Arise

by Tanya Schofield

  Phelwen Semaj threw the body’s head back and howled as he had never howled – there was no grief, only deep, crimson rage. Six wraiths. Ancient, loyal, immune to all but the strongest of magics, just one could have devoured a human army. She killed them all. Six of them, gone in a single burst of magic so powerful he had felt it in the body’s bones, here in the depths of the Witherin. And Logannus— his own right hand, loyal to the last - fallen to the girl just as Semaj reached out to him.

  She had defeated his best, true, and her power was impressive, but she would be no match for him. He had been soaking up the magic that had leached into the land itself for hundreds of years. What she merely manipulated or directed was as much a part of him as blood or muscle was to the body. He was formed of it. He was more powerful now than he had ever been, even at the height of his reign, before the cursed Five had come for him. Humanity, the blind and foolish mortals who resisted or ignored all magic out of nothing more than fear, had left him the power, and he had taken it.

  Semaj curled the lips of the body up into a dark, terrible smile. This body was strong, and so wrapped in enchantment it would never die. His minions, too, were infused with magic, granting them strength and fortitude they never had in life. Her victory over his wraiths was inconvenient at best, but he knew she could not hope to win against him. In the last glimpse Logannus had given him while trapped in her web of magic, Semaj had seen the girl’s weakness. She was pregnant.

  The Lich King sent his thoughts to the army on its way to him in Cabinsport. Once the citizens of Porthold, they were now just bodies, animated to fight and kill for him. The humans in the bridge city had blocked off the entrance to the Witherin, using fire and steel to keep his minions at bay. A solitary wraith, however, had ensured their downfall in a single night. Alone, it devoured each life and raised each body, enchanting and transforming them into mindless soldiers for him to command.

  Return, he told them. Stop them. He gave them the image of the girl to find, to kill. The humans were coming after him, Semaj knew, but even with the pregnant girl’s power, they wouldn’t make it. If they survived this army, then he would send another, or a storm. She couldn’t defeat it all, not in her condition.

  She was their last hope, and she would not be enough. And when she fell, when the last of the rebellious humans had been destroyed, he would finally make his way to the Impasse, and beyond. The Elves that had aided in his defeat a thousand years previous would not be spared, oh no. Nor would any who dared stand against him.

  25

  Unlike the massive bridge city of Porthold, the lakeside town of Strom was full of people. Jovan had gone with Jonn and Tyren to seek out what men might join them against Semaj, somewhat reluctantly leaving Melody at the inn with Crestus and Calder. The ranger, who now frequently accompanied and assisted the old scholar, had found reason to wait outside while they spoke. Melody had watched him leave, wishing there were words to ease his pain.

  “You can’t know this for certain,” Crestus insisted, gesturing at the parchment before him. He had written the third chant as Melody dictated it, placing it alongside the two he’d pieced together several days ago in the Porthold library. It seemed in keeping with the others, but … “No one alive speaks this language, it will take years—”

  “We don’t have years.” Melody touched Crestus’ hand, meeting his eyes. “I swear to you, Logannus Mortendus himself gave me these words. We need to teach the others, and I can’t do it alone.”

  She had tried to explain her encounter with the First Fallen after the attack at their hand-fasting, the gift he had given them in exchange for an end to his existence, but the deaths of the others were too near. The price had been high, too high. Twelve people had died, eight more were injured almost past the point of healing, and Melody still ached to remember that she had nearly killed Jovan when she finally destroyed the wraiths. Not to mention the drain on her own life, or the mental acrobatics required to protect her unborn son from the wraiths - and herself.

  She didn’t like it, but she understood. The attack had been necessary. The Lich King had commanded Logannus to kill her, and for the First Fallen’s plan to succeed, for him to give her the key to Semaj’s defeat without detection, it had to look like he tried - and perished in the attempt. Logannus was too old and too far removed from humanity to give any thought to the cost of his plan. Success was all that mattered.

  “I am simply a student of history,” Crestus reminded her. His eyes drifted to the pendant around her neck, the Havenstone. She had been reluctant to let him examine it more closely thus far, but his fingers still twitched hopefully. Surely the rich red amber held secrets, or even powers - of the Haven, of Goddess herself?

  Melody tucked the necklace into her dress, bringing his attention back to her face.

  “I merely find lessons in our past,” the old scholar repeated. “I am no teacher.”

  “You don’t have to be,” she assured him. “I just need you to write the chants as they would sound to our ears. It might help the others learn faster if they can read as well as hear the words.”

  Crestus shook his head. “The chants worked a thousand years ago because they were a surprise. Semaj had no idea they existed, but now—”

  “No,” Melody said. “Semaj thinks he destroyed them all, every trace. He's sure of it. Logannus showed me everything, before he died. You said yourself the two chants you found were in pieces, in code. Didn’t you?”

  “Hidden in accounts of his fall that were woefully inaccurate, yes.” The old scholar sighed. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps Semaj doesn’t believe we will remember. With you and a few hundred magic users repeating them every day, however, he might sense something. You can’t speak something this powerful without him knowing about it.”

  Melody pushed the wide lock of white hair back behind her ear, and smiled. “Yes, I can,” she corrected him. “We all can. I’ve hidden my magic before, in circle. This will just be … bigger.”

  “How many copies do you need?” Crestus’ hand ached just thinking about what lay before him.

  “If you write one, others can copy it. The important part will be getting the sounds right. Don’t worry, I can help you.”

  “It would be nice if you could just sing it to them,” the scholar sighed. “Just … put it in everyone’s head.”

  “She can only do so much, Crestus.” Rhodoban had entered with Duke Thordike’s sons in tow. “We all have a part to play. Melody, do you have a moment?”

  She stood, stretching up on her tiptoes and cracking her neck as she rubbed at her aching back. “Of course. Please excuse me, Crestus. We can work on the pronunciation in the morning, if that’s all right?”

  The scholar gathered up his scrolls. “Until then,” he said with a curt nod of his head.

  Rhodoban slid into the seat Crestus had vacated, and motioned for the three boys to sit beside him. “How are you feeling?” the mage asked her. Melody’s pregnancy was pronounced now, and the strain of the last few weeks was evident on her face.

  “Sore,” she confessed, returning to her own seat. “How can I help? Are these the young men I’ve been meaning to meet?”

  “They are. This is Arik.” Rhodoban gestured to the oldest boy, and Melody nodded in greeting.

  “Fire,” she reminded herself. “Duke Thordike said you’d developed fire magic?”

  The boy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I was scared of it at first, but Rhodoban is helping me control it.”

  “He’s a good teacher,” Melody agreed. “You must be Christoph and Belor, then?” she asked, looking at the twins with their plump cheeks and freckles. They were so young! No wonder Thordike had been furious. What had their magic been? Something unusual …

  “I’m Christoph,” said the one closest to Rhodoban. “That’s Belor.”

  “They work magic together,” Rhodoban said. “Centered on each other. They make something … well, it’s like your circles—”

  “Except stronger,” Bel
or said. “Want to see?”

  “We get better all the time,” Christoph added.

  “I’d love to.” Melody smiled at their enthusiasm. “Should we go outside, do you think?”

  “Definitely,” Rhodoban advised. “It’s not destructive, but it is … big.”

  She followed them outside to the town center, where the twins asked her to stand between them while they faced each other. Rhodoban stayed some distance away. “Just wait,” he said. She didn’t have to wait long.

  After a countdown by Christoph, a sphere of energy formed around Melody and the two boys, almost invisible - but to her eyes it was a nearly solid wash of blue. Immediately, the breeze that had been lifting her hair disappeared. She marveled for a moment - her own circles were a prayer for protection, a barrier against ill intent. Only lately had she been weaving more magic into them, adding insulation against the weather and wind. This, though …

  She stepped closer to it, reaching out her hand. Energy crackled around her fingertips, tickling and biting, but her hand did not pass through the shield. The twins were somehow making the magic tangible, a real, physical presence.

  “Melody,” Rhodoban called. His voice was muffled, distant.

  She turned to face him. He was clearly visibly through the barrier, and she smiled as he bounced the snowball in his hand before throwing it at her as hard as he could. It burst against the shield without a sound, sending a shower of snow in all directions. Melody looked at the twins, who had eyes only for each other. Their concentration was impressive, especially for children.

  Try fire, she sent Rhodoban. Something small. She could see him hesitate. Aim at the ground, if you want, but I don’t think you’ll hurt us.

  Melody watched as Rhodoban whispered the fire awake in his hand, and toss it towards the shield. The moment it hit and dissipated she looked to the boys, but they didn’t seem to notice.

  “How long have you been able to keep the shield up?” she asked them, pushing against the barrier with her hand as she continued the questions. “Do you have to be inside of it to make it? Is it always a sphere or does it change shape? Has anything broken through it?”

  “We kept Arik in one for almost an hour,” Belor said, not looking at her. “We were outside it. He tried his hardest to burn it up, but he couldn’t.”

  “We can talk while we do it, too,” Christoph added. “Most of the time. We only have to concentrate to build it or make it bigger. We’ve never tried another shape though.”

  The magic under her hand stayed tightly woven as the boys talked, and Melody’s mind raced with the possibilities for their gift— if the shield could be big enough to hold everyone, if the chants would work from within it … She saw Jovan walking back from wherever he had been, his head tipped curiously at the crowd that had gathered around her and the twins.

  The boys are practicing their magic, she explained. Will you come here? I’d like to try something.

  Jovan stood beside Rhodoban, their cloaks rippling in the steady wind. At the mage’s urging, Jovan gathered up enough snow to make a hard packed missile of his own, and threw it as hard as he could. It, too, burst on impact.

  “Boys,” Melody said. “I want to try something else. Do you think you could try to make the shield even stronger? Focus as much as you can.”

  “Sure,” they agreed in unison, and Melody could immediately see the weave of the barrier tightening, thickening.

  Use your sword, she told Jovan. Will it cut through?

  Jovan drew the weapon and stepped forward, right to the edge of the barrier he could only just see, the shimmer in the light that kept everything beyond it slightly out of focus. He moved the point of the sword forward until it found resistance, and pushed.

  The barrier disappeared.

  The sharp cold breeze swept through where it had been, whipping Melody’s hair back and blowing her cloak open. The twins made noises of disappointment, but they were unharmed.

  “Aww, what did you do?” Belor asked, blinking and rubbing his eyes - he’d been staring at Christoph while they focused.

  “Melody?” Christoph, too, rubbed at his eyes. “Did you break it?”

  “No, I did,” Jovan said, sheathing the weapon. “Don’t feel bad, there’s not much this sword can’t kill.”

  “Too bad there’s only one.” Melody shivered, readjusting her cloak. “You two should be proud of yourselves,” she said to the twins. “That’s going to be very useful. Perhaps we can practice more with it later? I have to get ready to sing.”

  “Can we come? Can we listen again?”

  The more the boys were exposed to her song, the stronger their magic would grow. Melody smiled, encouraging. “It’s fine with me. You should ask your father, though.”

  The boys agreed and took off back towards Duke Thordike’s tent with Arik.

  “That’s going to come in handy,” Jovan said, watching the boys disappear around a corner.

  “They’re just so young.” Melody’s hand rested against the swell of her belly. “I hate this.”

  Rhodoban nodded. “They’re smart, though, and focused. The shield should keep them safe— and you.”

  Melody looked up at Jovan. “Did you and ‘Vain find the men Tyren told you about?”

  “Some of them. The rest went to Basinmere weeks ago, when the undead attacks began. They never returned. I’ll need to talk to Duke Thordike, he was wanting to cross the river in Basinmere.”

  “Didn’t Calder say there was a Darkmouth there?” Rhodoban asked. “Like in Porthold?”

  “Not to me,” Melody said, looking back towards the inn. Calder was no longer seated outside by the door. “He can hardly stand the sight of me.”

  “He’ll warm back up.” Jovan didn’t sound convinced. “He’s known you your whole life.”

  “Attilus was like a son to him.”

  “You didn’t kill Attilus,” Rhodoban assured her. “Calder knows that.”

  “He’s still dead because of me.” Melody set her jaw, refusing to release the tears that threatened to fall. Her voice softened. “Just like everyone else.”

  Jovan took her hand and squeezed. “You save lives, Melody. Every day.”

  She took a deep breath, changing the subject. “I need to walk through town, see where to send the magic when I sing tonight.”

  Rhodoban offered her his arm. “I’ll walk with you,” he suggested.

  “I need to speak with the Duke about Basinmere. Be careful,” Jovan said, embracing Melody and kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back before you sing.”

  26

  Midland Crossing was a small bridge, further north than Duke Thordike had wanted to travel to cross into the Westlands, and much too narrow to easily get an army across. The best place would have been Basinmere, which was nestled in the fork where the Valenar River split from the larger Moon River, but the scouts reported that Basinmere had been lost. It was empty, the residents more than likely taken by the Lich King’s servants. The river was too swollen with snowmelt from the unexpectedly warm weather to risk getting to the opposite side any other way, so Midland Crossing it was.

  Melody, craving solitude, had moved some distance away while the Duke and his soldiers worked out the logistics of who would cross first. She’d spent every evening since Strom in circle with the mages, teaching them the chants as Crestus had written them. They were making progress, but with the moon turning full tonight … Well, she needed some time to herself. Of course, she was certain Jovan - or someone he trusted - was watching over her, but they at least had the consideration to stay out of sight.

  She sat on the slightly muddy hillside, watching as Senna met with Lady Thordike, Sophie, and the other Healers. There was a new one, she saw. Hodren had awakened in Strom, and left his work as a blacksmith to join them. More Healers were always welcome. The others were most likely trying to prepare him, Melody knew, though could anyone really be ready for what she was about to go through for the next three nights? She could feel the
quickening in her belly, the anticipation of the full moon that would rise that night and transform her unborn son into …

  Aggravain was already gone. He wouldn’t be far, he’d told them. He had enough control over his curse to not attack the innocent, and he wanted to be close enough to help if anything happened.

  The only thing that was going to happen, Melody thought, was pain. She remembered the agony that had torn through her on the last night of the last moon, when the baby was still small. He had grown since then. He will kill you, Logannus had told her. She laid her hand on her belly, wishing she didn’t believe it.

  Would it be tonight, she wondered? Tomorrow? Melody touched the scar that twisted under her eye, and tucked the piece of stark white hair back behind her ruined ear. The others still believed she was the answer, that she would defeat the Lich King and save them all, just as the Melody in her dream had promised. She was no longer certain their faith was justified.

  Melody had been willing to believe Jovan when he speculated that her dream self wasn’t pregnant because she’d already had the baby. However, Dream-Melody’s face had been unmarred, her hair solidly black - and those things wouldn’t have changed with time. There was no stronger proof that she had already failed, and yet … Logannus had believed she could defeat Semaj. He had given her the final chant, handed her the key to the Lich King’s permanent defeat.

  He had also offered to end her pregnancy, she remembered. He would have ensured her survival by killing her child, and of course she had refused, but had it been the right choice? Is that what her future self had chosen, or had she strayed so far that the other Melody was never confronted with the choice? Was it selfish to risk her own life for her son’s, when so many others depended on her? Melody ran her hands through her hair, blinking back tears. Suddenly she missed Attilus, his silent, comforting bulk, and his unshakable affection.

  She let her vision soften, bringing the swirls and currents of magic into focus. She didn’t have to concentrate or sing herself into a trance to see them anymore, they were a constant shifting undercurrent in her sight. It seemed every time she sang they got clearer. After Strom, she had begun to see variations in color and intensity. In a single glance at the magic in a person, Melody could learn almost everything about them - even if they hadn’t yet awakened. She would know what their gift would likely be, how strong it was, where they felt pain, who they loved …