Yes? Illtud responded.
“I’ll do it,” she said meekly.
Are you sure?
Her face flushed. “Yes,” she said, the word riding out on a nervous breath.
Oh, Samara. I couldn’t ask that of you, Illtud said. A sigh of short-lived relief escaped her. But you’ll be doing such a huge favor for those people down there. I wish I had been able to save my parents.
Mixed emotions assaulted Samara. Fear, guilt, and shame ate at her, and her stomach wanted to implode. She imagined Illtud watching his people die, and a black storm cloud collected in her head, clearing her gut with quick bolts of anger. “I’ll do it,” she said, darkly, glaring at the settlement.
*****
The north side of the outpost had no roads and no houses. Looming above Samara with its sharp tips pointing skyward, the fence stood as a barrier between her and the settlement.
The nearest of the smaller mushroom domes extended to the sky, giving her clear view of it over the jagged tips of the wall. The shaft of the structure featured a few black, spade-shaped holes, with the occasional person passing behind some of them.
A shallow creek followed along the back half of the circular wall, and a wooden bridge spanned it. On the other side of the crossing, a sentry stood next to a door. Samara hesitated behind a tree, fretting over the task expected of her. Leaning against the trunk, she closed her eyes, her stomach fluttering.
She’d had a long time to think about her decision after leaving the peak, and the closer she came to the outpost, the heavier the weight of fear grew on her chest.
You’re the only one that can do it, Illtud said, persuasively.
Frowning, Samara began to cry. “I’m scared,” she said. She knew she could help the people inside, but she didn’t want to kill anyone. It felt wrong.
You don’t have to help me save these people, Samara. I’m your friend. I love you. That’s why I’m helping you get your mother back.
Wiping tears from her eyes and trying to suck down her sobs, she said, “I-I know.” And she did know. Illtud had been so nice to her and had taught her magic. He was all she had, and he was going to help find her mother.
I shouldn’t have expected you to love me the way I love you, Illtud said, and she could sense the sadness in his voice.
Opening her eyes wide, she took out her knife. “No . . . no, Illtud, I do love you. A lot.”
B-but you don’t want to help me.
“I . . . I . . .” Shame colored her face, and she turned her gaze away from the sapphire. Stepping around the tree, she walked at a determined pace across the clearing, moving fast enough to keep doubt from changing her mind. The black storm cloud returned to her head, growing bigger with every step she took toward the bridge.
As she neared, the sentry’s dark, bushy eyebrows twisted in curiosity. Samara returned his scrutiny with a glare. The man’s hair hung long and curled tightly, pouring out of a white, metal cap. His armor, also white, boasted an embossed red sun on the center of his chest.
He knelt on one knee and spoke to her softly, smiling. His white leather lappets draped around his leg. Samara stopped at the edge of the bridge and glared at him.
Her chest heaved as she exhaled sharp breaths through her nose; her mouth was pinched in an angry pout. The man noticed the knife still clutched in her fist, and he chuckled through a smirk.
She put the dagger away and reached toward him. The sentry stood and slowly approached her. As he reached for her hand, she tightened her fingers into a fist.
Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes widening. Then he swooned, his white aura turning red as it left him to coil around Samara’s arm. The man fell, tumbling over the rails of the bridge, then splashed into the stream.
His magic floated around her until it seeped into her and joined her own, carrying an accompanying ecstatic thrill along with it.
A hint of guilt screamed at her, but it was distant, as if shrieking from far away into the wind. The pleasure she derived from the stolen power subdued it.
She stared down at the corpse. As she watched the water splash over it, her guilt grew. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Think of the good you’re doing, Illtud said.
The gate door opened, and an older man, white streaks marking his long beard, peeked out. His clothing was similar to the sentry’s. His gaze moved from Samara to his fallen comrade, his eyes widening with surprise.
Yelling incomprehensible words, he stepped through the door, racing to the fallen sentry. Samara watched his magic drain off as well, then walked toward the open door as the older man dropped dead next to the spring.
Now accustomed to the feeling of magic, Samara could feel the power swelling around her. This was nothing like when she practiced. This felt good, similar to the feeling she got when she earned approval from Illtud or Sigmia, only much, much better. It was a rush, like racing across the plains on a horse.
Stepping through the door, she saw three men running in her direction, responding to the shouts of the older man. They yelled something at her. The first one to reach her, a man with short cropped hair, picked her up and stepped aside to let the others pass. However, Samara didn’t know that he only intended to move her. All she knew was that he had picked her up.
As the man’s two companions ran past, through the door, Samara panicked and set her captor on fire. He dropped her, screaming and trying to put the flames out. His companions turned toward the commotion, sweeping their gaze from the corpses in the river to their burning friend, and then at Samara, fear written across their faces.
She extracted the flaming man’s magic, and he fell to the grass, still burning, but no longer alive. She stepped around the fire and glowered at the remaining men. They watched her uncertainly—after all, she was only a child—but then the closest one, a fanatical looking man with bulging eyes, pulled out his curved sword. Pointing it at her, he yelled something angrily.
Quickly, cast a protective spell, Illtud told her. Samara responded, her skin hardening. The power swelled around her. She had more than she needed, and it felt amazing.
The man with the bulging eyes leaped at her, plunging his blade at her stomach. She fell backward into a seated position, gasping for air. The blade had knocked the breath out of her, but had failed to penetrate her hardened skin. He lifted his sword to swipe down on her neck, but he never made it. Instead, he dropped in front of her, and she shuddered with bliss.
She stood up and saw the last man on his knees near the bridge, babbling at her. He was crying, pleading for his life, she assumed. Hesitating, she felt that stab of guilt come screaming back.
If you let him live, he’ll be back to hurt these people more, Illtud said. Take his power before he gets away.
She watched his lifeforce snake toward her as his face hit the ground. Her guilt subsided again, replaced by the pleasure she felt from taking his power.
Before she went around the domed tower, four more men in white-and-gold armor charged into view, carrying swords. They skidded to a stop in front of her, and she could tell they were confused. Excitedly, they pointed their swords to one side of her, at the stone wall of the tower. She turned to look and saw the stone glowing bright red.
To her left, the wooden fence caught fire, while the grass at her feet frosted over, and her hair whipped about her wildly as the air eddied around in a whirlwind.
Though she didn’t realize it, she was like a bottle. She could take magic from other living things, but if she became too full, the excess would spill out. A red aura of spare magic swirled around her, and where it touched, spontaneous destructive elemental magic occurred.
Illtud realized what was happening. I believe you have a limit to how much power you can take before it becomes too much for you to contain. Try releasing some of it. This explains what happened to your tribe.
He realized his mistake too late. Samara’s eyes widened in horror. “What did you say?” The power swelled around her, responding to her dismay.
Th
e ecstasy she felt, mixed with the growing agony, released a log from the wooden fence, and it spun around her, still flaming. It crashed into the stone building hard enough that it pushed out a block, impaling the wall. The men backed away and ran.
In a flash, everything that had happened in her camp, to her people, came flooding back. “It was me?” Emitting a terrible wail of agony, she tried to release all of the magic at once. A sharp ringing filled her ears, and her head felt like a mammoth was standing on it. She fell to the ground, still screaming and holding her temples, the pain threatening to rend her mind.
She heard Illtud through the pain. You can’t release all of it, stop trying. You’re hurting yourself.
She didn’t want to stop, she wanted it gone, she wanted to get rid of it. The ringing grew louder, as if a million mosquitos were circling her head, and the pain became unbearable. She stopped trying to release the power, but her grief and terror at what she had done had returned, and the magic swirled around her, uncontrolled. “I did it,” she whispered.
Samara, it was an accident. That’s why your parents left you with me, Illtud said. To learn to control it. You’re doing it, you’ve learned so much.
“I killed them,” she sniffled, wiping her eyes. “It was me. I don’t want to kill people.”
Let’s get ou— Illtud never finished. A bolt shot down from above and struck Samara in the shoulder, just above the clavicle, and her legs buckled from the force.
She lay on the ground, shocked out of her grief. She saw a man standing at a window of the tower, peering down at her through his white helmet. The arrow had dug less than a quarter of an inch into her hardened flesh, but blood trickled from the wound down the back of her neck. She slapped and pulled at the bolt as if a wasp had stung her.
Samara! Are you okay? Illtud asked, panic filling his voice.
“I-I think so,” she sputtered, watching the man’s helmet disappear behind the window, while her uncontrolled magic continued to create wild destruction around her.
They’re going to try to kill you. Quick, get up and defend yourself, Illtud said.
“I’m scared,” she stammered, sitting up.
Yes, the Havallans are dangerous people, Illtud said.
The man stuck his upper body out of the spade window again and aimed at Samara with what looked like a bow attached to a stick. It was a crossbow, but Samara had never seen one before. She sent a blast of magical energy just as the man shot.
The bolt got caught up in her magical detonation and changed direction, embedding into the ground next to her. Her blast hit the top of the window, causing the rock to crumble and sending tiny bits of debris raining down on her. The man retreated into the cover of the building.
Samara knew what to do. Drawing upon the massive amount of power she had collected, she levitated up to the window. She heard Illtud bequeath her with more praise, but she felt so wretched that his approval seemed meaningless.
She floated outside the window, watching the Havallan wind a lever attached to the crossbow, briefly curious about the strange bow with a handle. The archer had olive-colored skin, and he wore his long, wavy hair in a tail. His beard vibrated as he mumbled nervously under his breath.
After winding the weapon, his hand shook violently while he fumbled with the bolt, trying to set it into its slot. It slipped from his fingers and dropped to the ground. Uttering what Samara assumed was an expletive, he picked it back up and successfully loaded it into his device.
He turned toward the window and released a startled shout, spying her hovering outside the porthole. They glanced at each other with identical expressions of fear. Stumbling backward, the man tripped over his feet and landed on the floor, accidentally discharging his device, which sent the projectile clattering off the stone ceiling.
Floating deftly through the opening, Samara sent three bolts of pure magic at the man. He didn’t move again.
During the silence that followed, she gaped at the beautiful, white room with its intricate latticework until a second man ran into the room carrying another crossbow. Samara sent a line of fire at him before he realized she was in the room. He retreated, screaming, as the flames engulfed him.
Following him into a stairwell, she watched him fall down the stairs, a burning ball of metal and flesh that cleared a path to the bottom. More men came, and she continued to kill them, afraid that if she stopped, they would kill her. As she expended the magic she had collected, she felt the wild magic slowly diminishing as well.
She had reached the bottom of the tower when she walked into a grand octagonal room. The carpeted floor was checkered with red and white squares. Each red square had a white sun and moon, similar to those that adorned the flags outside. White, carved pillars connected by short, carved lattice walls separated the center from the outer part of the room.
In the center of the room, two men and a woman stood facing her, their auras distinctly blue. They babbled to each other and then at her. Not understanding them, she asked Illtud, “Mages?”
They wore white robes with a red sun embroidered onto the backs. The middle man’s robes displayed four red stripes on its sleeves and a red moon over his heart. The other two only had two red stripes.
Yes. Attack now, while they waste their spell. They believe you’re a demon and they’re casting a banishment spell, Illtud said, laughter in his voice.
“A demon?” Samara said. “I’m not a demon.”
Of course not, Illtud said. Do it now, before they finish.
She hesitated. “But they aren’t attacking me.”
They finished their spell at about the time as she said “attacking,” and she saw a green aura of magic wash over her like a wave, then dissipate.
The trio went slack-jawed almost simultaneously but recovered quickly. As they muttered and gestured their way through more incantations, Samara sent a bolt of magic at them. Although she saw a red aura around the missile, the dart itself looked like a white comet that streaked toward the middle mage.
He quickly cast a spell in response, and a barrier appeared before him, flashing blue as the bolt struck it. The shield absorbed the burst, and both fizzled out. What truly surprised her, however, was that she had seen and understood how the mage had shaped the spell; she had learned a spell on her own.
The female mage sent a similar discharge at her, and she perfectly mimed the barrier, effectively blocking the deadly blast. Then she siphoned the woman’s magic, and the power around her swelled even bigger than before. The building shook as the woman dropped to the floor, dead.
The other two mages steadied themselves on the lattice railing. Reaching out for the mage with the four stripes and a moon, Samara started to siphon his power.
Her eyes widened as the man resisted. “I can’t take his magic,” she said.
You need to get out of here, Samara. I haven’t taught you how to defend yourself against other mages.
Running for a set of double doors, Samara cast a barrier behind her to defend against a spell the man had started casting. Before she reached the exit, chains shot out of the floor and coiled around her legs. Screaming, she fell forward, and the two men rushed toward her.
The man with two stripes on his sleeve picked her up by the chains, but the wild magic froze his hands, encasing them in a thin layer of ice. He recoiled and dropped her. The chains are magical, Samara, Illtud said.
Realizing what he meant, she absorbed the spell, and the chains disappeared. The men started casting another spell, but she raced out of the doors before she saw what happened.
Turning back to the stone building, she had a brief epiphany. The spells the mages had cast at her, she could see how they worked. She could see how their words and movements shaped their magic into what they needed. But more importantly, she knew that she could easily emulate the spell.
She quickly copied the chain spell the mage inside had cast on her. Restraints shot out of the ground and bound the double doors shut. She took a deep breath and point
ed at the building with her palms. The earth below the mushroom resounded with a deep rumble that followed escaping birds into the air.
The ground in front of her opened its gaping maw. The crack snaked toward the stone building, widening as it drew closer. The walls and towers of the structure leaned toward the crack, then collapsed in a cloud of dust that billowed out and enveloped her. The cacophonous roar of the crashing rocks blasted loudly around her.
When it all cleared, she turned and saw people standing around, gawking at the fallen building. A woman screamed and ran toward the remains, then fell to the ground weeping not far from Samara. Feeling wretched, she turned to leave.
She ran, but she didn’t make it very far before she saw men running toward her. She stopped and watched them hesitate. Then one of them pointed at her with his sword. The group seemed doubtful; however, when she turned to run, they gave chase.
She was crying, aware that she couldn’t outrun them. She turned on the men and, with a sweep of her arm, three blue dots of flame shot out at different points in the group.
When the small spheres impacted the crowd, they exploded into immense domes of fire. The flames engulfed several people and some houses, which blew apart. Shrapnel rained onto the settlement.
People all around scattered, some screaming in fear, others in pain. Those caught in the blasts either lay dead or writhed in pain from the blisters and burns covering their skin. Samara felt sick. She hadn’t intended the blasts to be so massive.
Running between two buildings, she almost tripped on a girl not much older than herself. The girl cowered there in the alley, crying and staring at her in terror. She appeared Havallan, with her olive skin and dark, curly hair.
Samara approached the girl carefully, saying, “I’m not going to hurt you,” but the girl recoiled into a small ball. The horror distorting her face stopped Samara from walking any closer. “I won’t hurt you,” Samara repeated. The girl gazed up at Samara, her eyes wide with fear.
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