Light Mage (The Black Witch Chronicles)

by Laurie Forest

  I pull Ra’Ven from the smithery to show him my beautiful cave and the puffs of bright color I’ve suspended in the air like a rainbow of stars. He smiles and kisses me beneath the constellation of color I’ve created, reflections of every glorious hue flashing off his iridescent emerald skin.

  I’m overcome with shock the first time I successfully use the Camouflage spell, first camouflaging my hand, then my whole body to perfectly blend in with the rose wall behind me, creating the illusion that I’ve completely disappeared.

  Ra’Ven’s silver eyes widen when I show him how I can make myself invisible this way, but then he grins mischievously and delights in finding me by touch alone, reeling me in to kiss me passionately, my camouflage inevitably washing over him as we both disappear into the colors of the wall behind us.

  And I practice the Light Strike spell, the White Wand first teaching me how to carve slim lines into solid rock with hot, bright beams of white light, and then the shocking ability to blast a large hole straight into a wall of stone.

  Soon, I realize as the awareness of my newfound power settles into me, I’ll be able to harness every last bit of my magic and become a true Light Mage.

  * * *

  “What was it like,” I ask Ra’Ven one night, my toes dipped in an underground hot spring deep inside the network of caves, “before the Alfsigr came to power?”

  Ra’Ven is sitting back against the cave wall, ripples of green shimmering over his emerald skin. He’s thrown three glowing rune-stones into the water, illuminating the entire spring with incandescent emerald. The submerged runes throw off lines of wavering green light that makes the entire cave seem underwater. One of Ra’Ven’s long legs is splayed out straight, the other casually bent and tipped over to one side, his feet bare. His tunic is off, and I try not to stare at him too obviously as a decadent heat slides up my neck. I’m increasingly curious about his body—what’s hidden under his clothes, the hard parts of him that remain a mystery. Instead, I focus on the water as he answers.

  “I’ve only heard tales,” Ra’Ven says. Steam fogs the luxuriously warm air. “Great cities hewn from cave rock. Subland waterways and ships. Expansive farms lit by lumenstone. Our own University. Huge markets. People from the sunlands would come to vacation there. Back before the Alfsigr War.” His eyes darken. “The Alfsigr destroyed the cities and used demon creatures to establish control over us, to keep us prisoners underground. Their guilds took over our mines, our farms. Everything.” An insurgent fire heats his gaze, and I see a bit of the Ra’Ven who took on the varg demons and struck them down. “We’re going to rebuild them,” he says with unflinching certainty. “The great cities of the sublands.”

  Ra’Ven pushes himself forward and slides his long body into the water, slipping completely under with a satisfied groan. His muscular frame is instantly transformed into a wavy, emerald blur. His head surfaces again close to me, his emerald hair dripping wet. He swims backward until his shoulders are up against the stone wall and gives me an inviting, half-lidded look. “You should come in.”

  My heart trips a few beats.

  I slide into the hot water, the warmth a sultry caress. My loose golden tunic tries to float upward in small billows that I press down as the thin fabric of my pants floats around my legs. Ra’Ven reaches out to take my hand and gently tug me close. I float through the water, lost in the heat of his emerald gaze, until I’m pressed up against his slick chest, his full lips slightly parted and a fraction of an inch from mine.

  Tension ignites between us as Ra’Ven smiles at me and pulls me in for a long, lingering kiss, our clothing rendered insubstantial by the water, the feel of so much of his skin so close to mine making my lines burn hot and bright.

  I cling to him as our kissing rapidly grows in hunger, then becomes nearly molten.

  Ra’Ven welcomes my new, feverish urgency as our bodies twine together in the water. As we kiss each other ravenously, he lets me feel the startling hardness of him, his body pressed against mine while I pull him relentlessly against me. It feels dangerous. Thrillingly dangerous.

  A sharp sting races across my fastlines, like the tip of a pin being dragged along each line, and fear races through me.

  I push myself away from Ra’Ven, breathing hard, a savage frustration flaring. Ripples of rune-light slide across the planes of his face and light up the silver in his now serious eyes, his own breathing erratic. “What happened?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the hands I’m wringing.

  “The lines...they were starting to hurt.”

  He looks at me with heightened concern. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m trapped,” I rage, flexing my stinging hands. “They’ve trapped me. I don’t get to love who I want to love.”

  Ra’Ven moves toward me in the water and takes my hands in his, coaxing me to loosen my balled fists. “Does it hurt when I touch you?”

  “No,” I bite out, “not anymore.”

  His thumbs trace a slow, circular caress over my palms. “Sage, listen to me. You will find a way out of this, and it won’t stop you from loving who you want to love.”

  “I wish I was fasted to you instead.” My voice is ragged from wanting him. From wanting out of this fasting prison.

  Ra’Ven shakes his head, his expression turning vehement as his touch stills. “No. You should not be fasted to anyone. You should own yourself.”

  The explosive mind-shifting boldness of what he’s just said stuns me into silence. It’s completely at odds with absolutely everything I’ve ever been told. I let out a quavering breath, overcome by the revolutionary idea.

  Finally, I find my voice. “I love you, Ra’Ven.”

  He closes his eyes and inhales sharply. Then he opens them and looks deeply into mine, raw passion in his gaze. “Ti’a’elon. I love you, too.”

  Tears glistening in my vision, I pull one of my hands from his and hold it up. “There is a chance that I may never be free of this.”

  Ra’Ven catches my hand before I can withdraw it and presses it to his lips, his eyes blazing. “You will, ti’a. We will find a way, and you will.”

  An idea lights in my mind, stunning in its possibilities. “I’m going to use my magic to draw these lines off my hands.”

  Ra’Ven’s expression turns cautionary. “Sage...be careful.”

  But I’m done being careful. I’m angry. And I want out of this cage.

  * * *

  Several days later, I approach Ra’Ven in the smithery as he sets a glowing, emerald rune into a varg blade he’s fashioning. He takes in my weighty expression and gives me a questioning look.

  “I’ve lightened the lines,” I tell him, excitement surging through me.

  His silver eyes light with surprise, his gaze flicking down to the hands I have clasped tight against my chest. “The fasting lines?”

  I nod and hold one of my hands out to him, a momentous thrum now in the air. Ra’Ven sets down his iron tongs and takes my hand in his.

  My black fasting lines have faded to a dim gray.

  “How did you do this?” he asks wonderingly.

  I bite my lip, my heartbeat quickening. “I... I pushed the Light Strike spell into the lines.”

  “The Light Strike spell?”

  “I held the Wand very loosely, which seems to dampen the power of the spell,” I reassure him. “It did scare me at first. It lit the lines up and it hurt a bit. But then, after I ran it through the lines quite a few times...this.”

  He rubs his thumb along a line, as if trying to smudge it out, then looks back up at me. “Do you think you can break it fully?”

  I nod, a heady anticipation sparking inside me. “Maybe.” I hesitate as I gather up the courage to tell him something else, a flush heating my cheeks. “I found something with Za’ya’s medicines. And I looked it up in her Apothecarium book.” I’ve been through so much in such a short tim
e, but I find being frank with him about this forbidden topic to be incredibly daunting.

  “What is it, Sage?” he asks gently.

  My blush turns searing. I pull my hand from his, reach into my pocket and retrieve a small vial containing dark strands root, then hand it to him, momentarily too flustered to speak.

  Ra’Ven takes it from me and turns it over, reading the label, one green brow lifting. He looks up and studies me, as if trying to parse out the reason for my obvious difficulty talking to him about this.

  “It’s Sanjire root,” he says calmly, as if this root that can prevent pregnancy is something known to him and quite ordinary, instead of something linked to the ultimate rebellion. An even bigger rebellion than my having set Za’ya’s goddess statue by our bed, surrounded by small, bright orbs of color.

  “I never knew about this,” I say, struggling to speak about a topic that I was never allowed to speak of before.

  “I suspect you didn’t. It’s illegal in Gardneria.”

  I hold his gaze, outrage rising because it’s just one more way they kept me powerless. “I should have been told about this root.”

  “Yes, Sage. You should have been told about this.” Ra’Ven is silent for a long moment as he considers me, what I’m offering up to him clear.

  “Sage,” he says with careful hesitation as he holds the bottle up slightly. “Even if we can now pair without worrying about this, we cannot risk breaking the fasting spell.”

  Rebellion spikes through me. “We won’t have to. Because I’m going to destroy it.”

  He shakes his head. “Sage...”

  “I do not want them to have this hold over me,” I say, suddenly fierce. “Any more.” The troubled knit of his brow tamps down my intensity. “Ra’Ven,” I try to reason, “perhaps it’s all lies anyway.”

  “What is? The consequences of breaking a fasting?”

  I nod.

  He tilts his head quizzically. “You’ve never seen a broken fasting?”

  “No. I’ve only heard tales of it. Just like I heard all sorts of tales about the Smaragdalfar, about the Ishkart. All of it lies or greatly distorted truth.”

  Ra’Ven considers this. “What if it is true, though? And what if we...” He gestures between us. “What if we give in to this, and it’s all true?”

  “What if it’s not?”

  He’s silent for another long moment, considering, his gaze on me full of obvious temptation. “We’d have to be sure that you’re safe,” he insists.

  “I know,” I agree, but I’m already decided.

  The risks be damned. They won’t hold me prisoner any longer. I will love who I want to love.

  “It’s what I want, Ra’Ven,” I tell him, my voice breaking. “I want to spell the lines away. And then I want you.”

  * * *

  Two more days pass, and after pushing the Light Strike spell into my fastlines, honing the focus, doggedly sending it out through the spidery cage imprisoning my hands, over and over again...

  The lines are finally gone.

  I sit on a smooth piece of rock in my multi-colored cave, a small bonfire I’ve lit with a Light Strike spell crackling and spitting before me. The fire warms me as the temperature cools. The last of the day’s sunlight streams in from the opening in the cave’s roof and I sit there as late-day turns to twilight and twilight turns to night.

  Stunned, I turn my hands over and over, waiting for the spell to reassert itself. But...nothing.

  It’s gone.

  I’m free. I’ve done it. I’ve actually freed myself.

  The enormity of what I’ve been through, what this spell put me through, swamps me like a ferocious storm. It all hits me anew—how I was forced into walking away from my family. From my people. My old world ripped to shreds.

  All because of this spell.

  And now it’s gone. Suddenly...gone.

  In a daze, I pull the bottle of Sanjire root from my pocket, unstopper it and eat a sliver of the bitter root. Then I rise and walk back to the rune-sheltered room I share with Ra’Ven.

  * * *

  Our bedroom is empty, the constellation of runes calm and still. I pull off my boots and my tunic and sit down on the bed, dressed only in my thin camisole and pants. I stare at my unmarked purple hands and wait.

  Finally, Ra’Ven comes to find me.

  “Sage?” he says, pausing at the bedroom’s entrance as the curtain falls shut behind him, his eyes flicking over my partial undress.

  “It’s gone,” I tell him, still dazed. I hold up my hands and turn them this way and that.

  Ra’Ven pulls in a sharp breath, then quietly sits down next to me.

  I’m outwardly calm, but inwardly too overcome to even react. “I’m free.” I take a long, shuddering breath as Ra’Ven’s arms wrap around me, pulling me in. I cling to him, feeling like I’ve weathered an overpowering, deadly storm.

  He holds me for a long time. Then we wordlessly lay down on the bed and curl up around one another.

  Ra’Ven presses his lips tenderly to my forehead. I reach up and press my palm against the center of his chest, his heartbeat steady and strong. At first, I touch him for comfort, for the way caressing him soothes and calms me. I slide my palm over his hard chest, his broad shoulder, his long arm and then, tentatively, just under his tunic and along his hard abdomen.

  Ra’Ven lets out a small groan, and I pause, my fingertips suspended on his skin as a sudden, hard rush of longing sparks through me. It’s reflected in Ra’Ven’s gaze, a gaze that has shifted from pure affection to something nocturnal and hungry.

  I pull him into what starts as a gentle kiss, but quickly turns heated.

  Fingers trembling, I unbutton my camisole and flex my shoulders to boldly shrug it off.

  Ra’Ven’s breath hitches. “Oh, Sage,” he says, his eyes sliding over me.

  He gently glides his fingers along the side of my breast, featherlight. I gasp and his eyes meet mine, unsure, but I shift and press my body against his hand. Emboldened, he trails his fingers over my curves, exploring, then pulls me in and closes the distance between us, bringing his mouth to mine. Our bodies are soon moving against each other in a surging rhythm, and I tug him on top of me as he presses his body hard against mine.

  “We don’t have to stop,” I tell him, the words full of a burning desire to feel all of him. “And I’ve already taken the Sanjire root.” We’ve spent so many nights tangled up around each other. Pushing up against the limits of the fasting. I feel like I know almost everything about him. Everything but what it would be like to have him inside me.

  “Are you sure it’s safe?” he asks hesitantly.

  “Yes,” I say, biting my lip with pent-up longing.

  “I’ll stop if you need me to, Sage.”

  I nod, the gesture cut off by his hard, deep kiss. Then Ra’Ven unfastens and discards the last of his clothing and mine.

  His silken lips are on my neck, my collarbone. Everywhere. A delirious rush of heat burns away the last shred of hesitation as he strokes his body against mine and I arch up against him. We move as one, falling back into a deliriously perfect rhythm.

  And then he pushes himself into me. All the way into me.

  I gasp at the sensation and the brief, tight sting of it. My thighs tense against his as I hug him close. He feels so shockingly good.

  Ra’Ven stops all movement, the muscles of his back rock-hard under my hands. “Sage,” he asks, with careful, barely maintained control. He pulls back a fraction so he can look into my eyes. “Are you all right?”

  I lift my hand from his back and look at it. Nothing. No lines. No pain.

  “Yes,” I tell him breathlessly. “Yes.”

  His hand comes up to caress the side of my face, his voice pitched low with desire. “Are you absolutely sure?”

  �
�Yes. I’m sure.”

  He smiles and murmurs passionately in Smaragdalfar, and then his lips come down onto mine. And this time, we don’t stop. We take each other without caution, no longer careful, claiming every last part of one another as our own.

  Chapter 18: Fire

  That night my dreams are of comfort and happiness. Ra’Ven and I lie suspended in protective dark, white branches forming all around, supporting us.

  And I’m free. Finally free.

  Then, the comforting dream starts to give way.

  There’s an abrupt flash of black wings. A sudden explosion of fire. The wings flap, fanning the fire, heat lashing all around me. My sense of comfort and security shatters, singed to the ground by the mounting flames.

  I wake with a start, the constellation of runes disorienting me. My heart is racing, sweat slick on my skin, my breathing harsh. Ra’Ven’s arm is draped over me, his emerald skin catching the rune-light and reflecting brilliant emerald stars of light. I breathe in his masculine scent, trying to calm myself, pulling on the soothing green of him.

  Then the nightmare slams back into me. A flash of wings explodes into the back of my mind as fire blooms in my center and ignites my affinity lines, all the color in my lines singed away to become white-hot.

  I turn toward Ra’Ven in desperation. He’s breathing languidly, seeming lost in a peaceful bliss, his body so cool against my fever-hot skin.

  He opens his silver eyes and takes in my expression. “Sage, what’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, consumed by the heat lashing through me, scared my affinity lines are in danger of bursting into actual flame.

  Ra’Ven takes hold of my upper arm, his brow creasing. “You’re so hot. Your skin...”

  The flames leap higher and cloud my sight as the black wings explode back into my vision. Sweating and trembling, I sit up, clutching the blanket to my chest.

  A prickling sting sparks to life on my hands, and I splay out my palms before me. My stomach constricts with panic.

  The fastlines. They’re faint, but they’ve returned. And they’re not black.