The Revealed (The Lakewood Series Book 2)

by Sarah Kleck

  Excellent, my inner voice praised me. Now let the magic flow.

  I slowly opened my eyes, with my chest arced forward. I had spread my arms outward with an inviting gesture, and a golden-green light shone around my hands, very delicately. My glance shifted from myself to the stream. Indeed, the water flowed smoothly uphill.

  What a sight! I closed my eyes in a trance-like state. I felt the water again as if I were touching it. Could I make it flow faster? I could. The water flowed wildly and irresistibly against its proper direction. Fast. Even faster. The magic pulsed within my cells, and I directed it at the water and . . . splash!

  A six-foot tower of ice-cold spring water poured over me in one grand wave. I forgot to breathe for a moment, then gasped for air, exclaiming, “What the . . . ?”

  Was that giggling behind the trees?

  Okay, so I could affect water by steering it in another direction. What else could I do with my newfound abilities?

  I tried to remember what I had felt when I gave my magic free course. I had felt the water’s direction, that much was certain. Feeling the direction of the flow was necessary to change its movement. What else had I felt? Its wetness. But was that good for anything? Water happens to be wet. So?

  I thought for a moment. Then I had an idea, remembering my physics lessons from grade six. I’d never been close with Mr. Spennen, my teacher in those days. Physics had been an annoyance—too many numbers for my taste—but the topic of water had fascinated me for reasons I only now understood. On that test I got my one and only perfect mark in physics, which I proudly presented to Zara at home. As far as I could remember, water existed in the world in three material states: solid, liquid, and gaseous. Wet, liquid water could be transformed from its original state into other states by changing its temperature. Didn’t I also feel the water’s temperature? Water freezes at temperatures below 32 degrees and becomes ice. When raised above 212 degrees, it evaporates. I closed my eyes to focus. Oh yes! Then there also was sublimation, when ice turns straight into steam, and resublimation, when steam freezes into ice without becoming a liquid in between. That’s how hoarfrost forms.

  Okay, let’s do it.

  I closed my eyes again and let the magic flow through me. I felt the water, flowing, wet, cool. Cool—that’s what I had to focus on.

  Cool . . . cooler . . . cold.

  I breathed in deeply and concentrated my magic on the water’s coldness.

  Cold . . . icy . . .

  The splashing became quieter and finally fell silent.

  Ice . . .

  When I opened my eyes again, I was looking at a frozen stream. The water had turned to ice in the middle of its flow.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ice, steam, water, steam, boiling water, steam, ice, cold water—I couldn’t get enough of it. I practiced tirelessly as I walked along the stream. Practicing doesn’t quite hit the mark—it was a riot testing my new skills, and even in this short time I had found a few ways to maximize my magic. For example, the angle of my palms really did make a difference. They gave direction to the magic’s action. The more precisely I aimed my fingertips at the object I wished to affect, the more accurately the effect found its mark. I discovered that closing my eyes was unnecessary. Watching how I could make an entire stream freeze was the icing on the cake. However, I didn’t want to just affect a small area with my magic; I wanted to hit large areas as well, and closing my eyes helped me feel a larger area as a whole because otherwise I’d rely too much on my vision. In short, it was much easier to rely on feeling if one could not see. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry already knew that.

  After a while, I decided to broaden my experiments, so I turned my attention to a green blade of grass. I made it freeze without much effort, but the hidden nymphs, who had accompanied me behind the trees, were horrified.

  “Now, now,” I calmed down the peaceful creatures when they reacted with an outraged cry to my experiment with the blade of grass. I understood them well because I had sensed their sacred relationship with nature from the time I’d left the cave.

  I immediately awoke the blade of grass back to life by liquefying its frozen moisture.

  With every step I took—down into the valley, up a gentle slope, and then across the island—I came closer to Jared. I would reach him soon. I’d be with him and would . . . well, would what? I suddenly realized I still had no plan for freeing Jared from Morgana’s clutches. Sure, I had more abilities than I’d have ever dreamed of before, but I was still not certain I could take on Morgana. At least not alone. I’d experienced what that witch was capable of, what she was willing to do. Not to mention her army of damnati, who’d love to see me bleed and beg. The thought brought a defiant smile to my face. I may not be equal to Morgana, but her rabble of stinking, scarfaced monsters . . . I couldn’t wait to deal with them. I just couldn’t wait.

  At some point, I realized the island was changing with every step I came closer to Morgana. The sky alerted me first. A moment before, the sun had shone from a clear blue sky, but now dark clouds drew up, covering the forest in a strange murky veil. I continued and noticed that the trees, bushes, and plants looked increasingly stressed. The grass shriveled, the leaves wilted, and the umbrella-sized flowers and mushrooms spread a rotten, syrupy odor. Soon I was surrounded by bare branches and gnarled tree stumps. The nymphs no longer followed me. Pointed, thorny branches lent Avalon, only a moment ago full of life and color, an atmosphere of dreary doom. All life had escaped. The colors had faded. A fog drew up. It was like walking through a nocturnal cemetery. Blue smoke surrounded me. The forest was dead. Nature was decaying.

  The animals and small magical creatures also acted in stranger and stranger ways. I watched two of the usually so-cute hedgehog-squirrels. They seemed sick and had bloodshot eyes and straggly, scruffy fur. They quarreled over an acorn. First, there was a malicious screaming match, and then they began fighting, trying to scratch each other’s eyes out in a blind fury, constantly snapping straight at their opponents’ throats.

  “Hey!” I angrily shouted and extended my hand at the little animals to end the fight. One of them turned, hissed at me, and bit my finger.

  “Ow!”

  I pulled back my hand. The creature pounced upon the other and slit open its belly. Entrails burst out of the wound, thick and red. I gagged.

  Then two birds clashed midflight and plunged their talons into each other’s dull feathers. Their eyes narrowed as they pecked at each other with their sharp beaks.

  What was happening? These peaceful animals had turned into greedy, deadly monsters, attempting to kill each other in the most gruesome ways.

  She brings death to all living beings. Where love reigns, she fans hatred. She lays waste everything pure, and everything beautiful she turns ugly. Irvin’s words rang in my head. I angrily scrunched my eyes. Morgana was poisoning the entire island with her presence.

  Suddenly, I heard cruel, rasping laughter from behind a mighty, black, knotted oak tree. I whirled around. This could only mean one thing: damnati. Hatred welled up inside me—it was time to put my abilities to the test. I snuck closer. What I saw made me freeze.

  There were three of them. Two had grabbed a nymph by the arms, while the third tore her dress from her body. She was trembling with fear. One of them licked her cheek. Panic and disgust were written into the poor creature’s face. She stared at me with pleading eyes while I watched one of the three scarfaces try to press between her legs. He laughed and licked his sore-covered lips. The nymph struggled with all her strength, but the delicate creature was powerless against the three monsters. I had to step in. Now! I walked up to them without saying a word, causing them to whirl about, momentarily startled. But once they saw me, they broke out laughing, as if I couldn’t do a thing to stop them.

  I said nothing and just stared at the hideous creatures. Didn’t these three boneheads wonder what I—in their eyes an ordinary human—was doing in Avalon? Did they know who I was?

  “Just wait y
our turn, slut,” the smallest said and pulled on the nymph’s arm. “You’ll get your fun, too, as soon as we’re done with her.”

  I remained where I was and said nothing.

  Again, rasping laughter.

  Then another said, “You really want it bad, huh? Well, maybe we can take care of you right away.”

  Two of the three scarfaces approached while the third held the nymph by her hair. I looked at my fingernails and tried to appear as bored as possible—even though I was boiling inside with rage and hatred at the sight of the nymph in her tattered dress.

  “You’re already dead, bitch. You’re just too stupid to get that,” the first one said in a smug tone.

  I’d soon wipe that dumb grin off his face.

  I breathed in heavily.

  “Water makes up sixty percent of the human body,” I finally said, feeling very satisfied with the relaxed, scholarly tone of my voice. Then I looked straight at the damnati. They seemed surprised.

  “Let’s see what it’s like with your rotting bodies.” I raised my hands, sensed the stinking, wobbly stew pervading these creatures, let my magic flow, and brought them to a boil with a single wink. The largest of them managed a short scream, but the other two burst immediately, covering the ground in their stinking, rotting entrails. Except for a beastly smelling mash, nothing remained. I took a moment to enjoy the view and, especially, the sensation of power and magic.

  Then I blinked, straightened my shoulders, and went to the nymph lying on the ground, who looked at me with shy awe. I extended my hand and helped her up.

  “Don’t be afraid,” I said, while gently brushing over her white hair.

  “Mistress,” was all she uttered before a tear ran down her cheek.

  “Go to your sisters,” I said.

  I continued on my way without resting. I was in top physical shape and only felt mentally drained after I exerted myself experimenting with my new powers. I needed time to get used to them. Still, I grew confident after my encounter with the damnati. It had been child’s play. How many would I be able to kill in one go? How many were there? Had Morgana brought them all to Avalon? Was I strong enough to take on Morgana and the damnati by myself? Jared was still alive; I clearly felt it. But . . . how long would he be able to last?

  The forest turned gloomier. It couldn’t be far now.

  CHAPTER 10

  A cry of pain and helplessness pierced the silence. I knew that voice; it was the man I loved. Sick with horror, I crawled silently on my belly through mud and shrubs to a clearing—toward Jared’s piercing shriek.

  It was already dusk, the sky darkened by blue-gray smoke, and turning into night when I sought cover in a thorny thicket, a good hiding spot. The thicket was at the edge of the clearing, and the densely ingrown sharp twigs allowed me to effortlessly spy on the damnatus camp.

  I carefully peered through the decaying foliage and immediately froze. This wasn’t a simple clearing, as I had first thought. No, I was at the edge of a giant slashed and burned area. A lump formed in my throat. They’d burned everything down, trees, shrubs, grasses, flowers—leveled them entirely. Not satisfied with everything near Morgana rotting, no, they had to annihilate what had remained. The sight scorched my soul and was heavy to bear. Nothing but black, charred earth as far as the eye could see. Avalon was such a wonderful place—it was a crime to destroy it.

  They had set up a tent city, similar to one in a Roman siege. I tried to count the tents, but there were too many. How many damnati? Hundreds? Thousands, even?

  I leaned farther forward. Black clouds rose over the clearing, blocking my sight. I clasped my hand over my mouth. I knew I couldn’t deeply inhale this smoke—a cough would betray my presence. The area stank of charred wood, singed fur, and carbonized fat. I held my breath while I crawled closer. I made out coarse, raspy shouts through the dense smoke. I dared inch slightly farther. Four damnati sat drinking and swearing around a fire. They were roasting a skewered animal. Judging from its size, it was probably one of the fluffy rabbit-cats. They pulled the charred animal from the fire to quarrel over the best parts. Revolting.

  I looked around and discovered three more fires near the edge of the clearing, with four damnati sitting around each—one for every direction of the compass. They must have been the camp guards, as they were heavily armed with knives and spears, though they were inattentive and totally drunk. It wouldn’t be a problem to wipe them out. I just had to be fast enough for the other guards not to sound the alarm.

  Somewhat farther back I saw something like a birdcage suspended in the air. It had been fastened to a low-hanging branch of a half-charred tree. Three pixies cowered inside, pressed closely together, their faces distorted with mortal fear. A damnatus standing below the cage amused himself, tormenting the little creatures by poking a pointed stick, which he occasionally heated in the fire, through the bars. He screeched with joy over the pixies’ panicked escape attempts, which attracted another damnatus who didn’t want to miss out on the fun. This one had the glorious idea of lowering the metal cage to hold it directly over the fire.

  “Look at ’em hop,” he croaked excitedly, as he watched the hapless attempts the pixies made to stay off the metal floor as it became hotter, while the other damnatus poked at them with the sharp stick he jammed between the metal rods.

  “Got ’im!” the scarface finally called, pointing to the end of the stick from which a limp pixie dangled.

  Further into the tent city, a shouting mass gathered around two scarfaces trying to beat each other’s skulls in. Their sore- and puss-covered naked torsos were smeared with blood. One went down after a kick but tossed a handful of dirt into the other’s face. Blinded for a moment, the second one stumbled into the crowd of onlookers but was thrust back into the ring, where his opponent waited with a club. The cheering and shouting bystanders egged them on. Such disgusting, shifty, and cruel creatures. When they couldn’t find anyone else to torment, they turned on each other. This same scene was playing out in several places throughout the camp. Their ordinary pastime. All the better, I thought. Less work for me if they do each other in.

  As I edged forward a little more, I heard a roar. I looked around and caught sight of the massive body of a behemoth captured under a coarse net of thick rope. Three spears were jammed into its armored body. Again, the hippopotamus-like creature roared when a fourth spear hit its mark and remained stuck in the animal’s neck.

  “Bull’s-eye,” a cloaked figure congratulated himself after inflicting the fatal wound. The massive creature collapsed, panting. A fountain of blood shot from its neck and spilled onto the ground. After a final deep breath, it closed its eyes. The damnati removed the net and went to work with curved butcher’s knives. I couldn’t bear the sight and turned away.

  Focus, I admonished myself. It made no sense to charge ahead now and kill the damnati. The longer I stayed unnoticed, the better. If you want to kill a snake, chop its head off. Morgana was my target—she was the source of all this evil. But I had to get deeper inside the camp.

  It was difficult to estimate how many damnati there were. Probably at least a thousand. Morgana had gathered an army around her.

  I gave up my cover and silently crept by the guards. The four drunks were so busy brawling over their supper that they probably wouldn’t have noticed if I’d passed them with a marching band. Still, I tried to be as silent as possible, slipping from shadow to shadow.

  I hopped over a puddle and pressed against the nearest tent when two damnati came toward me. They’d have discovered me if they’d been a little more attentive, but these two hideous monsters felt so safe and untouchable they didn’t look left or right while walking. They passed so close that their stench nearly seared my nostrils. Their skin was gray and shriveled, almost like leather; their lips were practically nonexistent; and their noses were snake-like slots in their faces. Their pitch-black eyes were sunk deep into their skulls. There was nothing human about them. These two must have been part of Morg
ana’s following for some time. I held my breath, afraid of throwing up. Damnati stench pervaded the entire camp—sometimes more, sometimes less, but always present. Having nothing else, I pulled my shirt over my nose and snuck on.

  The scene was pretty much the same throughout the tent city. Here, a few completely wasted damnati were lying about, there, a few others. They were often trying to slit each other’s throats in front of a howling crowd. Spread all through the camp were nets and cages where the magical inhabitants of Avalon wasted away, serving only as food or amusement for these sore-covered miscreants. In this, the damnati’s inventiveness knew no bounds. Snares, sticks, knives, spears, or fire—anything these monsters got into their hands suited them to torture and torment these poor creatures.

  Pixies, goblins, behemoths, and nymphs were victimized. I spotted a kelpie in a basin filled with murky water. A dozen arrows were stuck in its massive horse head. To perfect the humiliation of this imposing creature, three damnati stood at the edge of the basin and urinated on its face.

  A few feet away, another cloaked figure dumped four rat-sized, green-skinned goblins out of a cage into a bulging cauldron. Thick clouds of white steam rose from it. The impish creatures’ screams died in a gurgle.

  I crept on until I heard whimpering. I turned. Golden eyes flashed behind cage bars. I quietly tiptoed over to the unguarded cage. A barghest was lying, mewing, in a huge puddle of blood. He was only half the size of the one who had saved me—almost a cub. I felt intense pain at the sight. When I reached through the bars and stroked his soft fur, I felt something wet and warm. My hand was covered in blood.

  “What have they done to you?” I quietly asked.

  The little barghest pressed his muzzle against my palm and exhaled with a rattle. Then he closed his eyes—dead. My eyes overflowed with tears. I continued to stroke the lifeless head and was hardly able to walk away. I became enraged. I clenched my teeth and squeezed my fists.