Before the Storm

by Claire Ashgrove

  “Why does she hate me? I mean…aside from the obvious.”

  He cracked his neck with a tip of his head then rolled his shoulders. “Because you’re stronger than she is.”

  “Not from what everyone’s said.”

  Kale slid his hand into mine and tugged me in the opposite direction, back to the staircase that led to the residential quarters. “There are two people in the camarilla who can use air and fire without a single component to draw from. Me,” he gave me a pointed look, “and you.”

  “Huh?” I asked, falling into step beside him.

  “You just summoned wind with me. What was on your fingertips a few seconds ago—fire. I recognized the heat. Look around you.”

  I glanced at the stone corridor, the stone floor, the stone ceiling. No torches provided light, just the dim glow from the healers’ art. No breeze stirred the air. Nothing but hard, centuries-old rock.

  “There’s nothing here to summon those energies from and bend them to your will. Beth can’t do that, and she can’t call down a tornado even outside.” He squeezed my hand once more. “Jealousy, plain and simple.” Grinning, he added, “Besides, you have what she wants.”

  “I do?” There was no reason to ask for clarification. Once more, the intangible bond we shared provided meaning. I had him. But I needed to hear his answer.

  “Yeah,” he murmured. “You do.”

  Damn—something inside me slowly turned over. Mine. I didn’t know what to do with that. No one had ever belonged to me, and more importantly, I had never wanted to belong. Until now.

  Sixteen

  After a few, unproductive rounds in the casting chamber with Kale, my mind proved too tangled to accomplish anything, and I went to bed more confused and conflicted than I had been since my arrival at the camarilla. Beth hated me. My mother was evidently some prisoner to my uncle. Kale wanted things from me I yearned to give but didn’t know how. And more importantly, I couldn’t understand why, when he was obviously so powerful, why they needed me to defeat the Yaksini.

  In the chamber, with protective shields around us, he’d proved just what he was capable of—multiple lightning strikes below ground; gale force winds; the fire he summoned so easily, and even the appearance of three shadowy animal-like creatures that pinned me in a corner before he winked them out of existence. Comparatively, I managed a puff of frosty fog, a yellow-green cloud of something that made Kale gag, another of those thorny walls, and not a one of them had been anything I’d planned on. Even when I read the ancient scrolls he pulled out of a codex, felt I’d committed them to memory, something else happened.

  He said I had my inflection wrong.

  But I recognized the lie in the way he wouldn’t quite look at me. He was trying to protect my feelings. Both of us were frustrated.

  I tossed and turned, replaying the training round in tandem with the conversation we had in the corridor. Avoiding considering what our passionate kiss meant and where it would lead if I couldn’t find a way of reconstructing walls and keeping him at a distance.

  Somewhere around two in the morning, I gave up attempting to sleep and struck off for my resource library in the front room once more. Somewhere in those tomes was the answer; the reason why I couldn’t turn conscious will into a productive outcome. Clearly, I wasn’t blocked; magic flowed in my veins freely. I could draw on the power. It was now the problem of creating the desired effect.

  With Tufty dozing at my side, his beak tucked beneath a wing, I browsed the embossed gold titles. Principles of Casting, Union with the Elements, Intermediary Studies on Magickal Effects.

  My finger hovered over a two-inch thick spine, its metallic lettering worn and faded to the point I could barely read it. Before the Storm: Reflections of a Windwalker

  Interesting. I’d looked through these books a dozen times or more, and I didn’t remember seeing this one. As my fingertip grazed the worn leather binding, a jolt of energy shot up my arm. I jerked my hand back in surprise, then cautiously reached once more, prepared for the charge. This time it didn’t spark like static, merely buzzed against the pads of my fingers. Curious. Compelling.

  I pulled it out of the bookcase and set it on my lap. An embossed gold seal was emblazoned into the leather, surprisingly intact given the rest of the wear on the book. Towerlike in shape, with the base wider than the top, it resembled two pinchers on a claw opposing one another, the top smaller but symmetrical with the bottom. A faint circle spanned through the middle and framed another symbol I couldn’t identify. As I stared, the entire thing pulsed with magic, making it shimmer from top to bottom before slowly fading into the flat, gold, design it had begun as.

  A shiver raced through me. Drawn inexplicably to the design, I ran my hand over the intricate design. The power that flooded into my palm was so sharp I nearly cried out in pain. But at the same time, it was intoxicatingly pleasant, urging me to hold my hand in place, to close my eyes and soak it in.

  I inhaled deeply, breathed in that enormous energy and looked where my palm had been. The sigil pulsed again. Narrow veins of lightning shot beneath the design, making it stand out in three-dimensional bas relief. And in the center of that eerie spire-like construct, where the symbol I couldn’t recognize had originally been, a ghastly skull with elongated canines shone in silver.

  Demonic.

  And yet…I felt no repulsion. If anything, the sense that I’d discovered everything I needed possessed me. As the visage faded into the original design once more, I brushed my hand over the surface again. Nothing happened. It remained still and quiet, not even vibrating with the power I knew it contained.

  The pages were locked with an ancient book clasp that held no easy means of opening. No keyhole, no ends to push together like some of the older tomes in the vast library Kale and I spent so much time in. But as I reached for it, it tumbled open before my fingers ever made contact.

  My breath held, I opened the book. Page after page of handwritten words stared up at me. And crazy as it sounds, I could hear it calling to me. Read my journey.

  I flipped to the title page, searching for an author’s name. But where there should have been title, author, and the other elaborate scrolling handwriting that detailed the book’s original creation—like so many others I’d seen recently—I found nothing but a blank page.

  In fact, the first page of anything, was evidently the beginning of the subject matter.

  Ten years after the dragons abandoned the world, my journey began. Some said demons drove them away. Some said humans. I tell you it was neither—they chose to flee, for they saw what would become of the world and the greed of men who would hunt them, and they left before all they found beautiful turned to ash, leaving behind those they gifted with divine power to protect their greatest treasure.

  Though it would be another forty years before I understood this.

  Unlike others, I had no tutor. My parents were poor farmers in servitude to a powerful liege. My role was the same as theirs—bring in the harvest, sheer the sheep, cut wood to keep the family warm, and reap the profits in exchange for our liege’s protection. I was bound to follow their path. As all of us were in the small village I shall not name.

  That is until thieves set upon us one midsummer night, lighting our thatched roofs, raiding our granaries, killing the men who heedlessly thought to fight back, and dumping their bodies into our wells. I was a young man, barely twenty summers, and pulled from my bed at the sound of blood-curdling screams. I raced outside, wearing nothing but my undergarments, setting foot on my front stoop at the same time my father raced out of his neighboring house, my mother clutching frantically at his cloak to drag him back indoors. I had no wife to pull me back.

  A mounted rider, wearing a cape as black as night, his face hidden from all who looked upon him, cut my father down before he ever raised the shovel he held. I would learn later, the horseman was no man at all. But rather what I was to eventually become, only twisted with the w
rath of ages and poisoned by the kiss of evil. My heart was never so tainted, though many believed it was, and I pay for their false perceptions as I write this now.

  As all young men who are driven by love of family and the deep desire to protect what their lives have created will do, I raced into the packed earth street to avenge my father’s killing. I held no weapon, only the fierceness of my fists. What vengeance I could extract, I didn’t consider. I saw only blood and felt the longing to spill it.

  The horse spun on me, so close his hot breath washed over my face as his nostrils flared and he snorted. For a moment fear struck as I stared into two equine eyes that glowed orange-red. Many months after, I would swear I imagined that demonic gleam. I would learn my folly.

  But I digress. As I stared into that horrendous visage, fear was swiftly replaced by fury. I threw myself at that great beast, enraged quite out of my mind. And in the next moment, as lightning split the sky and struck the ground between us, my life forever changed.

  I flew backward, hitting the ground so hard my vision blurred. Agony raced through my prostrated body, but I found the will to lift my head and confront my murderer as he pummeled the life out of me, as he surely would.

  But the beast stood in silence, his wild ebony mane dancing around his massive neck and shoulders. His cloaked rider stared directly at me for one prolonged heartbeat. I was certain it would be my last.

  And then he wheeled backward, one eerie whistle piercing the air as he fled toward the thick forest. His companions, other cloaked riders and their terrifying mounts, spun as if the hounds of hell had been unleashed upon them. In a whirlwind of dust and debris that spread the stench of freshly spilled blood throughout the village, they were gone.

  My journey began there, in the middle of the road, that fateful night. Some said it was the gods smiling down upon us, protecting the innocent who had done nothing to deserve the senseless killing. I never argued. Even when I left the quiet village a week later, I had never countered their beliefs.

  Yet I knew otherwise. For as I struck off on the heels of those beasts, the full midnight moon lighting my path, I still bore the bone-deep burn of lightning that, though I couldn’t explain how, originated from my hand.

  I looked up, possessed by chills. Needing the comfort of something warm and tangible, I set my hand on Tufty’s back. He lifted his beak then quickly tucked it beneath his wing once more.

  I didn’t know why I was shaking. I didn’t know what prompted my eyes to blur with tears. But something in the man’s words connected profoundly with me. I was him. He was me. It sounded crazy, and yet…I knew.

  Only what were we?

  I grabbed the book, snapped it shut, and dashed for the door. Kale would know. I had to see him. Had to hold onto him, because something inside me was churning so violently I felt like I could shatter into a thousand pieces if I didn’t.

  Tufty protested my leaving with a soft quack, but even he seemed to understand, not even bothering to follow to the door. I raced down the hall, hell bent on finding Kale’s room. When it occurred to me…I had never seen Kale’s room. I had no idea where he slept.

  Despair crashed over me, along with frustration. I skidded to a halt beneath the outward reaching branches of the oak and threw the book on the ground. It bounced twice and came to rest beside the foot of the stone bench, otherwise unharmed.

  “Damn you!” The curse exploded from my lips, echoing off the halls like a clash of thunder. “What am I supposed to do?”

  In the distance, a door shut. Nearby, another opened. Maude poked her head out, blinking away sleep. Spring rushed out of the door neighboring hers.

  “Halle?” Spring called, hurrying toward me. “What happened?”

  “Never mind, Spring,” Maude called quietly. Her steps were slower, more purposeful, but she approached as well. “Go on back to your room. I heard her call long before she spoke.”

  Maude heard her call for help. She kept your grandmother in stasis. Kale’s words reverberated in my head.

  I stood still, watching Maude come closer. She had heard me, and I hadn’t even realized I’d called out. But I supposed in some way I had been silently screaming for help for years.

  Dressed in a flowing white nightgown that looked like it could have come from the 19th century, she crossed the grass on bare feet and walked to where the book lay against the bench. Gently, she reached for it, but pulled back with a pained grimace.

  With a shake of her head, she looked to me. “I’m sorry, it is not meant for me.” She took a very deliberate side-step around it, careful not even to allow her long hem to touch the binding, and seated herself on the bench. “Kale is coming. He is two floors up. It will take a moment more.”

  “Kale?” I asked, confused.

  A warm smile lit her weathered features. “It is he who you were looking for, yes?”

  Still trying to decipher exactly how she knew, I nodded dumbly.

  “Sit down, young windwalker. Before he arrives, I must speak with you.”

  Windwalker. My gaze pulled to the book lying at her feet. Hesitantly, I sat beside her.

  Her bony hand settled on my knee. “I am a healer and a mentalist, and my journey will never be yours. I would never wish it upon anyone, and few are chosen for the purpose you have been.” Her smile faded, replaced with grave warning etched into her weathered features. “Who you share that purpose with should be closely guarded. Never tell Beth. You can trust Kale. Beyond him, trust only the mind you have been given.”

  “And you?” Impertinent as it might be, the question popped out unbidden. Almost as if my subconscious spoke.

  Her smile returned, warm in all its evident wisdom. “I will never share your confidences, Halle, but whether that establishes trust is for you to decide. You are right to question my motives. To question anyone’s.”

  “And what are they, your motives?”

  She glanced up at the high, arching ceiling and spread one thin arm in a sweeping gesture. “My camarilla. You and Kale are the only ones who can protect it. But in so doing…”

  Her gaze dropped to her lap and she absently picked at the thin fabric of her nightgown. “You must find the balance, Halle,” she murmured. “You have the power to destroy him, and without Kale, we are nothing.”

  “But how can that be possible?” I asked, my frustration creeping up again. “I can’t cast a spell I intend no matter how I try!”

  She let out a soft laugh. “Think not on the outcome specifically, but that you can produce anything. For now. It will come. In time.”

  “Halle?” Kale’s voice rang through the atrium. “Halle, where are you?” He rounded the corner and his gaze fell on me. For a brief moment, as he skidded to a stop, I read the concern in his expression, the deep-seeded worry that had sent him bolting out of his room with his shirt buttoned in an awkward mess. He thrust one hand through his disheveled hair. “Are you okay?”

  You have the power to destroy him.

  As if Maude could hear my thoughts, she gave me a knowing look, patted my knee and rose.

  “I’m okay.” I nodded to Kale.

  He hurried to join us. “Maude called for me. She said…” He trailed away, glancing between us, then turned aside with a clenched jaw. “I guess you didn’t need me.”

  Oh, damn. Did he think I was blocking him out again? I set my hand on his forearm. “No. I…want you here.” The confession was the hardest truth I’d ever admitted. My hand slid to his, and I clasped his fingers. “I…was looking for you.”

  His grip was strong and comforting, and the tenderness that washed across his face a heartbeat before he brushed a kiss to my temple melted my heart. I didn’t understand it, but I was done fighting it.

  “You two be careful now,” Maude said as she backed toward the courtyard gate. “Talk to her, Kale. She needs your wisdom.”

  He answered with a succinct nod, disentangled his hand from mine, and looped an arm around my sh
oulders. “I’ve got it covered, Maude.”

  Once more, she laughed. “I’m sure you do, young man.”

  As she retreated to her dormitory, I gave Kale a hesitant smile. “Thank you for coming. I didn’t know where to find you.”

  “What happened?”

  I gestured at the discarded book. “I found that. I needed to see you.”

  He twisted to look at where I pointed then froze. Where his body pressed against mine, I felt the stiffening of his muscles. “Where in the hell did you come up with that?”

  Before I could answer, he left my side, picked up the book without a trace of discomfort, and tucked it beneath his arm.

  Seventeen

  The venom that clung to Kale’s question made me second-guess my decision to come to him. Clearly he knew what I’d found, and it was equally clear he disapproved. But the fact he could handle the book, unlike Maude, left me more curious than ever. I reached to take it out of Kale’s hands.

  He gripped it more tightly and clasped me by the hand. “Not here,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.

  That heavy warning had me glancing around the courtyard, suddenly overly conscious of where we were and who might be watching. My natural suspicions surfaced: Maude had kept Spring away. Kale wanted to hide the book. Just what the hell had I discovered?

  “Kale?” I asked, unease creeping through my veins. “What is that?”

  He didn’t answer, just kept striding toward the stairwell, his grip tightening on my hand with each step.

  I tugged to free myself. “You’re hurting me.”

  He eased his hold, but didn’t let go. He mounted the stairs, secured the book more closely to his body, and escorted me up. Past the healing chamber, past the council meeting room floor, up to a recessed door we’d passed a dozen times or more. He withdrew a key from his jeans pocket and inserted it. The lock gave with a soft click. Kale pushed the door open, ushered me through first.

  Spice and warm comfort filled my nose—the scent I had come to associate with him. Though the entryway was dark, I could make out a small window directly opposite that told me we stood inside the rocky outcrop that rose above the forest floor. Moonlight shone in, lighting a leather couch with faint silver. I moved deeper inside as he closed and locked the door.