was waiting for me.”
It was just a nightmare, Samara. Please calm down, Illtud told her.
“No! She’s dead!” She pulled the magic from the surrounding trees and pointed at the short ledge she had slid down before the panthera attacked her, and a bright red beam of light surged forth from her.
When the light hit the shelf, it exploded in a brilliant burst of fire larger than a bull mammoth. Dirt and rocks rained down on her, shocking her anger away. She ran for cover on the other side of the tree behind her. When the last of the debris hit the ground, she leaned against the trunk and looked at the damage she had caused.
Did that help? Illtud asked in a parental tone; however, Samara didn’t answer. Instead, she fell to the ground, overcome with grief. Samara, you’ve been having nightmares. Come on, pull yourself together. Your mother’s safe. My people have her with them, and they won’t let anything happen to her.
She lay there for a while, sobbing, and although she still felt her mother’s loss, she began to wonder if it had just been a nightmare after all.
Taking a steady breath, she sat up, and her friend Alfan stood before her. She gasped, startled, and said, “Alfan?” Reaching toward his face, she continued, “What are you doing here?” He shook his head sadly, and she stopped short of touching his cheek. She had been walking alone for so long that her friend was a welcome presence. “Alfan, I missed you.” Leaning forward, she tried to hug him, but he fell from her grasp, his flesh melting away.
Screaming, she scrambled backward, her left arm hurting as she crawled. She blinked and Alfan was gone. Gasping for breath, she glanced around. When no more visions came, she began to breathe easier.
Are you better? Illtud asked.
“My friend is dead,” she said, forlornly.
They’re nightmares, Samara, Illtud responded.
“No,” she said, matter-of-factly. “I remember. I watched him fall dead.” She sat quietly for some time, remembering people dying in front of her. Not just Alfan, but elves and other tribespeople as well. Illtud remained silent during her calm reverie, and for that, she was grateful.
As much as she tried, she couldn’t figure out how they had died; all she remembered was them falling dead. The memory was shrouded behind a fog, and only bits and pieces could be seen before the mist swallowed them back into obscurity.
When the morning light painted over the eastern trees, she sighed. Standing up, she walked over to her dirt-covered pack. Lifting the bundle with her left hand, she felt the pain in her elbow again.
Studying her arm, she discovered that her fingers still moved, but an angry bruise extended up and down the length of the limb. The pain was bearable. “My arm’s better,” she said, testing its ability to move.
Yes, you were lucky, he said.
“How?” Samara asked. Then, her eyes widening, she said, “Sigmia was here!” She remembered seeing the old shaman during that brief moment of cognizance. Sigmia had worked on broken or dislocated limbs many times, and Samara remembered how painful the hunters had found the treatments. Now she could sympathize with them.
Yes, she came to help.
“Where is she?” Samara asked, then immediately shouted, “Sigmia!”
She ran off after you woke up, Illtud said.
“But . . .” Looking around, Samara asked, “Why?”
She fears the magic you’re learning. Your parents asked me to teach you, and she protested. But she’s been keeping an eye on us, and a good thing, too. She saved you from that cat.
Samara frowned, clearly remembering the massive wolf attacking the panthera. Walking south, away from the gaping hole she had left behind, she replayed the events of the previous evening. Shaking her head, she said, “Th
at’s not what happened.”
Ah, you’re thinking of the wolf. That was her. She may not believe what she does is magic, but it is.
“What do you mean, it was her?” Samara asked as she descended a heavily wooded slope.
Your shaman is capable of changing shapes.
“I never knew she could do that. She never told me.”
She may have in time, Illtud said. Keep in mind that you must start somewhere. I’ve been training you like I would any other beginner, even though I think you could easily do more. He paused briefly. That spell you cast in anger this morning, I haven’t taught you to cast that, but you deftly did it. That spell takes a mage years to master.
“Yes, I’m sorry about that,” she said, turning toward the sound of running water in the distance. “But do you think I could change shape, too?”
Magic has its limitations, and every mage learns to utilize it in different ways. Some specialize in healing, some focus on illusions, and some pursue the destructive forces of the elements. However, magic has so many possibilities. Those who try to master all of them never learn advanced techniques in any. But after seeing the way magic responds to you, I believe you have the potential to master all of it, the voice said.
Allowing the explanation to sink in, the spirit waited a while before saying, After the cat attacked you yesterday, I think you should learn magic to defend yourself.
Enthusiastically, Samara nodded. “What do I do?”
Triumph resonated in Illtud’s voice as he said, This spell will last most of the day, and you won’t need to concentrate on it. What it will do is harden your skin and bones so that you can take more of a beating. He instructed her in the symbols, words, and motions she needed to perform in order to cast the spell, and she absorbed the knowledge quickly.
She stopped walking on a somewhat flat area of ground that extended between the roots of a gnarled, old tree. Visualizing her skin hardening, she stroked the power of the ancient pine. It felt good, and when she seized it, it snaked through her. The warmth, the excitement, and the pleasure washed over her. Carefully, she only took a little.
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