Both Isuara and Hale spoke of the magical isles in ways that implied the name was more than figurative. Was it possible? Can the land actually wander?
I stepped up, closer to the lip. At the bottom of the steep slope, the coastline dipped and curved, creating pockets and coves. The other isles were all of a similar meandering shape. The ship could easily be tucked away in a hidden cove. Jarryd could already be on deck. Or not.
“Your ‘other’ is safe,” Isuara said, sensing my thoughts. “I’ve kept my end. Though you have no intention of keeping yours.”
“If you knew that, why let him go?”
“Because destroying me will change nothing. My kind will continue sustaining ourselves on what we glean from the trade, even in my absence.”
“Say it like it is, Isuara. You feed off fear.”
“We are often forced to settle for less fulfilling bargains, but fear does provide a most invigorating environment. It is a potent emotion, as you well know. And universal to all races. But we do not consume or ingest, as you do. The process is much more complex.”
“I’m listening.”
“As I’ve said, we exist in a state of deprivation, unable to partake in the physical and emotional experiences you enjoy at every turn.”
“Because you have no bodies. That was your choice.”
“Yes. We freely became what we are. Though, a future with no end, no change, a perpetual, immutable void… It is difficult to comprehend a thing so foreign until you live it. Harder still when respite is few and far between. Which is why your arrival in our waters excited us. You and your companion are a rich tapestry. A storm of tribulations waiting to be known.”
“If you wanted to learn about us, you could have asked. Instead you invaded our minds, violated our memories.”
“Fear weaves in on many levels, each with their own intricacies, their own resulting damages. It has the power to taint past memories, influence present decisions, and mar one’s future. With the ability to destroy as well as inspire, we find fear to be quite versatile and provocative. Its effects on an individual vary. We must fully comprehend them all before we can complete the trade. Would ‘asking’ have accomplished that?”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “You still should have tried.”
“Rest assured, Troy, your suffering was not in vain. We have cherished every experience you and your companion provided. Our existence has not felt this full in some time. Completing the trade allows us to continue enjoying what you have given, even after you have gone. But we cannot sustain the emotions, and they fade like you were never here…like no one was ever here.”
I held her gaze for a long moment, wishing I didn’t understand. “I appreciate the pull to regain what was lost, the need to feel it again—even for a second. I know how compelling it is to experience something you thought was gone forever. But…” I shook my head, baffled by the islanders’ acceptance of their situation, as much as their chosen remedy. “You re-created my daughter down to the exact look in her eyes. With that much power, there has to be another way. Some spell to regain your bodies, to allow you to feel and experience life on your own again.”
“The Isles nourished us from the moment we first drew breath. We must now nourish them. It is the bargain we struck. It cannot be undone. You, and others, allow us to glimpse what once was, and we are grateful. But when it is gone, the nothing in between…”
“It stretches.”
“Yes. Many, many seasons pass without sensation. I cannot begin to measure when any solid forms last walked our shores before you. One day, when they stop altogether, we will no longer have a tether to the solid world. There will be only the ‘nothing’. It is a condition Jarryd Kane understands all too well. Strangely, many were drawn to his fear of it.”
Her sad tone spoke volumes. “But not you.”
“I have seen what awaits us, Troy. We have no end…not without you.”
I nodded. It all made sense now. “You wanted me to find the stones my people left here. You wanted me to have the power to destroy you.”
“You always had the power.”
“If I did, all this would have been over before it started.”
“What if I told you, not all you experienced here was our doing? We maintained influence on the moment; minor adjustments to coax out what we needed. But there was another influence at play.” She shuffled closer. “You, Troy. You wander as we do, as the Isles do. Though, in a different capacity. You travel through time and blood.”
“You mean an oracle spell? I can’t cast those anymore.”
Isuara stared in silence, waiting for me to reach a different conclusion.
I shook my head. “You created those moments, those experiences, Isaura. Your magic made it happen, not mine.”
“My suggestion angers you.”
“Because you’re wrong.”
“No. Because, if I am right, you know what it means. At least one of the futures you saw—”
“Is possible.” For a brief moment, I dared to entertain the idea. I shut it down just as quickly. “Forget it. Whatever fear you’re trying to rouse, it won’t work. I don’t own that kind of magic anymore. And if I cast an oracle spell, I’d…” Know it. Shit, I thought, my ire fading to unease. I had unwittingly cast myself into the future before. But I didn’t know what I was then. I do now. “You looked in my head. You know what I gave up.”
“I know many things. I know what you lost, what you shoulder. What holds you together. What you have yet to see—and what you choose not to. You suffered a penalty for liberating the Shinree, but it was not as steep as you believed. For all the blood you lost that day, its properties remained the same.”
“I’m just a soldier now, Isuara. Everything else is gone.”
“Dormant, suppressed by the strength of your will: yes. In need of a worthy catalyst to awaken it: most definitely. But gone?” her head tilted. Pressure pushed against mine. “May I?”
It wasn’t like I could stop her. “Go on.”
“The energy released by fracturing the stone crown was significant. It altered you. Drained you. There was no other way to accomplish the task. However, the spell stopped short of stripping away your heritage and the abilities it provides you.”
“Then why don’t I feel it? Why can’t I access the spells?”
“They are hidden. Sequestered, in part, by your own fierce belief of their vanishing, and a subconscious, yet equally fierce need to be less dangerous than you are.” At the clear skepticism on my face, irritation leapt into her voice. “Is it so hard to accept? Each time you deny your addiction you repress your own magic, your own desires, to some degree. You know the power and complexities of a Shinree mind. And we both know what you are most afraid of.”
My admission was barely a whisper. “Myself.”
“With all the death and destruction to your name, would your subconscious not take solace in being rendered incapable of such heinous acts?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Isuara could read it, sense it, or whatever means she employed to rummage in my head. And now that she pointed it out, I could, too. Her words, easily dismissed a moment ago, were suddenly insightful and dead on. Less dangerous… To no longer possess the means to bring an entire city to its knees—I could see the appeal.
I could see the harm, too. Cutting off a part of myself would make the cravings harder to satisfy and greatly reduce my options for handling whatever threats we might encounter at sea. Like the one standing before me.
If she’s right, I could have prevented all of this.
“The moment you fractured the crown was highly charged,” she said, “with magic and emotion. Enough that you might have bottled all nine Shinree lines of magic. But your body instinctively cleaved to the one part of you it was most comfortable with.”
“Soldiery.” I struck the hope from my voice. “Then…I’m still erudite.”
“One of all magic, yes. Of all Shinree magic,” she clarified. “Th
ere is much energy, enchantment, and mysticism in this world Ian Troy has yet to encounter. Encountering ours led to yours waking. These isles are magic, after all. Our constant use of it confuses your abilities. It stirs. Incites,” she said with meaning. “Perhaps what’s dormant awoke as a defense against the extreme situations you were in.”
“Which future did I cast myself into? The one with Lirih?”
“The details are irrelevant.”
Anxiety spiked at her resistance. It spilled over into my voice. “Damn it, Isuara, is my daughter safe? Are the realms in danger?”
“I cannot say. Our augmentations wove into the experience deeply, making it impossible to distinguish what our spells fabricated and yours predicted. Even if it was, the future you stepped into would be years away. There is no need to suffer it now. And the odds of life unfolding as you saw, are as slim as a grain of sand. Shinree oracle spells are not to be trusted.”
“Neither are you.” Jaw clenched in resolve, I reached for Isaura, and thorns extended from her shoots. Twice as long as Hale’s, their fine red tips sliced across my fingers. I recoiled with a hiss, shaking out my hand.
“You have established yourself as a threat,” she said, watching, as I ripped off the edge of my shirt and tied it around my bleeding fingers. “And intimate contact was not agreed upon.”
“So I heard.” I eyed the spikes as they retracted. Watching them fit inside the slender tubes, despite the size disparity, I wondered if they were real or magic—or if there was a difference here. “Can you prove it? Can you prove what I am?”
“The stones you employed to free yourself are miles from here. Dig if you must,” she added, as my gaze darted to the spot where I cast. “But when you do not find them, how will you explain channeling something you cannot touch—if you are just a soldier? How do you explain the creation of such a magnificent sword?” Wiggling vines gestured at the weapon on my hip.
“I thought I connected to your magic, but…did I?”
“Yes, and no. Beneath the wrap of obsidian, is a blade forged from the elements of the Isles. Magic is woven into every particle here. Those particles bent to your will, but their bending was not arbitrary.”
“You talk as if the magic here is aware, as if it chose to be a part of the blade.”
Isuara only smiled. “What you have created is unique, Troy. Unpredictable. Perceptive. Keep that in mind when it does not behave as you expect. But the sword’s conception, the power and desire to bring it to being, came from there,” her shoots pointed at me. “Do you still require proof?”
Swallowing, I nodded.
“As you wish.” Isuara thrust harder into my mind.
It was like a vice expanding inside my skull.
I lifted a hand against the strain, instinctively (and ineffectively) clutching my throbbing head. Blood wet my face, dribbling from my eyes and nose. More tickled my neck as it leaked from my ears. I groaned out a breathless, “Hurry…up.”
“There,” she said at last. “Do you feel it?”
The physical stress of her intrusion dulled behind a sudden, inner shattering. Fragments burst with a whisper of familiarity. Pain rippled and ricocheted, infiltrating every limb, every muscle. The experience was similar to when the obsidian sword came into being, and when I cast to break free of the vines, but noticeably more severe.
A new sensation climbed above the rest. It was a single pulse, a brush of intense magical energy—a pinprick of light in the dark. The showing was faint and incredibly short-lived, but for a brief, astonishing moment, it was there. And I recognized it. Isuara spoke the truth.
My bloodline was intact.
Yet, a blatant shadow hung over the moment, reminding me: in the years to come, there was a chance Malaq’s united realm would fall apart. Peace would fail. There always was. Yet, I let myself believe otherwise. It was simpler that way; to leave, trusting they were all safe.
Now, with a single, unintentional spell, those false hopes were shattered.
Maybe, I thought, trying to rein myself in.
As Isuara said, oracle spells are not to be trusted.
“What you felt, just now,” she said, “was the bursting of but a small piece of the barrier between you and what you seek. The premature rupture I caused worsened your body’s reaction, but a comparable discomfort will accompany each successful break.”
She left my mind with a pop of decreasing pressure. The pain vanished. My breathing returned to normal. I ran a sleeve across my face, mopping up the blood.
“It will require time and effort to crack through what remains. I would normally recommend intense contemplation and reflection to achieve your goal. Though, I am unsure you are capable of reaching such a level of serenity on your own.” Isuara brushed past me. She skirted the cliff’s edge, her webbing of vines dragging behind her like fringe. “I have noticed, you often tie your spells to emotion. It is strange for your kind to do so successfully.”
I moved to walk beside her. “Successful might be too strong a word. But you’re not the first to mention it.”
“Sienn?” she guessed.
“Yes. Sienn was adept at restraining her emotions for casting. She believed they could too easily corrupt a spell. She tried to teach me, but I think I only frustrated her. Our opinions differed on many things, including magic.”
“I can see why. Your reliance on sentiment and passion would be seen by most Shinree as a weakness. In you, I believe, it is a strength—but only if you retain the focus to utilize it correctly. The potential is in you, Troy.” Her gaze drifted again to the blade. “A truly flawless spell is a rare thing. That one will endure through the ages. Far longer than you.”
“Great. Maybe my horse can learn to swing it.” At Isuara’s abrupt glance, I added, “She was at the center of one of those flawless spells once. I’m…not sure she can die.”
“Fascinating,” she murmured.
“I meant to save her, but not like that. I was desperate.”
“Well. It appears you have a muse.” Steps slowing, Isuara met my questioning stare. “Is it not obvious? The horse. The blade. Your escape just now. Those are but a few examples. Where the spells of other Shinree may buckle under its weight, your abilities are strengthened in moments of great desperation.”
“I’m inspired by tight corners and imminent catastrophe? Fitting,” I nodded.
“In those times, when you are driven to push your magical prowess beyond the limits of simple soldiery, you will begin to reach what is locked away. Conversely, if you do not extend yourself, you will remain as you are, with only occasional glimmers of what you once were.” She stopped, forcing me to do the same. “Though, it is likely, what you once were, is not how you will be. No one leaves the Isles the same as they arrived.”
I had no idea what that meant, but I was clear on one thing. “You’ve helped me, Isuara, and I appreciate that. But there’s no way your help is free. And it isn’t accidental, either. You poked around in my head on the ship and found something you liked. Something that could solve all your problems. But you needed me to find it, too. It wasn’t my discovery of the stones you were excited about before, was it?”
“It was not,” she admitted.
“You forced us into the trade. You put me in one drastic, desperate moment after another, hoping I’d instinctively access more power, driving me to tap into my buried magic—pushing me to accomplish the one thing you can’t bring yourself to do. End it. You want me to end this unfulfilling existence you’ve evolved into. You brought me to the Wandering Isles to put your entire race out of its misery.”
Isuara’s features shifted into a faint, sad smile. “I knew you were the one to set us free. But my desire for you to act is irrelevant. I have shown you what you are. I have laid the path before you. You must decide how, or if, you walk upon it.”
“I make the choice; I take the blame? That’s some handy bullshit.”
“Blame is irrelevant.”
“Only for those who refu
se to accept it. Your people created their own prison. Why should I care if you rot in it?”
“I would not expect you to. Your care is for those who will come after. Even if no more than a hundred souls ever reach our shores again, to turn your back on them, to allow us to continue as we are, inflicting what you consider abuse, is not your way. Their suffering would be your doing, Troy. And the knowledge of your inaction will haunt you.”
I stared at her, unable to believe where this had gone. Since being taken from the ship, I wanted nothing more than to strike out, to make our captors pay for the pain they caused. Being asked to do it—being secretly groomed to commit genocide—lessened the appeal.
“Regardless of what you decide, I bear you no ill will. Our original bargain will be honored. The bottle is yours.”
“And that’s supposed to compensate?” I laughed at her. “You’re not benevolent. You’ve simply justified your narcissism under the guise of fair trade so long, you believe it.”
“It is fair,” she insisted. “Both sides benefit. You will understand, Shinree, once you drink.”
“I love a good bottle as much as the next man, but no drink is worth—”
“Escaping your fears? Throwing off the shackles of anxiety and worry?”
I took a step back. “What?”
“All men want to erase what whispers to them in the dark. To strip the power from what makes them doubt and hesitate. Surely, that interests you?”
Unable to say no, I clamped my jaw shut, and let her finish.
“Your mind gives sway to the terrible things you have seen and done. You allow them a place of influence, allow them to cloud judgment, hasten your choices, steel your sleep—hinder your magic. Fear distorts focus. Even one driven by emotion, such as yours.”
My reply was an avid declaration. “Fear is healthy.”
“In every circumstance? On every level? Would Jarryd Kane agree? Did he appear ‘healthy’ to you just now? Fear is a snake, Troy. An instigator. An imperfection. A limitation. When left unchecked, it eagerly swells into a debilitating weakness. One day, Kane’s affliction will rise at the wrong time. It will infect his thoughts, delay his reactions. And it will prove fatal. But that can be avoided. The cause…discarded.”
The Wandering Isles Page 17