In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3

by Lisa Blackwood

  “Similar—not identical. Where a bonding chamber is designed with twelve great crystal pillars to absorb and contain the immense magic given off during bonding, this chamber was created for another purpose. This one doesn’t trap or contain magic, it repels all outside magic. The first time I touched it, when the magic Ward on the pillars examined me and found me wanting, it promptly knocked me off my feet and into the nearest wall.”

  “That doesn’t sound hopeful. How can we sabotage the Wards if it’s designed to repel all other magic? We don’t even know if it will let us near.”

  “This wardstone circle was created by the Twelve, and I believe it was designed to only allow bonded pairs to pass, since traditionally the Twelve were made up of six bonded pairs.”

  “You mean bondmates, like Sorntar and my sister? But we’re not a bonded pair.”

  “Do you remember those nights back in River’s Divide when I was first teaching you to use your magic?”

  Tilting her head at him, she dipped her chin once in ascent.

  “When I first asked you to trust me, to lower your mental shields so I could guide you the first few times, there was more to my agenda than simply teaching you magic. I was sensitizing you to my power, hoping through familiarity that your Larnkin would come to favor mine—and, oh, how well it worked. I was thrilled at how compatible our Larnkins were. It never occurred that we might actually be more than Herd Mistress and Mage. Bondmates are rarer among the santhyrians than the other Elemental races. I think it has something to do with the natural magic of my people. The lupwyn and santhyrian races are Earth and Spirit wielders. Unlike us, phoenixes, dragons, and gryphons wield fire; Larnkins that command that Element are of a more powerful kind. The stronger the Larnkin, the greater the chance it will again form the bond outside the Spirit Realm.

  “But the Members of the Twelve are a force outside of nature’s normal limitations and restrictions. Now that I know who and what we are, I know we would have been bondmates had our fate been different. Even though we are not bondmates, I think the Wards will recognize what we could have been. Together, it might let us pass.”

  “Do I detect an ‘or’ coming?”

  Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out on a laugh.

  “It will let us pass, or it will kill us. Me certainly, as it let me off with a warning last time. I doubt it will be so forgiving a second time.” Shadowdancer raised his hand to hover before the burning shield of power as he had once before. With a motion that mirrored his, Sorsha raised her hand into the same position.

  “Oh, well, if that’s all.” Sorsha wrapped her free arm around his human waist, pressed a kiss against the slope of his shoulder, and then together they pressed their outstretched hands into the pulsing energy of the Ward. On a surprised gasp, Sorsha whispered, “I couldn’t ask for a better companion at the end.”

  The gesture warmed a chilled portion of his soul. Not for the first time, he wanted to curse whatever fate had denied them even a little more time together.

  As if the Wards read his last thought, and begrudged him even a few more moments with Sorsha, the crystal pillars flared. A faint, blue spark of magic arched up from floor to ceiling on each of the surrounding pillars. Soon, other eddies of wild, turbulent magic danced between the pillars, disturbing the once-smooth surface of the wardstone’s dome. Heat washed across his skin, rising beads of sweat as the air became sweltering.

  “Brace yourself!” His shout was swallowed up by a greater power.

  A storm rushed upon them, a tide of heat and magic. His hair, lifted by an impossible breeze, whipped around his shoulders, his tail snapped against his flanks. Next to him, Sorsha braced her legs, one arm raised to protect her face. Instinct screamed for him to do the same, but he blinked against the bright lights and studied the pattern of the flickering shield. The rhythm of cascading light was slowing, calming as if whatever had driven it was exhausted. No, he realized, that wasn’t right either. The magic wasn’t weakening, it was shifting. The patch directly in front of them thinned as layers of power were pulled back into the pillars at either side.

  He grabbed Sorsha’s arm. “Now!” he yelled over the crackle of magic filling the chamber. When he lunged, Sorsha didn’t pause and bolted forward, matching him stride for stride. They hit the diminishing wall of magic at the same instant.

  The shield might have been less, but it still burned his skin and raised the hair on his body to attention. To his right, Sorsha grunted but stayed with him. After what was probably mere moments but felt much, much longer, they emerged from the fire.

  Within the chamber, fresh, cool air washed against his overheated body. Shadowdancer dragged in a deep breath, thankful he still possessed the need. After all, a soul sundered from its body wouldn’t need to breathe. A hand touched his withers, the caress light, but to his sensitized skin it felt like the warm sting of magic across his skin. He shivered, then took her hand in his, entwining their fingers.

  “Did we just live through that?” Sorsha asked, sounding genuinely doubtful.

  “Yes, I think so.” With a chuckle, he gave her fingers a squeeze. “But I’ll let you know when I’m certain of that fact.”

  “Well, if this is the afterlife, it’s smaller than I envisioned—less grand. I think I’m disappointed.”

  Sorsha’s humor sparked warmth within his soul. “It’s not completely without merit.” He stroked a finger down her cheek. The Wards still glowed with a pale bluish light and cast Sorsha’s features in the soft hues of twilight.

  She turned her face into his caress, briefly closing her eyes. Moments later she blinked them open again and cleared her throat, all business. “Now what?”

  He looked around the room. Now what, indeed. There was nothing. The space within the great wardstone circle was empty. Not even dust marred the smooth stone floor. He trotted the inside perimeter of the energy dome. They were guarding something of great importance—someone didn’t just expend this much power on a lark. He narrowed his eyes, studying the strangely smooth floor with new suspicion. “There.” He pointed it out and Sorsha followed his finger. “Notice how flat the stone floor is? It’s unnatural.”

  “If the slant of the floor is the only strange thing you’ve seen today, then I think you need to pay closer attention.”

  “That’s it.” On a hunch, he slowly cut across the room on a diagonal, and was thankful for his cautious stride when he stumbled and his front hooves disappeared up to his fetlock joint.

  “Merciful gods!” Sorsha’s panic was palpable over the distance.

  He raised his hand and gestured her to come to him. “It’s an illusion.”

  “Whoever built this place was a seriously distrustful soul.”

  “There is a sloping ramp below my feet. Ignore what your eyes tell you and trust your instincts. It’s safe enough—the slope isn’t steep. Come on. We’re running out of time. The acolytes will surely be scaling the cliff by now.”

  With a curse, Sorsha hurried to follow him. Shadowdancer turned his attention back to the terrain below his hooves. The slope angled downward in a large, easy curve. Each circular revolution he made carried him further into the roots of the temple. He increased his pace. By the tap of Sorsha’s hooves on stone, she’d hurried to match her pace to his. When he descended through the illusionary floor, torches burst to life along both sides of the ceremonial passage. Just ahead, the tunnel opened into a vast cavern.

  “What is this place?”

  “A tomb.”

  Sorsha’s gaze was locked on the first of several towering statues guarding the way. This one was of a female phoenix, her wings arched above her, a bared sword pointed to the dark ceiling high above.

  “The statues guard the soul on its way to the afterlife. This tunnel represents the soul’s journey to the new life, the long and winding way into the underworld. Once the journey is complete, the soul is ready to be reborn.”

  “And at the end of our journey?”

  “We’ll find th
e Falcon Staff. And what could need rebirth worse than a shattered Talisman?”

  “I suppose. But let’s get this over with. There’s something here I find almost—but not quite—as disturbing as the acolytes chasing us.”

  “As you wish.”

  They continued in silence for the better part of a candlemark. Shadowdancer maintained a stride’s lead the whole time. Sorsha didn’t challenge him for leadership, content to bring up the rear. Sorsha wasn’t kidding. There was something about the place, a deep sense of disquiet. Shadowdancer was so focused on locating the source of his unease that they arrived at their destination before he realized it.

  The air here was stale, far less buoyant than it had been within the wardstone circle, its mustiness a heavy coating upon his tongue. The meandering path through the giant statues ended at an unadorned pool nestled under a grotto formed by the tapering junction of two walls. Torches, situated in a crescent shape, circled the front of the pool, reflecting light far back into the grotto.

  A tiny stream, its headwaters hidden from view by one of the grotto’s many outcroppings of stone, leaked out over another ledge and dropped a short distance to the pool below. The soft, whispering sounds he’d heard earlier were louder now, seeming to emanate from the gently rippling waters.

  Exhaling a nervous, horse-like snort, he trotted up to the pool. And skidded to a halt when he pinpointed what had his senses on high alert. On closer examination, what he’d first mistook as water sparkled too much and some of the substance flowing over the small waterfall shifted to vapor before hitting the ‘water’ in the pool below.

  Closer now, the soft whispering, like a distant chant carried on the night breeze, crawled across his range of hearing. Incoherent words, murmurs, senseless tones—they sank below his skin, into his blood, muscle, and bones until his Larnkin quivered in answer. Ears straining, he cursed what the Oracle Tower had made him. If he’d been completely santhyrian, he might have made out the words.

  Sorsha stepped up from behind him, her body brushing against his. He felt her shiver. She cleared her throat in a nervous gesture. “Do you hear that?”

  “Yes.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Though I can’t make out the words. And that’s pure magic, not water in that pool.” As his eyes adjusted to the bright light swirling in the shallows, he spotted a bulky shape under the layers of spiraling magic. Power shifted, and the vapors parted. A golden wing emerged for a few moments before the mists enfolded it again.

  “We’ve found her.” A note of awe sounded in his voice even after every incredulous occurrence he’d witnessed in the last moon cycle. His hands shook. Being told by the Oracle that he and Sorsha were Members of the Twelve was one thing; actually laying eyes on one of the legendary Talismans was an entirely different experience. Equal parts fear and a heady sense of responsibility made him light-headed.

  Sorsha folded her legs under her and bowed down over the pool like she was praying. Belatedly, he realized it was a wise idea and was just sinking down next to her when she gave a little shrug.

  “Magic hasn’t killed me yet,” she whispered half under her breath and reached toward the pool.

  “Wait!” he shouted even as he made a grab at her arm. His fingers locked around her elbow. Triumph was short-lived when he saw her fingers had already vanished into the mists.

  “It’s all right. This is why we’re here, why we were born. You feel it too, don’t you?”

  Her question came as a surprise. So much had happened, he hadn’t had time to think. But yes, when he closed his eyes and just stopped thinking and felt with his soul—this felt right. Here was his fate. Here with Sorsha. No matter how it all ended, this was his fate. Sorsha was his life, the keeper of his heart. He would follow her into the next life if that was required.

  With a small nod, they both turned back to watch the shimmering pool. He reached out and waved his fingers through the magic cascading over the ledge. It landed on his hand, a cool presence against his skin for mere heartbeats before it misted away. It didn’t hurt, and he sensed no danger.

  Again, his eyes slid toward Sorsha’s at the same moment hers looked up into his.

  Now? Her lips shaped the word. He nodded. Together, they leaned forward. Sorsha came in contact with something first, the muscles of her arm flexing as if she lifted a substantial weight. He reached deeper until his cheek was almost touching the surface. His fingers encountered something smooth and cylindrical.

  Sorsha heaved her prize out of the pool. The figure of a Falcon, its wings spread in flight, came free of the mist. She rested it on the lip of the pool then shifted her grip and cradled it against her chest. The soft, broken words were clearer now. Clear enough that he could make out a very ancient language—dead for ten thousand years.

  Shadowdancer shivered. May the gods protect us. For the poor Falcon Staff cannot.

  He turned his attention to his piece of staff. A short stub of dark, polished wood balanced in his hand. Gold filigree decorated most of its length. He carefully passed it to Sorsha, then reached back into the pool again.

  Twice more he scooped pieces of the shattered staff out of a pool of its own hemorrhaging magic. While he worked, Sorsha laid out the Staff, piecing it back together. Whole, the Staff would have been near as tall as he’d been as a human. From what he could tell, all the pieces were here, but he still had no idea how they were going to destroy it.

  Sorsha’s plan had sounded logical before he’d laid eyes on the Staff. Now, with its pitiful, broken pleas, he couldn’t bring himself to harm the staff, even if he had known how.

  “Perhaps we can still get her to the Oracle?” Doubt clouded Sorsha’s expression.

  “The acolytes will be flooding into the temple above us, or they may have reached the wardstone circle by now. Either way, they will be blocking our only means of escape.”

  “What if I summoned an archway to the Wild Path and we went through it with the Staff? I know the Oracle expressly ordered us not to use the Path, for Wardlens haunt that grey world, but can the chance of being caught by those beasts be any worse than the certainty of having an acolyte feed on us if we stay here?”

  Sorsha had a point.

  “No. Too dangerous. Unstable.”

  He and Sorsha both jumped at the startling invasion of another’s mind.

  “Wardlen belong to Trensler’s Master now. He feeds there.”

  With growing hope, he realized it was the Staff speaking to them. Perhaps, even shattered, she could still offer them aid.

  “Hunters come.”

  “The acolytes? We know they’re coming, but where can we go?”

  “Go now.”

  The shimmering non-water swirled up and over the banks of the pool, turning entirely to mist. Growing and spreading, it flowed out over the floor, swirling around their hooves and up their legs before it continued its determined march toward one dark section of wall. There it crawled up the stone and bled into whatever fissures, cracks, and fault lines it could find. With a crack like thunder, a bright flash blinded Shadowdancer. He blinked spots from his eyes and turned to study what the magic had done. A section of wall was gone. Vaporized. As he watched, more of the mist flowed into that spot.

  Shadowdancer glanced away before he could be blinded a second time.

  “Follow.”

  The word crawled into his brain, into his very soul, undeniable and wholly inflexible in its simple command. His Larnkin stirred awake, forcing him into motion. Sorsha was moving as well, and by her shocked expression, she was no more in command of her movements than he was.

  He shrugged off his pack, opened the flap, and upended all their supplies. Sorsha hurried to his side and shoved pieces of the staff into the pack. “If I was doing this on my own, I’m sure I’d think this was a good idea.”

  “I had no idea one of the Talismans, especially damaged as this one is, would be capable of commanding us so inescapably.”

  “I’m not sure what I find more frightening
. Being possessed, or being eaten by Trensler’s minions.”

  “The acolytes,” Shadowdancer replied in a shaky chuckle.

  “Yes, but this still counts as one of the least enjoyable times of my life.”

  “Too slow.”

  More power erupted out of the pool, shimmering in the air above their heads. The pieces of the Staff rattled together in the pack. Sorsha shouted in alarm as the golden falcon in her arms spread its wings. By the abject terror on her face, she would have dropped it if she’d been able. Before he could wonder what the Staff was doing, his Larnkin shifted within him, rising to the surface of his skin. Pale eddies of magic danced along his skin, floating away from him to join the power burning above his head. Another glance at Sorsha confirmed she was experiencing the same strange phenomenon. For one soul-chilling moment, he thought the power was going to devour them as surely as the acolytes would.

  Above his head the power shimmered, gathering like a thunderhead on a sweltering, summer evening. His breath came in pants. Instinctively, he wanted to shift closer to Sorsha, protect her in whatever small way he could, but his hooves might as well have been rooted into the stone for all the motion the Staff allowed him. Sorsha’s Larnkin was expending power as swiftly as his.

  The burning magic above their heads spiraled in upon itself, becoming denser with each beat of his heart. The tighter it contracted, the brighter it shimmered until it resembled a fiery, miniature sun. A pulse began in the magic and he blinked back tears.

  The tight ball convulsed, then it shifted, spearing toward the chamber’s far back wall where the earlier magic had started to excavate a tunnel. Magic hit stone with a resounding rumble and light sizzled across his field of vision as the world exploded with colors.

  Underneath his hooves the ground bucked, shifting and rolling with a fierce earth tremor. Bits of ceiling and shards of the walls crumbled as he watched. Death was coming for them. He shouted to Sorsha. She screamed something back to him, but he couldn’t hear it over the sounds of molten magic and fracturing bedrock.