Tess’s shivering subsided a degree as a thrill ran through her veins. Did he speak of his home or of Tess?
“It is a story that begins on a continent much older than this one,” the illumined woman began. “In the early ages of this world, when men could not resist the allure of red magic, entire civilizations crumbled into chaos. The animals fled to the farthest corners of their lands, for they were not safe with men.
“Then, on the continent of Dorian Minor, a sacred forest was burned by a heartbroken king. From its ashes, a new creature was born: Fyrian, the First Gem Dryad of Dorian. She taught good men to use golden magic, so they might redeem their lands and conquer the scarlet poison.
“Dorian Minor grew in goodness. And peace reigned so long that Fyrian settled among them, and fell in love with a mortal man. To him, she bore twins: a boy and a girl. My brother was born mortal. But the spirit and powers of a gem dryad were passed to me. Jealous of my gifts, my twin learned to manipulate the scarlet poison. He was cunning, and his skill threatened the peace of Dorian Minor. So Mother forged a weapon that harnesses a dryad’s magic. In the right hands, it could defeat even the darkest of magicians. The weapon was intended for mortal use, beginning with the empress of Dorian Minor, as an everlasting defense against the wickedness wrought by red magic. In forging the weapon, Fyrian sacrificed the whole of her powers.
“But my brother, Pider, discovered the weapon had been forged and raised an army against the empress. Though too late to save its first, courageous thane, I recovered the weapon. In desperation, Fyrian bade me flee from Dorian, hide the weapon, and watch over it until another mortal could be taught to use it well.”
Tess saw Ember’s eyes shine with tears.
“I never saw my mother again. My brother destroyed Fyrian soon afterward. Her immortal spirit remains in the world, a shadow of what she once was. But her body was annihilated by my brother’s powers. Pider searched the world to complete his destruction of dryads and their magic—for centuries he searched, until I made a disastrous mistake.”
Tess felt an immense sense of smallness as she listened. It was the story of the ballet, but darker. The empress did not save her people, she was killed for the shenìl, as was Fyrian. All would have been lost except for one young dryad. Fyrian’s daughter. Ember.
Linden sniffed against the fog. “Then Pider is your twin? He wrote that letter to you in the cell, two hundred and fifty years ago, swearing to destroy the shenìl. He’s been hunting it. . . .” He looked to Tess and caught her grimacing against the pain in her bleeding forearm.
“I’m all right,” she said. “The cold is numbing the wound.” Linden wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He addressed the shining woman.
“Is Tess somehow a dryad? Now that she carries the weapon, as you call it?”
“One cannot become a dryad, any more than a pebble can become a jewel. The weapon channels my mother’s powers to protect creatures of good will. The Hold channels her spirit to guide and bless each thane. I built and enchanted this cave myself, to instruct Queen Miriam as my mother had once done for the empress.”
“You are the mysterious woman,” Linden breathed. “The woman in Crescent Cave. The woman who spoke to Osiris, told him to keep his post.”
Ember smiled sadly. “A powerful enchantment held Pider in that cell as long as possible. But in the end, he found a way . . .”
They stood in silence. The cold of the fog bit at Tess’s lips and nose.
“After the war, I was careful. The queens never entered the Hinge but through the southern hills, never stayed longer than three days, never came but once a generation . . .” Ember’s hands gripped her chest. “But Aideen’s connection with the weapon was dimming, dimming . . . she came to see me. She stayed too long. Pider found us. I was afraid he killed her.”
Tess’s heart raced. “But if Pider could overpower Aideen, who has used the shenìl for years, how can I . . . ? Ember, I have not been trained.”
Ember’s tired mouth widened in a smile. First at Linden, then at Tess. “Only one thing to know. Simple, yet challenging. By the three modes of surrender, the thane wields the weapon’s power.”
Tess didn’t like the sound of that. The throbbing in her forearm sent jabs of pain into her shoulder and neck. “What are the three modes?”
“For a mortal human, the dryad’s magic requires a wisdom difficult to attain. But, with the help of the weapon, you can become fire.”
Tess nodded and looked to Linden, whose arm was still around her. His damp hair lay flattened against his brow. He seemed restless.
“The first mode of surrender,” Ember continued, “is confident obedience to the shenìl. When she speaks, act as you are bidden without doubt or skepticism.
“The second is selflessness. You must concentrate on those whom you serve.
“The final mode of surrender is acceptance of the future. Do not force your desired outcome, but calmly welcome whatever lies ahead.” Ember turned up a palm. “Of course, you can achieve many small things by submitting to one mode. But, abandon yourself to all three, and the weapon will work miracles for the sake of your people. And now”—Ember closed her eyes—“you must return to Glademont and wield the shenìl against my brother.” A pained expression flashed across her face.
“But you must come with us,” Tess pleaded.
Ember opened her eyes and lifted her heavy, charcoal robes. “See what keeps me here.”
Underneath the iridescent fabric, a pair of distorted-looking bare feet appeared. Tess left Linden’s arms, stooped, and discovered the feet were encased in a solid block of black ice.
Linden knelt beside Tess. “Can your magic not melt the ice?”
Ember chuckled. “Outside this fog, yes. But Pider’s curse has suppressed my powers. I ignite a flame, the mist becomes heavier and colder. These many weeks, I have become a soaked and soggy dryad.” Her eyes glittered with mirth.
“How have you not frozen to death?” Tess could not help herself.
“It will take more than ice to kill me. But, for the moment, I am trapped. The weapon is the only way to dispel Pider’s curse.”
“Xandra’s horn,” Tess murmured.
“Just remember to surrender, and the weapon will do the rest.”
Trying to ignore the blood on her hands and the aching in her forearm, Tess took up the shenìl and held out the orbs. At first, all she could do was try to not think about things—things like the hound, the black fog, Fyrian, Linden, and the promise she made . . .
All of that would have to wait. She took in a deep breath through her nose. The air felt tingly and bitterly cold inside her nostrils—just the thing to clear her mind.
The shenìl began to feel warm in her palms. Tess focused on the warmth. It spread to the tips of her fingers and the points of her elbows. She began to listen and heard a kind of scratching echo within the grotto. Still, she did not open her eyes. The warmth felt nice, and even the scratching sounded friendly. Every so often, the sounds would culminate in a pop from somewhere near Tess’s hands. An intense heat emanated from between her arms, and a bright red light shone on her face. Still, she did not open her eyes. A voice sounded from Fyrian, the gem dryad of Dorian Minor.
Knowest thou the ways of the Great Weapon? Get thee away, then, Thane, and stow upon thy bosom the whole of thy people.
Whatever it meant, it made Tess feel proud. For the first time, she was sure of the object in her hands. It had chosen her, and it belonged with her. The heat between her arms increased, and she tossed her head so that her hood fell onto her back. Then she heard another voice.
Touch the ice, it said.
It was the same voice Tess had obeyed before, when she danced on Ruby Creek, and when Wyndeling lay unconscious in the redbud grove. It was undoubtedly Tess’s own voice, though it sounded different somehow—a bit like her mother.
Tess opened her eyes.
Tall orange tongues of flame burned between her forearms, emitting from the medal as before. Tess found she had the ability to see through the fire, and she observed the orbs of the shenìl shining diamond white above her palms. Calmly, Tess bounced on the balls of her feet and curtsied low. Her hands extended from her chest in a movement she learned as a child when she danced as an ocean wave. Her fingers swept over Ember’s feet and touched the block of ice.
Flames formed tendrils that wound about Tess’s arms and swirled downward, wiping the congealed blood from Tess’s skin and enveloping Ember’s feet. The curse resisted the flames, and cold mist blew into Tess’s eyes as the ice began to melt. Tess closed her eyelids, but kept her hands firmly on the ice. Soon, the mist became a frigid downpour. Tess felt her drenched nightgown cling to her body and water collect in her boots, but she did not move.
The fire went out. Tess dropped the orbs. All was dark again.
“Come,” Ember shouted, and was suddenly ablaze. Her charcoal robes cracked and moved like melting rock in boiling magma. Her chest and arms flared under the robes, twinkling and shimmering, unaffected by the sheets of freezing water now gathering around them.
With astonishing agility, the dryad sprinted for the main cave.
Tess attempted to follow, but her feet were numb within sloshing boots, and she fell. Linden had her in his arms in an instant. Above the howling of the wind sounded a deep and ominous rumbling.
“Hurry,” Ember called.
With a deafening crack, the ground beneath the prince’s feet began to collapse. He squeezed Tess’s legs and ribs, leapt into the air, and landed hard on the stone floor of Crescent Cave. Tess tumbled from his arms, a drenched bundle of skin and cloak.
Eying the raw, red teeth marks on her arm, Tess pulled herself upright and tried to control her shivering. Ember stood before her, bright as a meteor, facing the tunnel that led to the winding staircase. Panting and shivering himself, Linden crawled to Tess and took her face in his hands.
“I’m so sorry I doubted you,” he began. But the sentence died with the moment. An eerie chill descended on the party—not from the air, but from something far worse.
Tess and Linden looked along the tunnel and beheld an army of tiny glowing lights inching toward them. Rather than hanging innocently overhead as before, the lights crawled like droves of worms, slinking silently toward them along the walls of the tunnel. Linden took Tess’s good arm and they knelt behind Ember’s reassuring light.
The lights formed a rapidly approaching tide, oozing and taking shape—the shape of a man. Ember advanced, her volcanic cloak folds rippling against the cave floor.
“You cannot corner me now, brother. Not with an old sentry curse.”
The figure before them stopped and grinned while blue and green strings wiggled about its body, which towered a full torso taller than the tallest man.
“What astonishing arrogance,” the figure mouthed, and an echoing voice radiated from the rock around them. “You have served your purpose, sister. I’ve no further designs for you. Has she come to rescue you? Where is she?” It was Pider’s voice, and yet many voices, all tumbling over one another.
A hard lump bobbed in Tess’s dry throat, but she stepped from behind Ember, closing her sodden cloak around her waist and the shenìl.
“Ah,” Pider said through green-and-blue lips. “Now I know what I am dealing with. Fifteen? Sixteen? No sleep, beaten by the forest . . . had a talk with the little statue, perhaps but . . . yes, that is very helpful. Thank you, Ember.”
“Yes, she is nothing. I am nothing,” the dryad taunted. “Come back to the Hold yourself and see how easily we can be taken.” Ember’s cloak swept into a puddle, and the steam hissed around her.
“I propose an alternative course,” answered Pider’s curse. “I remain in Glademont to destroy everything the girl loves. She is welcome to try to stop me. You must stay in the cave, afraid as you are to leave your precious memorial to dryads gone by—”
“You couldn’t destroy it before.”
The glowing figure regarded Ember, its surface still squirming. “Oh, sister, I could turn the Hold to dust. You can be sure of that.” It focused on Tess and folded its blue-and-green pulsating hands. “If you hurry, little mouse, you might heal Aideen yet.”
Tess looked to Linden and could see from his shoulders he was breathing heavily. The pain in his eyes made Tess’s heart ache.
“Goodbye, all,” Pider’s curse called out.
Before Tess could move, the lights dispersed, crawling up and up against the walls of Crescent Cave.
“Run,” Ember cried.
A mighty wall of water came ripping down the tunnel. It gathered the glowing worms and spun into the cavern, knocking Tess to her knees. Linden grasped her around the waist and pulled her toward Crescent Lake, but she resisted. Tess grabbed the spheres of the shenìl and stood her ground. Linden kept his arms around her, his chest pressed against her back. She raised her arms, closed her eyes, and tried to let go of all her selfishness, all her plans, all her fear.
The water crashed against her legs, and the glowing blue and green worms stuck to her boots, her nightgown, and her cloak. She could feel them inching upward toward her waist. Tess wavered, horrified. She opened her eyes and saw no flame had appeared between her hands. Linden batted against the worms as the water rose to their knees. The worms reached Tess’s arms and crawled toward the shenìl in her hands. She screamed.
Ember stood before the marble statue, which contained her mother’s spirit, ablaze from head to foot, her cloak swirling. She plunged her hands into the waters, and a hot blast exploded along the surface, blowing the worms from Tess’s arms.
“Come.” Linden pulled Tess away from the curse. They stumbled to the cave’s edge, and Tess looked over her shoulder for Ember. She could just barely make out a pillar of fire and smoke before Linden took her by the hand. They leapt from the mouth of Crescent Cave and into the waterfall.
Chapter 40
The sun hung high overhead as Ryon lay flat among the ferns of the northeastern edge of the Hinge. Though unnecessary, Profigliano flattened his little white belly against the ground, too. Nory and Rette crouched nearby, and the Colonel stood behind Ryon, looking out between the ferns. Overhead, Buchanan and his clan sat motionless in the high branches of the ancient trees. From where he lay, Ryon could see the castle gates and the bandit camp in front. At least, he saw where the camp used to be. The tents had been taken down and the area cleared away. The bandits themselves were nowhere to be seen. All was still, and it seemed the Nest Battalion had arrived just as Atheos had given up their siege.
The call of an eagle issued from somewhere south of Glademont Castle, and Ryon’s body jolted. More than four dozen fierce-eyed predators sailed into view, their course set for the eastern towers. Ryon and his companions watched as the raptors glided over the castle walls and crashed through the tower windows. Then another flock glided into view—this time vultures. They peppered the windows of the lower towers. The Colonel growled.
“First Company, ready your nets,” Buchanan hooted from somewhere above. Looking up, Ryon watched elm and poplar branches sway as three rock-filled nets launched from the canopy.
Meanwhile, a mass of hawks sped toward the western corner of the castle for another barrage.
“Company, attack,” the commander of the Nest Battalion called out.
The hawks must have heard Buchanan’s order. Before they reached the castle wall, the mass split, and several dozen circled back to face their unexpected enemies. Ryon smiled. Even the sharp eyes of a hawk cannot see into the sun. Buchanan’s company had flown into the open toward the castle, so high the midday light shielded them. The hawks scattered, defenseless as a torrent of rocks tumbled upon them.
“Second Company, ready,” came Buchanan’s cry.
But Ryo
n could not afford to watch the Second Company take off into the sky. The bandits and their hounds had finally emerged on the castle lawn. Arranged into three regiments, the bandits advanced on the castle with speed. Ryon dared not loose his sling until the order, but he feared the Colonel was wasting precious time. Whatever the bandits were doing, it could not be good.
When the left flank reached a stone’s throw from the outer wall, two scouts darted out and stooped at a divot in the rock.
Nory cursed. “The wine cellar. They’re going in same the way we got out.”
“I should say not, soldier,” the Colonel said. “Ready your long-range weapons, Land Company.”
Ryon fumbled with his sling as Nory and Rette took out their bows.
“Aim for the creatures closest to the cellar door,” the Colonel ordered. “Down as many of those foul men as you can.”
Nory and Rette drew their arrows toward the sky, while Profigliano flitted to a low branch and wiggled his black tail.
“Fire at will.”
The ping of their arrows made Ryon drop his stone. He scrambled to fit another in his sling as Nory and Rette picked off more Atheonians. Once half a dozen of the bandits had fallen, the most exposed men took a knee and searched for the archers. Spotting Ryon and his companions at the edge of the forest, they shouted orders to their hounds.
A dozen hounds barreled toward the Hinge. Their snarls and massive paws sent a chill down Ryon’s back. He swung his sling, missing the leader by inches.
“Come on, Ryon,” he growled to himself. The hounds were fewer than thirty yards away. The boy stood and used all his body weight to send the next stone rocketing. This time, he hit his mark. The foremost hound yelped in pain and collapsed, which tripped up two more behind him.
“Archers, stay on those bandits,” the Colonel called. “We can handle these slobbering excuses for dogs.” With that, the Colonel bounded out into the open in front of Ryon. He lowered his head to the ground, and the earth began to shake.
Fyrian's Fire Page 26