“What happens if I refuse?”
The Wasdig met my eyes. The stars swirled there, deeper and darker than any night sky. I could imagine patterns worked behind his eyes, but couldn’t see them.
“There is no refusal.”
Yeah, I sort of figured. “Then what if I fail?”
The Wasdig’s eyes were dark and went darker. “You have already agreed to the terms.”
“I’ve agreed to nothing,” I said. “You told me I had time to prepare, but you didn’t tell me what I would be preparing for. And there were no terms.”
“The terms were set when you accepted.”
I frowned, still struggling to understand what I would have done to have brought the attention of one of the gods. “Accepted? You mean the city?”
The Wasdig simply stared.
“What happens if I fail?”
“Then all of this is lost.”
“What all?”
“What you call the Threshold.”
Well, hell. If I thought I was in trouble before, that sort of solidified it for me. If I did nothing, or if I refused the Wasdig, then not only the city and everyone in it would suffer, but everyone on this side of the Threshold would be in danger.
It would have been nice to have a bit more time.
“So when do we go?” I asked.
“Not we. That is the price of delay.”
“Wait,” I started. “I don’t know anything about the Zdrn. You can’t send me without any sort of instruction…”
“I will serve as your guide, but you will not be allowed a second.”
His eyes were fixed on Devan.
She raced over to me and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward her. “Don’t do this by yourself, Ollie. Don’t do this to me. If something happens to you, I might never know.”
I glanced over at the Wasdig. He gripped his staff tightly, his enormous reddish knuckles almost as big as my head. I could easily imagine him grabbing my head and lifting me, dragging me along with him. “I don’t think I have much of a choice anymore.”
Magic had a certain sort of honor to it. Once you give your word, you commit yourself to the choices you make and the consequences those choices entail. Somehow, by choosing to protect Conlin, I’d also placed myself on the Protariat—for better or worse—and now put myself into whatever harm might befall me at the Zdrn. And the consequences of traveling to Arcanus, of using the doorway my father had placed connecting the Rooster to Arcanus, had caused me to lose the potential of having Devan with me for Zdrn.
“The choice has been made,” the Wasdig said.
Devan took my hand, squeezing it. She slipped something heavy and solid into my fingers. “Breathe into it if you need me,” she said, and then she turned to the Wasdig. “What can he bring?”
The Wasdig eyed her a moment. “Only that which is required for the Zdrn.”
“I’m required,” she said.
“You are not permitted.”
“And his staff?” she asked.
I flicked my eyes over to her, wondering what she was playing at. I wasn’t a wizard, so I didn’t have a staff. I’m not even sure if wizards even had staffs. From what I’d seen, only gods used them.
“If a staff is required, then it is permitted.”
Devan released my hand and turned away. She disappeared into the darkness for a moment. As she did, I slipped the figurine she’d given me into my pocket, wondering which one she’d chosen. I was partial to the troll, even if it wouldn’t work. When she returned, she carried a long, slender staff made of what looked like weathered beach wood. She handed it to me, and as she did, the damn thing blinked.
I took the dryad staff hesitantly, half expecting it to twist and bite me or run from me, but it did neither. It remained stiff and unmoving.
The Wasdig seemed not to notice that Devan had given me a dryad staff. I wasn’t sure what help it would even be, but I wouldn’t disagree with Devan about taking it, at least not in front of the Wasdig.
The creature tapped its staff. “It will begin. For you to survive, you must possess strength, courage, and wisdom. If you manage all three, the Threshold will remain at the Protariat’s request.”
Then a wave of the most powerful magic I’d ever felt washed over me, burning through me, practically destroying me.
15
There was a sense of movement, but it was different than what I’d experienced crossing the Threshold or even with crossing over into Arcanus. The sense of the Wasdig standing next to me didn’t change, and I had the impression of his size. Not only his physical size, which was enormous, but also his magical size. The creature was impressive, overflowing with energy and more than I could even fathom.
With magic, I normally didn’t have a sense of scale or scope of what someone else possessed. I knew that with Devan, she was incredibly powerful, but that was because I could see how she used her magic, not because I could sense the magic itself. The same held true for Jakes. I had a sense of how much power I’d felt him pull. Shifters were all more powerful than nearly anything else I’d come across, but Jakes especially so.
That I could sense it from the Wasdig made me question why.
The staff continued to thud against the ground, but it was no longer something I heard, but rather something I felt, a jarring sense deep within my bones that ripped through me, filling me with the blooming awareness. It was a mixture of pain and agony, but also—surprisingly—of knowledge. I hadn’t expected that.
Then it stopped. Whatever the Wasdig did ceased. There was a vague sense of movement, and I realized the Wasdig waved his staff.
Darkness slowly peeled back, like a film being removed. Blank gray light shimmered around me, and then it too coalesced. As it did, I stood in a well-trimmed yard, lush grass growing around me. The air was warm—much warmer than it should be for this time of the year in Conlin—but the smells were familiar, that of pine and the earthy hint of the park. The faded gray, almost a gloaming as night came on, surrounded everything.
We were near my house, but different. The trees growing in front of me were not as tall as I expected. Bright green leaves unfurled from the oak branches. Vibrant pine trees strained for the sun between them. Already I could see the pattern my father had placed into the trees. It was the pattern I would struggle to understand. Maybe if I had, I’d have been able to draw upon it to hold the Wasdig out. Were I to wander, I could reach into the park. Would the statues be there? Would my father have already placed Agony at the center of the park or any of the others around the park?
“What is this?” I asked. “Is this it? This is the Zdrn?”
But the Wasdig wasn’t there. He’d disappeared at some point, suddenly vanished.
In spite of the darkness, I saw clearly. I looked around, wondered what I might have missed, but I didn’t see him anywhere. There was no sense of him either, none of the steady rhythmic tapping of the staff. I still held the dryad staff, but it didn’t move, remaining stuck in shape as if something Devan had done had converted it truly into a staff.
Touching it to the ground, I scanned the trees, then the garage, and finally the house. There was no sign of anything. No movement. No evidence of magic. Nothing.
I made my way toward the house first. As I approached, I touched the wood around the doorframe, running my fingers over it. It was painted a dark brown, the color having faded over time. My fingers found evidence for patterns etched into the frame, though I saw no sign of it. A steady hum of energy ran beneath the paint, more noticeable than even now.
The door itself was different. From a distance, I couldn’t tell, but up close it was clear the door was made of the same type of wood my father’s door had been made of in Arcanus. I stared at it, wondering when it had been changed. Had it ever been this wood before?
I ran my hand over the door, letting it glide over the smooth surface. It felt slick, almost as if wet, and I could feel the oils as they seeped from the door. On a whim, I traced the pattern found on t
he golden key, the same pattern found on the lock leading to Jakes’s shed. It shimmered slightly as I did, and then solidified. With a surge of power, I pressed will through it.
The door opened with a soft click and swung open.
I don’t know what I expected. I wasn’t certain what was happening, only that the Wasdig seemed to have left me. From what I could tell, the house was as it had been when I was a child. An old, gray sofa with thick, plush cushions took up most of the living room. A recliner angled toward the door, the cracked leather of it stitched and repaired several times over the year with different thread, making it look something like a Frankenstein chair. Seeing it here made me smile. That had been where my father had always sat. The lamp I still used rested behind the chair, but no light spilled from it.
Thick curtains of green and blue stripes covered the windows. Those had long since been lost, or taken down, or maybe simply thrown away. Two bookshelves faced each other on opposite sides of the room, the books stacking along the shelves nearly pouring from them. A few reminded me of works my father now had in the basement. As I studied the shelves, I realized the bookshelves themselves were now found in the basement.
The portraits hanging on the wall were all done by my father. There was one of my mother and him, done long before I was born. Even standing in the doorway, I saw the glint in his eye that always made me think he had a secret to share. He wore a half-smile and had his arm around my mother in a protective sort of way.
It had been so long since I’d seen her I practically forgot what she looked like.
At the doorway, I paused, hesitating before going in. The house had a welcoming feel to it and reminded me of my childhood, only… there was something that wasn’t quite right. Everything I saw here looked like it was in my memories, but where was my father? Where was my mother?
I stepped across the doorway, and the room felt like it tilted. I jabbed at the ground with the dryad staff, and there was a jarring sense mixed with an explosion of magical energy before everything settled again.
My boots thundered across the wood floor. The spots that normally creaked didn’t make a sound, and I made my way toward the kitchen. It was different here, but much like what I remembered. The tall cabinet where I now kept the inks had been moved out of the way and set where I had placed the table. The stain was darker and the whole cabinet less dingy appearing than it was now. The small, drop leaf oak table that had been in the kitchen for all of my youth was here, one side flipped down so that it could fit flush against the wall. Two chairs were at either end.
The kitchen looked like my childhood home, but there was nothing else about it at that reminded me of home. Missing were the pictures my father had drawn and that had hung on the walls, long since taken down. They had gone with him when we went to Arcanus, though I had never seen them again. Also missing were my mother’s attempts at sculpting.
Huh. I hadn’t thought of her iron work in ages. Now that I stood here, staring at the kitchen, looking for signs of familiarity, I realized they had been missing. Had my father taken them someplace or were they still stored in the house? She used to tell me that with my father’s artwork she always felt somewhat like she needed to add her own touches to the house.
A calendar hung on the wall, and I glanced at it. Slowly I recognized the date, one I’d blocked from my memory for so many years. Seeing the house like this, seeing all the touches that had once been hers, brought back memories I’d hidden until now.
No… it couldn’t be the same night my mother had died. Why would the Wasdig show this to me?
A low howl called from behind me, and I turned. It was a sound I recognized. Once you hear the call the hunter’s call, you don’t forget it.
Could the Wasdig have brought me to the hunters? I still didn’t even know the purpose of the Zdrn. Jakes didn’t know anything and Nik had heard rumors, enough he thought it some sort of test. If it was, then why would the Wasdig bring me here?
Shadows shifted behind me. I felt the drawing power, the strange, cold tingling across my spine I’d felt the last time the hunters had attacked. There was no magical pattern I knew that could protect me, nothing that would stop the hunters.
I traced a hasty circle on the ground, spiraling it with black ink and quickly inverting it, turning it arcane so that I would not need to draw nearly as much power. As it formed, the inky shadows continued to swirl around me, giving me the deep sense of fear that steadily grew into something more like panic.
There was nothing I could do to stop the hunters. No pattern I knew that would work.
“I don’t suppose you can help?” I asked the dryad staff.
It only blinked at me but didn’t change.
I snorted. At least Devan wasn’t here to see this. If I were to fall, she didn’t need to be a witness, especially if I went down against something I couldn’t see, something I didn’t even understand.
The hunter slammed against the pattern. My barrier buckled but held. Pain burned through me, threatening to knock me to my knees. Facing the Wasdig had taken more out of me than I’d realized. I’d attempted a protective circle and used the magi patterns. Now I needed to use my powers, I didn’t have enough strength remaining.
And maybe that was the Wasdig’s intent. Maybe he wanted me to fail.
But if that was the case, he could easily have killed me. The gods had enough juice to simply squish me out of existence if that’s what he wanted. That told me there was another reason for this.
What had he told me before he’d ripped me away from Devan?
Everything was a fog. My head throbbed. The hunters slammed into my barrier again, weakening it. With another attack, I suspected it would fail.
Damn it, but I wasn’t going to fall to the hunters this easily.
What did I know that might work?
Not the figurine Devan had given me. And the dryad seemed disinterested in helping. Even as a staff it was useless.
The only thing I could think of were the patterns Nik had taught. They were powerful, and they drew magic in a different way, but I didn’t know if they would have any effect on the hunters.
What choice did I have but to try?
I began working the pattern, twisting my hands in the way Nik had shown me, the same pattern I’d used against the Wasdig with some success. The power began to build, and as it did, I felt hunters growing more agitated, slamming against the barrier again. They were drawn to the power I summoned. With a flick of my wrist, I changed the pattern completely, twisting it into something similar to what I’d learned from the Trelking. It was a difficult and arcane pattern, but when drawn, pulled much power. I rarely had the opportunity to use it, mostly because it was difficult to place on paper. I was surprised at how appropriate it felt as I formed it with my hands.
Something with the hunters changed. The draw toward the barrier reversed as if the arcane pattern pushed them away. The power surged even more strongly. As it reached its peak, I released my protection at the same time as the magi pattern exploded all around me in a burning flash of light.
There came a high scream, an awful sound, followed by silence.
I waited, half expecting the hunters to return, but nothing happened.
I let out a nervous breath. My legs felt shaky, and exhaustion washed over me. The pattern I had just used had created more power than anything I’d ever done before. Hell, part of me couldn’t believe I managed such strength.
The house remained silent. The hunters were gone, if only for now. I stepped out of my circle of ink and staggered, forced to lean on the dryad staff. As it touched the ground, everything tilted again.
Suddenly I stood on a barren plain. Dry grasses grew all around me, and a heavy breeze pulled at the cloak on my shoulders. The sun burned closer than it should, full and angry in the sky above. On the rocks to my left, I saw figures moving, climbing over them. To my right, the ground changed, growing greener and lusher than where I stood now.
I recognized ever
ything around me. I’d been here before, but not for over a year.
This was the other side of the Threshold. The weight of the breeze told me nearly as much as the way the sun stared at me. The trees to my right were where the Trelking lived. The barren lands I stood in were all claimed by the Druist Mage.
The battle was new.
Te’alan soldiers fought against the Druist Mage. Magical power exploded around me, surging with as much strength and violence as anything I’d ever seen before. As it did, I realized the attack on the Te’alan pushed them back, forcing them away from their border. Te’alan archers and creatures like trolls and visdyns stood against those fighting for the Druist Mage, but the Te’alan were handcuffed in a way. They couldn’t use their power to attack. It simply did not work that way.
I sensed the Trelking but did not see him. Never before had I sensed him, but this was clear to me, like a beacon shining brightly in the darkness. He stood among his troops, though back from the front line. Power flowed from him, out through the earth and into the creatures fighting for him. It reminded me of what Devan did when she breathed life into her figurines.
A pair of twisted men slunk toward the border to my left. They had graying skin and, from this distance, appeared to have elongated features, making them something unnatural. They made it past the rocks, past the archers, and reached the green of the Trelking’s realm. None of the Trelking’s men saw them, almost as if they were shadowed.
Demons.
Damn, but demons could hide their presence. They were hard to control, which was part of the reason the Trelking rarely summoned them. They had power, dark and fearsome power, and they fed off fear and hatred, drawing it within them to use against those they opposed. They had a purpose, but it was a terrible one. And they were nearly as powerful as one of the gods.
Here, there were two of them.
If demons had been summoned, the Trelking could be in real danger.
Even as I started forward, I wondered what the hell I was doing. I didn’t owe the Trelking anything, did I? He’d forced me to serve, making it a requirement for the lessons he’d taught me, but hadn’t I repaid him over and again?
Stone Dragon (The Painter Mage Book 5) Page 16