As for me, I was increasingly ignored. I performed my usual patrols to monitor Nire’s incursions, saw to Shallym’s needs and minor issues in the other Sanctuaries, and worked with Rol and Bren on spells a few hours a day.
But never alone, just Bren and me. After the disaster at the shore with the cluster serpent, I instructed Rol to attend every training session. Bren performed far better in his swordplay lessons with my training master, and I had hoped Rol’s presence would help Bren focus on his spellwork. Of course, it hadn’t—not that I could tell.
Otherwise, I kept to myself. But for the first time in my life, solitude was bothering me. Bren’s aloofness was also displeasing. I found myself cleaning sconces to the point of polishing them, and my fingers were growing stiff from searching out and destroying cobwebs. No sooner did I put my panic at bay than it came right back, doubly forceful. Soon, I would be sweeping the very clouds from the sky to feel a small measure of relief.
And Bren—did he care?
Sometimes, I saw him watching me from his window when I took my morning walks. I swore I could almost feel the caress of his strong fingers along my forearm or his warm breath upon my cheek, almost as though he were reaching out to me, as if he were using magic to touch my heart.
That caused me to think he might want to spend time with me, yet it seemed he went out of his way to avoid any such possibility.
Following our fruitless daily practice sessions, Bren would spar with Rol in the training yard. Then, Bren would simply disappear. Several times I had to struggle with myself to keep from spying on him as I did when he had first arrived. I could easily have turned into my falcon form, and he would never have known the difference.
But I couldn’t do it. That would be a violation. His privacy—didn’t I have to allow him some time to himself? Still, I wondered what he did when he was alone. Did he think about his family? Did he think about how we might defeat Nire?
Did he think about me?
Often I thought about what Bren had said after his lesson with the klatchKeeper. Sooner or later, we have to be our own sanctuary. You and me. Safe together, or we’ll never beat Nire.
Did he mean that? And his eyes often held a certain gentleness… But, no. That gentleness came and went, like rainbows and storms.
It was late afternoon, and the drawing room was quiet when I entered. Acaw had done a fine job of mending the hole I had so foolishly blasted in the wall, and my space felt whole and safe.
“Light,” I commanded, and candles in the wall sconces filled the room with a gentle glow. The lone bench still rested beneath my favorite window, and I sat down, put my feet up on the bench and wrapped my arms tight around my knees. No doubt when dawn came, I would still be in the same position. Waiting and watching. I felt a sense of impending doom, something beyond the usual, as if a storm had gathered above Shadowbridge—a storm I couldn’t yet see.
Lately, sleep had been a luxury.
A few minutes after I took up my vigil, hinges creaked. I glanced over my shoulder to see Bren entering—without Rol. My heart began an uncomfortably fast patter as he approached me and eased himself to the floor a few feet away.
With his polished-oak eyes and scruffy hint of a beard, Bren looked more rugged and handsome and pirate-like than ever. His golden brown hair had grown long enough that it now brushed his shoulders. It amazed me, too, how much larger and more defined his muscles were after almost three weeks of continual training with Rol.
Why was he here? To talk about the weather again? Or maybe something even more scintillating, like sword fighting.
Oh, joy.
I ground my teeth.
He took a deep breath, and I ground my teeth again, dreading the new round of inane small talk we would both have to survive. Instead, Bren flicked his fingers against the stone floor. “Do you have a plan to defeat the Shadowmaster?”
I tensed even more. What could I say to such a direct inquiry? Truth. Tell the truth. I had agreed to be honest. If my life and heart was in his hands, I had to tell him everything. If he rejected me, there was nothing to do but begin again.
Bren’s dark eyes burned into me, and I cleared my throat. “Yes…and no. I have a plan to lure Nire out of hiding—to find Nire’s Sanctuary. On the upcoming Summer Solstice, two days from now. My powers will be at an apex, as will yours, and I think it’ll be our best chance.”
“Why now?” Bren’s tone was even, and his gaze never faltered even though he crammed his hand in his pocket. “Why this Solstice instead of the next?”
I tore my eyes away from the tiny bits of food on Bren’s tunic. “Nire has always known how to find our Sanctuaries, but my magic has made it difficult. Of late, Nire’s power and cunning have increased. I sense the Shadows are only days away from penetrating this stronghold. Into the original Shallym itself. If the Shadowmaster destroys us here, in our most powerful keep, we’re lost.”
I ran one finger along the spotless windowsill and then glanced back to Bren. “My time—the time of all witches—is running out. I have to act, with or without the Shadowalker’s aid.”
Bren shifted on the floor and chewed the inside of his cheek. After a few seconds, he said, “Where do you plan to take Nire on?”
“In Middle Salem.” My hands grew cold. “Where we first encountered Nire and the Shadow minions. It seems the logical location. Rol and I suspect that Nire’s unnatural stronghold is somewhere in that time.”
“And when you lure the Shadowmaster out, when you confront Nire in Middle Salem, then what?” Bren’s voice was quiet, with no hint of his typical anger or sarcasm.
“I don’t know.” The crumbs on his vest seemed huge now. Filling my eyes. “I’m hoping you can use your training and your strength and magic to break Nire’s hold on the Path. Rol has taught you well, and you’ll know what to do.”
“If we get that far,” he murmured.
Feeling a mild shock from his unexpected insight, I shifted my gaze from Bren’s vest to the floor. “If I can trap Nire into one remote Sanctuary and cut it from the Path… It’s never been done, severing a Sanctuary, but I think it’s possible.” I returned my gaze to his. “All I’d have to do is cut through Father’s spells, sever the energy and push it away from the ribbon. I believe the Shadowmaster would be helpless then. Nire would have to live in that timeline. So, if the Sanctuary were old enough—”
“It might be thousands of years before Nire could cause trouble again.” Bren’s expression was earnest as he finished my sentence.
“Yes.” I leaned forward, relieved that he didn’t think my ideas were stupid. “Nire’s Shadows would have no organizing force, and I think they would dissipate. The hostages would be freed.”
He rubbed his chin, as if thinking the deepest of thoughts. “Can Nire be killed outright?”
“I don’t know.” Misery coiled inside me. Surely Bren would think I was hiding things from him again. “Death might not be the best option. If Nire suffers an unnatural demise—well, I’m not certain what would happen to such an ancient creature. Nire could wind up in Talamadden instead of moving on.”
Bren didn’t seem concerned about Nire any longer, though. “Listen,” he said. “There’s one more thing I need to know.” He paused for a moment, his gaze so intent that it was as if he could see deep inside my soul. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“Pardon?” I gaped at him. “You’re the one who’s always so angry you barely speak to me. Except to be sarcastic.”
“No.” Bren shook his head. “You can’t stand me, and you’ve been avoiding me.”
My cheeks burned. “Only after you ridiculed me repeatedly and told me I was like your father, which I assume is unflattering.”
Bren’s smile was almost triumphant. “See? I told you. You don’t like me.” I looked back to the window, battling tears. Everything about this boy confused me. I didn’t know what to say.
“Look, I’m sorry. About the dad thing, I mean.” I heard rustling noises, and imagined
Bren fidgeting with his tunic. He had a habit of unraveling his clothes, thread by thread. “It’s just that all your cleaning and the way you always see the wrong in everything I do. It bugs the snot out of me. It makes me nervous.”
The laugh was reflexive. It squeezed from my throat like a cough, and tears immediately coursed down my face. I wiped them away with angry jerks of my hand. “I make you nervous?”
“Well, yeah.” More shuffling sounds issued from behind me. “Because I know I’ll never measure up. I can’t ever be perfect like Dad wants, or like you want. There’ll always be some dirt or screw-up somewhere, because I can’t help it. I’m a big zero, except in baseball.”
I turned quickly this time, so shocked I almost slipped from my seat. Bren was standing near me. Close enough to touch. I gazed up into his handsome face and shook my head, still unable to believe what I had just heard. “Is that what you think? That there’s something wrong with you because I’m obsessed with cleaning?”
Bren nodded as he reached down and gently brushed a stray tear from my cheek. “And I know we won’t be winning this fight with Nire, because I’m not good enough. I can’t even do simple spells and stuff around you and Rol.” He drew his hand away from my face and thumped the side of his head. “Too stupid, I guess.”
I swung my feet off the bench and stood so quickly I barely kept myself from stumbling into him. “No! Why can’t you see that I’m the one too weak for battle?” I wrapped my arms around my waist. “What I do with cleaning, I can’t help myself. I feel like if I don’t clean, the dirt will take over and contaminate me. That something terrible will happen.
“Your imperfections are normal and healthy. Wonderful, even.” I searched his eyes for understanding. “But my mind won’t let me rest until I’ve polished everything around me. So nothing bad will happen. If I don’t clean, and disaster occurs, it’ll feel like my fault. Like I’ve failed to do everything I could to prevent it.”
Bren’s hands were suddenly on my arms, just above the elbows. I looked up into his endless brown eyes. “Did you say I’m wonderful?”
My throat closed. Warmth spread across me, starting at his hands and spreading upward, toward my neck and face.
“I—well, yes. You are. The problem in this quest isn’t you, as I said. It’s me.”
He pulled me closer to him. I braced my palms against his muscled chest as my heart started a frightful banging against my ribs. “I don’t think you’re a problem at all, Jazz. A pain sometimes, but not a problem.” He rubbed his thumbs over the insides of my elbows. “You try your best to manage things no one person—no one witch—should ever have to deal with. And I understand about the dirt thing, now that you’ve explained it. It’s like my attention problems. Something you can’t help. So, zap it off me any time you want, okay?”
I gripped his shirt in my fists, needing to hang on to something as I absorbed what he was saying.
He slipped one hand into my hair, cupping the back of my head, and he smiled. This time, it was a warm expression. Inviting. My heart beat even faster as his face came closer to mine. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day I met you,” he murmured, his warm breath feathering across my lips. “And so many times since.”
The truth was out. He knew everything about me, even that I brought him onto the Path of Shadows, perhaps to die—and he still wanted to kiss me.
I could scarcely believe it.
Bren’s mouth met mine gently. Just a brush. I tasted salt and ale on his lips, and breathed deeply of his pungent boy’s scent as he pulled back to gaze into my eyes. At the moment, his smell seemed much less unpleasant, and the crumbs had vanished from my field of attention.
“There,” he said softly as he settled his free hand at the curve of my waist. “Did that feel contaminated or awful?” Shivers traveled my spine. I shook my head, his fingertips sliding through my hair and caressing my scalp.
“Trust me.” He drew me close to him again, one hand firmly at my waist, the other clenched in my hair. His heat radiated through me, and I could hardly think, much less speak. “Not everything is as black and white as you want it to be,” he continued. “I’m not perfect, but I’ll try my best not to let you down. Maybe we can beat this psycho-witch. Together.”
“Together,” I whispered and reached up to him.
This time, Bren’s mouth pressed harder against mine, and the sudden feeling of oneness, of rightness, caused my knees to buckle. If he hadn’t been holding me so tight, I would have dropped to the drawing room’s stone floor. Instead, he held me closer. Tighter. Protecting me. Holding me up, supporting me with his strength.
Yes, I did trust him—totally and completely. With the quest. With the lives of my people.
With my heart.
I didn’t understand why. Perhaps it was something soul-deep. Perhaps it was his innate goodness that couldn’t be disguised. Whatever it was, I trusted him.
When he drew back from our kiss, I gazed into his warm brown eyes, intent on telling him what I felt. What I really felt.
“Bren.” I swallowed hard as I looked up into his handsome face. “I—”
And then I screamed as Shadowbridge Manor rocked on its very foundation.
A resonant knocking sound made me cover my ears. Images of Trier leaped into my mind-the burned buildings, the burned bodies.
“No. No! Gods!”
The floors beneath us bucked and convulsed as the soul-slamming knock came again and again.
“What is it?” Bren kept a tight grip on me as I tried to battle back my shock and horror. My insides felt like a boiling pit, already burning me alive.
Then came the sound Trier’s survivors described—wood splintering, tearing like paper. I felt it in the depths of my stomach, and my heart twisted.
Once more, the floors shifted, this time much more violently. Bren and I fell, holding onto each other as the fortress pitched like a ship on angry seas.
“What’s going on?” Bren shouted as darkness bled from the walls like oozing tar—foul darkness with fangs and claws.
Hammering sounds exploded around us. From the roof. Dozens of hard, loud pounding noises, like meteors striking home again and again.
Bren crouched over me, pressing me to the floor, protecting me with his body. He bellowed something I couldn’t hear over the roaring and groaning as Shadows crept toward us.
The foul odor of rotten dirt and sour milk filled the room. The smell of death and decay.
Shadows.
Shadows streaming in from everywhere, as if they knew right where I would be!
“Nire has broken into Shallym!” I squirmed loose from Bren and leaped to my feet. Before I even drew breath, I zapped the nearest Shadow with a pure beam of light, then mustered my power and shouted, “Cease!”
Everything kept moving, as if I had made no effort at all. As if my magic were almost completely drained—or blocked. What was happening? I was obviously limited to small protection blasts, but why did I have so little power?
Bren was up now, sword drawn, his skin pulsing silver. He sliced at the closest Shadow, causing it to vanish in so many silver sparks.
The door to the drawing room burst open, and Acaw came tumbling in. His crow-brother flew over his shoulder. Without hesitation, the bird screeched and dove toward the dark expanses that were attempting to drive us toward the wall. The elfling wielded a kitchen fork and a small dagger, and each shone with the eerie glow of oldeFolke magic. He fought with detached precision, slicing through the blank spaces before him, letting in light wherever his little hands jabbed.
I fired again, blasting apart the closest dark shape. Bren hacked at one and then another, working side-by-side with me.
Dear Goddess, please don’t let them be good souls. The lost souls. Please don’t let those Shadows be anyone I love.
Rol. Where was Rol? I didn’t even see his energy arrows piercing the gloom outside the window.
Even through the uproar, I heard the wailing cries of Shallym�
�s witches as they rose from their homes and kovens and burrows, flying like harpies to defend Shadowbridge.
At Bren’s side, I fired on two Shadows clawing toward his head. He ducked under the dying sparkles and sliced his sword at even more Shadows. He was so close to me, as if I had used a sticky spell, yet I almost felt as if a part of him were repelling me.
From outside the windows came the screeching of hags and hag-spirits, and the answering snarl of Shadow minions. The keening of dozens of Keepers, the singing of klatches—I barely had time to begin a protective shield around Bren to block the klatch hypnosis. And then I realized he was resisting the sounds himself.
Bren was battling the klatch song without my help.
I was stunned, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.
More rumbles joined the fray, along with hisses of fire and smoke. Something broke the nearest window, and I retreated. Bren scrambled to me, then crouched, holding his blade toward the thing flopping through the broken window.
A scaled wing.
Slithers.
Dear Goddess, the slithers had been called from their day lairs by the chaos. “Something drew the Shadows here!” I pulled Bren back another step. “They’re breaking in! Hurry, Bren!”
A hag burst through the broken window, leering at us. Her hag-spirit was large and dark, like a bear, swinging paws at us.
“For this day I have waited,” she growled and hurled a black ball of death-spells directly at me. I blocked them, taking care not to let them hit Bren or Acaw.
“Rol!” I cried for my training master as a maddened klatchKeeper tumbled into the room through widening holes in the walls. Outside, a slither hissed a jet of fire, burning Shadows and witches alike.
Acaw turned on the Keeper, assailing her with his small knife and fork. His crow-brother pelted and pecked—and another Keeper appeared, purple, wide-mouthed, and horrible. Without hesitation, she attacked and ate the first Keeper, then screeched at me before flying away.
Two hags swept in and struck down their errant sister, a hag who had been rushing toward me. It was a terrible thing to see her hag-spirit strangled, even as the Shadows tried to free it.
L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set Page 17