He shunted some more power into the stone fist holding him fast. The material fragmented and reformed. Sarai only held him now, probably realizing she couldn’t kill Wren this way.
His vision cleared. Mazerak pawed at his face, obviously trying to wipe blood out of his eyes.
Bannor felt his nape hair stiffen. His body stood up in the blast ripped cage. Even across the distance, he made out a shimmering green light in the eyes of his wolfish face. The grinning expression looked wrong.
“Guards!” Mazerak yelled still rubbing at his eyes. The Lord looked in the direction of Bannor’s body. After a moment, he stiffened. “Don’t even try it, woodsman. I still have Sarai and Wren.”
Bannor’s stomach tightened. Mazerak didn’t yet understand.
“Mazerak.” The voice came from the lips of his body but it sounded different—hollow. The words echoed through the clearing. “I think not.” The bars of the cage enclosing his body wilted as if they’d become rods of dough, falling open like the petals of a flower. “Start praying, Duquesne.”
Bannor couldn’t see it, but he imagined the color leaving the Lord’s face, the man’s blocky jaw going slack.
Sarai staggered. The reddish tinge left her eyes.
Two of the surviving minions rushed toward Wren in Bannor’s body. She glared at them. As they charged, each moved progressively slower as if wading through thicker and thicker mud. The color of the black armor grayed toward white. The minions froze a step from the wagon—as statues of marble.
Sarai glanced around, obviously disoriented. The stone enfolding Wren’s body loosened. Bannor quickly slid out and caught the elf when she started to fall.
He saw Wren opening and closing his fingers. “Didn’t you know what you were dealing with Mazerak? Didn’t they tell you?”
She reached up and plucked a flower from the air.
Bannor felt dizzy, sensing the true potential of the Nola in his body. How much control did Wren really have? What if she lost it?
“No!” Mazerak shouted. He gestured. The heavens glared star-bright. Bolts twined down.
Wren held up a hand. The lightning bent in midcourse, felling trees, shattering wagons, and vaporizing the remaining minions.
Wren sniffed the bloom. “What a shame. You missed.”
“How?” Mazerak muttered. He glanced back and his eyes fixed on Bannor in Wren’s body with Sarai.
“Kill him,” Bannor growled. Wren’s feminine voice issuing from his lips was still startling.
“Yes, you put it rather poetically, didn’t you, Bannor? Reach down Duquesne’s throat and turn him inside out?” The green in his body’s eyes flashed. “That can be arranged.”
Mazerak’s head snapped around. He made a whimpering noise.
Wren stepped off the wagon. Her feet never touched the ground but levitated a hand width above it. She glanced down, then to Mazerak. She grinned. Snakes gave warmer smiles. She moved forward. The Lord backed away.
Bannor recognized the bloom in Wren’s hand. A star-petal, the type of flower a mourner laid on a grave.
“Wren,” Sarai said, her voice gravelly and dry. “How did I get here? What’s happened to Bannor?”
Without thought, he pulled her tight against him. “You’re all right.”
Sarai’s eyes widened. She didn’t like Wren. It felt wrong, too. Things in the wrong places, touching other things.
“Yes.” Sarai pushed him back. Her eyes went to his body.
Bannor’s heart beat faster as Wren closed with Mazerak.
“You know,” Wren said, her voice a boom. “I never realized I would enjoy gloating so much.”
“Please,” Mazerak’s heavy voice trembled.
“Save it, mercy is for those who are themselves merciful.” She sniffed. “You haven’t given quarter in your life.”
She’d backed Mazerak up to the point Bannor and Sarai could see the cadaverously pale features of the Lord streaked with scratch marks and blood. His dark eyes gleamed like those of a trapped animal.
Mazerak’s gaze tracked to Sarai. The elf stiffened.
“A-a-ah.” Wren gestured as though she were tearing the contents of something from a bag. A bluish glow poured from Mazerak’s body and collected around her hand.
Sarai relaxed and her eyes cleared.
The Storm savant howled. “M-m-my Nola!”
Wren tossed the blue essence on the ground and squashed it underfoot the way she might a leech. The spot fizzled and popped. “Has caused enough trouble.”
Bannor felt ill. So much potential. Too much. The fear Wren had expressed about his Nola reverberated through his mind. A savant who can destroy or enslave all the others, the Garmtur’Shak Nola.
Mazerak dropped to his knees. Bannor stepped to the mound of dirt Sarai used to grab him and picked up Wren’s sword. The metal felt cold and hard.
An icy revelation swept through him. While he didn’t like being in Wren’s body, it might not be mutual. The savant had now capped the danger of Bannor’s Nola. He remembered her saying that such power was addictive. The ability to make any desire a reality would be an incredible temptation.
She already showed warning signs.
Sarai went to Bannor’s body and hugged him. She didn’t realize she was embracing Wren. Wren hugged her back. She glanced at Bannor over the elf’s head and raised an eyebrow.
Wren faced Duquesne. She put the flower in the man’s lapel then backhanded him. Mazerak snarled and gritted his teeth.
“Do you still want to fight?” she growled.
The Lord subsided. Wren drew a glowing tracery in the air. Bannor knew it, the universal symbol for a traitor. The dandy’s eyes widened as Wren drew her hand back. She took her palm and shoved the glowing emblem against Mazerak’s forehead.
There was a sizzling sound. Mazerak yelled and staggered away clutching his face.
Bannor moved to follow but Wren grabbed his arm. It seemed so odd to look up at himself; so much like looking in some strange mirror.
“We don’t need his blood on our hands.” They watched the Lord stagger away, cursing and moaning. He soon disappeared into the foliage on the far side of the clearing. He never looked back. “Hecate’s followers take care of their own.”
Bannor shuddered, thinking of the image in the astral realm as it scooped up souls to be tortured in the Hecate’s scales for eternity. He closed his eyes.
“Are you all right, Sarai?” Wren asked from his body.
Bannor opened his eyes.
Sarai nodded. She blinked and looked up into the canopy of trees. Shafts of buttery light filtered through the shimmerleaf. Birds chirped and a stream gurgled in the distance. The smell of the minions, the tightness in his stomach—they were all gone.
Odd. So sudden.
Bannor watched Sarai raise her face to the light and sniff. Her body relaxed. Then he noticed it, too. It was something in the air. For the first time in weeks, it didn’t feel like something evil was breathing on their backs.
Sarai put her arms around his body’s neck and pulled. Wren returned the embrace.
To him watching, it felt as if he’d gone head first into an icy stream. The fear returned. His guts churned. He watched from afar as Sarai kissed who she thought was Bannor.
Wren didn’t try to stop her.
She has Sarai. It burned.
Thoughts careened through his mind. Now, Wren had the responsibility. The avatars would chase her, not him. With the Garmtur, nothing could stop Wren. Her body had stopped fighting him since she went into his. All of them were safe.
He’d never have Sarai; not like this. It felt like a knife in his chest. He swallowed. How in Odin’s name do I get her out of there?
Sarai pulled back after an agonizingly long embrace. “Bannor?” The question hung in the air.
He wondered what his companion had sensed. Wren had done far too good a job of acting passionate.
I wonder if she kisses better than me? He crushed the thought hard. This is serio
us.
Despite himself, he giggled. The laugh hurt. Needles of pain jabbed at his stomach. Trapped in a woman’s body, while a woman kissed his mate.
Something is wrong. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He giggled again.
Sarai looked at him then back to Wren. Her lavender eyes flashed. Could she possibly have any clue what had occurred?
“Is something the matter?” she asked.
His voice sounded strong-confident. Her gaze flicked to Bannor. “Nothing I can’t fix.”
* * *
Soul or spirit magicks are by far the most powerful incantations that can be invoked by a mortal or immortal. Learning them starts with ‘know thyself’. Mastering them ends with ‘hate what you’ve become’.
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.
Chapter Twenty-Four
« ^ »
Leaves crackled underfoot. Boughs squeaked overhead. The morning shadows grew thinner, much like Bannor’s patience. The longer Wren kept his form, the better her control became and the less chance he had of forcing her to leave his body. The vision of her ripping away Mazerak’s power made him shudder. If Wren resisted his efforts to unseat her, he couldn’t guess how she’d react.
A warm easterly breeze picked up, making the light flicker and dance as it filtered through the shimmerleaf trees. Bannor smelled the dewy redolence as flowers opened to greet the sun. It was such an illusion. The battle Mazerak started hadn’t yet ended.
He paced beside Wren. She’d barely said anything except to direct them back toward the river. The savant moved clumsily, much the way he had when first taking over her body. Now, having shed the heavy armor, Sarai glanced nervously between the two of them.
Wren looked at him. The wolfish countenance he only knew from a mirror, was set in a frown. “You know, you walk funny. Nothing smells right.” She rubbed her chest.
Bannor felt that alien urge to giggle again. It made his stomach hurt. A vein throbbed in his temple. “You know you can come out of there any time now.”
“Is that any way to act? I saved your life.” The deep voice dropped to a growl.
“My One,” Sarai said. “What is wrong? You’ve been acting so odd.”
Wren turned to Sarai. “Little Star, what could be wrong? Mazerak’s gone. You’re safe. We can go home now.” Wren said it exactly the way he would have. Her face—his—stayed straight for a few instants. She chuckled. “Bannor, you’re so melodramatic.”
Sarai’s eyes widened. She stepped back. “Bannor?”
Wren shook her head and pointed at him. “There’s your One. Like the new look? Handsome rogue, what a smooth-cheeked, longhaired son-of-a-king he is. Never had to shave a day in his life.” She cocked her head. “Bit on the disheveled side though.” She snapped her fingers.
Bannor felt a tingle and looked down at himself; clean.
Wren made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Absolutely adorable now. Ready for romance.”
She laughed then stopped, wincing and putting a finger to her temple.
Sarai’s features darkened. “This isn’t funny.”
“Funny?” Her voice, his, rose. “Didn’t you see what I did? You don’t think that’s funny?” Her eyes widened and the pupils seemed to shrink. “Ripped Mazerak’s Nola out by the roots. Just felt like it. So I did. Bent lightning in the sky. Felt like it. So I did.” She took Sarai by the shoulders. “Turned those minions to stone. Just bloody felt like it.” Her voice wavered. “Don’t you think that’s positively hilarious?”
Sarai’s lavender eyes went pale. She twitched. Her throat tightened. She snorted. Her lips puffed out as if she was trying to hold something in. Her eyes watered. Then she dropped to her knees laughing.
His heart, Wren’s, pounded. Sarai’s laugh was the most frightening sound he’d ever heard.
“Thought so,” Wren muttered. She turned. Her eyes—his—focused on him. He could almost feel her gaze drilling into his forehead.
Bannor swallowed. Sarai’s laughter made it hard to think. His chest seized and he fought an urge to chuckle. “Stop it, Wren. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Don’t I?” She clapped her hands.
In the distance, hooves pounded. In a moment, three of the black stallions ridden by the minions thundered up and reared. Their eyes rolled, manes and tails whipped. They whinnied as though frightened.
Wren made a slashing gesture. The horses subsided instantly. Sarai stopped, too.
The whole forest had gone silent.
Bannor felt clutched in a giant frozen hand.
Wren stared at him. “You can’t see what I see.” She held out her hand. “The whirling bindings of matter and energy and the road map laid out that links them. A little deeper and I can see the very underpinnings—the pillars that support time and space. All I have to do is reach out—” She made as if to grab something.
Bannor snatched her arm. “Stop it!” His voice squeaked. His fingers barely closed halfway round his body’s wrist. He craned his neck to match gazes. Bannor never realized what an imposing figure he cut.
Wren focused again. She winced and put a hand to her temple. “Rules—so many rules.”
She seemed to be babbling. “What rules?”
“Cards all precariously balanced. To shift one you must move another to alter the scheme or it comes tumbling down.” She made fluttering gestures with her fingers toward the ground. “All comes tumbling down. No more games. No more fun in the sun. Nobody laughs or cries. It’s over.” She gazed upward. “You hear? Over!”
Sarai moaned. The horses whickered and snorted.
It felt as if a needle lanced into his temple. Bannor shuddered and grabbed the side of his head. “Wren, savants must not be meant to trade bodies like this.”
“Put the card game back in your hands?” She shuddered and gripped both sides of her head. “You don’t even know how to shuffle!” She fought to speak through clenched teeth. “You’re blind, woodsman. Your power isn’t an axe, it’s a window.” She howled and dropped to her knees. “Need more time.” Wren thrashed.
The throbbing in his head became a crescendo. A horrible gnawing as if something were trying to chew its way out of his mind.
Suddenly, Wren went very still. “Bannor, I can see myself.”
It felt as if a brick hit him between the eyes.
The sun went dark.
* * *
Multidimensional translocation? I’d like to pop the pimple head of the mage that named it that. Actually, there isn’t a good name for ripping a hole in the universe and hoping all the ether doesn’t leak out…
—From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.
Chapter Twenty-Five
« ^ »
The rumble of breakers thundering against rocks roused Bannor. Night birds cried and the wind moaned through crevices nearby. He smelled salt and decaying kelp. A nauseous churning roiled in his stomach, and an ache dinged in his temples.
He sat up as cold sea-spray wafted over him. Clouds tumbled across the face of a blue-white moon in the darkening azure sky. The last quarter of the setting sun shone orange and red reflections on an ocean of gleaming black water. Rubbing his stiff neck he looked down a beach that glistened like crushed sapphire. Ebony water lashed the shore. Stars shone in the underside of the waves.
What in Odin’s name? I’m back in Wren’s dream again.
It made no sense.
He recalled the last moments of consciousness. Wren’s words had been a stream of confused concepts. The savant had perceived depths of his Nola that he’d never guessed at. What she saw drove her to the brink of insanity.
The power she described was mind-numbingly immense. I can see the very underpinnings—the pillars that support time and space. All I have to do is reach out… He shuddered. How close had they come to total annihilation?
He stood. The sapphire-like material crunched underfoot. His mouth tasted dry. He twisted his neck again to get the crick out. The h
eadache diminished some but persisted as an irritating needling in the back of his skull. Something about the dream; it seemed more tangible than the previous times. He glanced up. The moonlight glinted on a shear cliff studded with outcrops.
It was the same precipice where Wren pushed him off when he’d become trapped in her mind.
Who’s dreaming this time? How do I get out? Scare myself out like before?
Studying the rock face, Bannor saw a way to negotiate the climb. He doubted he could bring himself to leap off the cliff. The texture of the landscape, the rumble of the waves, the salt spray; this seemed too real to be a dream.
If it’s not a dream, what is it? How did I get back in my body?
Water sloshed around his boots as he walked down to the waves. Bannor noticed that the sapphire material grew darker the farther toward the surf he looked, totally black at the point where the water looked a few hands deep. He scooped up a handful of the liquid, noticing it looked translucent when not overlaid on the black crystals. He sniffed. Salty, like the ocean water he knew. A touch of his tongue gave an unfamiliar taste, alkaline but weaker with hints of minerals.
He splashed several handfuls on his face and chest, feeling it trickle down the front his tunic and into his breeches. Bumps rose on his flesh.
Bannor frowned. It all felt wrong. Something beyond not knowing where he stood, an aspect of this place itself.
He walked back toward the rocks and paralleled the cliff. A strange sound made him tense. He oriented and moved toward a muffled murmuring that came from a cluster of boulders twenty paces away.
Bannor rounded the outcrop and froze. His heart jumped. “Wren? Sarai?” His voice sounded loud.
Almost lost in the shadow of the rocks Wren lay in the sapphire-colored sand clutching herself and twitching. A quiet whimpering escaped the woman’s lips. By her, Sarai sat up, face flushed and silvery hair disheveled.
She blinked at him with lavender eyes. “My One, I feel weak, I cannot feel the stone.” Running a hand through her hair, Sarai looked around. She swallowed. “What is this place?”
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