Lindey raised her brows. “You won’t be able to find the river, let alone cross it. Not in a storm like this.” I tried to spirit away despite Lindey’s argument, but found that I couldn’t. I tried again. Nothing happened.
Maybe I was too exhausted, or maybe my magic was depleted because of the spelled rope. The binding magic was probably trapped in the wound. Until I healed, I may not be able to use my power to spirit myself home.
Omen and Lindey were oblivious to my attempts at leaving. Lindey prattled on, “And I’ll not have Omen leading you to it just because she can hear the stones.”
“Hear them?” I asked, looking to the girl.
“It’s how Fate speaks to me. Through the stones. How does he speak to you?”
I swallowed, staring at the apparition hovering over Omen’s shoulder again until she faded away. Surely she knew I couldn’t follow her in this weather, and truth be told, I was done with the quest she’d led me on. It was too dangerous.
“Now that I am of age, I can hear his voice, but my magic lies with spirit and bone.” My throat was sore inside and out, and it sounded like it.
“Spirit and bone,” Lindey muttered to herself as she filled a kettle with water from a basin and placed it over the fire. “The two of you need to explain what happened.”
Omen kindly filled her in on the evening’s events, and I added what parts I could about the kidnapping itself. Lindey was not the least bit upset that Omen killed two men to save me. It was what she would have done to the men who murdered her husband, given the chance.
But I thought it bothered Omen.
I couldn’t tamp down the guilt I felt, having been the source of her pain. If she’d never come to the river, she wouldn’t have buried those men beneath its bed. But if she hadn’t, I wouldn’t be alive. As much as it hurt her, I couldn’t help but be grateful. She was so fearless, so bold.
But now, I worried if the fact that she’d taken two lives might haunt her, despite the gallant reasons behind her actions.
“You followed a spirit out of The Gallows?” Lindey asked again. She’d been rehashing the story as though she needed to say it aloud for her mind to fully wrap around and grasp it. “A woman?”
I nodded, sipping the honeyed tea she’d made. At the kitchen counter, Omen worked a pestle, grinding herbs in a stone mortar. She added honey, squeezed the oozing juices from a piece of aloe, and added a few things I couldn’t make out from across the living room. Once she was satisfied, she brought the concoction over to me. It was golden and gooey with flakes of herb and wildflower. The honey smelled sweet, but the rosemary held a strong astringent aroma.
She reached for one of my wrists, waiting until I held it out, then gently dabbed the mixture all the way around my wrist. “Am I hurting you?” she asked, looking at me instead of the wound.
“Not at all.”
Her eyes fell to her task and I was suddenly desperate to have those silvery eyes peer at me again. Such an unusual shade; cool but sharp, like a polished diamond.
“Thank you for this. It seems I can’t stop myself from thanking you this evening.” She dabbed the last bit of salve and stood up, returning to the kitchen.
I watched her cover the mortar with a thick cloth and wondered…I’ve found the Omen of stones. Now what am I supposed to do?
Fate did not answer.
Lindey insisted I stay the night and wait out the rising flood. She gave me a thin blanket to use as a pillow and a thicker one to cover up with after I’d dried out. While Lindey was getting me settled, Omen changed clothes in her room. When she emerged, she was wearing another pale dress, this one made of thicker material. She stood beside me in front of the fire and promised to see me home, in case other Purists were camped between East Village and the Kingdom, but I told her that wouldn’t be necessary. As soon as I was able I would spirit home, guaranteeing I wouldn’t run into any more lunatics.
Omen was uneasy about it, but in the end we compromised. She would see me to the river.
I hoped my magic recovered with some rest.
I had to make it back to The Gallows, at the very least. Brecan and Mira could take me to Mom, or alert her and Dad that I was okay.
There would be plenty of arguments put up against it because of what happened, but I wanted to stay in Thirteen for a time. Even though I had no flame, I needed to know how to conjure fire. I needed to learn spells to protect myself. I didn’t have an active power. I couldn’t clobber anyone with a pile of stones like Omen could, but neither could my mother. Yet, she was still stronger than any other witch with a nature affinity. I could be just as strong, if not stronger.
I wasn’t sure how long that knock on the head left me unconscious, but it didn’t seem like a great deal of time had passed before I came to. It was night when I left The Gallows, and night when the Purists tried to drown me. Brecan and Mira probably had every witch combing the woods to find me. I just hoped they hadn’t told Mom and Dad yet.
It was hard to stay put when I wanted so badly to go home and ease the worry I’d caused, but I couldn’t go yet.
Tomorrow, I would find Brecan. He was Mom’s best friend and skilled at smoothing her temper. She would be furious that I left The Gallows. Furious at me. Furious at the spirit. Furious at Fate.
Settling into the couch, I pulled the blanket high on my neck and let the crackling fire and sheer exhaustion drag me into sleep.
10
Sable
Someone knocked fervently at our bedroom door. I opened it, pulling my robe tighter around my neck. Tauren had gone to the kitchens to find us both a snack. I thought maybe the door had locked and he couldn’t get back in, but it was Mira standing at the door.
“Mira?”
She held her hands out defensively and calmly said, “Sable, I need you to sit down.” She was too calm, too poised, trying not to let me see the tightness around her eyes or the way she worried her hands.
Every muscle in my body tensed. “What happened?”
She tried to guide me back inside. “Let’s go into your room where you can sit…”
“Mira, where is River?” I asked slowly.
She pressed her eyes closed. “He left The Gallows and we can’t find him.”
“Left The Gallows?” My heart fell into my stomach. Why on earth would he leave the safety of the witch sector?
“Brecan and I felt him breach the border. He was alone.”
I raised my voice. “Are you implying that my son ran away?”
“No. No, Sable. I think he must have had a reason to leave the boundary, and maybe he can’t get back in. Brecan and Arron are already leading search parties out of Thirteen to find him.”
Tauren strode down the hall, his hands full of crackers, cheese, and grapes. “What’s the matter?” he asked, immediately on guard as he took in the tenseness of our postures.
I couldn’t tell him. Couldn’t bring myself to speak the words aloud.
Mira told him what she told me.
“Let’s get dressed,” he said sternly. “We’re going to Thirteen. And beyond it, if necessary.”
Mira said she’d meet us in the Center in five minutes. I told her two, and Tauren and I rushed to get ready.
“You can’t leave the kingdom,” I told him.
“The hell I can’t! He’s my son, too.”
“I’ve never acted like he wasn’t, but you are King and the banished won’t hesitate to…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. If anyone hurt my son, there would be hell to pay.
“He’s resourceful and powerful. Just like his Mom,” Tauren offered apologetically, crossing the room.
I tucked a dark strand of hair behind his ear. “And as smart as his Dad.”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Tauren said, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself. He held my hand and I spirited us to Thirteen.<
br />
When we landed in the Center, witches were marching around the circumference of the pentagram’s circle, repeating a location spell. Mira slipped between the rows of witches to greet us, meeting us with a frown and no news. “They haven’t found him yet.”
Arron appeared in front of us, his silver, slitted eyes keen. He held up a dark cloak. The one I’d given River. “I found this in The Wilds.”
I took the cloak from him. It was dirty, and the buttons that fastened it at his neck were torn off.
“There were signs of a struggle,” Arron said grimly.
I turned to Tauren. “I need you to stay here.”
He protested, “I can’t be of help here.”
“And I can’t find our son if I’m worried about your safety.”
He gestured to the witches still chanting and circling us. “Why isn’t the spell working?”
“Something is blocking it,” Arron said. “Otherwise, they would find him without trouble.”
“What could possibly block half a sector of witches repeating the same spell?” Tauren wondered, irritation and worry clogging his throat.
“There are such spells,” I told him.
Tauren pinched the bridge of his nose. “He left alone, and yet a witch’s magic is cloaking him somehow?”
“He could be concealing himself,” Arron offered. “As a means of protection.”
Unless I was wrong, River didn’t know spell magic. I wasn’t sure if another witch had taken him out of Thirteen, or if one was hiding him now that they’d happened upon my son, but we were going to find him and find out what was going on. If there was a traitor amongst our kind, they would be dealt with.
“I’m going to need your help, Arron.”
He smiled cruelly. “I was afraid you’d never ask. This will be more fun than an Affinity Battle.”
Arron, Son of Night, was thirsty for violence. Almost as thirsty as I was for retribution.
11
River
As dawn stretched lazily across the sky, I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The fire was almost dead and though it wasn’t cold, I threw a log in just in case my hosts were chilly when they woke. Then I made a fire in the kitchen hearth. It was toasty warm by the time Lindey emerged from her room. She looked at the couch and the folded blankets lying on one side. “Did you sleep well, River?”
“I did. Thank you for letting me stay.”
She crossed the room and waved for me to follow her onto the porch.
We stood together, looking out at the hay fields surrounding their home. Spiders had woven webs all over the field, their silk ready to catch anything that flew by. Dew had gathered on them, making them sparkle in the early sunlight.
“Do you know how to spirit?” she asked out of the blue.
“I do, though I haven’t had success since I came here.”
She turned toward me. “The rope was spelled, and I assume it bound your powers as well. But it could also be due to Omen’s wards. They protect this place.”
“The wreaths in the trees?”
“The stones in the wreaths, but yes. Omen protects the village. Our founder, Edward Smith, asked her to do that as soon as he saw her power. We made a game of it, trying to make the prettiest decorations to hang in the trees, but each nullifies the magic of anyone but Omen. And the wards tell her if anyone from outside the village is near.”
“Does anyone else know I’m here?” I asked. I didn’t want to get them in trouble, not after all they’d done for me.
“Only us,” she answered reassuringly, “and Omen let you in.”
I stared at the stone fence around their house and let my eyes track down the trail we’d followed, marveling at the ornate arches Omen had erected along the walkways. The closest one was several yards away, but it didn’t look like she’d even used mortar to hold them in place.
Lindey gave a soft, knowing smile. “The more stones Omen has around her, the stronger she is. She always loved them, even as a small, toddling child. And she loved building things with them. She started with stacks, then shapes, and then…well, you’ve seen the arches and walls she made to separate the fields that we rotate our livestock through. There are other sculptures around the village as well. That’s why they’re piled up in the sills and on every other surface she can find space for them.”
Lindey turned as Omen opened the door.
“Good morning,” Omen greeted us.
She was wearing another cream-colored dress. While this one was plainer than the one she wore last night as she waded into the water to help me, it was beautiful on her. It hugged her small waist and cascaded to mid-calf, showcasing her bare feet. She’d brushed her hair, and I studied the way it gently waved over her shoulders.
“If you’re ready, I can take you to the river. It’s early, so we’ll likely avoid everyone at this hour.”
“Not before he eats. I’ll not send him into The Wilds hungry,” Lindey adamantly replied, striding back into the house to remedy the situation.
We followed her in. “Please don’t trouble yourself, Lindey. I can eat when I get home.”
But she wasn’t having it. “The Wilds are just that – wild. Unpredictable. Unforgiving at times, even though it seems like the simplest thing to walk through the land. The terrain starts to look the same, and you can’t tell if you’re making progress or walking in circles. Even the sun plays tricks on you so you can’t tell which way is east, west, north, or south.”
Lindey grabbed a basket and pushed out a small back door I hadn’t seen last night on the other side of the kitchen’s hearth.
“She’s gathering eggs,” Omen explained.
“I didn’t mean to upset her.”
“I had no idea what happened to her husband before last night. I’ve probably upset her a thousand times and never knew it,” she said quietly, biting at her thumbnail and staring out the back door. “So,” she said, turning her soft gray eyes on mine. “Spirit and bone? What exactly can you do with those?”
I pressed my lips together. From past experience, I knew this would probably freak her out.
“I see spirits that linger. I can communicate with them.”
“And bone?” she led.
“If I touch bone, I experience the death of the bone bearer.”
She swallowed. “That must be awful, unless the person just passed away peacefully in their sleep.”
I nodded. It was awful sometimes. But through the years, it had become part of me, the same way seeing spirits was part of me. It became something I accepted, then something normal.
She took a stone from her dress pocket. “I always keep this with me.”
“Does it steady you?” I asked.
She nodded this time. “It does.”
“I had something similar. My grandfather passed before I was born, but I see his spirit often. When I was little, he led me to a desk in his chamber and gave me a ring he had hidden away. Peridot set in gold. I think he meant to give it to my grandmother. He died after battling a cancer. Dad says that a bit of Grandmother died when he did. I offered her the ring, but she asked me to keep it. It was in the pocket of the cloak I was wearing when I left The Gallows, but I have no idea where that is now. There’s little hope of ever finding it.”
If my kidnappers searched the cloak and stole the ring, it was at the bottom of a riverbed anyway.
“I’m sorry you lost it,” she said, staring down at the stone in her hand. It was gray-green with sandy-colored spots and looked worn smooth. There were three holes in the middle of it. If you connected them, they would form a triangle.
Fate’s sigil was an inverted triangle. It couldn’t be a coincidence.
She tucked the stone back into her pocket as Lindey walked back inside. Before long, eggs were sizzling over the fire, their rich scent mingling with tha
t of butter. I was hungry, and the smell made me even hungrier.
“So,” Lindey said conversationally, “what Sector are you from?”
I certainly can’t tell them I live in the palace. Well, maybe I can, but I’ll just say I’m a servant. I went with the easiest thing I could think of. “The Core.”
“What is The Core?” Omen asked. Even though I barely knew her, I felt like she could already sense my lie.
I started to cross my arms over my chest, only to hiss when my wound pressed against skin and fabric. Lindey jumped in, quickly explaining how the Kingdom was in the shape of a nautilus shell, and how the four closest sectors to the palace, called The Core, were the most populous and most prestigious to live in.
“So which of the four do you live in?” Omen pressed. Her eyes sharpened, awaiting my answer.
“One,” I answered.
Lindey whistled. “The houses in One are enormous.” She glanced at Omen. “They would dwarf the Founder’s house.”
I was suddenly thankful I hadn’t told them I lived in the palace. In the end, I didn’t know them, and the less people who knew my identity, the better. These women would be safer for not knowing.
If the Purists who made enough trouble were being cast into The Wilds and were banding together, East Village was in danger. If they found out that someone here helped the Prince, they’d probably burn the entire village to the ground. In the Kingdom, their words were loud and hateful, though their protests weren’t violent. But now I knew they were more dangerous than Dad or Uncle Knox admitted. Plus, they were in The Wilds, closer to the Kingdom’s borders than anyone realized. The two who happened upon me spoke of ‘others’ when I came to. If they were all banding together, I had to get home and tell Dad.
Did he or Knox know all this was out here? I grew up hearing about The Wilds but was taught that they were rough and untamed. If there were established villages, there must be towns, maybe even cities or other kingdoms. It was enough to make my head spin.
Lindey banged a whisk against her bowl, startling me from my swirling thoughts. Omen watched my reaction, her head ticked to the side.
The Omen of Stones Page 9