L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set

by R. S. Collins

  “Your brother’s too young to be off on his own like that,” he said, still watching the sky. “He’s impulsive and—”

  I cut in. “Irresponsible?”

  Dad’s gaze snapped to mine, and he saw my amused smile. “Yes. Well.” He stroked his beard. “I suppose you heard that a time or two while you were growing up.”

  “Try a few million times, Dad.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Todd’ll be fine. He’s a sharp guy. Besides, he’s taking Acaw, and there’s no one I trust more, except you and Rol. Todd needs something to keep his mind off Mom. He still misses her. I can tell.”

  Dad studied me for a moment, and his brown eyes became serious. “Have I ever told you how proud I am of you, Brenden?”

  My throat tightened and my smile faltered. “You didn’t have to.”

  His gaze avoided mine. “I should have. I sure hate to think how much I must have sounded like our sweet Dame Corey,” he said, referring to Jazz’s mom and I almost snickered. Sweet. Yeah right. About as sweet as burned sugar soaked in lemon juice. “Never letting up, always carping about every little thing,” he added.

  Hot breath slid across my neck as my slither snorted behind me. “It’s all right, Dad.”

  He sighed and met my eyes. “I never said it, but like your mom frequently mentioned, I’ve always thought you were destined for something great.” The corner of his mouth curved beneath his beard. “Of course, I was thinking right field for the Red Sox. I never quite figured you would grow up to be King of the Witches. Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”

  “Me either.” I grinned but pitched forward, yanking my slither’s reins, when a massive hand slapped my back. Rol steadied me by grabbing my arm. “May I have a word with you, Your Highness?”

  My slither growled a warning, obviously feeling protective toward me. “Jeez, Rol. Think you could take it easy on the hale-and-hearty greetings?” I rolled my shoulders to lessen the new ache. “And can’t you just call me Bren?”

  At least he wasn’t calling me “boy” any longer.

  Dad nodded to Rol and said he had to get back to work. I was glad they got along. It was like having two dads around.

  Rol explained that mediation was needed between some hags and a klatchKeeper, and I shook my head. I wondered if there would ever be a quiet day in L.O.S.T.

  After I signaled an elf to stable my slither, Rol and I walked into the village. I couldn’t help but remember the first time Jazz brought me here, and I hadn’t known what was going on. I glanced at Rol. I’d grown about an inch in the past few months but I doubted I would ever be as tall as him, or as buff as he was.

  “It’s been about five months now since…Jazz.” My voice caught as I spoke. “I miss her so much. I don’t think I’ll ever get over losing her.”

  Rol sighed, loud and deep. I knew it came from the bottom of his soul. “I, too, miss Jasmina.”

  I stopped walking, the familiar ache growing deeper. Rol pulled up beside me and waited for me to speak.

  “When she first got that Shadow-wound, I said I’d never forgive myself if she died because of me.” I looked away from him and fought to talk past the gigantic lump in my throat. “It was my fault the golem led the Shadows to Shadowbridge. I should have been stronger.”

  “Jasmina’s passing to death’s haven—it was no fault of yours.” Rol placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed, drawing my gaze back to his. “You must release this guilt and some of your anger, or you will be unable to meet the queen again.”

  A tingle crawled down my spine, and I shrugged off his hand. “What are you talking about?”

  He stared at his battered boots and looked back to me. “I thought you knew. I was impressed, even, that you had made no impulsive attempt to find what cannot be found.”

  The tingle on my spine developed rabies. I jerked from the painful sensation, my fists clenching and unclenching. “Quit talking in riddles, Rol. You’re making it sound like Jazz didn’t die.”

  “She died,” he said flatly. “Too young, from evil intent and dark magic. It was an unnatural passing.”

  Almost as Rol spoke, Jazz’s voice echoed in my mind, from way back before the battle at Nire’s nightmare Sanctuary.

  Father was killed by humans in a frenzy of fear—a natural death in the order of the universe. Such a death barred him from Talamadden, the special haven within Summerland, and a possible second chance…

  I staggered back from Rol, stunned and furious. “This death’s haven, this Talamadden, it’s an actual place, like a Sanctuary on the Path, isn’t it?”

  Rol’s sigh made me want to break his neck. “Yes—and no.”

  Now I did get in his face, fists doubled and ready for action. All thoughts of magic fled my mind. I’d beat him to death. Much more satisfying that way. “Start making sense before I kill you,” I warned through clenched teeth.

  For once, Rol looked a little rattled. “She would not wish me to tell you—ah, well. She is not here to chastise me.”

  His calm face tensed, and his dark eyes pierced mine as I came to a stop right in front of him. When he started talking again, his voice was low, like he was scared somebody might hear him. “As a witch killed too young and by evil intent, no doubt Jasmina went to Talamadden, and so, according to legend, may win a second chance at life. But you must understand this, Bren. No living person has ever been to death’s haven, and none of the dead has secured a return. It may be only a legend at best. At worst, it is a cruel fantasy to torture wounded souls like you.”

  “I’m not a wounded soul.” The lie sounded good in the bright sunlight. How would it feel at midnight, when I couldn’t sleep, thinking about where Talamadden might be and how I could get there?

  Rol seemed to relax. “Then we’re agreed. You won’t attempt some foolhardy search for Talamadden?”

  Warmth crept through me, but I struggled not to show it. “Of course not. I’m King of Witches now. I have responsibility—and Dad and Todd, and everything.”

  The look I got from Rol communicated the teeniest amount of belief in the whopper I’d just told. He seemed to be deciding about something, then went into his walking-statue routine and remained mute.

  I was tempted to turn him into a real boulder just for kicks.

  By the time sunset approached, I’d worked myself into an almost complete freak-out. I wasn’t sure where to try the first time, but if Jazz was still alive, or her soul was, in whatever way, maybe I could talk to her.

  I had to believe we meant that much to each other.

  After checking for Rol, and making sure Jazz’s thoroughly annoying mother was nowhere nearby, I escaped to the glen behind the mom-and-pop restaurant, which was now the province of a dozen elf chefs.

  After Jazz died, Rol had showed me the glen and told me how much Jazz loved it. He explained how she thought it represented the best of her favorite place—L.O.S.T. It was a pretty cool spot, full of trees and a small pond. When the wind blew, little ripples broke the blue surface, and the sun on the water looked like the gold in Jazz’s eyes.

  Sometimes, when I missed her too much to bear, I had come to the glen to talk to her, and I pretended she could hear me. I had no idea that she might, of course.

  Rol. I’d kill him later.

  I sat in the dry grass beside the pond beneath the live oaks. Autumn leaves fell in lazy spirals, settling around me, and the chill fall breeze caught my hair.

  I thought about what Rol said earlier, about releasing my guilt and anger.

  Was that the key? Could I do it?

  I’d have to forgive myself first, and I didn’t know if that was even possible.

  With a frown, I looked into the water as if I might see her there, but my own reflection stared back. I rubbed my fingers along the wicked scar across my right cheek and remembered Jazz touching it just before she told me she loved me.

  For a moment I thought I could smell Jazz’s cinnamon-and-peaches scent, and my heart thumped.

  Just
wishful thinking, Bren.

  I turned my attention to the pond and acted like Jazz was beside me.

  “Mom being Nire. I still can’t get past that,” I told the tiny waves on the water’s surface, deciding just talking like I always did might be the best approach. “I’ve written down everything I know about her and given copies to the oldeFolke, so if she ever shows up again, maybe they can keep her contained.” I sighed. “Dad divorced her not long after I—uh—cut her loose. What else could he do?

  “I miss her, though.” I picked up a flat rock and skipped it across the pond. “Not Nire. I miss the mom I loved when I was growing up, like Todd does. It’s like she died, too, you know?”

  The wind blew, and the waves picked up. A few of them splashed against the grassy shore. I pretended the sound was Jazz’s murmur of support.

  I bit the inside of my cheek and found another rock. It felt flat and cool between my fingers before I flung it toward the pond.

  As my thoughts turned to my half-brothers, I frowned. “Todd and I still haven’t found Alderon. It’s too bad he got away before we had a chance to capture him. But we will.”

  I scooped up another rock, this time flinging it to the other side of the pond and into the grove of live oaks. “Finding all of our half-brothers will be a huge job. It’s been a challenge figuring out if those we come across are loyal to Nire or actually good people, but it has to be done.”

  More waves splashed against the ground.

  “Your mom’s a real pain.” I started to pull at the drawstring on my shirt, and then dropped my hand. “She’s helping me a lot with this King of the Witches business, though. She and Dad argue all the time, but I’m afraid that deep down, he really likes her. Kind of like us. Opposites attracting, and all that garbage.”

  The fall breeze tickled the scar on my cheek, and I imagined I heard Jazz’s laughter.

  I shook my head. “My dad—I never would have believed he’d take all this in stride. But he said if Todd and I belonged here, he belonged with us. And then he made that computer program to help us keep track of witches we rescue, and where we take them.

  “The new Path’s doing well. I’ve been able to attach two Sanctuaries.” I smiled at the thought of all the good work we’d done in the past five months. “Dad’s computer program helps with that, too, since he’s loaded in so much history information, and he gives me a hand picking the best places.”

  I scrubbed my hand over my cheeks. “Come on, Jazz. I can’t do this. Rol told me about about Talamadden—death’s haven—and the fact your soul might still be hanging around somewhere.”

  My voice sounded desperate, and I hated it. Couldn’t stop though, not for anything. “I can’t believe all this time, I could have been looking for you. That maybe you could have been talking to me or sending me dreams or something.”

  The stillness in the clearing grew absolute, and I couldn’t bite back about ten curse words.

  “Are you out there?” I yelled. “Don’t leave me hanging like this, you arrogant witch! I—”

  My words got all choked up, but I coughed just like Jazz’s stupid mother and made myself finish. “I love you. I won’t ever love anyone else, and I’m coming to find you no matter what, so you might as well just talk, if you can.”

  The clearing remained as quiet as a tomb.

  Another string of curses swelled in my head, but just then, a puff of breeze grew stronger and lifted my hair from my shoulders. Jazz’s scent was so strong that I looked around, as if she might be somewhere near me.

  Was she there, trying to tell me something?

  Forgive yourself…

  The word was a whisper in my mind. Was it Jazz, or more wishful thinking?

  What Rol said—I knew I needed to. But if only I had been stronger! If only I had thrown that horrible golem far, far away, Jazz would have lived.

  Forgive yourself…

  I closed my eyes tight and searched my heart. What would Jazz want me to do?

  Forgive yourself…

  Yes. I had to let go of the blame. I never would have hurt Jazz intentionally. Nire’s spell had been too powerful for me to overcome, especially since I had been completely unaware of it.

  It wasn’t my fault Jazz had died. I loved her and would have done anything in my power to save her.

  My eyes still closed, I lifted my face to the heavens. “I love you, Jazz,” I said again, this time gently, with all the feeling in my heart.

  I love you, too, Bren.

  My heart pounded as the whisper caressed my ear and Jazz’s scent filled the air. I slowly opened my eyes, praying that she would be sitting on the grass beside me.

  I was alone.

  Yet, not alone.

  I felt her presence, strong and vibrant.

  “Jazz?” I held up my hand, willing her to touch me.

  On another path, another day, we’ll be together again, Bren. A feather-soft caress brushed my fingertips, and her words floated on the wind. Don’t come looking for me in Talamadden, please. You’ll only get yourself killed.

  “I miss you so much.” I swallowed, choking back the emotion welling up inside me. “I want to be with you now.”

  Another path. Another day. Her words grew fainter. Don’t do anything foolish. Just know I love you.

  “Don’t leave me.” I jumped to my feet, but I knew she was already gone. “Come back!”

  For a long time I waited, hoping I would hear her voice again, and feel her close to me. Long after the sunset had melted into darkness, I stood at the shore, listening with my ears and my heart.

  Nothing spoke to me. Not even the breeze. Anger and frustration stirred in my soul, mingling with the pain in my heart.

  I was going after her.

  Of course I was going.

  Talamadden, wherever it was, whatever it was—no way I wouldn’t find it, and Jazz, and I’d bring her home, and that was that.

  The simple thought of searching for her, even without a plan or a clue about where to start, gave me energy and purpose I hadn’t felt in five months.

  Her words echoed in my mind.

  We’ll be together again.

  Whether she meant to or not, Jazz had given me another gift, maybe the most precious of all.

  Hope.

  THE END

  ***

  Shadow Queen

  R.S. Collins

  S.R. Vaught

  ***

  Dedication

  To my three sons, Tony, Kyle, and Matthew. You guys mean the world to me.

  —R.S. Collins

  To my sweet aunts Judy, Carol, Gloria, and Sylvia, and my beloved grandmothers, Nell and Gert. Never underestimate strong women. You have mastered shadows. You have changed the world.

  —S. R. Vaught

  ***

  From the Wytches Book of Tyme

  Tho Shadowe stands defeated,

  Darke shall come to fynde yts vengeance,

  Ande yf yts hand be fyrm,

  Ande yf yts eye be strong,

  Ande yf yts aym be true,

  Bye yts stroke hope dyes forever.

  -Passage MCLXXX

  Wytches Book of Tyme

  ***

  Chapter One

  Death isn’t supposed to be like this, crying in the wilderness with no path to follow.

  I fought a flash of panic. Were the Shadows coming?

  But what were Shadows, anyway? Why did I fear them? If I could grasp my name, any detail of my previous life, I might gain some understanding. I’ve tried and tried, but only one thought makes sense:

  Before I died, I might have been a witch.

  I remember that witches spoke about Summerland, the other world people travel to after their Earth-life. Some witches even knew about Talamadden, the special Sanctuary within Summerland, for those who might have a second chance at life.

  Was I supposed to have a second chance?

  In my nothing space in the nothing place, I wished for an end to my nothing existence. I could
n’t even see myself, not my legs or arms or clothes. For all I knew, I was only air and thought.

  Goddess, please. If you ever knew me, help me now because I can’t take much more.

  If I had been a witch, maybe the Great Mother would listen. I felt sure I once believed in her, but did she still believe in me?

  A faint rustling noise made me look up. It was the first sound I could remember in so, so long.

  “Show yourself! Are you Shadows?” My voice sounded small and cracked and desperate. I wished I had a sword, then wondered why.

  “Speak,” I demanded, though I knew I had no power to compel.

  “Rise, Jasmina.”

  The low command rang from my right side, and I jerked around to see a bird drifting gracefully out of the darkness. He was not made of the dreaded Shadows, no. A real creature with a jaunty step and bright, well-cleaned feathers.

  Jasmina. He called me Jasmina.

  That was right! My name. Names had power. I could feel a stirring in my belly, sense a warming in my cheeks.

  Jasmina.

  From some echo deep within my essence came a boy’s whisper, and it said, Jazz.

  A heaviness overcame me, like I had changed from a collection of air and thought to something much more solid. My thoughts became more solid, too.

  Squinting and blinking to clear my senses, I tried to believe what my mind perceived. The last thing I expected to find in the land of the dead was a talking peacock who knew my name. Animals were supposed to be innocents, never having to worry about spiritual struggles.

  That’s witch-knowing, Jasmina. I had to have been a witch. Jasmina, the witch.

  Then again came that boy’s whisper. Jazz…

  I couldn’t imagine why a peacock would be an exception to the innocent animal idea, so the very sight of his sparkling blue body and long feather train made me nervous, not to mention the way he looked at me, like he had known me.

  Before.

  His black-pearl eyes glittered like candles lit by dark magic. Only, there was no magic in Talamadden. At least not magic I could use, if indeed I had been a witch.