Spellshift

by Allen Snell

  Morgan stepped out last. Flickers of yellow formed an aura around her. She looked up to the sky and the fires intensified. Arcs of flame scorched the stone beneath her black. The fire shifted from yellow to orange to a fierce violet. The heat rippled the air, and Garen couldn’t make out the details through the haze. The aura seemed to be shrinking. Instead of a bubble around her, the flames danced along her skin.

  She ran in the direction of Drake’s dot in the sky. Even her steps were light and jaunted like a candle’s flame. The flame broke free from the wick. She tore into the sky. She was nothing more than a streak of red quickly approaching Drake. Garen found himself walking faster but still unable to keep them in view. He light-shifted to travel the length of the street. He repeated it twice more, but they were moving almost as fast above him.

  Morgan chased him relentlessly as he looped around the remaining towers. She was nearly in reach. A burst of red filled the sky between them. It knocked Drake hard to the side. He fell toward an older stone tower.

  Garen expected Drake to upright himself in the air and curve around it. Instead, he parted a wall near the top and fell into it. Morgan was too far in the sky for Garen to read her expression, but her actions showed no patience for the chase. She parted the stone and plunged in right after him. A dozen seconds of stillness passed. The tower burst apart and sent stones spraying across the city.

  A large piece fell toward a trade-house below. Garen knew there could be any number of refugees huddled inside. He reached for his depth to redirect it. Garen found it dry. He watched, helpless as any normal man, as the roof collapsed.

  Drake fell from the sky in the opposite direction. Smaller chunks of stone circled him. The pieces slammed together to form a shield. Morgan didn’t let up. She chased him as he fell, releasing one wave of flame after another. The shield caught most of it, but the fiery salvos wrapped around and burned into him. Garen’s biggest fear was letting Drake make contact with the ground. It might end his destruction on the city, but he was uncatchable once he slipped beneath the surface.

  Garen shifted closer. Again, he found there was nothing he could do but watch. He saw the ground part where Drake intended to dive in. Garen shouted in frustration. He was quickly reminded not to underestimate Morgan. She was much more than a ball of impulsive fire. She was the cleverest of them all, willing to practice skills with anyone who could make her stronger—especially her water-gifted sister.

  A thick sheet of ice spread across the hole in the ground at a perfect moment. Drake didn’t have the expertise to part it as naturally as stone. The winds he summoned were too late to cushion his fall. He tucked his knees beneath him and made contact, shattering ice and bones alike. Drake screamed, a heartbreaking noise he’d never heard the man make before. Morgan landed beside him. She thickened the ice beneath and around him into a cage. Garen stepped closer.

  Drake was in too much pain for Garen to read his intentions. He writhed and clutched the bloody caps of his knees. Fractured shards of bone pierced through the skin and trousers. This was beyond any of the maiming Garen could relate to. He couldn’t believe Drake was staying conscious through it. Or was Therov forcing him to feel it?

  Morgan looked to Garen for an answer to an unspoken question. She’d bested him physically, but she was lost on how to handle the spirits.

  “I’ll try to take it from him,” Garen said. “But if he attacks you and I’m still trapped inside his mind, don’t hesitate. One of us might have to kill him.” He didn’t like putting that burden on her, risking her sanity instead of his own, but it was the safest option they had.

  She nodded. “If you can enter his mind from a distance, you might want to take a step back. You don’t seem up for another fight.” Garen took her advice, keeping eye contact as he hobbled away. Drake didn’t look away. He stared back with the feral eyes of a caged beast. Once Garen felt adequately removed, he stepped into Drake’s mind again.

  The shelves of books were no longer moving. Most were turned over on their side. The walls of his mind leaned against one another in complete disarray. Fires spread, igniting shelf after shelf. Garen saw only one path through the wreckage, one memory with steel bars propping it open.

  He saw it through Drake’s eyes this time. Morgan stood only a couple feet in front of him. They were alone in the old meeting room. Drake took one of her hands in his. She let him take it, but tensed as he did.

  “I’m not crazy,” Drake said, bold and nervous at the same time. “You’re the first person I’ve met who cares about someone else more than yourself.”

  “Then you know,” she whispered, “that I can’t be torn between two people. Naia’s learning her way, and she needs me. I’m not saying never. I just can’t think that way right now.” Her eyes pleaded with him genuinely, a compassion in them for his dignity. Drake didn’t have the same gentleness she did. He pulled his hands away.

  “It’s fine.” He took one last look at her pained expression and left the room.

  The memory looped from the beginning. Garen didn’t want to witness the heartbreak over and over any more than Drake did. A new path emerged between the heap of burning scrolls and books. Garen ran down it, hoping to find something more meaningful.

  Instead, he saw the events that had unfolded above the city today. Drake ran from Morgan at every chance. He refused to hurt her in any way. Even to the end, he would have rather abandoned his conquest of the city than turn to fight her. Meanwhile, she aimed to kill him. Now, she’d nearly succeeded.

  “She doesn’t want you,” the deep voice of Therov echoed.

  Garen realized a defining boundary. No matter how much Therov poisoned his mind, he couldn’t force Drake to hurt Morgan. It was the line in the dirt between them.

  “She doesn’t want you,” Therov repeated louder.

  Garen saw the other memory Drake was reliving. This one was far more recent. Seconds ago, Garen stood over his body, watching his agony and doing nothing for him. He listened to himself speak the words, “…one of us might have to kill him.”

  “She doesn’t want you,” Therov shouted, every structure in the crumbling remains of Drake’s mind shaking under its weight.

  Morgan swallowed her regret and nodded in response to Garen. She answered him and Therov just the same.

  The voice in Drake’s mind wailed louder than from the icy impact. Garen had no truth to ease the pain. He wanted to tell Drake that she did want him, that there was a spark between them. And perhaps if Drake was in his right mind, not driven to misguided justice and consumed with his own heartaches, there might have been more. But that moment was gone, extinguished the instant his Apatten put a blade through Naia. She didn’t want him.

  “And I don’t want her.”

  Garen snapped from Drake’s mind. Morgan bounced out of the way as a spear of stone shot from the building beside her. She had little room to maneuver within the alleyway, but the fire in her steps was faster than any stone Drake could conjure. Drake stayed confined. Even if he shaped his way out, his legs were unusable. That didn’t stop Drake from pouring his rage into every spell imaginable.

  She effortlessly dodged two more spears of stone. Her boots glowed with the flicker of nimble flames. Bonds of wind wrapped around one of her feet. Morgan ripped it free, but the wind took the fire with it. Drake folded a second-story wall down to make a roof on the alley. It left even less room to dodge. Still, she evaded with a grace and intensity like none other. She had no deep-seated desire to kill.

  Drake did. His fury outmatched her finesse. Garen tried to step closer, but a gust of wind sent him rolling back. Drake formed more walls of stone to keep Morgan contained. He left her no choice but to charge straight for him. As she did, one last gust of wind stole the fire from her feet. She lost control of her lunge. Drake brought the stone spike up from the ground and angled it forward. For all of Drake’s malice, he still looked away.

  Garen ran forward, ignoring his own limitations. A burst of heat forced him to
stop for long enough to shield his face. He saw the cage of ice melt away. Drake knelt in front of Morgan’s body. In Garen’s eyes, it was the same silhouette of pain and fury as when Argus passed. But now, Drake had only himself to blame.

  Garen drew his sword, but he knew there would be no stopping him. Drake gave Garen a final glance, eyes bloodshot red and tears streaming down his face.

  Drake turned away in shame and muttered to Therov, “Take it. Take whatever you want from me.” The earth carried him under.

  Garen stood in shock for an unmeasurable time. He stared at Morgan’s body, unable to process the loss. She should be moving. She should be sealing her wound. She should be asking where Naia was and why Garen didn’t stay with her. She did none of those things.

  Sounds of rescue efforts could be heard in the distance. Mages with any depth left pulled apart the rubble in hopes of reaching survivors. Garen had no depth left to offer. The city was not silent, but his alley was. He stood weeping, staring into Morgan’s lifeless eyes. He stayed there until a man stumbled onto the alley. He witnessed the sad sight and laid her to rest for him, then left Garen to grieve.

  He stayed put as the sun finished its path across the sky. He didn’t want to move and have to explain his failure. He would drown in their questions. He didn’t want to speak with any of them. There was no responsibility that could move him from his shrine of regret. There was, however, a sickening voice that could. No one had intruded into his alley, but he heard it like a whisper into his ear.

  “I was a monster in life. Young and curious and addicted to watching others squirm.” The voice was unmistakably Drake’s, and yet the words felt coated in thistles, nothing like him.

  “I was ashamed of how much delight I took in watching their pain. Of how much it stirred me. And when that bastard Valu exposed me, I hated myself as much as I hated him. They were right to execute me.”

  Garen couldn’t sit still anymore. He stepped onto a larger street where people were gathering outside. They looked in every direction, unable to find the source of the sound.

  “Any sharp knife would feel ashamed of its nature surrounded by the dull. And so, I wanted to die. But instead of death, I was given purpose. And a sharpened knife with purpose feels no shame. From Thaddeus to Elic to Drake Ambersong, I’ve watched the wretched do their worst. They were gifted with a conscience, and yet they saw fit to ignore it.”

  Hysteria spread among the crowd. They hadn’t seen the disfigured state Drake left in. People screamed in panic waiting for the next assault to begin. The voice in their ears went on.

  “I have only wanted to take ownership of my burden, to be responsible for the incisions my hosts make. I am the hand steady enough to make it right. I do not tremble under the weight of my power. Unlike your two living Spellswords, I do not waver with shame.”

  The masses shut themselves back inside their homes. Contempt sparked inside Garen, but he could not silence the speech that poured salt in his wounds.

  “Even Drake knew he didn’t have the stomach to fix what was needed. He tried. But in the end, he had the wisdom to let go. Now, I will make things right for him. Everything Drake Ambersong ever wanted, I will make good on. Well, except for that unsightly obsession of his, but she’s no longer an option. She made that choice for him. Learn from her mistake. And if you know the evil that fills this city, do not stand in the way of Rupture as I carve through it.”

  Garen wanted to shout and pour his wrath down on Therov. Another voice screamed it for him. She wasn’t anywhere nearby. As doors slammed and bodies fled the street, he couldn’t miss the unbridled fury of Naia. Storm clouds emerged out of nowhere on the horizon, blanketing the nearly-set sun. She bellowed curses in the distance, most of her sounds unintelligible.

  Garen had no depth left, but he could still use his spirit’s element. He light-shifted toward the shouting. She demanded someone let her go. He heard a door torn off in the process. Neither he nor Naia should be moving in their condition, but one of them was processing their grief more violently.

  Naia caught sight of Garen down the street and marched toward him. She stared with unflinching demand for answers. “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone. There’s nothing we can do for the moment,” Garen replied. He intended his words to calm her, but he found them devoid of any emotion.

  “Spit and goffing souls! He’s here somewhere!” She looked in every direction but saw an empty sky. A disc of wind formed under her. Garen took her hand as she tried to ascend.

  “He’s not up there. He escaped under the city.”

  “Fine. We’ll scour the dirt until he shows himself.” Naia put her feet back on the ground and pulled apart the pavement layer by layer. She kept pouring her depth into parting the earth, even as it shook the street and buildings around them. He pulled at her hand. She kept digging without purpose. Her rage was giving way to sorrow and the tears were building. Garen watched the helplessness wash over her face as she stared into the widening crater. He tugged at her hand harder, and she finally turned to him.

  “No, there’s nothing you can say to make this right,” she shouted at him.

  “I’m hurting, too. You’re not alone.”

  “Maybe this second. But how long until you disappear and break another promise? You weren’t there for me. You weren’t there for Drake. And apparently, you weren’t there for Morgan.”

  Garen let go of her hand. He knew it was the grief lashing out, but the accusation was true. He’d failed Drake. He’d failed Morgan. And he understood Naia’s distance in Kalyx. Part of him wanted to turn and walk away, accept his shame and retreat into isolation. He could bear it alone easier than facing those he’d let down. Karna had taught him that much.

  And easier as it felt, it wasn’t the life he wanted. Naia shrieked in surprise as Garen pulled her close and wept over her shoulder. She kept her fists clenched. He felt the sting of being this close to someone who knew his faults. It was still better than isolation. Garen didn’t put any focus into the spell, but Truth still emanated from his soul. The smooth skin along Naia’s face shifted back into a swollen pink scar along her left cheek.

  She didn’t return the embrace. Her tears were still burning with rage and betrayal. She pounded her fists twice into Garen’s back. He didn’t let go. For every reason in the world, she wept with him.

  Chapter 36

  Therov’s words ended without action. Garen guessed as much, seeing the broken state of the body Therov now possessed. But the city had wounds far greater.

  Their king was dead. The last living Jundux was frantically trying to piece their defenses back together. Micah had called for the immediate restoration of the Jundux Empire, all three kingdoms united against anyone who allied with Therov. With the Trans-Empire Relay in ruins, couriers were dispatched on levitrans the next morning. It was a terrifying unknown—whether the Western citizens would band together with them, or if they would stand with their new god-king.

  The people of Kalyx fared better than Garen expected. Their elaborate wall was in ruins. Their tallest buildings were ripped from the sky. The dead and the injured were beyond counting. But somehow, they had been delivered from the massacre. They didn’t understand how or why, but that made the miracle even more inspiring. The voice of Therov had incited panic in the moment, but it didn’t shake their resolve for long after. They were recovering just fine. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a feeling Garen could relate to.

  Garen stayed immobile for several days after his body mended. It was easy to huddle among the refugees as a nobody. There was less guilt, less silent judgment. Garen tried to alleviate his brokenness by helping the excavation crews. He still couldn’t look anyone in the eye, not while he knew how little he’d done to help them. As the word spread, more people thanked and embraced him. After a few days, their praises were more than he could stomach. The only people in his life either put him on a pedestal or saw him for his failures.

  Micah might have been an exception,
but the emperor was a little too busy to talk about feelings with anyone right now. Garen made a few trips to Spiredal to request an audience with Micah. He passed the time watching the mages attempting to reattach the upper tower. After a few hours of waiting, he knew Micah had more important things than to chat with him. On his way out of the palace grounds, he passed a familiar face. Idrian was dressed in regal blue robes.

  “That’s a new look for you. What are you doing here?”

  Idrian smiled. “I assumed Emperor Micah would have told you. He’s forming a new Advising Council, some old, some new. I’m a little of both.”

  Garen’s mind was too burdened to display it, but he was genuinely happy to hear the news. “That’s good. We’ll need you.”

  “Yes,” Idrian nodded. “It is a kindness to be needed once more. I’m sure it’s one of the few comforts in the road ahead. It’ll be a tough winter after seeing what the Apatten ravaged.”

  Garen glanced around. He saw a number of people still huddled within the palace grounds that didn’t quite belong. “Is there a reason people aren’t returning back to their homes?”

  “Some have,” Idrian said. “Especially those who saw the devastation firsthand. They were gone before we could tell them it was safe. Others aren’t willing to relocate, not while we keep dragging our feet and offering them shelter. But that’s not my area of specialty.”

  “And what would that be?” Garen asked.

  “Emperor Micah wants a full history of every defensive and weaponized use of geonodes. I’ll be making sure we’re never this unprepared again. Peace is a beautiful thing, but no Spellsword ever achieved it through ignorance. So, I’ll try to guide our empire much the same way.” The reality pained Garen, but he couldn’t argue.

  Idrian changed topics. “Is Naia handling things alright?”

  Garen shrugged. The expression seemed indifferent, but it was his honest answer. Naia had been less hostile in the past few days, but the silence left open a miserable amount of interpretation. At best, she was distancing herself from him. At worst, she still blamed him for her sister’s death.