Spellshift

by Allen Snell

  Karna raised her blood-soaked hand to her chest. Layna screamed out in protest, but her attempt to make it to her feet ended in a stumble and another thump against the stone floor.

  This isn’t a decision you can make!

  “Shut it, Kallista!” Karna shouted. “You were mine to endure, and now you’re mine to give.”

  Garen felt the unbearable pain and anguish press against him like a weight. He didn’t understand the depth of hurt between them. It was somehow more than a memory.

  Stop. Please, just stop, a tired voice pleaded.

  Garen realized the source. Half the trauma was from the memory. The other half came from the conscious woman he was forcing to relive it. Garen stopped pushing the memory forward and felt the overwhelming plea for him to leave. He slid out of her mind and into his own body. Seated across from him in the tiny one-room cabin was his grandmother, tiny and frail, weeping uncontrollably.

  “I never meant to—”

  “Get out!” she screamed, her head hung too low to see her eyes.

  “Really, it wasn’t on purpose. Grandmother…”

  “Don’t you dare call me that! You took what you came here for, and it wasn’t to be my grandson. Now leave.”

  “I don’t want to just—”

  “LEAVE!” her voice shook with violence in her throat and ended in a pained cough.

  Garen hurried to gather his belongings. He wanted to shift directly out of the room to somewhere, someone else, but his own mind was too much a mess to focus. He wasn’t sure where to go. So, he left in the simpler fashion. He looked back to Karna as he closed the door behind him. She still hadn’t raised her head from her shaking hands.

  Chapter 21

  Garen sat on a ledge of the Te’en cliffs. The view made it pleasant enough to tolerate the stinging wind for a little while. He needed to clear his mind and decide where to move next. At some point, he’d have to train Naia on how to force the spirit out of Drake, but he also wanted to know how Drake and Morgan were managing with the West.

  The ability to arrive there instantly prolonged his indecision. He had all the time to debate the option and no rush to commit other than the sun dipping low. The chill at this height would eventually force a decision. One last hesitation kept him still. He wanted to know Karna was alright. Any reassurance would do. A trip outside. The sound of her music. But he was too far away to hear that. Dusk approached, and Garen wondered if a light would come on inside the cabin. The thought terrified him. He suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. Not knowing seemed safer.

  Without making the decision of where to go, he closed his eyes and fell back toward the Spirit Realm. He wanted to be with someone vibrant. The silence and sadness of the day was too much. He didn’t choose who would best help the kingdom. He chose the person that made him feel most alive. The rolling of her eyes. Her sarcasm. Her laugh, even at his expense.

  For once, Garen arrived with some degree of composure. He sat on a dirt floor. The room was rather dark, lit only by a small geonode lantern hanging in the stone room. A girl in dark trousers and a blue tunic knelt over a stone basin crafting fresh, steaming water into it. Garen could see where her scar began under her left ear. Naia hummed softly to herself. He had no idea she was capable of such a peaceful sound.

  Naia pushed herself up from the edge of the basin and untied the cloth belt around her waist. Garen tried to get her attention but suddenly found his throat dry as the badlands. She pulled the tunic overhead, revealing fair skin and a cloth wrap around her chest. He scrambled to his feet. The noise startled her. She spun to face him and clutched the tunic in hand against the curves of her chest.

  “Garen! What are—?”

  Now on his feet, he turned to the side and placed a hand shielding his eyes. The gesture ended up being more for appearance than purpose. Through the corner of his eyes, he still stared at her figure. Garen tried to offer a defense, but all he could do was swallow the stone in his throat.

  “Get out!” she shouted, each word releasing a forceful wind against him. The timing on the words stung more than she could have anticipated. Garen still found himself frozen, not wanting to leave but knowing he had to at once.

  Her shouting took the form of an angry whisper. “And stop looking at me!”

  Suddenly, the command was geared toward something he could do immediately. It was still more difficult to turn away from her than he could explain. Garen nodded and hurried toward the door. He unbolted it and stepped outside. Two men came from opposite directions toward him. Garen bent the light to hide himself. He stepped out of the way as the men approached.

  “Is everything alright, Miss Talia?”

  “I’m fine. Just surprised by a nosy little rat.”

  “Do you need help with it?” the other asked.

  “Oh, I chased him off. And if he tries that again, I’ll snap his neck.”

  One of the men’s eyes widened. The other smiled and shrugged. After a second, they wandered back the way they came. Garen stood still along the side of the stone hut, heart still racing. The image of Naia stayed etched in his mind. It was difficult not to imagine her figure when she clutched the tunic against her chest. And now, easier than ever, he had the opportunity to witness it fully. There was a tiny gap under the crude door, enough to pull light through. Garen’s heart beat faster than he thought it was capable of while standing still. His teeth chattered.

  He heard the lightest splash from the basin inside, and his mind demanded to fill in the gaps. It was too much to be this close, a simple bend of light away from seeing a treasure unknown. He wanted it.

  Something in his mind stood between him and the door. His own voice spoke the defiance. I can’t go through that again. She’d know. Somehow, she’d know. I’ve stolen too much already today.

  He wanted to take a seat and wait for her, but this wasn’t a safe place for his state of mind. He walked away. Naia’s stone shelter was a bit larger than the rows of tents around it. Garen strolled through the maze, wondering how many refugees it contained. He formed a disc of wind under his feet and rose upward.

  A few stone structures and larger tents stood out. The rest were uniformly small, clustered canopies. There were hundreds. No, it had to be thousands. They extended further than he could see. Fabrics stretched between poles to form tents of varying color and size. Each offered a small amount of protection and privacy. It probably didn’t help much against the cold. The thought gave Garen chills, and he rubbed his hands along his arms to warm himself.

  The largest structure Garen could make out was the newly built barracks near the river. What little damage it suffered from Sarkos’ attacks had been repaired. Garen wondered if Sarkos simply hadn’t felt threatened by the new recruitment of Centralians, or if the density of soldiers made it harder to place explosives inside. Either way, it was the best place for Garen to find an update. He expanded his disc of wind and kept it under his steps as he walked through the air that direction.

  Several hands pointed into the sky at Garen. It wasn’t that complicated of a spell. He imagined at least a quarter of them had the depth to learn it, assuming they could dedicate themselves to the practice and un-train their fear of heights. But seeing it done trivially stirred a commotion. He lowered the disc with each step until he was standing outside the camp of soldiers.

  The group looked ragged and downcast. A few moved to start fires inside the camp as the sun set. They walked with tired legs and mud-caked armor. Others sat trying to clean their leathers. Garen worried for a moment they’d faced some kind of attack. But if so, they fared extremely well. Only one person was bandaging a wound.

  A female voice caught him by surprise. “Garen?”

  He spun around and saw a girl carrying a jug of water. Her leather armor was equally stained with mud. Her smile and the rosy freckles above it seemed out of place in a soldier’s getup. Memories of love and sacrifice flooded Garen’s mind, but they were not his own. He saw her through the lens of her father,
the Earth Rogue. Garen exhaled sweet relief, a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding in. Elise was alive. He hadn’t doomed her by rescuing her from that prison cell.

  Garen kept his awkward distance. He didn’t know what to say. The words that eventually came out weren’t his favorite. “That’s me alright. So, you’re alive, huh?”

  She nodded politely. “I’m glad you are, too.” She managed only brief eye contact and kept looking back to the ground. “I wanted to ask Captain Talia if you were—”

  “Captain who?” Garen said, too shocked to assume the obvious.

  “Captain Naia Talia? She’s been working with General Tragus to prepare us.” Elise set the heavy jug down. “I should have asked, but no one talks about the Spellswords like they used to. Captain Talia never mentions you. I was afraid something terrible happened.”

  Garen tensed as an unpleasant memory surfaced. “We did lose one of our own. It’s been hard. But now, we’re trying to piece everything back together. If we can find the last of Sarkos’ followers, maybe you guys won’t have to deal with the Apatten at all.”

  Elise didn’t look up. Her grip tightened. “I’ll fight if I have to. That’s what I signed up for.”

  Garen could tell something was broken in her. She had always been reserved, the outcome of a life in a cage. But in their long trek from the Western Kingdom, he’d never caught any sign that she wanted to end her life on the battlefield. Garen had to ask an uncomfortable question. “Did your mother make it out of the city?”

  Elise shook her head no. “If there’s any connection between those creatures and the man who took my parents from me, I’ll make them pay.” She braved a quick glance up into Garen’s eyes. He saw the pain and determination. Her auburn hair and freckles had as much fire as innocence in them.

  Before he could stumble through another set of words, the commanding voice of General Tragus called his name. “Garen Renyld, welcome to the barracks.”

  Garen hadn’t seen the man since his public address alongside Micah, and he rarely crossed paths with him elsewhere. As the General walked closer, he remembered how massive his stature was.

  Elise picked the jug back up and mumbled, “I’ll see you later.” He wanted to say more, but she was gone.

  “I’m guessing Idrian sent you my way,” Tragus said.

  Garen shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since we…” Garen considered what was worth sharing about Karna. “Since about two weeks ago.”

  “Ah, then King Micah delivered his orders to you directly?”

  Garen forced a grin and shook his head. “No, I just sort of stopped in here. Should I head wherever he is first?”

  “Waste of time. He’d send you right back. I relayed a request to him last week for aid training the Centralians. He approved Naia’s rank and said he’d send you when your previous assignment was completed.”

  “Send me to do what?” Garen asked, already afraid how quickly the man seemed to be taking control.

  “The Centralian recruits are strong men and women with impressive depth, but they’re not fighters. They’re citizens who’ve used their magic for crafting. Their losses may have hardened them to look like soldiers, but they don’t have the discipline for war. They haven’t had to stand their ground against someone who wants them dead.”

  Another breeze picked up and made Garen wish he could step closer to the fires the Centralians were stoking. He stayed facing Tragus, skeptical of where the conversation was headed. “That’s not really something I can teach. Why do you want me?”

  Tragus showed no sign of concern and looked out over the troops. “More of it will rub off than you realize. Every action we take teaches. You’ve learned how to use your depth to take lives. These people haven’t. It’s a sad reality, but I need people like you and Naia to help these soldiers bridge that gap.”

  “Well, I’m flattered,” Garen said. “I was planning to be here for a little while. I have to work with Naia on…something. I just wish Micah would have run this by me first. I’m not really comfortable helping train an army. I barely know what I’m doing.”

  The General turned to face him. He measured Garen with a silent, heavy judgment. Eventually, Tragus shrugged with a gruff sigh and walked closer to the barracks. Garen reluctantly followed.

  “You have a strange relationship with your king,” Tragus said. “When I give my men orders, they don’t need to confirm with me that they’ll do them. They’ve chosen to follow me once. They don’t pick and choose orders after that. They also trust me to know what’s best for my kingdom. Do you not trust King Micah?”

  The question made Garen feel small, even more so walking behind the six-and-a-half-foot general. He respected Micah. He appreciated the dedication and protection the man had shown him. Trust was a different beast altogether. What was Garen other than his choices? If he gave that up and blindly followed the whims of another person, he’d be living someone else’s life. Garen never had reasons to refuse Micah’s requests, but he’d always seen them as that—requests. The idea that he’d been following orders all along made him recoil. He didn’t like how much truth kept resonating in Aethis’ words. Your king leads you like a dog by its throat. I give my followers the gift of choice.

  “Front and center, soldiers!” General Tragus shouted. Men and women scrambled in the open camp to line up into ranks. Instead of an organized assembly, they crowded forward like a hesitant mob. “This man is Garen Renyld. You may know him from your previous, gossip-mongering lives as the Light Spellsword. As of today, you will treat him the same rank as Captain Talia. He will answer only to me. You will follow every instruction he gives as if your life depends on it. Eventually, it will. He will not lead you into battle. I’m still waiting on many of you to prove you have what it takes to become captains of your division. Garen is here only to provide the tools that will keep you alive.” Tragus faced him, and the shouting continued directly into his face. “Garen, do you promise to prepare these men to the best of your ability for the safety of your kingdom?”

  Garen glared at Tragus and forced deep breaths. He imagined how much satisfaction it would give him to shake his head and walk away. The man could use a lesson in what assuming does. The Centralians stared at him. Elise was the only face he recognized among them. The nervous anger he saw in her before was gone. She smiled at him.

  Garen offered Tragus a cringing nod. “I will.”

  The General placed a heavy hand on Garen’s shoulder. “You have his word, soldiers. Clean yourselves up and prepare for tomorrow morning. I want everyone in full gear standing at attention by sunrise. Dismissed.”

  The troops slowly scattered back around the fires. Their eyes were still primarily fixed on Garen and Tragus.

  Garen waited until everyone was far enough away before confronting him. “It’s not much of a choice if you set me up in front of everyone like that.”

  “Nonsense. We have to make the hard choices in life surrounded by our community. No one is strong enough on their own. Having an audience didn’t make the choice for you. They just helped you make the right choice.”

  “And what made you certain I would even do that? I’ve got a reputation as a bit of a runaway.”

  Tragus smiled. “There’s no certainty in war. You’ll have to get used to that.”

  “You’ve used that word twice now. So, it’s war, is it?”

  “Spirits willing, I hope not. We don’t have to worry about the Western Kingdom taking up arms, but the threat of these Apatten is out of my hands. All we can do is prepare. I’ll see you bright and early.”

  It still bothered Garen the way he phrased it—a statement rather than a question. But there was no point arguing it. He’d be there.

  Chapter 22

  Garen almost made it back to Naia’s chambers when another familiar face spotted him among the refugee tents. The boy didn’t draw Garen’s attention with his voice. Garen heard only the pitter-patter of steps rushing toward him. When he turned toward the soun
d, he saw Belen sprint past him. A layer of stone sprung from the path behind him. It closed into a dome overtop Garen and left him speechless inside a pitch-black cage.

  “Haha, too slow,” Belen yelled.

  Garen smiled, already thinking how best to one-up him. He shifted the ground until it formed a narrow tunnel. He crawled in, parting the dirt in front of him slowly.

  Above the surface, Belen taunted again, “What? Can’t water blast your way out?”

  Garen hoped he’d crawled far enough past where Belen was standing. He split the ground above him and climbed out silently. Several onlookers were shocked at the display. Belen was oblivious. Garen sealed both ends of his tunnel shut and tapped Belen on the shoulder.

  “Who’s in the dome?” Garen asked.

  Belen nearly tripped spinning around to face him. “How did you?” His eyes darted back and forth between Garen and his stone cage. “Oh, no!” Belen shouted and broke apart the barrier. He tried to wave away the dust and help whoever was inside. The stone debris settled and no one was standing there.

  “So, maybe,” Garen said with a grin, “I wasn’t too slow. Maybe you’re too slow.”

  Belen scrunched his face into a simultaneous pout and smile.

  “Belen!” Naia’s agitated voice carried down the street. “I told you, practice outside the camp!”

  Naia’s clean white tunic stood out among the rest of the people watching. Belen rolled his eyes. He and Garen walked toward her.

  “Did you find the spirit teacher guy?” Belen asked.

  “Sort of,” Garen said, hoping to dodge the question for now.

  Belen looked both ways and whispered, “How about my sister? Did you find out how to free her and the other slaves?”

  Garen was even less prepared to answer that question. “I’m sorry, Belen. We’re trying to handle some other, trickier things first. We’ll do whatever we can next, I promise.” Belen nodded. He was far from satisfied, but less obstinate than Garen remembered. “How are you guys faring here?”