by Tara West
Her attention was drawn back to Sprout when she pushed a slave girl aside without so much as an apology and grabbed a piece of bright purple fruit off the top of a barrel, handing it to Dianna.
“Cotulla fruit,” Sprout said, grabbing a piece for herself. “You must try it.”
Dianna tried to give the slave girl an apologetic look, but the child refused to meet her gaze, continuing to sort food into barrels. Though the idea of feasting off slave labor while the non-magical Kyanites were forced to work with no appreciation soured Dianna’s stomach even more, she reluctantly took a bite, not wishing to insult their efforts.
When an explosion of sweet flavors burst in her mouth, she was compelled to take another bite. “This is delicious.” She cast an appreciative smile toward a row of women sorting the fruit.
When none of them dared to look at her, Dianna’s heart deflated, and she lost interest in eating. She was determined to finish it, or their efforts would have been in vain.
“I don’t understand,” she said to Sprout. “You have magic to grow plants but not harvest them? I thought you could make greens bend to your will.”
“I can.” The child bit into her fruit, heedless of the juices running down her chin, “but then the servants would have nothing to do.”
“I see.” Dianna smoothed a rough patch on her fruit. “And The Seven told you this?”
“Of course.” Sprout dropped her half-eaten fruit on the ground, then kicked it under a bench made from a gnarled plank. “When the servants are idle, we have trouble.”
Dianna picked up the fruit, dusting dirt off it before setting it on a table. She sat on the bench and patted the seat, an invitation for Sprout to join her. “What kind of trouble?” She did her best to keep her tone light, though inside she was seething.
Sprout flopped on the seat, swinging her feet. “Uprisings.”
Dianna clenched her fruit so tightly, juices pooled around her fingers. “I would rise up, too, if The Seven wanted to feed me to the pixies,” she whispered.
The little witch stiffened. “They try to be fair when selecting sacrifices.”
Dianna wiped her hand on her tunic before placing the squished fruit on the bench. “What’s fair about it?”
The child’s eyes brightened. “They only pick those who disobey, or the sick and weak.”
“Oh, heavenly Elements.” She didn’t know if she should be more upset by the Kyanites’ barbaric practices or the fact that Sprout seemed unfazed by such brutality.
“Are you all right, Dianna? Your cheeks are turning red.”
She clutched the girl’s shoulders, intently searching her face for any sign of humanity. “You understand these people are slaves, not servants?”
The child struggled to break free of Dianna’s grip. “What difference does it make? They have no magic.”
Great goddess! This place was no sanctuary. It was a living hell. Dianna tightened her hold. “But they have souls.” She ended on a shrill cry, not caring that she was causing a scene.
Sprout finally broke free and jumped to her feet. “My mother says they do not.”
She stood, frowning down at the girl. “Well, she is wrong.”
The child backed away from Dianna. “Don’t say that. That’s blasphemy.”
Blasphemy? She felt sorry for the girl who had so easily been brainwashed. She stole a furtive glance at the slaves surrounding them, noting how several had moved so they stood between Dianna and the guards, humming while they worked. Could they be shielding her from their scrutiny?
Dianna bent down on one knee, taking the child’s hand in her own. “Sprout, do you know who my mother is?” Again the child tried to slip away from her, but Dianna held firm.
Sprout’s lip hung down in a pout. “Yes, the evil sky goddess.”
She searched the girl’s eyes, hoping she would find any sign of compassion in the sparkling gold depths. “Do you know what makes her evil?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “She killed our benevolent goddess.”
Dianna swallowed hard, unnerved by the assessing way Sprout glared at her. “She’s killed lots of mortals, too.”
“Oh.” The child’s voice faded like the remnants of a dream as she turned her gaze to her sandaled feet.
Dianna feared that whatever soul Sprout once possessed had been sucked dry, like a shallow creek bed during a summer drought. Dianna’s soul wept for the monster these Seven had created.
She cupped Sprout’s chin. “And what made your goddess benevolent?”
The child rolled her eyes. “She was powerful.”
Dianna repressed a curse. Power and compassion were not synonymous, but these mages had led Sprout to believe they were. “Yes, but she was kind, too, right?” she pleaded, trying to keep the note of desperation out of her voice.
The child flashed a half-smile. “Right.”
“That is the mark of a great ruler, one who is powerful and kind. Do you think Kyan would have fed her people to the pixies?”
Sprout shook her head and ripped free of Dianna’s hold. “No, because she could control the pixies.”
Dianna leaned toward the girl. “But even if she couldn’t control them.”
Sprout kicked the ground, and a ragged, angry weed grew beside her foot. “She was a goddess. Of course, she could control them.”
“Sprout, listen. Sacrificing people and forcing them to do labor isn’t kind. It is not the mark of a good ruler.”
Dianna’s heart clenched when the girl only stared blankly at her, another weed growing up beside her. Was this beautiful child, blessed by the Elements with such potent magic, destined to be cold-hearted?
Beware, the demons are coming! Sindri hissed in her head.
Dianna shot to her feet. “Demons?”
The ground beneath her shook, a slight tremor at first, but when baskets toppled, chaos ensued. The humans ran screaming, huddling behind barrels and ducking for cover.
“The pixies!” Sprout’s eyes widened. “We must run.”
A guard barreled toward them and picked up Sprout. “Follow me,” he hollered above the din of frantic voices. Then he raced toward the crops with the child.
Dianna didn’t follow. “Sindri,” she whispered. “What do I do?”
Stop them.
But how?
The walls of the hut shook, and debris fell from the cave ceiling, pelting the humans as they raced for shelter.
Instinct fueled Dianna’s movements as she ran toward a narrow exit at the far end of the cavern, dodging people who warned her to run the other way. A creature emerged from the hole, stumbling toward her, its arms flailing wildly. The creature was followed by a black, swarming cloud that reminded Dianna of a nest of angry hornets. It took her a moment to realize the creature was a person covered in vicious winged demons with razor sharp teeth. Blood spurted from his body as he fell to his knees with a howl. A woman raced past Dianna, hollering as she ripped biting pixies off him. The angry swarming ball that hovered over them shattered like ice and descended on hapless mortals. Guards swatted the pixies with large nets, cursing as the demons swooped down on them, ripping chunks of flesh off their heads and ears.
The stone in Dianna’s pocket warmed and pulsed. She got over her shock long enough to realize everyone in the cavern would die if she didn’t do something. She raised her hands, spinning a ball of magic between them.
“Stop!” she commanded, throwing the ball at the mortal covered in pixies.
A bolt bounced off the swarm and hit the ceiling, fracturing into millions of fragments of light. The cavern lit up like the sky during a brilliant thunderbolt storm as magic crackled and popped all around them. Then it dissipated, falling to the ground like rain. The air was heavy with magic and the smell of burning flesh. The soft glow of the few remaining lit torches illuminated the cavern enough so she could see pixie wings and body parts splattered on everything.
Dianna looked down at her legs, grimacing at a flopping pixie tail and smashe
d head stuck to her kneecap. She shook it off, then cringed when she stepped on the torso of another pixie, its guts spattering all over the soil. A low wail brought her to her senses. A woman hovered over the body of the mortal who just moments earlier was being eaten alive by the demons.
Dianna raced up to them, instantly recognizing the woman with the silent tears. Was this why she was crying? Had someone she loved been sent to be a pixie sacrifice?
Dianna nearly lost her breakfast when she saw the man lying supine and staring up at the ceiling with his mouth open. Several of his fingers had been chewed off, one eye socket was empty and gushing with blood, and guts hung out of a gaping hole in his stomach.
“Oh, heavenly Elements,” she murmured. “I don’t have enough magic to heal him.”
I will help you, Sindri said. We must try.
Dianna fell to her knees and held her hands above him, not knowing where to start.
The woman pointed shakily to the entrails hanging out of him. “Start there,” she whispered with a trembling lip. “Please,” she begged.
Sindri’s stone pulsed harder, infusing Dianna with its magical energy. She held her hands over the man’s abdomen, feeling the warmth in her palms radiate outward, covering the man like a shroud. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on healing his wounds, calling upon the Elements to guide her. Her mind slipped away as if in a dream. She saw her brother Des. He was sobbing and being comforted by the bushy-bearded dwarf trader, Zier. Had something happened to Alec? She searched for Alec, then inwardly sighed in relief when she saw him crouching behind a bush with a strange set of thick muffs over his ears. The wheeze in his chest had returned, and he struggled for breath. What was happening?
That vision was interrupted by the image of Markus sitting cross-legged on a white fur, leaning against a girl who held him in her narrow arms, the silky curtain of her translucent hair falling over their shoulders. They both jumped up at the sound of a loud crack. The girl screamed when a wall of ice beside them split open.
Dianna’s eyes flew open, and she sucked in a silent scream. Had she been dreaming or were her brothers in danger? She’d no idea how long she’d been in a trance, but when she looked down, the man’s stomach had amazingly healed, and she could detect a heartbeat in his broad chest. His eye wound had healed, but the socket remained empty. He was missing almost all the fingers on his left hand as well, but the worst of his injuries had mended. She thought about trying again, but fatigue was already setting in. Such a deep wound took far too much energy.
“Thank you, Sindri,” Dianna whispered.
Now the woman, Sindri said. The stone pressed against Dianna’s chest throbbed like a heartbeat.
The young woman smiled at her through a sheen of tears. That’s when she recognized the woman’s crooked, dimpled smile and long, thick eyelashes. This mortal woman looked like Simeon. Dianna knew they had to be related.
Before she could blink, the woman threw herself into her arms. “Thank you for saving him,” she breathed against Dianna’s ear. She pulled back just as quickly, bowing her head. “I’m sorry for touching you. I-I don’t know what came over me.”
“No need to be sorry.” She turned the woman’s hand over in hers, noticing the bloody gash in her palm. “You are injured, too.”
“It’s nothing.”
It pains her, Sindri whispered.
“What is your name?” she asked, wordlessly running her hands up the woman’s bloody arms, the heat of her magic sealing each wound.
“They call me Ghost.” The woman flashed a soft smile, one that reminded Dianna too much of Simeon.
“Ghost?” She lingered on the woman’s cool skin. “A strange name for a person who is not dead.”
Ghost’s smile vanished. “I am dead to my family.”
Dianna’s heart lurched. Just another reminder that those in power in this “sanctuary” were as hostile as its desert surroundings. The man beside them stirred, moaning. Dianna placed a gentle hand on his forehead, easing him back into sleep.
She turned back to Ghost. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You are not responsible for the way the Elements made me.”
Had this woman been born to witches and cast out because she lacked magic? How could Feira have let her desert sanctuary turn into this? Were not all of these people her descendants? As Dianna cupped the woman’s shredded ears, letting the warmth seep into her skull, she realized why so many guards had chunks missing from their ears, and she couldn’t help but resent the Kyanite witches who’d neglected to heal them.
The Seven approach, Sindri warned. They are evil. Do not tell them about me.
Dianna’s head snapped up as seven robed figures walked toward her as if on a cloud. They were aligned in the shape of an arrowhead, a lone witch at the point, flanked by three figures on either side, their faces shrouded within the shadows of their capes. Only visible were their glowing golden eyes.
Ghost cradled the groaning man’s head in her lap, bowing her head when the robed figures came to stand before them.
Dianna refused to bow. She stood, smearing dried blood on her white tunic.
The mage at the tip of the formation broke off, stepping forward and removing the hood, revealing a tall and beautiful woman with flawless coppery skin, whose age was timeless. Dianna squinted hard at her, trying to determine if she was young, old, or somewhere in between.
The witch scowled at Ghost, shrinking back as if she had stepped in a pile of dung. “I am High Mage Zephyra.” Her voice was surprisingly rich and deep. “Who are you?”
She pulled back her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated. “I am Dianna, a guest of Feira’s.”
A golden-eyed man pulled down his hood, revealing a head that glistened like polished onyx. He pointed at Dianna. “Your face. I have seen it in the scrolls.”
She flinched, looking away from him and instantly regretting it when she found herself buried under the weight of Zephyra’s assessing stare. She fought to keep her gaze steady by focusing on the High Mage. “I have been told I look like my birth mother, though I am nothing like her.”
Zephyra honed in on Dianna like a hawk targeting its prey. “You are Madhea’s spawn?”
Guards and slaves formed a wide circle around them, standing behind an invisible line, as if they feared Dianna. Then she realized it was probably The Seven they feared.
She cleared her throat, raising her voice for all to hear. “Our faces are where our similarities end. I mean no harm to your people.”
Zephyra raised a thin, smooth eyebrow. “Why have you come here?”
She forced a note of confidence into her voice, though she felt anything but under the weight of seven judgmental stares. “She turned her ice dragon upon the people of Adolan. I had to take Lydra where Madhea couldn’t control her.”
“The ice dragon is here?” Zephyra said breathlessly. She stepped back, splattering a pixie beneath her foot, a pixie who wasn’t yet dead, judging by the horrified squeal that ricocheted through the cavern like cannon fire.
“She’s above with your healers, but she is well enough. The healers must see to the rest of the injured.” She nodded toward the many injured slaves.
Zephyra cast a furtive glance at a weeping child, who had a gash in her shoulder so deep, Dianna could see bone. The High Mage turned up her nose. “We do not waste our magic on mortals.”
Dianna clenched her fists in anger. “That is not true. It is Feira’s magic that keeps her mortal husband alive.”
Zephyra shared knowing looks with the other mages. The High Mage turned back to Dianna, her full lips pressed together and her face hardening to granite. “Yes, our deity thinks herself above the law because she is the daughter of Odu, but there are some of us who do not forget it was Odu and Dafuar’s births that weakened our benevolent goddess’s power and enabled your evil mother to turn her to stone.” She sneered when insulting Madhea, a triumphant gleam in her ey
es, as if she was expecting Dianna to be offended.
“You would blame babes for their mother’s demise?”
The woman’s golden eyes pulsed. “I would blame her love for her mortal husband. The same foolish love has weakened Feira’s power and made us vulnerable to unwelcome pests.”
Dianna had no doubt the mage was referring to her and not the pixies. This discussion would only frustrate her further. “Then I will heal them.”
Zephyra shrank back. “You are the daughter of a goddess. Why would you do such a thing?”
“Because unlike my mother, I believe power should be tempered with compassion, a lesson I was taught long ago by Kyan’s son, Dafuar.” She flashed a triumphant smile. “The Seven should take a lesson from him.”
The High Mage threw back her head and laughed gratingly. “Kyan’s sons lost their minds centuries ago.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Mayhap they have, but I can assure you, they have not lost their hearts.”
Just then, the man she had healed let out a low, mournful wail, tossing his head from side to side. “Jae,” he cried.
“I’m here.” Ghost grasped his hands, crying.
Jae? That was Ghost’s real name? How odd. That was the name of the girl the Elementals had switched with her at birth. The girl her mother had killed. Though Dianna had never met Jae, she’d considered her a sister, for she had been the true child of the parents who raised her.
“Guards!” Zephyra called. “Place him in the dungeon.”
What! Though Dianna had healed the worst of his wounds, this man was far from well. He needed a warm bed and healing herbs, not a cell.
“No! He is still recovering.” She jumped in front of the injured man, magic racing up her arms, stinging her flesh like the bites of fire mites. How badly she wished to strike down the seven evil mages.
Zephyra’s head snapped back as if she’d been slapped. “He disobeyed the law. Had he not escaped the sacrifice, the pixies wouldn’t have come here.”