by Frank Morin
Shona wondered what they were doing in that barren valley. Queen Dreokt had spoken of the need for worthy servants, but not even the farmers lived within sight of that remote field.
“Youth are so impatient. You will learn something today, girl. I seek an ancient servant who has slumbered with the elements for a very long time.”
“An elfonnel?” Shona asked nervously as she glanced around at the empty landscape. Her memories of elfonnel were among the most terrifying of her life. Her father might have mastered the trick to controlling them at least part of the time, but Shona lacked that knowledge.
“Have no fear, child. We are in no danger,” the queen said, her voice distracted.
“I’ve heard theories that slumbering elfonnel generate power stone, that’s why they’ve been found at quarries,” Shona dared say. She didn’t want to interrupt or anger the queen, but if they were seeking elfonnel, maybe the question would help the queen realize she’d come to the wrong place.
“They do, but we seek a special case.”
That shouldn’t have surprised Shona. Information that quarries might shelter long-slumbering elfonnel was a remarkable discovery, but the queen was already moving past that to a special case. She suppressed a flash of irritation. The woman possessed so much knowledge that Shona yearned to know. That knowledge might help her understand her liege and her place with the woman better. It might help her survive a little longer too.
“There’s really an elfonnel hidden beneath a farm field?”
“Indeed. Tristan was one of my first and greatest servants, a brilliant researcher who assisted in our first grand discoveries in harvesting magic.” A little smile played across her lips. “Dear Tristan was one of my husband’s closest friends. Those two worked miracles together in the early days of our work.”
Shona listened in rapt attention, silently willing the queen to reveal more about those early days, how they first learned to tap Petralist powers, and where they came from.
But the moment passed and the queen’s smile vanished. “I sent him to slumber with the elements when we first arrived in this backwater continent. His unique gifts made him the ideal candidate. This location conceals a nexus of magic deep within the earth and his presence served to disrupt the flow of energy through these lands.”
She giggled to herself, like a little girl hiding in the cupboard with a jar of fresh-baked cookies. “That’s the key. The disrupted energy scatters and settles into the stones. Only then can we harvest the power, distilled to its lowest frequency, through the stones to fuel our affinities.”
“How is it that no one else knows this?” Shona breathed. The magnitude of that short explanation boggled the mind. So much history had been lost.
Queen Dreokt chuckled. “Most people can’t remember what they had for dinner a week ago. How do you expect them to remember deeper truths?”
“But why has no one thought to explore such a nexus of power?”
“No one knows about it. Only one attuned to a higher frequency can sense it.”
“I don’t understand,” Shona admitted, feeling frustrated by the unusual sense of ignorance.
“Of course you don’t,” the queen’s laughter vanished and her tone turned deadly serious. “And you won’t. Not until you prove that you can guard well the treasure of information I just entrusted to you.”
“I’ll guard it with my life,” Shona insisted quickly, hating the rush of fear she felt. Hating more that the queen had shaken off those old memories so quickly.
“See that you do. One secret is more than enough of a trial for an ambitious young woman like yourself.” Her expression turned kind and motherly. “Show yourself worthy and perhaps I will speak more on the matter. My old memories are still fuddled from the long sleep, so I find it helpful to talk through these things.”
“I am honored to offer any service I can,” Shona said, eager to hear more.
Again the queen’s mood shifted back to deadly sincerity. “Should you betray my trust, I will wipe your memories of this conversation and take away that which you hold most dear.”
“Connor?” Shona gasped. The thought of losing him again shook her deeply, especially since she honestly believed the queen intended to kill Verena and give him to her.
Queen Dreokt snorted in disgust. “Think deeper, child. Men can be replaced. I speak of your affinities.”
Shona opened her mouth in silent protest, but couldn’t find the words to express the horror she felt at the thought of losing her precious affinities. They defined her, played a crucial role in who she was and who she planned to become. Losing them would make her so . . . common.
The queen watched her carefully. “I see you understand.”
“May I ask how you can affect the affinities of others?” Shona ventured.
Queen Dreokt laughed with delight. “Oh, you are indeed a treasure, girl. Such ambition in one so young warms my soul.” Her smile vanished again and she said. “Enough prattling. I’ve found him.”
The slender pillar of earth connecting her hand to the ground dissolved and the queen threw her arms out wide. Orange flames erupted around her left hand, while bubbling streamers of water materialized around her right. The two streams of elements arced over her head, twining together into a glittering rope. That arc of twined elements flowed with intricate patterns that moved along its length. A subtle scent of baked sunflower seeds mixed with the smell of sun-warmed stone right after a brief summer shower.
“Tristan. Tristan. Tristan. Awake and come forth.” The queen spoke softly, but the words somehow echoed around the empty field, growing in strength until her voice boomed like rolling thunder.
“Tristan! Tristan! Tristan! Awake!”
Shona covered her ears with her hands, but that did little to silence the still-growing crescendo that hammered at her mind until the words seemed to shout inside her thoughts rather than merely pummel her ears from the outside.
Abruptly the queen clapped her hands together, sending the arcing rope of water and fire, with their intricate symbols, shooting into the air. The elements then plunged down into the earth, driving deep, like a spear piercing water toward the heart of an unsuspecting fish.
As soon as that spear of water and fire disappeared into the ground, the sounds ceased, leaving the land huddled in a deep, expectant calm. Queen Dreokt cocked her head to one side, as if listening, but Shona heard nothing. She wanted to ask what was happening, but didn’t dare make a sound.
“Tristan,” Queen Dreokt whispered and extended a hand.
The ground in front of her exploded. Earth erupted in every direction and pelted Shona so hard she staggered. She spat out a clump of earth, but the taste of the rich soil clung to her mouth.
She didn’t have time to spit again. A geyser of white-hot flame burst up from underground, instantly turning the air searing hot and nearly blinding Shona. She stumbled farther back, raising her hands to shield her face from the light and the heat.
Queen Dreokt did not move, did not seem affected by the unexpected onslaught of elements. She waited as the flames soared over a hundred feet in the air and the sound grew from a nerve-tingling roar to a whistling scream that set Shona’s hair standing on end. The air smelled charred and somehow old.
The flames curled back upon themselves and plunged down toward Queen Dreokt. The leading edge of the fire transformed into the rough shape of a demon-like head, complete with horns, fangs, and slitted, crimson eyes.
Shona’s fear escalated into full-blown terror. This was an elfonnel. Fire-bound. And it didn’t look happy.
Queen Dreokt spread her arms and laughed, as if she planned to embrace a long-lost friend.
The elfonnel opened its enormous mouth wide, the flames expanding until its head was over a dozen feet in diameter. Shona dove away as that enormous maw gaped wide and plunged down over the queen. Flames swept out in every direction, whipping past Shona with the scent of rotten eggs and burned toast. She shrieked and clutched her ha
ir. She’d experienced getting her hair burned more than once, usually Connor’s fault, and hated to think of it happening again.
Luckily the flames ignored her hair and instead flowed into the constantly shifting form of the elfonnel’s body. For a second it looked roughly humanoid, then morphed into a four-legged monster.
Shona huddled at its feet, eyes glued to where its face still pressed down to the earth. Could it have really killed the queen like that? If it was eating her, it would kill Shona next. She felt surprised to realize she’d lived in such a constant fear of death that after the initial fear of the elfonnel, her terror actually subsided, replaced by growing curiosity.
“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Shona shouted over the loud crackling of flames.
The elfonnel lifted its head, which transformed into the shape of a nuall hunting cat. Queen Dreokt stood exactly where Shona had last seen her. She looked undamaged, not even singed by the flames, although tears glistened on her cheeks. She petted the elfonnel’s smaller head and sighed, then beckoned Shonoa closer.
Shona rose and hesitantly obeyed. Standing so close, she expected to feel overwhelmed by the heat, the sound, and the stench, but she instead stepped into a pocket of clean, calm air that wrapped the queen like a protective bubble.
“Is this Tristan?” Shona asked, her parched throat making her voice rough.
Queen Dreokt sighed. “Alas, poor Tristan has slumbered too long. That which connected him to his mortal self is gone. He cannot return.” She leaned her forehead against the elfonnel’s head, and its body shrank to the size of a horse, but still in the shape of a nuall. It purred and nuzzled her, as if seeking to comfort her.
The sight unnerved Shona. The queen really was the master of the elements.
“I fear there are no worthy servants left, none who would answer my call,” Queen Dreokt said softly. She gripped the elfonnel’s face, unaffected by the flames and looked into its crimson eyes. “Show me the others.”
It lunged forward, its face flattening as it wrapped around her head.
Shona gasped and stumbled back, but the queen did not move, did not struggle as the flames wrapping her head shifted from crimson to blue. Heat intensified around their protective bubble, and Shona crept closer to the strange sight. If she accidentally stepped outside that sphere, she’d melt away before she could return.
Queen Dreokt abruptly threw her hands out wide, throwing the elfonnel away. Her expression had turned exultant, and she laughed in triumph. “Harley! One servant yet remains who may do my bidding!”
She laughed again and shooed the elfonnel away. “Return to your slumber, Tristan. Guard well your charge. I may call upon you to assist when I move against Kilian, but for now, remain concealed here.”
The elfonnel swept up into the sky again, then plunged back into the earth, leaving only a charred hole in the ground to mark the spot. The field was blackened, but no doubt after the next snowfall, all trace of the encounter would be erased.
Queen Dreokt turned to Shona with a smile. “Come, my child. We have another stop to make.”
Before Shona could reply, a gust of air swept out of the clear, blue sky and drew them gently off the ground.
28
Perhaps the Freakiest Place to Ever Wake Up
Connor awoke in darkness with a pounding headache and a raging fury. He tried lunging to his feet, but managed nothing more than to rattle the thick chains that bound him on his back. He lay in complete darkness on a hard bed. Maybe a board. When he tried rolling to test the limit of the chains, he bumped into wooden walls close beside him on both sides.
He was in a box.
Was it a coffin?
Had Rory deemed him a threat like all unclaimed and sentenced him to be buried alive?
Fear helped him collar a new rush of anger. It was hard to think rationally through the porphyry withdrawal madness, but he had to. If he was about to be buried alive with no power stones, he needed to figure out something to do.
He had to break free. Connor struggled harder, heaving at the steel links, trying to draw upon his granite strength, but found nothing. In fact, his muscles felt weak and lethargic. After a moment he realized he had slept with active granite in his system. He had not purged, so he was suffering untapped reversal sickness, which could debilitate him for a full day.
He did not plan to wait that long. His memories sharpened through the red haze of fury and he remembered Craigroy and the porphyry powder. He needed to get free, track that man down, and take that powder.
Struggling against the chains was useless in his current condition, so he shouted and cursed as he weakly rocked side to side. The box rocked a bit with him. That was surprising, and maybe hopeful. He wasn’t interred already, but was he being carried to the burial site?
“Hey! I’m alive. Let me out of here!” he shouted, but received no answer.
He’d faced the possibility of death by burial by Sentries, but this was somehow worse. He wasn’t in battle, wasn’t pitting his affinity strength against another. He was powerless, a helpless victim. The thought enraged him. He had to think of something.
Sandstone. The sculpted sandstone pendant that he always wore around his neck could help.
It was gone.
That fueled another fit of rage, and he rattled the chains and screamed in fury.
Without warning, whoever was carrying the box dropped it. It fell three feet with a crash. Landing on those thick chain links hurt.
He grunted with pain, kicked his feet angrily against the bottom, and shouted, “Tallan curse you, I’ll rip out your heart if you don’t let me out!”
The top of the box flipped open, spilling fresh, cold air and brilliant sunshine inside and temporarily blinding him. He blinked up at two silhouetted figures who leaned in over him. It took a few seconds to recognize Ivor and Aifric, both wearing Boulder battle leathers.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Ivor said with a smile.
“Student Eighteen said you were going to be all right, but she figures anyone she hasn’t stabbed through the heart isn’t dead enough,” she said, in a deeper voice than Connor had ever heard her use.
When he spoke, his own voice rasped with thirst. “Please get me out of here.”
Ivor shook his head, instead extended a canteen and helped Connor drink. “I don’t think so. I can’t trust you.”
Connor snapped, “I’m in control. I just need some more porphyry from Craigroy. Help me track him down.”
The unknown personality that was speaking through Student Eighteen’s voice shook her head. “That sneaky Tallan-cursed devil fled before we even left Merkland. We’re almost to the pass now.”
“What? You let him get away?” Connor exclaimed, again struggling uselessly to free himself. “We have to go back. And who are you right now, anyway?”
“I’m Tresta. Best Boulder in High Lord Feichin’s army.”
That sounded about right. Aifric didn’t waste time on humble or unremarkable personalities. He wanted to ask what mission she’d been created for.
Ivor said, “Rory insisted I let Craigroy go instead of killing him. I still think that would have been wiser, but not on your life are you returning to Merkland. I don’t think you could withstand Craigroy’s offer again. He almost owned you.”
Tresta gave him a disgusted look. “Weak.”
Connor felt too grumpy to listen to part of Aifric’s fractured personality belittle him. “Really, I’m fine.” It was an effort to keep his voice calm, but he managed it. He needed to escape that coffin. It really made him nervous. And knowing that porphyry was out of reach helped a little too.
Ivor and Tresta exchanged a glance and she nodded. “Mariora suggests it’s worth the risk, and it would be unfortunate if we had to return this sorry excuse for a hero to Kilian in a box.”
“What did I do to upset you?” Connor asked as Ivor produced a key and reached into the box to unlock his chains. He’d managed to get along with most o
f Aifric’s personalities. With Aifric dead, it bothered him to think any of the rest of her didn’t like him.
Tresta shrugged. “You showed weakness in the face of an enemy. Can’t tolerate that or discipline goes out the window.”
Her face shuddered slightly and she shifted to Student Eighteen’s voice. “Aifric’s loss is affecting us more than I care to admit. Tresta’s anger is only partially directed at you.”
She shuddered again, switching back to Tresta. “Aint my fault he’s weak. I’ve seen comrades die before. I can handle it.”
“You’ve never had one die inside your head, though,” Connor said.
She snorted. “Worry about your own failures, weakling.”
“There were some extenuating circumstances,” Ivor offered as he helped Connor stand.
Tresta grunted, not looking impressed. “When it’s difficult is exactly when you need to be strong.”
Connor stumbled out of the box, hating how weak he felt. “It’s easy to judge when you’ve never felt that crazy porphyry addiction rage.”
Tresta placed hands on her leather-clad hips and gave him a hard look. “So you were tempted? So you felt angry? Who cares? You decide what you do. You can be strong if you really want to. Aifric once explained that the key to overcoming any addiction is to be strong and to swear an unbreakable oath never to give in.”
“This is different,” Connor insisted. He glanced at Ivor. “Where are my power stones?”
Ivor handed him his worn sandstone pendant, but nothing else. “I think I’ll hold onto the rest for a while. Like you held onto mine.”
That was super annoying, but Connor did need sandstone first, so he accepted the pendant from Ivor. Its warm healing power eased his post-granite exhaustion until he almost felt normal again. Then he glanced at Ivor and accused, “You sucker-punched me.”
Ivor grinned, not even pretending to feel bad. “You did the same for me at Altkalen when I was on the verge of doing something suicidal. Just returning the favor.”