by Isla Frost
It was only after I’d had it, only after that dark awareness seemed to recognize me, that a new terror unfurled in my gut.
What if it was my unprotected exposure to the circlet that had caused me to gain Malus magic?
What if I was being used by the Malus and just didn’t know it yet?
Chapter Nine
The classroom was no place to voice my fears to my friends. So I shoved them down deep and made it through the rest of the lesson.
Professor Wilverness’s class was next. And with the horror of the Malus so fresh in my mind, I thought I might understand why she, an Antellian shapeshifter—a species known for being reclusive and peaceful—was here helping the walkers build an army.
She began the lesson by morphing into a frightful tusked creature we hadn’t come across yet. But one of the students raised their hand.
“Yes?” Wilverness’s voice was dry and whispery, reminiscent of the wind through the leaves, no matter what form she took. And her majestic antlers changed in scale but remained constant in every shape too.
“How come we’re still learning about dangerous magical creatures when our ultimate target is the Malus?”
The creature swung its tusks around the room and somehow managed a pitying look despite its terrifying maw.
“Ah. I suppose Dunraven hasn’t gotten to that part yet. The Malus has two ways of using its victims. Most often, it will rip the life force from its prey with frightening speed and use that energy to add to its power. But when the Malus needs a particular task done that it cannot do itself, for example when it is being attacked by life-force-protected combatants and wants to retaliate, it is also capable of using its prey as a sort of puppet. The exact details of how it does this are not understood. What we do know is that the Malus can take possession of a creature’s life force inside its body instead of ripping it out and can then, for a limited time, control that creature as an extension of itself.”
Murmurs of horror ran around the classroom.
“Mercifully, victims taken over in this way do not seem to last long. Perhaps a week at most. We’re unsure whether the Malus then drains the life force as usual or if that life force rapidly degenerates from unnatural use. But in any case, you should be able to see why learning about all types of dangerous creatures is still relevant.”
Everyone listened attentively—in a morbid sort of way—after that. Until the bells chimed again and we headed for Professor Grimwort’s class.
Advanced Magic. The one where I would hopefully learn the control over my wildcard power that my stay of execution required.
The general mood began to edge toward excitement. Despite the bleak revelations of the day, my human classmates were excited to master their greatly increased magic.
I was feeling less enthusiastic. But since my life, and perhaps everybody else’s, depended on my ability to harness my wildcard gift or curse, I was determined to apply myself with all due diligence.
I was tucking myself into my chair beside Ameline when Grimwort spotted me.
He stalked over, his manner hostile enough that I wished briefly for my new sword.
“Get out,” he hissed.
“Excuse me?”
“Get the hell out of my classroom. You’re not practicing the evil abomination of a thing you call magic in this class.”
His breath was hot and strangely sweet on my face. His sharp, shadowed features rigid with fury and disgust.
“I will not have you endangering more innocent lives. I will not watch your repugnant magic blossom. Go outside and practice on something trying to kill you.”
I stood. If there was another option available, I couldn’t see it.
Ameline made to rise too, but I pushed her gently but firmly back into her seat. “Stay here and learn for the both of us,” I murmured for her ears alone.
Then I walked out of the classroom.
Chapter Ten
I was shocked. I was angry. Worse, I was worried Grimwort was right to banish me. And I didn’t know what the heck to do.
Dammit.
I slumped against the wall of the corridor, grateful at least for Millicent’s silent strength.
No matter whether Cricklewood or Grimwort was right, whether my wildcard power was a gift or a curse, I needed to master it. But I’d assumed I would have help.
Now?
I’d managed to bluff my way through the day so far, but my willpower was wearing thin. Finding myself alone, the despair I thought I’d gotten a grip on began trickling back in.
Behind me, something on the wallpaper prodded or patted my shoulder. I wasn’t sure which. But Millicent was right.
I’d made the decision to fight until the end. I’d stick with it.
The concept seemed so straightforward. The reality was harder. What should I do? How should I “fight” this?
Go outside and practice on something trying to kill you, Grimwort had said.
Well… maybe I would.
But if I was going to venture into the forest, I was fetching my handy new sword first.
I pushed away from the wall, offering a quiet thank-you, and went to our dorm room where we’d stashed our weapons between classes. To my relief, the goop Cricklewood had made us apply to the sharp edges peeled off okay. I grabbed my cloak too since it was colder outside, and thus prepared, I returned to the front lawn.
The day was chilly and gray, with weak winter sun filtering through patchy cloud cover and an occasional gust of icy wind. The man-made lake that was part of the manor’s gardens hadn’t frozen over, so the wind rippled along its dark mirrored surface, scattering the reflected sky.
I hesitated before stepping past the twelve-foot sentinel hedge cats whose leafy-green haunches marked the edge of Millicent’s grounds. Was this a mistake? Was I playing right into Grimwort’s plans by putting myself in harm’s way and entering the forest alone?
I suspected he’d celebrate if I died out there. And it wasn’t more than two and a half months ago that Ameline, Bryn, and I had watched another kid enter alone. The next morning, we’d found the remains of his body scattered about the lawn.
He’d been the first but not the last classmate whose life had been claimed by the forest’s perils.
But I’d been in there multiple times now and survived. Not alone, it was true. But that was before I’d undergone the transformation ritual. Before I’d been given an enchanted sword or eerie magic that could suck the life force from almost any creature so long as I managed to nick it with my fancy new blade first.
Besides, how else was I going to learn?
I would be smart, proceed with caution, and stay close to the edge.
I drew my sword from the sheath at my hip and stepped past the hedge cats, a prickling awareness of danger wrapping around me. The same awareness I always felt when I passed the safety of Millicent’s grounds.
My senses were on high alert as I tried to scan everywhere at once. Any step I took would risk falling prey to one of the many creatures, plant and animal alike, that hid beneath the leaf litter and ambushed unwary passersby, dragging them into the earth to devour. The canopy above sheltered strangler vines and various flying and tree-dwelling creatures that could be preparing to plunge down and strike at the soft flesh of my throat. And of course there were plenty of beasts moving through the undergrowth as I would be doing. Many of them predators and all of them better evolved for our surroundings.
It wasn’t like jungles I’d read about, where raucous birdsong and howling monkeys filled the air with a riot of sound. This forest was mostly quiet, leaving me to twitch at every noise. The wind moving through the leaves, a twig snapping under something’s unseen weight, and the occasional death scream or savage growl of an encounter between two of the local residents.
I felt exposed without Bryn or Ameline beside me, without their second sights scanning for incoming threats. I’d only been able to use my own second sight in short bursts since I’d had to close my eyes to make out the
faint flickers. But Cricklewood and the flum had appeared in vivid clarity last night so maybe that had changed.
I placed my back against a sturdy tree trunk—using our botany lessons to make sure it wasn’t one of the carnivorous kinds first. With the rough bark digging into my shoulder blades, I kept my eyes open and called on my second sight.
The life force signatures appeared as a confusing sort of overlay to my natural vision. The faint light of the insentient plants was almost invisible, making them easy to ignore, but even discounting them I was astounded and a little creeped out by the sheer abundance of life in my immediate vicinity. An abundance I’d been blind to a moment ago. It made me think of Theus’s claim about walkers’ life magic feeding and magnifying everything around them.
Maybe it hadn’t been a lie, but it didn’t do anything for those they’d killed. Those they’d made vulnerable. And those who’d been hurt when they’d leveraged that vulnerability to separate firstborns from their families.
A vivid golden blur of life energy appeared in my periphery. Moving fast. Coming straight at me.
I readied my blade, the press of the scalloped bark at my back reassuring.
A giant cat shot out of the trees, enormous strides flying over the ground. Unlike the hedge cats, this one was all muscle and fur and flashing teeth. I’d known from my second sight it was large and fast, but the confirmation with my natural eyes snatched the air from my lungs.
The predator leaped. Claws extended. A terrifying snarl rippling from its throat.
My enchanted sword might’ve trembled a little.
But it struck true, slicing the cat’s neck. Only the beast’s incredibly fast reflexes saved its life. It twisted in midair, evading the worst of the blow and letting out a yowling screech that made my ears bleed—or at least feel like they were bleeding.
That change of direction saved my life too, the three-inch claws missing my left shoulder by a far too narrow margin.
I spun, ready to defend myself against another attack, but the cat continued running. Hopefully to find easier, less-pointy prey.
Then somebody spoke.
Ugh! What in the fifteen flaming squares of Hellius did you go and do that for?
I spun again, searching for the speaker and finding none. I scanned for a likely presence with my second sight but came up blank there too.
“Um, excuse me?”
First you have the audacity to wake me from a perfectly pleasurable dream, and worse, you elect to do it by bathing me in blood and gore?
Blood? Bathing? I looked down at the sword in my hand in stunned disbelief and wondered whether I ought to drop it.
Don’t you dare drop me in the dirt like common refuse! What kind of inconsiderate cad of a species are you?
My hand froze around the hilt. Had it just read my mind?
“The human kind?” I answered while my brain spun its cognitive wheels trying to catch up. I was so dumbfounded my statement came out like a question.
Well, I’m so glad you’ve got that much figured out at least. The voice was heavy with sarcasm. Flying carrion, they don’t make them like they used to, do they?
It was fortunate that the cat hadn’t returned for a second try, because even with my enhanced sword-wielding abilities, I would’ve been hard-pressed to defend myself right then.
“Make what like they used to? And um, are you… the sword?”
Yes, obviously. Brilliant deduction there. And I’m talking about wielders, of course. I was forged many millennia ago by ethereal, godlike beings that your limited functions could barely comprehend. Over eons, my makers passed beyond existence. I remained. Since then I have seen countless battles, wielders, and worlds, and you wouldn’t believe how far the mighty have fallen.
“Sounds lonely,” I observed.
The voice—or my sword—made a sort of coughing noise. Which I took to mean my observation struck true.
“Besides, I thought you selected me as your wielder this morning?”
At least Cricklewood had suggested as much.
Does the flame ever choose the moth? I can’t help it if you’re drawn to me.
Ouch.
“But you were helping me during combat practice,” I pointed out.
Pfft, I can do that in my sleep. Literally, in case you didn’t pick that up.
Fabulous. In that case I wished he’d stayed asleep, but to say so would be impolite. I chewed my lip. “Well, I suppose I can put you back on the weapons rack so you can return to napping if that’s what you’d prefer…”
No! Ahem, I mean, never mind, that’s all right. What’s your name?
Ha. Got him.
“Nova. What’s yours?”
Galladrius Mordenaare Kindroth Sorfildur.
I was never going to remember that. “Hmm, those godlike beings that named you had a lot of time on their hands, did they? What does it mean?”
Illustrious Slayer of All That Must Be Smote.
“Well, nice to meet you,” I lied.
My sword made a sniffing sound. I wish I could express a similar sentiment.
I ignored this and plowed on. “I think I’m gonna go ahead and call you Gus.”
Gus? Really? It sounds most uncouth.
“I could make it Mord the Sword if you’d prefer.”
Do that and I’ll fillet you myself.
“Gus it is then.”
Gus sighed.
“Think about it as modern,” I advised.
My sword sniffed again. What’s to like about modern? The godlike beings I was forged by were made of light and shadow and ether and umbra. Their enemy’s blood tasted of starlight and frosted dew and the colors of creation. But the modern blood you just forced me to sample tastes of iron and excessively salted dirt.
“You’ve only tasted the blood of one creature,” I said, though I suspected his conclusion was correct.
And that was one too many.
I wondered if the godlike beings that had created him hadn’t actually faded from existence but instead left him behind on purpose.
I heard that, he informed me. So long as I’m on your hip or in your hand, I can speak into your mind as I’m doing now and may also choose to listen to your thoughts. It’s useful in battle. But fear not, both your existence and your mind’s ramblings bore me.
Oddly enough, I did find that last reassuring.
Wonderful. His tone was drier than desert dust. You had best be planning on cleaning me later.
I frowned. Of course I’d been planning on cleaning him. It. Whatever. I kept very good care of my weapons. Except for when I lost them, anyway.
I wondered if I might be inclined to lose Gus in the near future.
Then I wondered if he’d heard that.
But he was superb in a fight. Even if he complained about it copiously afterward.
It occurred to me that this strange and ancient sword might require a different sort of care than my mundane blades.
“What do you prefer to be cleaned with?” I asked.
Got any nectar of life?
“Uh, no…”
Essence of the cosmos?
Oh boy. “Just ran out this morning.”
You’re not as funny as you think you are. Milk from the blessed celestial yak?
Seriously? Was he making this stuff up?
“None of that either, sorry.”
Gus let out a heavy sigh. Even though he possessed no lungs to do it with.
Then a mixture of milk and honey will be fine.
Milk and honey? I mean, I guess it tasted better than blood, but I wasn’t sure what Glenn and Glennys would say when I asked them for the supplies.
I held in my own sigh. “Okay. Do you need to be oiled as well?”
Gus snorted. I’m not some second-rate hunk of metal prone to rust if I don’t get any of your fumbling assistance.
“Good to know.” I was beginning to suspect the less time I had to spend in the sword’s company, the better.
And on t
he subject of time, I knew instinctively that I’d lingered too long. Nothing positive would come of presenting a stationary target for every predator in the woods.
It was only as I prepared to move that realization hit me. In the ferocity of the cat’s attack and the surprise of my sword’s “awakening,” I’d completely forgotten to practice my life-force-draining magic.
Ugh.
On the upside, some other monster was sure to try to eat me soon.
Which was when I heard it. The quiet sound of leaf litter compacting under significant weight, approaching behind me…
Chapter Eleven
I drew on my second sight to get a gauge on whatever was approaching behind me. Except according to my second sight, nothing was there. Nothing close and large enough to be responsible for the sounds I’d heard.
The idea of something with the power to cloak its life force made the hair prick on the back of my neck.
“Prepare to taste some more blood,” I breathed to Gus. Then lunged around the tree to face the new threat.
What I saw made me pull up short.
“Theus? What are you doing out here?”
His unruly hair and the color of his cheeks had been touched by the wind, and there was a light in his eyes that had been lacking indoors. They landed on my raised and bloodied blade, and his lips curved in a half smile.
“I came to offer you backup so you can focus on practicing your magic. But it seems my protection might be superfluous.”
It was telling that I felt relief. Telling and a little disturbing. When had I come to trust him to protect me?
“Actually, backup would be great,” I said. Because I had to say something, and because it was true.
Oh please. Stop pandering to him. I’m the one that just saved your neck.
“For which I’m grateful,” I hissed, “but why don’t you go back to that pleasant dream you were having?”
Gus made a rude noise.
You’d think a being that had existed for millions of years would be above such things.