by Lucia Ashta
Dark magic consumes him. When the pale man visits again and tells the Count he can’t learn any more dark magic without giving something in exchange for it, he agrees to one day do something the pale magician will ask of him.
The pale magician calls in the promise the Count made him years before. To pay his debt, the Count must arrange for the pale magician and his daughter to marry. The Count is enraged, but ultimately, relents. He can’t suffer the loss of his magic. It’s all he has, the only thing that fills him.
Clarissa is heart broken at the prospect of such a marriage. Marcelo defends her. With a sweep of magic, the Count picks up his son and slams him against the wall, knocking him unconscious. When his wife protests, the Count beats her more severely than he has before. She’s unable to attend the wedding due to the bruises and swelling that disfigure her face.
On the day before the wedding, the Count asks the pale magician to discharge Clarissa from this obligation. He’ll do anything, the Count says, if he’ll let her back out of the wedding. The pale man offers the Count a modified deal. The Count can give his soul to the dark. Once he does, if he simply asks the magician to spare Clarissa from the marriage, he will honor the request.
On the morning of the wedding, the pale man comes by the Castle of Bundry to take the Count’s soul. The Count gives it freely, the only requirement for the dark to take a soul forever. The pale magician doesn’t wait to see if the Count will ask to free Clarissa from the marriage. He knows the Count won’t. He leaves to prepare for his nuptials. He’s become even more powerful, fueled by the Count’s soul.
Tears stream down Clarissa’s face beneath her veil. Marcelo, seated in the pews, cries openly. But the Count doesn’t ask to free Clarissa from this sentence. When he gave his soul away, he lost any part of him that cared for others, even his own daughter.
For the first time since the wedding, the Count visits Clarissa at the Castle of Washur. Her swollen belly bulges. She has bruises and cuts on her face. The Count doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
A messenger from the Castle of Washur arrives at the Castle of Bundry. Marcelo runs to the door. Clarissa is dead. So is her unborn child. The clumsy, pregnant Lady fell down the stairs, the messenger says, unwilling to meet Marcelo’s eyes.
Eight-year-old Marcelo packs minimal supplies and a few small things that belonged to his sister, mounts his horse, and rides down the steep mountain. He never looks back.
One of the servants knocks on the Count’s study door, where it’s forbidden for them to enter. The Lady of Bundry is dead. The Count feels nothing at the loss of his wife.
Many years pass in which only rumors of Marcelo reach the Count of Bundry. Eventually, the Count of Washur learns that Marcelo is at Irele with the daughter of the Count of Norland. The Count of Bundry rides toward Irele. Fury builds within Marcelo’s father as he rides toward the son that shirked all familial duty and found relief from the darkness his father can’t escape. The Count of Bundry will take his son from the earth. His son is the cause of all darkness in his life.
When his father’s magic ended abruptly, Marcelo was unprepared for it to be over. He still had so many questions!
But the snippets of the Count’s life ended when his body succumbed fully to death.
There would be no more answers.
With a mixture of relief and regret, Marcelo reached over and closed his father’s eyes.
Then a frightening thought struck him: Clara! Consumed by his love for a dead sister, he’d allowed himself to forget about the woman he loved that was very much alive. Or so he hoped, with every beat of his now thumping heart.
Even before he turned around, he knew what he’d find—or, more accurately, what he wouldn’t.
Trembling with foreknowing, Marcelo looked toward the rest of the courtyard. His keen eyes swept across the moving figures, those fighting and those already fallen. I wasn’t among them. Relief swept through him.
But I was gone. Nowhere in sight.
Marcelo moved into motion immediately. He spotted Mordecai and ran toward him, hoping he knew where I was.
When he reached Mordecai, Marcelo’s breath left him in a swoosh, more forcefully than if he’d been hit in the chest by one of the stampeding black elephants.
All thoughts but the one—Clara—left him in a rush.
There, in a pool of blood, lay one of the men who’d been more of a father to him than the Count of Bundry ever was.
Chapter 51
Mordecai cradled the body of his brother, pulling his chest and head toward him while moaning an awful breaking sound. Marcelo collapsed onto the ground next to Mordecai, looking desperately for a way to help, for some way to bring life back to the man who didn’t deserve to lose it.
But the cause of death was as obvious as it was fatal. Blood bubbled out from a deep sword wound above Albacus’ heart, spreading across the front and back of his robes, drenching even his cloak.
Then, the blood stopped bubbling. It dripped from the wound mournfully.
Albacus’ heart stopped pumping blood, and his body began to shut down. There was nothing that two skilled magicians could do to save him. They knew better than to mess with life and death. There were some things that could never be recreated in the way that nature did. Life returned through dark magic was an unnatural life and one better not lived.
“I’m so terribly sorry, Mordecai,” Marcelo got out between the spasms in his chest that started the moment he’d seen Albacus in so much of his own blood.
Mordecai was too grief stricken to reply. He moved his gaze away from his brother’s face to look at Marcelo.
Marcelo had no words to relieve how much anguish he saw in Mordecai’s features. There were no words that could even touch it.
He scooted across the blood-covered ground and held Mordecai while Mordecai held Albacus. The man who was so much like a father sobbed, as did the man who was so much like his son. Together, their hearts already longed for what they’d only just lost.
“I let him get away,” Mordecai sputtered. “I couldn’t leave Albacus to die without me. I let him get away.”
Marcelo didn’t have to ask to whom Mordecai was referring. It had to be the pale-faced magician who entered the courtyard with the Count of Bundry and the young man. It was the same man his father had shown him in the mirage of his life as he died. The same man who’d stolen the Count of Bundry’s soul had now killed Albacus.
“Mordecai, did he take Clara with him?” The urgency in Marcelo’s voice reached the wise magician who knew when to prioritize life over death, even the death of his own brother.
Sharpness returned to Mordecai’s damp eyes. “No, he didn’t. He ran across the courtyard, where one of the elves shot him with an arrow. He continued out the gate, though. I assume from there he went down the mountain, but I think he’s wounded.”
Marcelo caught sight of Sir Lancelot flying around and called to him. “Look over the wall. Is there anyone going down the mountain? Do you see Clara?”
Sir Lancelot nodded tiredly but made his way to the wall as fast as he could.
“The boy’s gone too,” Mordecai said.
He was right. Marcelo couldn’t see any of the dark magicians anymore, other than his fallen father.
The battle continued, though the number of standing soldiers had diminished significantly.
I wasn’t among them.
Mordecai let loose a piercing whistle, and Sylvia abandoned her post of vigilance atop the castle and flew at rapid speed toward her master. Her doleful cries, an unearthly sound, preceded her landing, as her alert eyes took in Albacus’ lifeless body.
Immediately, Sylvia went to offer comfort to her master, but he stopped her. “Sylvia, we’ll mourn him later. Now, please fly high enough so that you can look for Clara. See if you can spot her anywhere.”
Sylvia nodded and flew upward until she appeared to diminish greatly in size. Marcelo watched her every movement, willing her to find me, willing her to find me saf
e and well, even though he knew both were out of the firedrake’s control.
Before she returned to the ground, he realized Sylvia hadn’t seen me. If a firedrake could have a sad face, Sylvia did. They’d just lost one loved one. There was a chance they might lose another.
Marcelo kissed Mordecai on the forehead and rose to leave. He took in the scene around him. There was so much blood and death, far too much of it.
Marcelo yelled out, his voice heavy, tired by senseless loss, but still, it roared with latent power. “Your masters are either dead or gone. If you leave in peace and do no more harm to any other creature here—ever—you may leave now. We won’t pursue you or plot vengeance against you. You’ve done no more than follow orders.”
There was a meaningful pause while the creatures considered Marcelo’s proposal. Some elephants and dogs limped away. They were hurt, but they’d survive. But for others, the darkness ran too deep. The dark magicians had trained them to obey through ruthless conditioning. Some would consider no alternative but to continue following their masters’ orders.
It was lamentable, as those creatures would die tonight, but Marcelo could do nothing to help them. And ultimately, death might be a blessing to these tormented beasts.
Marcelo turned toward Mordecai again. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” he said, while pulling his cloak properly into place. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone, but he needed every advantage he could get. He’d stay warm.
Sir Lancelot returned, landing on the ground a bit clumsily in a flurry of feathers. The night had been brutal for all of them. “No one descends the mountain,” Sir Lancelot reported. “There’s no sign of Clara.”
“I’m coming with you,” Mordecai said, already moving to position his brother gently on the ground.
“No, you don’t have to,” Marcelo said. “Stay with Albacus.”
“Albacus is dead.” Mordecai paused to allow the ripple of shock that came with saying those words to move through him. “My brother wouldn’t want me to sit around mourning his death while there’s a life to save.”
Marcelo couldn’t argue with that. He knew it was true.
“Robert!” Mordecai called.
Soon, Robert appeared from the other side of the courtyard, emerging between elephants, dogs, wolves, and rabbits. He was a gruesome sight, covered in blood; his sword dripped with it.
When Robert spotted Albacus on the ground, he ran. But he stopped short. His eyes were wide, shock apparent in every fast blink of his eyelids.
“Robert, I need you to take charge of the fighting and to keep my brother’s body safe,” Mordecai said. When a flicker of hope passed across Robert’s face, Mordecai said, “No, he’s dead. There’s no more hope that he’ll live. But nothing can happen to his body while we’re gone.”
“Yes, Milord,” Robert said, and it was the saddest Yes, Milord ever spoken.
“Sylvia, please help Robert. I don’t think there’s any more risk of a secondary invasion. You may stay down here and protect Albacus’ body and the rest of the soldiers.”
She cawed her understanding.
“Sir Lancelot,” Mordecai continued, “please assist as you see fit.”
“Of course,” said the pygmy.
Every creature that cared for Albacus and Mordecai wished to help. Only there was nothing they could do that would alter the finality of death.
Mordecai tightened the belt that carried his sword. “Where’s your sword?” he asked Marcelo.
“Over there.” Marcelo pointed across the courtyard.
“Why didn’t you retrieve it?”
“Because no son should have to use his sword to kill his father. It isn’t my sword anymore. I never want to touch it again.”
“Then take Albacus’ sword.” Mordecai bent down to take it from his brother.
“No, I can’t.”
“But you can. Albacus would want you to have it, most especially in an hour of need.” Mordecai closed Marcelo’s fingers around the hilt. “It’s yours now.”
Marcelo could do nothing more than nod. The shock of all that happened in the last hour was catching up with him, and soon he wouldn’t be able to function.
They needed to find me first.
Marcelo slid the sword into the sheath at his belt and turned without another word. He started toward the gate, and Mordecai followed. In silence, they descended the mountain that had protected them from the world for so long—until tonight. Tonight they’d lost enough to make up for all the previous centuries of safety.
Chapter 52
When they reached the place where the dark magicians had concealed their elephants and noticed the trail of large descending footprints, understanding dawned on them, and Mordecai let out another shrill whistle. This time, it had a particular tone to it. This time, it wasn’t meant for Sylvia.
They continued down the mountain until the two horses Mordecai had summoned reached them. Then their travels became much faster, and they soon reached the intersection of mountain and road.
Nothing.
“I can’t tell which way the young you went.”
Marcelo couldn’t either. “He’s smarter than I gave him credit for. He used a spell. I can see it here now that I look for it. He’s concealed his way. We won’t be able to track him with magic.”
Marcelo and Mordecai looked both to the left and to the right. Elephant prints led both ways. “We have to split up,” Marcelo said, reluctant to divide when I might need both their skills to save me.
But they had no choice.
“Send me a message when you find her,” Mordecai said. Marcelo nodded. A magical message should reach his mentor quickly. But it wouldn’t be quick enough for Mordecai to intervene in an emergency.
Marcelo took a right turn and continued his journey alone. Over his shoulder, he realized Mordecai hadn’t moved. When Marcelo met his wistful gaze, Mordecai said, “Please, son, be careful.”
And then Mordecai made the left turn and nudged his horse into a trot.
Thoughts of me flooded Marcelo’s mind, and he urged his horse into a gallop. While he rode, he trained alert eyes to the dark sides of the road.
Somewhere, there was a sign of me. There had to be.
Whatever it was, he’d find it. And then he’d find me.
Chapter 53
Even as hopeful as Marcelo dared to be, he didn’t think he’d get this lucky. But the signs were abundantly clear. This was where the young version of himself and I had stopped. At the very least, he was close.
Two elephants as black as the void of night were parked off the road, partially hidden behind a thick, ancient tree. And near the elephants was an entrance to a cave that stood out because of its unreflecting darkness amid the caliginous landscape. Marcelo ran toward it.
When he reached the mouth of the cave, the magic began to speak to him. The young man had forgotten to use the spell this time around. Marcelo could see the magical traces of the young man’s dark magic. He’d entered the cave here; Marcelo was certain.
But I hadn’t. My magic was light and warm. There were no signs of it here. Marcelo turned around and ran to scout the area, single-minded in his focus.
I was near. He could feel me.
Chapter 54
I’d witnessed enough pain to last me far longer than tonight, and I was eager to disengage my witch’s gaze from Marcelo’s grim memories. I knew what happened next, after Marcelo entered the cave.
At least our part of the story had a happy ending. But it wasn’t enough happiness to overshadow the great losses we’d suffered.
I retreated from Marcelo carefully. I didn’t understand exactly how my witch’s gaze worked. I wouldn’t chance hurting him. I worried I might fracture his mind if I went too fast.
So I pulled away slowly, as if I were tiptoeing away and didn’t want to get caught.
As soon as I returned to myself fully, grief hit me like a thunderous wave that set out to destroy everything in sight. The pain I experienced
was no longer Marcelo’s. It was all my own, and it threatened to drown me.
“Oh Marcelo,” I said, my tears already wetting his cloak. My shoulders shook. I felt as if I couldn’t draw proper breath.
“I know, Clara, I know,” he said, over and again.
“How will we survive this?” I asked between choked sobs.
“I have no idea. I only know that we’ll find the way. Somehow.”
He petted my head some more, waiting until the sobs that wracked my shoulders subsided, until there was only a hollow feeling within, which seemed as if it might consume me.
“Right now, we have to return to the castle. We need to help the others and check if Mordecai has returned. If he hasn’t, we’ll need to find him. You saw that he asked me to send him a message once I found you?”
I nodded against his chest.
“I sent him a message, but he hasn’t responded.”
I didn’t need to employ my witch’s gaze to sense his urgency. “Let’s go,” I said.
Marcelo huddled me into him and pointed us toward the Castle of Irele, still too far away to see.
We walked in silence, our footsteps weary. There was nothing we might say that could change any of what had come to pass.
The walk was long, but eventually, we arrived at the incline that marked the trek up the mountain. The castle loomed strong and foreboding on the mountaintop. It looked impenetrable to the unsuspecting eye, only Marcelo and I knew better.
As we started upward, dread of what we’d find strewn about the courtyard pushed down on our shoulders. We climbed the mountain weighted down.
A few hundred paces up the mountainside, Sylvia spotted us. Her wings extended, the poetic silhouette of times forgotten, against a lightening sky. The night was coming to a close as she flapped her wings and then pulled them back, delivering her into the courtyard like a cannon ball.
Moments later, a piercing whistle struck the air.