Before I retire for the night, I gather up three of our daily-use glowstones, replenish their store of magic, and carry them up the ladder to tuck into my own daypack. Standing there in the magic-brightened cocoon of the loft, the house empty below me and charms and wards in my hand, I can no longer avoid the why of what I’m doing.
I don’t believe Stormwind will come back. Regardless of her innocence or guilt, Blackflame will not allow the possibility of losing.
There’s so much I don’t know, but this much is certain to me: Stormwind is gone. Without someone outside of the High Council to break her free, she’ll never return.
The only question left is whether I pursue her or follow her instructions to remain here, living alone and teaching myself. And when I can bear the isolation no more, will I go in search of a family I don’t know, and from whom I’ll always have to keep my talent a secret? How will I live with myself, knowing the choices I’ve made?
I curl up on my pallet, staring at the darkness until I slip into a dreamless sleep.
I spend the following day improving my string of wards and collecting dead wood from the forest. With our harvest already in, there’s little else to worry me other than caring for the animals. I find myself checking the mirror regularly as the day progresses, but no matter how often I look, it offers me nothing more than my own reflection.
As used to solitude as I thought I’d become, the silence left behind in Stormwind’s wake feels heavy and smothering. My movements sound overloud in the small confines of the cottage; the walls seem a little too close together. It’s funny how a home I considered cozy and comforting has so quickly become an eerie shell, made so only by the departure of a friend.
By the time I slide under my blankets, I know Stormwind should have reached the High Council. Once she was safe in her own room and had set her wards, she should have contacted me. But the mirror has been quiet all evening long. I lie on my side in the darkness, watching the pale blur of my reflection and trying not to worry.
But I have run out of excuses for why, even now, deep in the night, Stormwind has yet to appear in the glass.
The following day, I teach myself a smaller charm from my now-favorite book: smokers. I bind ash and smoke into a casing formed from an empty nutshell. Given my proclivity for fire, it hardly takes two tries to make one. When I snap it to the ground out by the lakefront, a dense black smoke pours forth in a forty-pace radius from where I stand.
I take a deep, untroubled breath, stretch one arm into darkest night, and begin a count until I can see again. Even with the gentle breeze blowing in over the lake, the smoke lasts surprisingly long. And, as my book had promised, it merely creates a visual barrier. I can’t see my own fingertips, but neither my throat nor my eyes react to the fog.
It provides the perfect cover for an escape, and even though it’s based in fire, it neither kills nor harms. I can allow myself this. By the time I’m ready to turn in for the night, I have a handful of smokers to add to my daypack.
I’ve kept the mirror by me all day, carrying it with me even into the goat byre and chicken coop, and now I lay it beside my pallet. It offers me nothing more than a glimpse of my own features. It isn’t long before I slip into a land of murky dreams.
I wake to the sound of a voice. “Hikaru?”
I jolt upright, blinking at the bright oval on the floor.
“Hikaru?” The voice is tinny but familiar.
“Mistress Stormwind?” I scramble to pick up the mirror. “Are you well?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t look it. Her eyes are shadowed and her skin sags with exhaustion. She seems a different person from the hardy, confident woman with whom I’ve studied this past year.
“The trial?” I ask.
“It begins tomorrow.”
“So soon? Are you ready?”
She shrugs. “As ready as I can be.”
That doesn’t bode well at all. Wasn’t Talon supposed to help her? “What about—”
“I have only a few minutes now,” Stormwind says, cutting me off. “There’s something I have been meaning to discuss with you regarding your studies. You know that the greatest spells draw on what is around you rather than rote words and stored enchantments.”
“Yes.”
“The easiest higher order casting for a mage to make is their first. Mine called up a storm. Now I can replicate that casting as easily as snapping my fingers.”
“Not mine,” I murmur, realizing where she means for this conversation to go. We’ve discussed my sunbolt before, and I thought Stormwind had accepted that I wouldn’t attempt it again. Apparently she can be as stubborn as I am.
Stormwind smiles, but there’s nothing happy in it. “You have practiced channeling.”
I nod. That’s one skill Stormwind drummed into me nearly every day of my studies, to the point that I often dreamed of channeling — water, magic, smoke, goat’s milk, or whatever other unexpected material she assigned to me.
“You are as proficient now as most master mages ever become. So yes, you can replicate your sunbolt.” Her voice lightens. “In the interest of keeping your hair, however, make sure to channel it.”
“I see.” I smooth back my hair, feathery soft and surprisingly fine. In the months since I came to Mistress Stormwind’s cottage, it has grown back as slowly as moss on a river stone. Now it frames my face, tickling the tops of my ears. But regardless of whether my spell costs me my hair or not, I cannot fathom casting it again. Unlike Stormwind’s name-spell, mine can only kill. It has killed.
She knows me well enough to gauge the path of my thoughts. “In a time of need, your first casting will come to your fingertips. You must learn what to do with it so that you do not destroy yourself a second time.”
“I won’t use it.”
She purses her lips. “Practice. Start very, very small.”
I lean toward the mirror. Stormwind would never suggest I practice my sunbolt without her, not unless…. “How long will your trial run, exactly?”
“A week, perhaps less. Should I not return….”
“Mistress—”
“The cabin is yours. Stay there. The wards will keep you protected until you are ready to leave.”
I take a slow breath. “What will your sentence be?”
“Imprisonment, most likely,” she replies. “But I may sway the Council. Of the ten regular members, four are strongly in my favor, and two more appear undecided. If I can get five, Talon will give her vote to me.”
But she won’t get the fifth vote. If they’re undecided, Blackflame will find a way to influence them. I have no doubt of it. “You need to leave,” I whisper. “This won’t be justice. You know that.”
“I know. But there’s no running now.”
Of course there is, I want to cry.
“If I run, I will be admitting my guilt. I will not do that. I am sorry. I meant to see you through your studies.”
I shake my head, a sharp, jerky motion. I don’t want her apologies, nor do I want the implication that my worst fears will be realized. “You can’t accept this.”
“I have no other choice.” Her eyes bore into me. “I want you to open the fourth trunk and use what you need from there.”
I duck my head guiltily. “Uh, yeah. I’ll do that. But—”
“I dare not use this mirror again. There are too many people watching. We cannot risk them learning about you.”
“Wait.” I reach toward the mirror. “I need to know what happens to you.”
She glances up, past her own mirror. “Someone’s coming. If I can, I will try in three days. Farewell.”
“Farewell.”
She fades from view, leaving me staring at the mirror. My own face looks back at me, my features shadowy blots on paler skin, all subtleties lost in the darkness of the loft.
Three days, and then what? The future yawns before me, dark and cold and ready to swallow me whole, just as my past stretches out behind me, bleak in its emp
tiness.
I killed a man, a fang, a monster, with the magic that thrums through my veins. I left another to die, himself held prisoner by a demon of a different tenor, when I might have helped him.
Is this what I am, what I will always be? Does Stormwind expect that I’ll forget her, her friendship and kindnesses, and go on as if she had not existed? Go on hiding who and what I am, abandoning those I cannot or will not help?
I clasp my hands, resting them on my bent knees. This is not the life I want. Some of it will always be mine; I cannot escape the threat of the Council no matter where I go or what I do. Nor can I change my past. Gazing at the pale outlines of my hands in the darkness, I know I must decide soon just what I’m willing to do — what fears I’m willing to face and what truths I’m willing to fight for.
The next day spreads out long and lonely, with only the necessary chores and my studies to fill them. It seems a long time from dawn to darkness. I keep the mirror nearby throughout the day and lay it beside my pallet at night, even though I don’t expect to hear from Stormwind. I fall asleep easily, tired from the worries plaguing me, and slip into a land of murky dreams.
“See anything?”
I wake with a start, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Nothing,” a second voice responds. I turn my head, careful to keep my movements small. On the floor beside my pallet, the mirror glows. The voices coming from it are distinctly male.
“There has to be someone there. She wouldn’t have brought it along otherwise. Can you get its location?”
Mages. Probably Blackflame’s supporters. Biting down on a curse, I cast around, searching for something hard. I’m not about to let a mirror betray me to him again.
“I’m working on it.”
No time— not if they’re using a locator spell. I slide my blanket off my bed and sweep it over the glass in a single move. Ignoring the muffled exclamation, I flip the blanket-shrouded mirror over and smash it on the brick beside my bed, knocking the little wooden crow statuette aside.
The voice on the other side cuts off mid-sentence.
With trembling hands, I check the black mound of my blanket. The light has gone from within it, the connection broken, but there’s a comfort in certainty. I take a shaky breath as my fingers find the sharp edges of the broken glass.
Think, I command myself.
At least one of the men was a mage skilled enough to try to pinpoint my mirror. But was Stormwind’s mirror stolen, or has she already been convicted after a single day? And did the mage have enough time to complete his locator spell?
I gather up the blanket and climb down to the main room. It probably doesn’t matter if they were able to trace the mirror to this valley. If Blackflame can find out from the High Council where Stormwind made her home, he’ll send someone to see what he can find regardless of the spell’s results.
At least I have one thing working in my favor: even if Blackflame’s men departed the moment Stormwind presented herself, they still won’t reach our valley until tomorrow. We’re too far from the portal for faster travel than that. I have a little time to do this right.
First I bury the mirror beside the goat byre, the shards still wrapped in my blanket. By the time I stamp down the dirt on top of it, I have a clear plan for leaving. I pause only to trace a protective ward over the broken glass, sealing it from any tracing spells.
Next, the animals. I pour out extra feed for the goats and chickens and open their pens. It’s possible predators will get them, but better a chance to graze in the wild than death by starvation.
I race up the short path to the cottage. With a half-thought command, every glowstone in the house blazes to life. In the loft, I grab my daypack with the charms and string of wards already inside. I add a spare set of clothes, the crow statuette, then pause. I’m not sure where I’m running to yet, but … it would be wise to be able to pass for a mage if need be. I retrieve Stormwind’s spare set of robes from a trunk, holding them out at shoulder-height. The bottom edge puddles on the floor. Stormwind’s a good head taller than I am. No matter. Hems can be adjusted.
I take a final look around and remember the pouch with its brooch and necklaces. I retrieve it, shoving it into my bag with the robes. Stormwind will likely never return here. It makes no sense to leave them behind, and perhaps I’ll be able to take them to her. The gold itself might serve her well.
Downstairs, I fetch sewing supplies to shorten the robe. I pack a few days’ worth of food and water, then toss in the contents of the coin jar by the window. I run my hands over my hair, trying to think, then race back up the ladder to fetch my comb. Back downstairs, I wrap my knife in a bit of leather and add it to my pack, then lift my cloak down from its peg.
I make myself walk around the cottage one last time and come to a stop in front of the medicinal cabinet. Of course— hadn’t Stormwind made me help her pack for a reason? I fill a few empty pouches with herbs for fever, pain, stomach upset. The salves are too heavy to carry, but I take the herbs I might need to make a paste to treat burns and open wounds. That’s enough. If I need more help than that, I won’t be able to treat myself.
I complete my circuit and come at last to the books. My stomach twists with regret. They’re too heavy, and I’m out of time. I gather them all and hide them behind a pile of pots at the back of a cupboard. With mages on the way, the books are probably safer there than within a warded trunk.
I pocket a pair of glowstones and shoulder my pack. It’s heavier than I would have liked, but without a clear idea of where I’m going or how long it will take to get there, the extra provisions and medicines may prove lifesaving. The only sentimental item I’ve included is my wooden crow, and it’s too light to make a difference.
Outside, I lock the cottage and trace the sigil on the door until it brightens. Stormwind has layered her enchantments here. This ward triggers three other protective spells. It’ll take a high mage to break open the house, and Stormwind will know the moment it happens. It’s the one way I have to alert her to what’s happening.
I pause as I reach the edge of the forest, turning around to face my home. In the full-bright light of the moon it waits for me, safe and quiet and empty. With the friendly company of the trees at my back and the moonlight silvering the lake, I admit to myself that I don’t really know whether Stormwind is truly innocent or not. I do know that Blackflame intends to destroy her, and that’s all the motivation I need.
I turn and start into the woods. Somewhere nearby, an owl hoots. I don’t want to go racing toward the High Council and Blackflame — not even if my mother’s there — but this isn’t about what I want.
Stormwind took me in when I had nowhere to go. She trained me when any other mage would have turned me over to the High Council. She gave me — and Val — the benefit of the doubt. This last year, I have been her guest, sheltered by her walls and the spells that protected her valley. The least I can do is trust her and offer her what aid I can.
This time, I’m not running away from my fears.
I’m running straight toward them.
The moon dips low in the sky, its edge skimming the peaks of the surrounding mountains. I’ve been walking for hours with a glowstone in hand. Even with the full moon, the path is too dark to travel without some light.
Now the sky has begun to lighten, velvet darkness fading at the edges. With dawn hinting at the day to come, I decide to rest. I’ll travel faster with an hour or two of sleep to refresh me.
Ahead of me, the forested slope gives way to a scree-strewn mountainside. Better to stop while I still have cover. I make my way carefully down through the trees until I lose sight of the path above me, then find a pine with low-hanging boughs beneath which I can shelter.
I lie down with my pack for a pillow and wrap myself in my cloak against the autumn chill. I could use my wards to protect myself, but if mages truly are riding toward the valley, they’re more likely to take note of active spells than a sleeping traveler. I slip the
wards into my pocket just in case.
But I’m too wound up to fall asleep, my thoughts flitting from Stormwind to the mages in the mirror to all the things I don’t know. I try to slow my breath, still my thoughts. Stormwind taught me to meditate when I first came to stay with her. Under her guidance, I learned to examine the edges of each memory I hold, reaching for what it once connected to, sifting through the ashes in search of color or scent. As I have a hundred times before, I gather them to myself as a miser would his most precious jewels, counting them out one by one.
Here— here is a moment of laughter with a young man whose black and brown hair and sharp teeth hint at his true shape: a tanuki, or raccoon dog. He leans against a carved door painted a vibrant turquoise, his arms folded and his head tilted to the side, brown eyes twinkling with mischief. Kenta. Of my few memories of him, this is my favorite, for there’s no darkness in it, no fear or desperation.
Here’s another man, dark skinned and long fingered, whose face I only catch in fleeting glimpses. More than his visage, I remember his cloak, black as the night. What I recall of his name suggests how little I knew him: Ghost.
Then there’s a scattering of other people like a handful of seeds tossed to the ground for the birds to peck up: women with whom I may have shared an apartment, others whom I must have once called friends. Shop owners and street children, the people who filled my days. And from the last of those days, the Degaths.
I remember my last day in Karolene, the chain of events that led up to my sunbolt. These are the memories I do not want, the sorrow and fear and dark choices I made, the deaths I witnessed and allowed. The way I gathered sunlight to myself until it roared within me, a fury of flames that I unleashed upon the fang lord Kol, teaching myself in that moment to take the essence of what surrounds me and kill with it.
These recollections leave a bitter taste at the back of my mouth, and I turn my thoughts away from them. Instead, I draw up the memory of my mother as I saw her in Blackflame’s gardens, solitary and peaceful, unaware of my presence. The sight of her had nearly broken me with grief, as had the knowledge that she had abandoned me, chosen Blackflame over me. It was only afterward, in the quiet winter months spent in Stormwind’s cottage, that I began to wonder if there was more to her story. She is too great a mage to be held for so long against her will. But has she joined Blackflame to support him—or to undermine him? Nothing I have learned has brought me any closer to understanding her. Still, I hope. I cannot bear not to.
Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) Page 4