Spellweaver

by Tamara Grantham

  I knew I had to get him free. No matter the price, I would get him free.

  Geth’s men still held me, their grips tight enough to pinch off my circulation. Geth walked forward and stood between me and the pixie prisoner.

  “This man was in possession of the bloom of the Everblossom tree until recently. We know he possessed the bloom when he crossed into the human realm, yet he claims to have no knowledge of its location. Isn’t that right?” Geth walked to the man and kicked him, hard, in the ribs.

  I cringed, feeling a phantom pain in my own chest.

  Mochazon gasped, his eyes wide and pain-filled. “I do not know!” he said.

  Geth spit at his feet. “Be careful how you speak, for if you tell the truth and truly do not know the location of the bloom, then you have no further use to me and I will be forced to kill you.”

  My stomach sickened. I couldn’t watch Geth kill Mochazon. I had to stop him.

  “Please,” Mochazon said through gasps, “once I crossed into the Earth world, the bloom disappeared. I do not know… where it went. The portal… the magic… must have transported it somewhere else. Please, I speak the truth! I do not know its location!”

  “You lie! Tell me where it is!” Geth slammed his fist into Mochazon’s face. The snap of breaking bones echoed.

  I tried to rush forward, only to have Geth’s men hold me back. “Geth, stop,” I said. “Please, you must stop!”

  I shuddered under his hate-filled stare. “This man lies, and he will pay for his treachery. Hiding the bloom from me will solve nothing. My purposes will be fulfilled, no matter the obstacle. I will succeed. My people will rise up. We will conquer. Even without the bloom, we will still be victorious.”

  “If that’s so, if you don’t need the bloom, then you no longer need this man.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Let me take him with me. Please, he does not need to suffer.”

  He leaned forward. “Do you really believe you can save him?”

  “Yes,” I said with resoluteness.

  “Then you are a fool. I will kill him the same way I will kill you.”

  A knot formed in my throat. The pain in my cheek, still raw and stinging, didn’t hurt as much as the pain I felt inside. Somehow, I had to get through to Geth. I’d dealt with mental patients all of my adult life. I’d been trained in psychology and magic. There had to be some way to reason with him.

  Suddenly, the answer came to me, almost as if Geth had given it to me himself. His mother was the key. “Geth,” I said quietly, “you spoke of your mother, of how her strength kept you alive even through the direst of situations. She loved you, even when your father did not. She taught you the value of life. She would have given anything—even her own soul—to make sure you survived. How much is humanity worth? Is it something to be tossed aside? How would your mother answer?

  “Let me take Mochazon with me now. He can be of no help to you anymore. He has told you the truth, just as I have spoken the truth. We are of little consequence. We can help you no more. Please, if your mother means anything to you at all, then you must repay her kindness. You must let us go free.”

  Geth grew still. I wished I knew what he was thinking.

  “You speak bold words,” he finally said.

  Wind howled somewhere in the distance. I didn’t speak as Geth pondered my words, although I prayed that my pleading had struck a chord with him.

  Please, let us go free!

  Geth turned to his men. “Release them both,” he said, “and do not question me.”

  The men’s callused hands held my arms a moment longer as Geth watched with guarded eyes. After untying my wrists, the men walked to the tree and cut the cords binding Mochazon.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. Had I really gotten through to him? I felt certain I would die, but I thanked the Almighty above that I hadn’t.

  Once again, Geth pulled out his knife. As he waved it through the air, a gray mist formed. The fog gathered around me and Mochazon, but before it touched us, Geth walked to me and grabbed my arm tightly, his gray eyes wide and full of fire.

  “Do not think that you have thwarted my plans, for I have already sent my spy to follow your every move. Everything you do, I will see.” The mist gathered thicker, and soon he disappeared from sight. “This will not be our last meeting,” he said, although his voice sounded as if it came from a great distance.

  Viscous mist wrapped icy tendrils around my body. The world faded. My ears popped with the change in pressure, an indication that I was traveling from one world to another. Wind rushed around me, spiraling and howling as colorful lights bobbed in and out of appearance. I was weightless for a moment, and then I collapsed onto a bed of cracked asphalt. The humid air was thick with the salty scent of the sea. Waves crashed in the distance as Mochazon stirred next to me.

  I sat up too fast, making the world reel, so I closed my eyes until the dizziness receded.

  “Olive?”

  I heard Mochazon’s voice. When I felt ready, I opened my eyes. Mochazon sat beside me, minus his wings, although his skin remained a deep black and his hair white. He looked at me through yellow irises. The blood on his skin had dried, and most of his cuts had closed up, leaving only scars where the open wounds had been.

  Crossing worlds came with unusual side effects. While it tended to leave most healthy people dizzy and disoriented, it also worked the opposite way, and more often than not, would try to repair damaged cells on those who were sick or injured in order to keep things in its world balanced correctly. Earth recognized that broken skin and gushing blood weren’t the natural way of things and tended to repair wounds caused by obvious trauma, which, in this case, was a very good thing, as Mochazon had been near death.

  I attempted to stand when he caught my hand.

  “Miranda?” he asked.

  “She’s safe. I can take you there if you’d like.”

  He nodded. His breathing came out labored and uneven. “I thought I was dead,” he said quietly. “I was so certain… ” His voice broke.

  After a few measured, deep breaths, he seemed to calm. When he looked up at me, I no longer saw fear in his eyes.

  “You have a gift. I never recognized it before, but you understand the inner workings of a person’s mind. You reasoned with Geth when I could not.”

  “I’m not sure how much good it did. He’ll still have us followed, and when we find the bloom, all he has to do is take it from us.”

  “Yes, but we have our lives.”

  “Yes. We do.”

  We sat without speaking, listening to the waves, watching the blue sky marred by puffy white jet-trails, thankful to take it all in. I think we both knew how lucky we were to be alive. Finally, Mochazon spoke up.

  “There is much to do. I have hidden the bloom, but it will not stay that way for long.”

  “Wait—you have it?”

  He nodded.

  “So you were lying to Geth that whole time?”

  “Yes, although if you had not shown up when you did, I do not think I could have held out for much longer.”

  “Where is it?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot tell you, but soon, I will reveal it to you. There is much to be done. We must discover where the bloom will flourish, and then we must organize a gathering of warriors to accompany you on your mission to restore the magic.”

  “What? Me? Aren’t you coming?”

  “I cannot. The tree has not chosen me to go on this quest. The journey to restore the magic is yours, Olive. My magic dwindles with the rest of Faythander, but you hold the magic of both worlds. You are the one spoken of in prophecy.”

  “How do you know that?”

  A haunted look crossed his face. “After Uli’s death, the magic revealed this knowledge to me.”

  “So, I’m supposed to restore the magic—even though I have no idea where it will be safe—and I have to do it without you, and with Geth following my every move. No pressure.
”

  I loved how I always got put into these situations. Hey, can you save the world, please? Oh—and while you’re at it, try not to get killed by the evil baddie. Oh—and there are also some prophecies about you, even though everyone in the world seems to know about them except for you. But, good luck! Yep, no pressure. None at all.

  “The tree knew you would have the ability to find its sacred resting place,” Mochazon said. “That is the reason you were chosen.”

  “How? Where am I supposed to find this knowledge?”

  “Have you no idea?”

  I thought of the Faythander texts I’d left in my pack. The three books I’d chosen were the most likely to hold answers to my questions, but since I’d arrived back on Earth, I hadn’t gotten a chance to read them. Looked like I couldn’t avoid it now.

  I was determined to find out where the bloom belonged. I couldn’t rest until I knew where to put it. The urgency nagged at me, driving me forward. I helped Mochazon back to my car.

  As I buckled up and then cranked the engine, I remembered that I’d promised to check on Mom. Would I have time? I glanced at the clock on the console. It was almost five, which meant we’d have a long drive through the Houston traffic if we left now. Instead, I decided to use my time wisely and intended to pay a visit to the Rosenberg Library.

  It was a short drive from the harbor to the library. Tourists stayed away from the island during the winter months, which made navigating down Broadway an easier ordeal than usual. After circling the block, I parked in an empty space, then grabbed my pack and headed for the main entrance. Mochazon followed me.

  Mature oak trees lined the sidewalk, their sprawling branches overshadowing our path. The air was still; only the sound of our footsteps crunching stray acorns broke the silence. Despite the calm weather, my urgency to find the bloom’s resting place made me walk with quick steps.

  We headed up the stairs leading to the main entrance. I’d heard that this was the oldest operating library in Texas, which didn’t surprise me. The building was a well-maintained, three-story affair with ornate Renaissance-style architecture. Its age showed in the oxidized bronze statue of Mr. Rosenberg resting at the bottom of the granite stairs, and in its old-world, pillared entrance.

  As we entered through the heavy oaken doors, the scent of time-worn paper greeted me. We wandered through the stacks and up a spiral staircase. I found an empty table near the back of the room where we could study in peace, away from prying eyes.

  Mochazon sat across from me as I pulled the books out of my bag and stacked them on the table.

  “Are you sure we are safe here?” Mochazon said as his eyes darted.

  “We’re safe nowhere. But I doubt Geth will come after us right now.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because he’s waiting for us to find the bloom for him.”

  Mochazon stiffened. “He will never have it.”

  “I agree, but he seems to think he can make us do the dirty work for him and then take it whenever he chooses. As of right now, I’m not sure how to stop him. Here,” I scooted a book to him, “if you want to keep Geth away from the bloom, then help me find where it belongs.”

  He eyed the book. I’d given him the copy of Ancient Isles of Faythander and had kept Dragon Hoards of the Lost Islands and A History of Faythander’s Lost Civilizations for myself.

  “Look for anything that mentions the sea of a thousand faces. Uli and Fan’twar both mentioned it, but I’ve never heard the phrase. If we find out where that is, then perhaps we’ll know where to start our quest.”

  I cracked open A History of Faythander’s Lost Civilizations and started reading. After twenty minutes of study, I realized that the Internet had spoiled me. What would I give right now for a good search engine? So far, the book hadn’t mentioned a thing about the thousand-faces reference. After another half hour, I grew frustrated and shut the book.

  Mochazon looked up at me.

  “Any luck?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  I grabbed the last book, Dragon Hoards of the Lost Islands, and started scanning. The author had penned the text five hundred years ago, which, in the older language, made it a difficult read.

  We didn’t have much time left. I needed to get back to my mom, and Mochazon had asked several times when we could get back to Miranda. I’d shushed him, but in reality, I knew we didn’t have the luxury of time.

  Finally, after scanning through to the end of the tome, a passage caught my eye…

  In those days, the wilde dragon herds with fierceness reyned the isles. Without headship, they grew bloodthirsty, and, alike those primitive ancestors of days long spoken of, preyed on the flesh of fey creatures. With great subterfuge, a horrific corruption increased their powers until they became inexorable. Magic flowed through their life’s bloode, and with the ill-begotten magic came domination. Faerie, pixie, elf, and gobloon, all fell preye, and alike fell preye to their bloodelust, until one dragon rose up and united them all.

  Traveling the sea of a thousand faces—that antediluvian waterway navigated by the elven prophet long ago—Falon’war escaped the bloodelust and became king thereafter, of skye and of air.

  I reread the passage several times and finally passed it off to Mochazon to see what he could make of it.

  “Falon’war must have been the sky king,” Mochazon said, “although I’ve never heard him called by that name.”

  “I have,” I said, “but it was a long time ago, and only the very old dragons used it.”

  “It says that he traveled this sea.”

  “Yes.”

  I opened the atlas and scanned the pages until I found a map of Faythander, searching for the antediluvian waterway. There was only one continent, crisscrossed by giant rivers and massive lakes. Sometimes, those who lived far from the ocean would refer to those bodies of water as seas, but Faythander only had one major ocean. It also had only one major landmass, but to the west lay the inner isles—a place where some of the seedier of Faythander’s races ended up—and even farther than that were the outer isles.

  “There.” I pointed to the outer isles. “These are the islands that this section refers to—it’s where my stepfather came from, and it’s where his relatives, the wild dragons, still live. It says he traveled the sea of a thousand faces, but I still don’t know why it was called that name, or if it’s the right place.”

  “This book also refers to it as the antediluvian waterway. I remember reading something about that.” He flipped through the book until he found a page near the back. “Here.” He showed me the page.

  Another map filled the top half of the page, and the bottom half was filled with names and definitions. I scanned through the names until I stopped on antediluvian.

  Antediluvian—

  Meaning primordial or ancient; made, evolved, or developed before the time of the first unification.

  I tapped my chin. “The first unification refers to Pa’horan the First—the elf who first brought peace. His reign is considered the beginning of modern time in Faythander.”

  “Then the sea of a thousand faces would have been called that name before his time. Perhaps Pa’horan the First, after ending the war, changed the name of the ocean.”

  “But why would he want to change its name?”

  “To promote peace, perhaps?”

  “Yes, that’s a possibility.” A story surfaced from my childhood—it was a tale my father had told me once, although I hardly remembered it. “My father told me that once, long ago, there was a great flood. It filled the whole of Faythander. He said that one thousand of the most violent and wicked souls were caught in the flood. They were carried out to sea, and once the land dried up, their bodies were transformed into sea dragons.”

  “A thousand?”

  “Yes. I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

  “Then this proves that the sea of a thousand faces must be another name for the Rheic Sea.”

  “I
agree. Pa’horan must have changed the name after the war because the name denoted violence and he wanted to promote peace. My stepfather would have traveled across the sea to get to the mainland.”

  “In that case, the bloom must belong on the outer isles.”

  “I agree. But which one? There are at least a dozen islands.”

  Mochazon shook his head.

  I glanced at a clock on the wall and realized we’d run out of time. As we left the library, I felt grateful that we at least had an idea of where to start—if only Geth didn’t stop us before we got there.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After making the tedious drive from Galveston into Houston, I dropped off Mochazon at Miranda’s dorm, then gave them both specific instructions: stay inside, keep the doors locked, don’t leave unless you have to, and by all means, don’t retrieve the flower until I say so. I’d even warded the door as added protection, all the while knowing that my puny Earth magic was nothing to Geth’s strange dark magic.

  It was the best I could do.

  Geth wouldn’t go after Mochazon until he had a reason. As of yet, Mochazon hadn’t shown me where he’d hidden the bloom, which was fine with me. I needed to get back to Mom, and as long as the bloom was safe, I could wait him out.

  I rushed back to Mom’s as twilight descended over her neighborhood. I was exhausted from being Geth’s prisoner, and navigating the crowded Houston freeways was possibly worse than that. I wasn’t sure when I’d eaten last and my bones ached with exhaustion, but I didn’t have time to rest. Mom needed me.

  Knocking on Mom’s door, I shifted my backpack as I stood on her porch. I’d brought my mirror, just in case. When Mom opened the door, I almost dropped my bag. She wore sweatpants—the gray, baggy kind that were three sizes too large. Her nose was red and swollen, her hair pulled into a sloppy ponytail. Was I at the right house?

  “Hi, Mom,” I said, my voice a little too cheerful as I tried to hide my shock. “Brent called. He wanted me to check on you.”