Crimson Fury (Magic of Isskasala Book 2)

by Mirren Hogan

  He looked down and saw his body lying still on his bed, face turned upward. Surely if he were dreaming, he’d be twitching? He thought of Adina and instantly found himself floating above her. She slept with a hand tucked under her cheek, a slight smile on her lips. She shifted her shoulders and her face moved. For a second he thought she’d wake and see him, but her head rolled back, and she started to snore.

  Smirking, he made himself move away from her, toward the window. He felt the tether tying him to his body and knew he wasn’t dreaming. If he squinted, he could make out a fine tendril of magic, no thicker than a hair, keeping him grounded.

  He hated that Harshal might be right; he had no control over when he drifted, or any other aspect of his magic. At least he could control where he went.

  Where was that, though? He’d seen enough of the sorcerers and doubted they’d be doing anything worth spying on this late at night. Or was it early morning? The guild was silent as he slipped into the dimly-lit corridor. He slipped toward the stairs and up them, although he knew the walls couldn’t restrict him.

  It took him a few moments to realise that he was heading toward the pens. He had no love for the place, but his curiosity drew him toward it.

  Like the rest of the guild, the pens were quiet. To his surprise he found only a few people left sleeping in the men’s side. The women’s side was completely empty and had already been returned to its previous use: a residence for a sorcerer. The man wasn’t one Darai knew, but he slept fitfully in a large bed approximately where Adina’s pallet had been. Could he kill the man in his sleep? He dismissed the idea. He was vulnerable out of his body, drifting like this. If he was honest with himself, he was vulnerable in his body as well. Also, the idea of killing a man, even a sorcerer, wasn’t palatable to him.

  He moved across the room and passed through the wall into the children’s pen. Again, there were only a few left, magic glowing softly on their sleeping forms. A female sorcerer slept to either side of them, close enough to help if needed.

  Curled up on top of the blankets was the child Darai had come to find; the boy who had undergone the removal before Adina. There was no hint of magic on his body, just peaceful sleep, accompanied by the occasional suck on the two fingers he had pressed into his mouth.

  He was alive, and clearly fine. That he was still here might be attributed to the lateness of the hour once the removal was finished. That and the death of Feko. The kid had apparently adored him, which just went to show how naïve children were. Did he know Feko was gone? Had he cried?

  Darai shook his head. None of those answers would help him now. Feko was dead because the sorcerers had been too ignorant of magic to understand the removal process, or anticipate what would be needed to make it happen smoothly. This kid was just lucky he couldn’t use the magic himself.

  Just as he was thinking that, the boy opened his eyes a crack and stared up toward Darai. He squinted and blinked slowly.

  Darai was certain the boy couldn’t see him, but he froze anyway, trying to appear unthreatening and inconspicuous. It wasn’t easy to manage when he was floating just below the ceiling. He tried to hold his breath, but remembered he didn’t need to breathe while he drifted. Back on his bed, his body was probably going through all of these actions for him.

  The boy shook his head and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and jumped off the bed. For a moment, Darai thought he would raise the alarm. Instead the boy ran off toward the latrine, quickly followed by the sound of him relieving himself.

  Darai took the opportunity to pass through the ceiling and out into the night air. A strong wind blew, but he hardly felt it. Rather, he saw the tops of trees blown almost sideways, trunks shuddering to hold up against the onslaught. Leaves were torn from branches and tossed about, scattered and thrown onto the streets and into the lake. It must be later in the year than Darai had realised. Winters in Dassane were relatively mild, but they were still cold. He should be home, helping collect wood for the fire, bringing home meat to be salted, not floating above a city that treated him like a thief.

  Just as he was about to return to his body, his eyes found the bastion. Was the queen still there? Or the magula? He shouldn’t care, but he found himself heading toward it.

  The room was the same as he’d remembered, but now he had the time to really look at it. The first time he’d spirit drifted he’d been too startled and scared to take much in.

  A fire lay low in a hearth to the side of the room, little more than glowing embers this late at night.

  Darai floated over to it and held out his hands. Where he should have felt a little warmth, he felt nothing. He moved closer, until he was almost touching the embers, but still it was cold. Tentatively, he reached out to touch a piece of charred wood. His hand passed right through it. Snorting to himself, he drew back his arm. Of course, he couldn’t feel the fire, he was only here in part.

  Would his body feel anything he did while spirit drifting? He was tempted to plunge his hand deeper into the embers, but the idea of returning to find himself badly burnt was enough for him to dismiss the thought. It’d only encourage the sorcerers to try to keep him at the guild for longer. Besides, it’d hurt like the wrath of the hells. He might not be the smartest man in Dassane, but he wasn’t that foolish.

  He managed to swivel, so he was almost standing on the thick carpet covering the floor. He didn’t need to walk, but it felt more natural than floating with his stomach parallel to the floor. After a few tries he managed to glide forward without moving his feet. It felt so odd he soon gave up and walked through the air. There was no one to seem him do it anyway, so what did it matter?

  After stopping and starting several times, he managed to move smoothly across the room and through the closed door. This room too, was empty. A large wooden bed sat in the centre, looking as though no one had slept there in a while. The hearth in here was dark and cold. The stones showed evidence of past use, but it looked to have been a while since the last fire. Perhaps this inner room was warm enough in summer and autumn not to warrant a fire. Without his physical body, he was unable to discern the temperature at all. It certainly didn’t look warm. In fact it looked cold and un-lived in.

  Perhaps he had the wrong room. He thought back to that first spirit drift and where he’d seen the queen. He was certain it was that outside room, the one he’d just left. He returned to it now and looked around. On the opposite side was another door. He slid through it and found himself in a corridor. Perhaps the queen simply slept elsewhere. Perhaps she was still trying to conceive that all-important heir for Dassane’s king. The man should be grateful for having five daughters and make one of those his heir. Kalil had had several ruling queens, or so he’d been told. Of course, they were far from Kalil.

  He passed through another door, several feet away. Judging by its ostentatious opulence, this had to be the king’s room. The outer room was twice the size of the queen’s and boasted a huge, intricately carved table made of glistening wood. The guild assembly could fit around it twice, and still leave room.

  On the opposite side was a sitting area, with three lounges of equal length arrayed around a fire which burned with more vigour than the one in the queen’s hearth. On a table in the centre of the lounges sat several fat books and a tray of half-eaten food, as well as two plates and two crystal glasses still half-full of shining wine. Evidently the king had entertained tonight.

  Feeling like the worst kind of voyeur, Darai stuck just his head and shoulders through the thick wooden door into the king’s sleeping chamber. He only stood looking for long enough to see that the young woman the king had in company tonight was indeed the queen. Apparently, they hadn’t given up on trying to make an heir.

  Darai drew his head back and shrugged silently to himself. It was none of anyone’s business, especially his. Still, his curiosity about the whereabouts of the girl was piqued. What had the magula done to her? Was she even still alive? If the magula had killed her, would word have gotten out?
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br />   He almost laughed aloud at himself. The whole of Dassane might know of her death, but it was unlikely that anyone would have told him. He was nothing to the sorcerers and a figure of suspicion to the rest of the city. Gods, they could have held an elaborate funeral and he wouldn’t have heard of it. Perhaps he was foolish after all, to even be concerned about the girl.

  Shaking his head, Darai glided out of the king’s rooms and through the corridor. He wasn’t headed in any particular direction, he just knew he’d probably never be here again, so why not have a look around?

  It didn’t take him long to discover that the bastion was just an over-sized building, decorated in traditional Dassane style, and housing a large number of well-fed looking sycophants and servants. In both look and residents, it was remarkably similar to the guild hall. Both were just monuments to power and bad taste, funded by gold which could have fed the street urchins of the city for a generation.

  Sickened, Darai tugged on the bond, wanting to be back in his body and away from these people. For a long moment, nothing happened. He stayed put in an empty corridor, staring at the thin crimson line of magic as it passed through a solid wall. Just as he was about to panic, he felt a massive tug and he was flung out into the night.

  With dizzying speed, he hurtled through the pre-dawn darkness and slammed into his body with such force it left him breathless.

  CHAPTER 26

  “You’re still leaving?” Adina stood looking at Darai, hands on her hips. She tried to glower but wasn’t sure she was pulling it off. He didn’t seem even slightly perturbed. Instead, he sat on his bed looking at her, his chin set in what she now knew was his determined expression. He wasn’t quite pulling that off either. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers, and his lips looked pensive, like he was still trying to convince himself.

  “Yes, why not? You know how I feel about these people,” he replied.

  She took a breath before saying, “I know you don’t want to hear this, but they’re your people too now.”

  His expression turned to one of disbelief and anger. Before he could reply, she held up a hand.

  “Like I said, you don’t want to hear it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. They have magic, so do we. They’re willing to teach us how to use it, as best they can.”

  She ignored his snort and continued, “All we need is to be willing to learn. Or at least try.” Maybe she wasn’t being entirely fair. He’d had it worse than she had, although they’d both almost lost their lives. The collectors who had found her had explained about the magic she’d absorbed and that they’d remove her from her cocoon of magic. Granted, they told her little more than that, but Darai had told her that he’d seen a girl die because his collectors hadn’t told them a thing. It was little wonder he didn’t trust the guild; they’d fed him a steady diet of ignorance and expected his gratitude, or at least understanding, in return.

  If it wasn’t for Tabia and Harshal, she might well feel the same way about the guild. However, they’d shown her that sorcerers were merely human, trying to do their best with people they’d brought here to save. True, their best had been hit and miss, but they weren’t malicious people.

  “I might try,” he said slowly, “if I didn’t think I’d end up dead.”

  “Do you think that can’t happen if you leave?” she blurted out. Now that she’d started, she might as well say her piece. If he still wanted to go, then at least she knew she’d done all she could to keep him here.

  “Magic is dangerous, we both know that. Magic can kill people, tear them apart and make them something terrible.” Although she hadn’t seen the magula, the description was scary enough to make her shiver.

  “Magic can also heal people and do amazing things, like your spirit drifting, but Harshal was right, you can’t control it. If you don’t learn to control it then it might control you. You may lose the chance to learn to make the magic do what you want. Instead, it might kill you. Or you might kill someone else. Can you live with that?

  “I’ll tell you one thing I’m sure about. You might leave and think you’re done with magic, but it’s not done with you. You’ll spirit drift again, whether or not you want to. You might be anywhere, and your body will be left there alone. What if the magula comes back and decides it can get magic through your body while it’s lying there?”

  She was speaking quickly now, not giving him a chance to reply. She watched his expression change as she spoke, but it wasn’t becoming one of acceptance or agreement. Rather, the more she spoke, the more determined he seemed. This wasn’t going how she’d planned.

  She tried a different tactic. “And if you leave, I’ll miss you.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. She hoped he might reply, but instead he looked away.

  She reached for his hand and squeezed it lightly. “Please stay,” she said softly. “I need you here. You understand me like no one else does. We’ve been through all of this together. I don’t want to do this on my own.”

  He turned back slowly, eyes searching hers. “Then come with me,” he said. “We’ll learn together. We can go somewhere, it doesn’t have to be home. We can go to Iljosk or Kalil; or Vanmala. Just us. No one needs to bother us or tell us what to do. We can go where we want and do whatever we like. I can hunt and feed us.”

  He looked so earnest it almost broke her heart. She understood in that moment the full extent of his feelings for her. He cared as deeply for her as she’d come to feel for him. Their shared experience had created a bond, stronger than any they’d have formed had they met under better circumstances.

  She chose her next words carefully. “I want that and we can have that.” She watched hope rise in his eyes. “But not until we’ve learned to channel our magic. I won’t risk other people out there. I can’t. I won’t risk myself and I certainly won’t risk hurting you.”

  And yet she was; she saw that clearly on his face. He slid his hand from hers and stepped back.

  “So, you won’t come with me?” he asked.

  “I can’t.”

  “I can’t stay.” His words sounded painfully final. Where before he’d seemed uncertain, now he looked decided. “I’m sorry that you feel you have to. These people will probably end up killing you, if they don’t kill themselves first. I won’t cry for them when they do.”

  “Darai . . . ” She reached out, her fingers resting lightly on his arm. “You could try—”

  “No. I’m done trying. I’m done with these people and if you won’t leave, I suppose I’m done with you too.”

  She drew her hand back, stunned at the ice in his voice. If he’d struck her it might have hurt less. Maybe she’d been wrong; he didn’t care about her after all.

  “Fine.” She moved away from him, toward the window which overlooked a courtyard. In the centre was a single tree, surrounded by stone benches. People walked past the tree, but no one stopped to sit or admire its turning leaves. It was alone.

  When she turned back to the room, she realised so was she.

  ***

  Darai stalked away, moving like the animals he’d once hunted, carefully and with purpose. He didn’t want to be noticed, but he wanted to be gone from the guild hall before another hour passed. He half-hoped Adina would run after him, but he resisted the urge to look back. If she was standing in the corridor, his resolve might falter, and he couldn’t let that happen. He’d made up his mind and now he was going to follow through, whatever the cost.

  He’d miss her, and didn’t mind admitting the fact to himself, but their lives were set on different paths now. He was disappointed at the choice she’d made, but it was hers to make. He wished he thought her a fool, or naïve for staying, but in the back of his mind, he understood her reasons. He’d never admit it, but she had a point about keeping other people safe. He might learn to use magic, but he’d teach it to himself. He’d find a quiet, isolated place and practice. That way, no one but him would get hurt. Maybe he’d return some day and show her he hadn’t needed help after
all.

  Nodding to himself, he reached the front entrance to the hall and stepped out into the sunshine, with nothing in his possession but the clothes he wore. Having been supplied by the guild, they were sturdy and would last him for a while. At some point, he’d need new ones, but he’d work on that later.

  The gods had either blessed or cursed him, because as he walked the streets of Dassane, he realised it was market day. The crowds were thick and pressed in on him from all sides, but he could blend in more easily. If the guild tried to look for him, they’d have a harder time of it. It did slow his progress to the gate though, forcing him to be patient and step around people and animals as he went. He narrowly avoided stepping in a pile of dung, and grimaced.

  He couldn’t comprehend the attraction of living in a city. The people, the smells, the noise; they overwhelmed his senses and made him want to run. If Dassane had been built on a river rather than a lake, he’d leap into the water and take his chances with the current. At least the water would be clean.

  The sun was almost in the middle of the sky when he ducked around a man whipping a stubborn donkey and reached the city gates.

  Like everything in Dassane, they were large and ornate, but they were also functional. Designed to close quickly, they stood several feet taller than him and were at least a handspan thick. The city might have been designed to look beautiful, but it was also virtually impregnable. Not that anyone would attack a city defended by sorcerers. No, it’d be far easier to poison their water supply.

  Grimacing at such a blood-thirsty thought, Darai hurried through the gates. He held his breath, but the guards posted on either side gave him only a quick, disinterested glance. They might have been dressed in the uniform of the king’s guard, and armed to the teeth, but to Darai they looked bored. Guard duty undoubtedly came a distant second to actually fighting and defending the city and the king. Still, they looked as though they ate well.