River Running (Indigo Elements Book 1)

by Eden Reign

  Jackson took the opening, sending his second round of fire, this time holding nothing back. It exploded around Daniel’s horse, and the animal screamed, rearing and wheeling.

  This time, Daniel didn’t try to hold the horse; he dug in his spurs and galloped down the driveway. He stopped at the road, pulling the horse up short and turning. “I’ll find them, Jackson, Grey and the girl, both,” he shouted. “Don’t think Leah failed to mention the woman you harbored here was a halfbreed. She saw her do her foul halfmage spellwork on your property. I’d wager Lakewood that your woman’s real name isn’t Melanie Rivers.”

  Daniel’s retreated, vanishing around the bend in the road. Jackson’s pulse pounded in his head and chest. Manda. Daniel knew about Manda, too.

  “Are you all right, Master Coal?” Jackson turned to find Mr. Stone standing resolutely behind him on the drive. Only his flushed bronze cheeks betrayed his potent summoning of the boulders.

  “You must be more than just a butler, Mr. Stone,” Jackson said. “That was impressive work. Not a single earthmage in my battalion could have pulled that off against Daniel Lake.”

  Stone only shrugged, as though he did not like receiving compliments. “At least it seems Master Lake is gone for now.” He brushed flecks of dirt from his coat sleeves before gesturing down the road where Lake had disappeared.

  Jackson shook his head. “I am ill at ease, Mr. Stone. Daniel Lake knows too much, and his hatred runs deep. I must go after Grey and Miss Rivers. I fear he may find them.”

  “Of course, Master Coal. My boundary is finished, as you asked, and I will check the girls’ work immediately.”

  “Very good. I wish I could finish mine, but I must depart post haste. Your granite obstruction may serve to guard the eastern shore, or you might put your own wards there. Be careful. Daniel Lake is a powerful mage, as well as a cunning man.”

  Chapter 24

  Manda

  Manda’s back ached from hours of torture on the back of Jackson’s gelding, Beau. As a child, she’d ridden often, first in these hills, bareback on a mustang Bitter Root had given her, but she was no longer in shape for a long journey.

  Manda was a competent horsewoman, though not an excellent one as Bitter Root had been. She’s learned to ride astride in the Nanu fashion, and Jackson had lifted his brows when he’d seen the breeches she’d donned beneath her skirts when she’d mounted Beau.

  At first, Jackson had wanted them to take a carriage on the back roads. “You’ll be more comfortable,” he’d pleaded, “and less easy to see. And your legs ...”

  But Manda had remained firm. “I don’t want anyone but you to know our destination, and a carriage will draw attention in Sweetwater and in the Nanu Territory. Not many mundanes or Nanu own carriages. I’ll take Grey on Beau with me, and we’ll be fine.”

  She missed him—like air to breathe, she missed Jackson Coal.

  When she and Grey finally crested the last hill and Sweetwater spread throughout the valley before them, she sighed with relief. At last, she’d be able to get off this horse.

  “Come on, Beau. Get up.” She nudged the gelding with her boot, and the horse began the winding descent toward the town.

  Manda avoided the main roads. Sweetwater was smaller than Savana or Chalton, but still a sizable settlement. It lay in a valley a day’s ride northwest of Coalhaven, a cluster of buildings facing each other along a grid of dusty roads, surrounded by simple clapboard houses. In the hills on the north side of town stood four or five wealthy mundane estates. No mages lived here.

  Avoiding the city streets, she turned her horse southwest toward the Nanu Territory and the cabin where her mother had lived happily with the man she had loved, Nathaniel Cutter, Manda’s father. The climb grew steep as they rode out of Sweetwater’s valley and into a thicket of pines divided only by the single horse track.

  Grey had fallen asleep by the time they drew close to the dwelling. A sharp pain stitched Manda’s side. When she finally pulled the horse to a halt in front of the cabin, she gently shook Grey awake.

  “Grey? Grey, we’re here.”

  The cabin stood amid a tangled web of kudzu and pine trees. The needle-covered boughs had nearly overtaken the house, spreading thickly across a sagging roof, and the kudzu had crawled up the broken support pillars of what had once been a quaint cottage. The windows were no longer shuttered, and their gaping black holes mourned the death of times and stories past.

  Grey’s eyes widened as he took in the dilapidated condition of the house. “We’re staying here?”

  “For a while,” Manda said, struggling to throw cheer into her voice. She was overcome by old, sad memories. “Look at all the trees and the closed-in front yard, Grey. We can pretend we have a secret hideout as I used to do as a girl.” She lowered Grey from the horse’s back and then swung out of the saddle herself, gratefully stretching the tired muscles of her side and back.

  Manda unloaded the saddlebags. Rose had packed a significant store of food to keep her and Grey for a while, and Manda secretly hoped that Jackson would come for her before she had to go anywhere for shopping.

  Next Manda removed the bridle and bit, letting Beau graze in the yard. She'd allow him to wander the lower pasture later once they were settled. After removing the saddle and blanket, she leaned them against one of the rotting pillars, and motioned to Grey, who stood stock-still by the horse.

  When he didn’t move, Manda crossed the yard, crouching in front of him to take his hands. “Grey, I’m here with you. We will not have to run again. We can make this our home for a while. This is where I grew up.”

  His eyes flooded with tears. “I want to go home, Manda. I want to go back to my new papa.”

  It was the first time he had called her Manda, and she did not correct him. Shifting to her knees, she pulled the boy into a hug. “I know, Grey. I do, too. But we have to wait.”

  “Until when?” He sniffed against her shoulder.

  “Until the time comes.” It was a non-answer, but it satisfied Grey for the time being, so hand in hand, they walked together into the house.

  The following day, Manda worked to turn the tumble-down cabin into a home. The interior was woven with spider webs and filled with dead leaves and bric-a-brac from outside. The rickety double bed her parents had used was still wedged under one window. Beneath it, the trundle bed where Manda had slept as a child brought back memories of candlelight and contentment. The shaky table that had never balanced despite all shims still wobbled on the opposite side of the room. Her mother’s wooden chest sat in the corner, covered with dust and dirt, and the old kitchen hearth indented the far wall. Manda eyed it with distrust. She didn’t like kitchen hearths in the nicest houses, but this one challenged her to even light a fire in its blackened interior. She vaguely recalled its recalcitrant nature. Her father Nathaniel had never used it, calling it “that demon stove.” He preferred to cook outside over an open fire.

  After a shoddy meal of pasty grits with no butter for flavor, she and Grey spent most of the day clearing out the leaves. Grey found a bucket that didn’t leak, and Manda took it to the well, which was still clean and fresh.

  Inside the cottage, everything Manda touched was an echo of her mother and her father. Manda had been eight when Nathaniel had died and she and her mother had left his cottage to lead a restless life in the northern mundane communities. There, her mother had eventually married Simon Dunne. Manda’s step-father had been cruel from the start, calling her an “ugly little wretch.” She still felt betrayed by her mother’s decision to marry him and move them into his great, white house on the hill in Mount Clemency. The increased standard of living could not compensate for the abuse Simon Dunne had dished out. But her memories of this cabin were sweet and tender. Mostly.

  When Manda spread the blanket across the bed, she remembered snuggling with her mother on it, listening to the creak of pine boughs, the scurry of mice outside the small house, and the patter of rain as they’d awaited Nathaniel�
�s return from the woods where he felled trees for lumber to sell as far away as Savana. Nathaniel had been often gone, leaving Manda and Eve alone in the cottage. As she and Grey were, now.

  “Manda,” Grey asked, “can I play outside?” His sweaty forehead wrinkled as he looked up at her.

  Manda nodded. “Yes, you’ve done well. Go on.” As he disappeared into the front yard, Manda turned to the cabinets that lined the wall next to the kitchen hearth. The shelves were mostly bare, but in the corner, she found a stack of tallow candles and a box of matches. She set candles in the wall sconces for the arriving evening.

  Outside, Grey had found some sticks and was busily building a fort in the grass by the porch. The dusky sky silhouetted his small form. He deserved a little playtime after a day on a horse’s back.

  Taking a deep breath, Manda moved to the chest in the corner. She’d purposely avoided it until Grey could give her some space; she wasn’t sure she could contain the emotions that would rise from the memories of her mother and this chest.

  The latch had rusted a little, but it still gave way beneath her fingers.

  The contents were as she remembered. There was an opal brooch her mother had worn for best, a lacy, yellowed handkerchief with the initials E & N embroidered in careful, tiny blue stitches. A locket rested on top of the handkerchief. Inside it, a beautiful image of young Eve smiled demurely in painted finesse, and opposite her, a handsome man whose olive-complected skin and dark eyes stirred Manda’s heart. Manda traced her finger over his picture. My father. Nathaniel. His curls had been plastered to his head, with an unruly two or three strands rebelling upward from his part. He looked similar to Mr. Stone, with his high Nanukata cheekbones, sculpted jawline, and impeccable coat.

  He was poor, Manda thought. He offered my mother nothing but this tiny house and his hand and his heart. They’d been alone together in the world. Her mother had loved him. Manda remembered the way they’d touched each other, reverent and sweet, as if they shared a special communion. Perhaps that had come from their similar heritage: both Nathaniel and Eve had been half-Nanu, neither entirely accepted by Arcanans or the tribes.

  Manda replaced the locket and turned her attention to a dust-covered journal tamping down a sheaf of scrawled-over papers. She picked up the journal, opening it, and began to read.

  The words speared her from the page. She stared blankly at them as she struggled to comprehend. It was not possible, and yet…

  With trembling hands, she lifted the book a little nearer the tallow wick to be certain she read correctly.

  My husband, Daniel Lake, has divorced me, bringing charges of insanity against me to have me contained in an asylum. The man I fell in love with has turned into a snake, evidently marrying me solely for the power I could bring him from my knowledge of Nanukata magic. All his tender wooing turned out to be lies, lies that hid a cesspit of evil. Now he has won the court case, giving him all rights to our son and preventing me from even seeing my sweet boy. I have fled into hiding to avoid the asylum. Oh, my son, my Elijah! I fear the pain of our separation will kill me when Daniel’s other cruelties did not. I have no hope of seeing Elijah again. In court Daniel swore I had tried to kill my own son in the throes of my insanity. Slanderous lies! He and his friends have brought the full force of the law upon me, and if they catch me, it will be the asylum or death. All this because I stumbled upon the truth of their nefarious plans, Daniel and his cronies, with their elemental watches and their foul prejudices! They had no choice but to discredit me, to bring misery upon me, else my words would have dismantled their evil schemes. Well, I will record these events here. The truth should be told somewhere, even if it cannot outweigh the lies of the Time Keepers, as they like to call themselves.

  Manda couldn’t go on. My husband, Daniel Lake.

  She shut the journal, staring at the wall. Daniel Lake … my husband.

  She heard her own stiff voice call Grey inside. She went through the motions of putting him to bed and kissing him good night in a numb cloud.

  My husband, Daniel Lake. My husband, Daniel Lake. My husband…

  Daniel Lake. Manda sank to the floor next to the trunk, tracing her fingers over the journal’s cover. She’d known her mother had a murky connection to the Lake family, and thus Grey, but this! It was shocking! If Daniel Lake had been her mother’s husband, then Daniel’s son, Elijah Lake, Lige—Grey’s father and Jackson’s best friend—was her own half-brother. And her poor mother had been forced to abandon him to his vile father.

  But Grey! Grey was her nephew.

  He lay curled in bed, his legs pulled up beneath him in a round lump. “My nephew,” she whispered, her throat full.

  She had family. She—an orphan, a loner with no living blood relation, an abandoned girl who had spent years at Peachtree Orphanage—had a nephew.

  She dabbed at her eyes with her smudged apron and reopened the journal. Her mother had been thorough with her story. The pages told of her flight from Daniel. She’d reasoned that mundane Sweetwater would be the last place her vindictive former husband would think to look for a fullmage. Then she’d met Nathaniel Cutter, a mundane who’d lived on his own portion in the Nanu Territory near Sweetwater, and she’d married him “in the Wells” according to the Nanu traditions that allowed unions between mages and mundanes.

  Nathaniel’s father had been a mundane Nanukata tribesman, his mother, a mundane from Sweetwater, both dead from the red pox that had decimated the area around Sweetwater years ago. Eve herself had rarely discussed her own family, but Manda recalled that Eve’s mother had been Nanu, her father, Arcanan and wealthy. Eve had written:

  We are both so alone. We find solace in each other. My Nathaniel lives outside the city and inside my heart. He is nothing like Daniel; he is a man I can love.

  Manda glanced up at the tallow candles. They were nearly half-burned. She bent her head to see how much more she could read before they guttered out.

  If Daniel finds me, I am as good as dead, and Nathaniel is as well. Daniel will hunt me, but Nathaniel’s humble cottage makes me feel safe, for in the Nanu Territory, Daniel Lake has no jurisdiction. This is a place where I can be safe from him and his vile plans.

  Manda tilted her head back against the wall. She had few memories of her father, Nathaniel, but she recalled his wide and easy smile, his scent of pine and loam, and his arms, wiry-strong and covered in fine dark hairs. He used to sweep her up into those arms upon his homecomings from his wood deliveries. River Running, he used to call her, in the Nanu way of naming. My water-girl, always moving.

  Thinking of her father made Manda recall the day she always tried not to remember: the day her happy family’s world had fallen to pieces. Her childhood here, though poor, had been idyllic. She’d been allowed to run free through the woods, playing with the children from the nearby settlement at Nanu Lake, spending her afternoons at Bitter Root’s compound, learning to use her magic or riding her mustang, the wind blowing her hair into tangles that her mother would carefully unwind at night.

  Her father moved through these memories, often absent, but like a bright beam of sunlight when he was there.

  Until the day the fear began.

  Her mother paced the front room of the cabin, five steps one way, five steps back. Her long, dark hair had slipped from her crown of braids, her apron was stained from a day’s work. “He said he’d be home by dark. He promised. He knows how I worry when he’s late.”

  “He’ll come, Mama,” eight-year-old Manda said from her perch on the stool beside the wobbly table. “He always does. You know what Bitter Root calls him? Wandering Wood. She says he’s always been a wanderer.”

  But Manda’s mother only grew more distressed. “I have a foreboding,” she said, putting her palm over her heart and staring out the small window in the way she often did, as though she were lost inside her own mind, far from this time and place.

  Manda began to worry, too, as the hours dragged into the night and the moon sliver rose in t
he sky. It wasn’t like her papa to be this late—an hour or two, yes—but not four, then five, as the wind-up clock on the kitchen shelf ticked away.

  Eve sat in the wooden rocking chair, weeping quietly in the dark. Manda could hear the steady tap, tap of her mother’s boot on the floor. By midnight, Manda had crawled from the trundle bed and into her mother’s lap. They both needed the comfort.

  And then, at last, through the black of the night came the oncoming thunder of hooves. Manda leaped from her mother’s lap to light the lantern, but acid rose in her throat. The hoofbeats came on too fast, and they did not slow, not even as they came into the yard. And then silence, followed by a dull thud.

  Her mother screamed, “Nathaniel!” and raced outside. Manda followed, her small legs too short to move as fast as Eve.

  Manda lifted the lantern to see her father, fallen from his mount in the dirt and leaves of the front yard. His face was ashen, his body limp. Her mother crouched over him, feeling for a pulse and then brushing his dark curls from his forehead.

  “Manda,” she said sharply, “go to Bitter Root and bring her here. Tell her your father is sick. Now!”

  Manda slung herself across the horse’s back and did not waste a moment. She rode through the darkness, blinded by tears and trusting the horse, to Bitter Root’s cabin, the place the Nanu called “the Crossroads,” where the old woman was already up, waiting for her.

  “Great shift in the air,” the old woman said. “A change. I knew you come.” Manda was used to such cryptic, halting words from Bitter Root, who spoke more in riddles than full sentences in her strong accent.

  “It’s my papa,” Manda cried. “He’s sick. Please, hurry.”