Yes, sang a tiny voice in Keriya’s head. But wanting something and deserving it were two very different things.
“Why me?” she whispered.
“Because,” said Shivnath, “I chose you.”
This was not the grand explanation Keriya had hoped for, nor the cryptic prophecy she had expected. It seemed to be the truth—albeit a truth so simple that it couldn’t be the whole story.
“If you consent, I will weave my magic into your soul. You should know that it is a painful procedure.”
“I’m not afraid of pain.” That was a lie, but Keriya would gladly brave pain to gain power.
Shivnath raised her paw and drew her claws through the air. A rip in the void appeared, as if she was tearing the fabric of space itself. It led to some unknown place: a world beyond worlds, outside of time and beyond comprehension. From this opening, a shimmering purple vapor misted toward Keriya. It settled on her skin, cold and damp, and soaked into her.
For one wonderful instant, her body surged with energy. Magic, sweet and delicious, lived within every fiber of her being. It wormed its way through her veins until it burned her from her skin to her core. She felt she might explode from the sheer volume of power coursing through her. Though she was already dead, she feared this would destroy whatever was left of her—her soul, as Shivnath had called it.
But the feeling faded and she remained intact. The rip in the void shrank to nothing, mending neatly. All that was left of the pain was a memory and an itchy feeling in Keriya’s eyes. She blinked and rubbed them until they watered.
“It is done,” whispered Shivnath. “Time for you to return to your world.”
Keriya didn’t feel any different, but she knew that somewhere deep within her a great power was waiting to be set free. Though she couldn’t feel it, knowing it was there gave her courage.
A sphere of light materialized before her, and a shoreline swam into view within its depths. A small figure lay on the beach, bedraggled and limp. Keriya recognized it as her own body and her gut clenched. She wanted to live again, to leave the darkness of death far behind.
The light grew, swirling around her and wrapping her in white-gold tendrils. Keriya’s heart was overflowing with things she wanted to say, but all she could manage was, “Thank you, Shivnath.”
Shivnath tilted her head. “Thank you, Keriya.”
Keriya awoke to the kiss of a soft breeze on her cheek. She pushed herself up on her elbows, blinking against the brightness. A laugh bubbled out of her—she was alive again, sprawled on the sandy beach! The sun had never felt so warm, the air had never been so fresh, and her world had never been so beautiful.
Now she had to make good on her end of the bargain. She had to go to Allentria, find Necrovar and . . . what? Kill him? Shivnath had been vague on the details.
Thinking about it, she had to laugh. If she were the Elders, she’d lock herself up for being crazy. She must have passed out in the sea and washed ashore. Maybe it had all been a dream.
“Obviously it was a dream,” she muttered, rising and trudging toward a tidal pool. She knelt on a barnacle-speckled rock and leaned over to splash water on her face.
She froze.
“My eyes!”
Her reflection floated on the surface of the pool, above the rocks and algae, but her eyes were no longer gray. They had turned a vibrant shade of purple. She tilted her head this way and that, clutching at her cheeks. The eyes flashed blood-red when they caught the light, making her look like a monster.
A cold pressure built in Keriya’s chest as she and her reflection gaped at each other. This would solidify the Aerians’ worst suspicions. They would banish her. They might kill her. Nobody had been accused of witchcraft in ten cycles, but she remembered the public execution of the last woman who’d been found guilty of using dark magic and consorting with evil spirits. Her screams still sometimes found their way into Keriya’s nightmares.
Keriya desperately squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. They were still purple. The same shade of purple as Shivnath’s slitted pupils.
It hadn’t been a dream. Everything had been real. Her shaking hands strayed from her face to her chest, as if trying to sense the magic locked inside her.
She was going to become a hero. She was going to do as Shivnath had asked.
She would have to kill Necrovar.
CHAPTER FOUR
“The eyes betray the soul.”
~ Moorfainian Proverb
Roxanne Fleuridae gathered her dark, wavy hair into an elegant twist and secured it with a ribbon. She pulled on her finest green dress and leggings, which complemented her hazel eyes and hugged her slender form. Finally, she crushed some rose petals in a bowl and dabbed the paste on the creamy brown skin of her wrists. She was ready for the Ceremony of Names.
She had ample time to spare before the ceremony, but was too nervous to sit around and wait. She needed a distraction. Since her father was meeting with the other Elders, she was free to leave her hut.
She drifted through Aeria in a trancelike state, reflexively dodging Penelope Sanvire and her group of sycophantic friends. They were a nasty bunch, and they always caused trouble. Eventually, her feet brought her to the grassy plateau where the Ceremony of Choice began.
Roxanne had returned from the ceremony last night, but she hadn’t seen a sign during her sojourn in the Felwood. No dreams had come to her. No visions had gripped her.
People who didn’t receive signs didn’t have futures. Without a sign, she would be given no name in tonight’s ceremony, and without a name, she would have no place in Aeria. She would end up as a Lower, one of the village slaves.
She’d have to lie to Erasmus. The Healer interpreted the signs the worthy children received and granted them names accordingly. Surely she could concoct a clever, believable story, something that would earn her a good name and trade.
Originally she’d hoped to be named a Hunter, one of the brave souls who ventured into the forest to catch game and kill off wild predators. Now she would settle on anything. Even becoming a boring Harvester or a simple Sheepherder was better than being named a Lower.
“Roxanne?”
Roxanne jumped at the sound of her name. Sitting by the head of the forest footpath was a small boy with scruffy brown hair and an overlarge nose. His drab garments, almost the same shade as his fallow skin, were threadbare and poorly made.
“Oh!” she said. “Flint, isn’t it?”
“Fletcher, actually.” He smiled as he stood and approached her. “What are you doing out here?”
“I can take a walk if I like,” she snapped. “What about you? You’re not allowed here, either.”
“I was waiting for Keriya. She’ll automatically be named a Lower if she doesn’t return before moonrise tonight.”
Roxanne raised one of her finely sculpted eyebrows. She recognized him now—he was one of the Earengale boys. He was bullied almost as much as Nameless, for his magic was so weak he could barely use it.
“I wouldn’t bother,” said Roxanne. “She’s probably dead.”
Fletcher didn’t respond, though it was clear the same thought had crossed his mind.
Roxanne decided to return to town since she didn’t feel like talking. To her irritation, Fletcher followed as she walked away, trotting after her like a little lost sheep. “Where are you going?”
“Home,” she said curtly, though home was the last place she wanted to be. She paused at the crest of the hill to let Fletcher go his own way. Instead he hovered by her side.
“What do you want?” she moaned.
“Nothing,” he said, his chestnut eyes widening. “I thought we were leaving.”
“I was leaving,” she clarified. If her father saw her consorting with the likes of Fletcher, she’d be in trouble. “So if you’ll excuse me, I . . .”
S
he trailed off, and Fletcher scrunched his nose in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
Roxanne pointed over his shoulder. She couldn’t believe it. There, limping out of the Felwood, was Keriya Nameless.
“Keriya!” With a delighted laugh, Fletcher ran toward his friend. Roxanne followed out of sheer curiosity. She was shocked the girl had survived the ceremony—the Felwood was a dangerous place even for people who had magic to defend themselves.
Keriya spread her arms to embrace Fletcher, but he slowed to a halt before he reached her. Roxanne stopped a few heights from them because it had become clear that Keriya was not alright.
“What happened to you?” whispered Roxanne. She wasn’t easily rattled, but snakes of fear coiled in her gut as she gaped at Keriya’s newly purple eyes.
“That’s a bad omen if ever I saw one,” said Fletcher.
“I know,” Keriya said in a strained voice. Those haunting, ethereal eyes flicked to Roxanne. “Why are you here?”
Without bothering to reply, Roxanne spun on her heel and left. She didn’t want to be anywhere near Keriya when the Elders saw her changed visage.
Roxanne hurried downhill, sifting through every story she knew about the evil forest spirits. She’d never believed them to be more than stories, but was starting to reconsider.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. She bumped into Penelope Sanvire at the base of the path.
“What were you doing up there?” Penelope asked, nodding toward the sacred hilltop.
Penelope was the type of person no one liked, but everyone feared. As daughter of the Head Elder, she could make anyone’s life miserable if she chose—and making people miserable was her favorite pastime.
“I wasn’t up there,” Roxanne lied. “I was coming from the lake.”
The grin curling Penelope’s pouty lips told Roxanne this wasn’t a chance encounter. The shorter girl had deliberately followed her to pick a fight. “Wait til my father hears you were trespassing on ceremonial grounds.”
“I wasn’t trespassing.” Roxanne didn’t fear Penelope like the other children did. Perhaps that was the reason Penelope took special pains to torment her.
“I bet you were using magic again,” said Penelope, idly twirling a finger through her raven hair. “You know it’s forbidden outside of school until you’re named, and I heard the Elders say they’d name you a Lower if you misbehaved one more time.”
“I wasn’t using magic,” Roxanne growled. “Even if I was, you couldn’t prove it.”
Penelope’s eyes narrowed to devious slits, and she sidled toward the plateau’s sandy path. “Of course I could! After all, you left such a mess. My father will be furious. And I can’t imagine how angry your father will be when he sees what you did.”
Roxanne’s hands clenched into fists. She might not be afraid of Penelope, but her father was another matter.
She instinctively reached for her magic with her mind, embracing the soft, greenish glow of her internal power source. Using magic was an innate ability, like breathing, but using it well was a precise and exacting science. Growers used it to enrich crops, Builders used it to shape stone into huts, and Hunters used it to fight. They could mold plant and mineral to their will, using the power of earth to trap prey and fell vicious beasts.
Roxanne loved the beauty and power of magic, but like everything in life, the Elders sought to control it. Magic use was strictly regulated, and abuse of power was met with swift and brutal punishment.
She had gone so far as to mentally channel a strand of energy from her body into the ground before she came to her senses. If she attacked, the Elders would punish her and Penelope would win. She couldn’t risk drawing her father’s wrath, not when she was so close to the Ceremony of Names, to being accepted as a member of society.
Reluctantly, Roxanne loosened her mental grip on the spell, and her magic receded into the depths of her consciousness. Penelope had reached the plateau, and whatever happened next wouldn’t be pretty. Heedless of impropriety, Roxanne hiked up her skirt and ran.
She barely made it three heights before a resounding shriek echoed across the valley:
“Witch!”
Keriya didn’t know how Penelope had discovered she was back, but it hardly mattered. More people were coming to the ceremonial hill to see who was screaming. As soon as they noticed Keriya’s eyes, they took up Penelope’s cry.
“Witch! Witch!”
“What’s this racket?” Holden Sanvire blustered as he elbowed his way to the front of the rabble. His jaw dropped when he caught sight of Keriya. “Where did you come from?”
“The forest.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me,” he said, glaring at her. Keriya glared back until a horrified look crept across his face. “What did you do to your eyes?”
“I didn’t do anything. Shivnath did this to me!”
The hilltop fell silent at her pronouncement.
“How dare you take Shivnath’s name in vain,” Sanvire spat. “This isn’t Shivnath’s doing—this is a clear mark of evil,” declared Elder Remaine, who’d joined the fray. “I always knew she was dabbling with dark powers. She didn’t have magic, so she resorted to witchcraft!”
Murmurs of agreement rumbled through the crowd like thunder rolling across distant plains. A shiver crawled across Keriya’s skin.
“Who knows what sorts of devilry she’s been wreaking upon us?” Remaine went on. “I’ll bet she caused our livestock to die during the last harvest. Remember the disease that spread through our sheep?”
The agreement wasn’t a murmur this time—it was a roar. More people spoke, blaming Keriya for everything from failed crops to stillborn children. Her heart skipped a few crucial beats when she heard someone call for her death.
The Aerians were stubborn and superstitious, and once they’d made up their minds to condemn something, nothing swayed them. Keriya had learned that hard lesson time and again, and she wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of her past by trying to beg mercy from the Elders. Her future lay beyond Aeria now.
“We need to leave,” she breathed to Fletcher. She attempted to nudge him toward the cover of the trees. To her dismay, he edged away from her.
“Keriya, I don’t think—”
“They’re trying to escape,” shrieked Penelope, tugging on her father’s sleeve to get his attention.
“Run!” Keriya shouted. This time, Fletcher listened. The two of them pelted into the forest, chased by angry shouts and threats of violence.
They ran until they reached Erasmus’s hut. Keriya burst through the back door and grabbed a satchel from a hook on the wall. She began stuffing it with everything that would fit: wool mittens, a hunk of half-eaten sheep’s cheese, a loaf of bread.
“What are you doing?” Fletcher asked softly.
“Packing.” Keriya turned to him and he cowered away. A painful lump formed in her throat. “You really believe I’m a witch, don’t you?”
Fletcher didn’t deny it, though he at least had the grace to look ashamed.
“Shivnath couldn’t have changed your eyes.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself the dragon god wouldn’t have done such a thing.
“Do you think I’d lie about something like that?” Keriya demanded. Sickness roiled within her as she added, “Or do you think Shivnath would never appear to someone like me?”
“No, I . . . I’m just trying to understand.” Fletcher’s eyes were perfect spheres, dancing with uncertainty. “Help me understand,” he implored, his voice breathy and low.
“I can’t. It doesn’t make sense, not even to me,” Keriya said in a moment of dangerous honesty. “It isn’t a question of logic, it’s a question of faith. Shivnath believes in me. I’d hoped you would, too.”
Fletcher opened his mouth slowly, but it was too la
te. His hesitation had sparked angry flames in Keriya’s chest.
“Leave before they find you here,” she snapped, mortified to find hot tears clouding her vision. “Who knows how they’ll punish you for consorting with a witch?”
Fletcher swallowed and crept toward the front door. As he grasped the stone handle, he turned one last time. “I’ll keep them away while you run.” He slipped outside, and just like that, he was gone.
Something cold and heavy pressed on Keriya, so powerful it almost made her collapse. She bit her lip and forced herself to keep moving, keep packing, so as not to succumb to the aching pain in her heart.
The front door opened and closed once more as Erasmus entered. He studied her, his sharp gaze taking in her awful eyes and stuffed satchel.
“You’re leaving, I presume?”
Keriya could no longer pretend to be strong. The tears she’d been holding back burst forth.
“I d-didn’t think it would hurt so much,” she sobbed. She wasn’t sure if she was referring to the villagers’ reactions, or just Fletcher’s.
Erasmus made no reply; emotions weren’t his strong suit. Keriya wished she were more like him. Tears would do her no good.
The door burst open yet again and Fletcher reentered, followed by Roxanne Fleuridae. Choking on a hiccup of surprise, Keriya hastily scrubbed the incriminating wetness from her cheeks.
“What is the meaning of this?” Erasmus asked Roxanne.
“Penelope told everyone we were possessed by evil spirits!” Her long, shiny hair had fallen out of its twist. It hung around her face, obscuring her fine features.
“The whole world is after us,” Fletcher wheezed. “They’re looking for you too, Keriya. I’ve never seen them like this. They’re furious at you for saying Shivnath changed your eyes. I think . . .” He paused, his lip trembling. “I think they want to kill you.”
Erasmus’s expression hardened. “Keriya, you must go.”
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