He sighed, and his despicable eyes cast a blue glow in the dim classroom, empty but for the two of them, the dark-eyed girl and him. “Aren’t you tired of being tortured by your so-called friends, Sherise?”
The dark-eyed Sherise nodded, her gaze darting toward the row of windows on the right. Outside, clearly visible through the dirty rectangular panes, a dozen or more teens milled outside. A waiting pack of jackals, and she was their prey.
“I don’t want to go out there, Alderon,” Sherise murmured in a soft Georgia drawl, fear in her tone.
“This time, things will end differently,” he said. “You have my word as High Priest of your Coven.”
The girl smeared sweating palms across her black jeans and black sweater. Her badly-applied concealment makeup barely contained her burgeoning golden glow. Sherise was obviously just coming into her own witching abilities, powerful and full of potential.
And yet, she had a shyness, a thickness of thought.
I could almost read Alderon’s mind, how he believed she was the perfect choice to fool his half-siblings, the lauded royal witch brothers, Bren and Todd. Alderon must have worked for months, drawing Sherise under his charms and spells. He was her undisputed leader. Her protector. He was all things to her, and she would do as he bade her to do.
“Are you sure about this Path, Alderon? About a haven for real witches and the boys who plan to destroy it?”
“Absolutely.” And then a little truth from the master of lies. “I’ve been there before. I grew up on the Path. Like we’ve discussed before, I’m not from your time. You believe me, don’t you?”
Sherise gave the mob outside the classroom one last nervous glance, then looked at Alderon and nodded.
“Take my talisman.” He handed her the small carving, careful to keep its leering face turned away. All she could see was the smiling, peaceful side. “Put it in your pocket and never, ever show it to anyone. It will keep you safe. Oh, you might suffer a few bumps and bruises—but nothing permanent. My talisman will help me find you any time, any place.”
Sherise shoved the carving into her pocket without studying it. She took a slow breath, then looked her leader straight in the face. “Will I ever see you again?”
He gave his best grin and shrugged. “Of course. I’d never let my strongest witch go for long.”
Sherise brightened. She straightened herself, set a stoic expression on her face, and walked out of the classroom without looking back.
In minutes, the beating began.
I heard Sherise screaming, and watched as Alderon frowned from the window. Of course, the jerk made no effort to intervene. He was watching the sky. My nails dug harder into my palms, and my eyes burned.
It was a long wait, but not too long. Sherise probably thought differently, lying on the ground whimpering as she was, even though her attackers had moved on. She was still in a ball, cringing, when Bren and Todd landed two large slithers soundlessly nearby.
“Big specimens,” I muttered, surprised by the wingspans, the size of the teeth, and the length of the fire plumes. “And out in daylight, no less. Someone’s been running a successful breeding program.”
Bren kept a spelled cloak around the healthy-looking beasts as his younger brother swaggered up to Sherise.
My keen hearing caught the entire exchange.
“Hi,” Todd said, sinking down on his haunches beside her.
Sherise looked up, and I heard her gasp as she recognized the silvery witch-light shining from Todd.
He grinned. “So, what do you say, beautiful? Want to get L.O.S.T.?”
At that, Bren groaned. I did the same. Sherise played her role to perfection, taking Todd’s hand and allowing him to lead her to one of the giant two-hearted slithers.
She managed a yelp of surprise, but Todd patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. It’s just our ride. Brooms aren’t my style.”
And just like that, the vision ended. But not before I grasped the truth. Even as I had been trying to reach Bren in the clearing, the spy was getting a tour of her new home. Alderon had an informant on the Path now, the Path Bren had so carefully rebuilt. Alderon had placed a golem in the protected Sanctuaries of the witches. Now, he could begin forging alliances with disgruntled oldeFolke, those incredibly powerful witches of ancient days who were never human to begin with. He could even determine where his mother, Nire, the most powerful being ever known, was trapped.
He could free her, and then kill Bren and Todd and everyone I knew.
The loss of the people I loved—that would destroy my hope and forever seal me in death’s sanctuary. No one could stand against Nire then.
This time, she would triumph.
“And now,” said Egidus in his disaffected tone, “I trust you see the problem.”
I staggered forward, almost stepping on the peacock, almost plunging into the repellent darkness.
“Who are you?” I demanded. “What are you?”
The bird ruffled his indigo feathers, fluffed in indignation, then let his plumage settle into its normal, placid state.
“I can be friend or foe.” He made no attempt to temper his cryptic comment with a friendly expression. “That depends on your perspective. Now, follow me into this stream, or die forever.”
***
Chapter Two
Life isn’t supposed to be like this, with a big wad of anger throbbing where my heart used to be, and my guts tied into a giant knot.
Half the time, food tasted like paper. Even sunlight bugged me. The Path, my life, the whole world had been wrong since Jazz died, and now that I was sure there was a way to get her back, to bring her back to the land of the living—well. Forget it. Nothing else mattered.
Life wasn’t supposed to be like this, and I was getting ready to change it.
My muscles ached from sitting, and my eyes burned and watered from all the reading I had done. Muttering to myself, I slammed down yet another decrepit volume of death lore and necromancy, sending a cloud of dust through the repository. Dim candles flickered in sconces, casting eerie shadows over the ancient book and wooden table. If I’d had my way, I would have used magical light, but the scrollkeeper would have had a cow. More like laid an egg. There was something way too bird-like about the oldeFolke version of a librarian.
Even though I was King of the Witches, that pointy-looking freak watched everything I touched, every second. If I touched it too much or too long, she actually clucked. I bet if I lifted her cloak, I would have found chicken wings. Even now, she was hovering a few tables away, buggy-bird eyes fixed on my hands. On the book, I guess. All she cared about was the book.
And all I cared about was finding a way to get to Jazz.
“Find a true guide unwilling. Like that makes any sense.” I wanted to snap my quill and use the pieces to scratch rude comments on the scarred table, but I stuffed that little mental revenge dream. Instead, I made a note on the parchment I was using as a crib sheet. Most of the books I had been trying to read were written in languages I couldn’t understand, even though I’d learned a couple in the five months since Jazz had died. I had translators for others—but oldeFolke. I swear. They never told me all of anything. Just my luck that everything about Talamadden was scrawled in the most ancient of runes and riddles. Past that, the parchment pages looked like somebody spit on them and erased half the lines for good measure.
Whatever. At least I had yet another piece of the friggin’ puzzle.
Find a true guide unwilling.
It felt like I’d been at this hunting, reading, and note-taking forever in the week since I had heard Jazz by the pond, and books were definitely not my thing. I rubbed the tingling scar on my cheek, imagining I could smell her cinnamon and peaches scent, could still picture her black hair and golden eyes. A sense of urgency made me feel like I was going to crawl out of my skin with the need to find her. I didn’t want to wait, I wanted to leave now. But how could I make sense out of all this crap?
Me studyin
g like a college scholar, now that should have been enough to upset the natural balance of the universe, but so far, things still seemed pretty normal. Well, normal for a Sanctuary full of witches, oldeFolke, mythical creatures, and my dad making mooney-eyes at an uptight witch who just happened to be my dead girlfriend’s mother. Oh, and let’s not forget my nutcase baby brother spending his time developing breeding and improvement programs for whatever monster made him yell, “Cool.”
Rol said I needed to spend more time with the little twit, that losing Mom—I mean Nire—had been hard on Todd. Rol also said I had no business in the repository hunting down information about how to find Jazz.
You have responsibilities. Your subjects need you.
It’s like my dad went hippie and his old do-what-I-say dad-spirit migrated into Rol. And believe me, a giant disapproving pseudo-dad with a broadsword was something I could do without most days. The jerk followed me around like he was my conscience. Except in the repository. When I headed for the forbidden stacks of books and scrolls, the big guy made himself scarce.
At least I’d had a little peace while I went following breadcrumbs down a trail of runes and smeared ink scrawls. A sentence here. A paragraph there. Bits and pieces—like Jazz would have to command strong enough magic and have a strong enough will to draw the physical form of her body back to her. Otherwise she’d be in spirit form.
No, my girl would never put up with just being a floaty ghost. Too messy and all. I almost smiled at the thought, then frowned again as I stared at the clues on the parchment.
The door lies in lands forgotten.
The living shall not cross.
Those who search forever wander.
Beware the Guardian.
Only the old blood may pass.
Find a true guide unwilling.
“Wonderful.” I crumpled the edge of the thin brown paper. “I’ll look for, what? A million years? Then I’ve got to be dead to enter. Seems like that defeats the purpose.”
The librarian-bird-thing clucked. She was probably worried I’d fidget with the book and crumple its pages if she left it in front of me long enough.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” I snatched up my parchment notes and crammed them into my breeches pocket. Before the biddy could peck me or make me help her dust, I stormed out, sword smacking my leg with every step.
The weight of the blade gave me some comfort, but then I got mad about that, too. Why couldn’t I just prove myself in some battle? I was good at battles. If I had to slay a giant five-headed slither to get into Talamadden, that would be no sweat. But all this riddle-and-dire- warning crap, it was really getting on my nerves.
Light half-blinded me as I stalked outside, into the oldeTowne section of L.O.S.T., built by the oldeFolke on the outskirts of the Sanctuary after Jazz and I brought down Nire. I mean, my mother. I mean—never mind. I so didn’t want to go there on top of everything else.
As I passed a pack of hags clustered around a big outdoor cauldron (no, I did not want to see what they were boiling), some of them started chanting death threats. To me, of course, for reading the old forbidden scrolls. I was ready to kill them, hissing snaky hag-spirits and all.
If only I’d had my baseball bat, that would have done the trick. Swords were too messy with hags. All that stinky black blood.
As fast as I could, I left the hooded, chanting witches behind me, and climbed the rise that separated oldeTowne from the main village. Wintry winds chilled my face. Over the western horizon, dark storm clouds brewed like the hags’ cauldron, the air smelled of sulfur and oncoming rain, and leafless trees swayed in a strong gust of air. I could almost swear I heard a klatchKeeper’s song on the wind.
But that was impossible. Keepers didn’t sing in L.O.S.T.—Live Oak Springs Township. The treaty between all witches had kept the peace for the past six months, ever since Nire had been trapped and her Sanctuary separated from the Path.
Just as I crested the hill, I saw a massive crowd. It looked like everyone in the Sanctuary had come running to the town square. Fists were shaking, spell-sparks crackled, and angry shouts broiled up the rise.
So much for peace. I didn’t even need to look to see who was responsible for this mess. With a groan of frustration, I marched down the hill to where my fourteen-year-old brother was trying to calm one of his biggest slithers. The giant winged reptile had rumbled out of its day-lair much earlier than it should have, probably thanks to Todd’s day-vision breeding adjustments. The iridescent red monstrosity had just stomped on a pumpkin cart and knocked over at least a dozen witches and oldeFolke with its massive wings. My dad was running in circles, dodging spells and trying to pick up the fallen witches and oldeFolke. Dame Edwina Corey, Jazz’s mother, was doing her best to placate a surly group of elflings who had drawn their daggers.
I was just about to send the slither back where it belonged when I saw the rest of the problem. Unicorns were eating carrots off displays. Giant toads flopped across wagon tracks. A singing ferret crooned loudly on top of a furious hag’s head, a pack of poms—slothlike creatures the size of hogs—rooted for apple peels on every corner, while shims—a covey of man-eating quail—eyed the nearest group of screaming children. Shouts rang between houses as people ran away from hairy bugbears that snarled a lot, but really just seemed to want the pumpkin pieces.
Had Todd turned his entire menagerie loose?
I cursed and fired containments at whatever wriggled, hopped, snorted, stomped, or looked remotely not-human. Meanwhile, the oldeFolke took it to my little brother.
“You want a piece of me?” Todd yelled to the hag closest to him as he backed away from the slither and the exploded pumpkin cart. “Bite me, you old witch!”
The hag came at him, jaws open wide, spittle flying from her mouth, only too pleased to follow that order. Her hag-spirit reared high above her head, dark crown swaying, fangs bared.
Todd whipped out his sword and grasped the hilt with both hands as he waited for her attack.
At the exact same moment, a singing klatchKeeper and her entire klatchKoven flowed over the rise. Within moments the swaying, dancing women surrounded my dad, their ethereal beauty and song instantly mesmerizing him. No mere mortal could withstand the klatchKeeper’s song. Only the most powerful of witches could, and most of them wouldn’t be stupid enough to try.
From the corner of my eye I caught the baker stuffing cotton into his ears and several male witches clapping their hands over theirs. Thanks to Jazz, I had learned to defend myself against that tempting sound, but most guys weren’t so lucky.
Todd didn’t even seem to notice the singing. He took a swipe at the hag, who darted back too quickly for his sword to do any damage.
Jaws slack and eyes glazed, Dad dropped to his knees before the klatchKeeper, who appeared to most men as the most gorgeous woman ever. As King of the Witches, I saw her for exactly what she was—a hideous beast with a head that looked like a gigantic eggplant, and a mouth filled with jagged teeth.
The hag screeched and went for Todd’s throat. The klatchKeeper swooped down on my dad, razor-toothed mouth stretched wide.
I unsheathed my sword, bringing it up in a lightning-fast movement. With all the power I had, magnified through my sword, my voice bellowed throughout the village, “Stop!”
Everything ceased to move. Even wind stopped blowing and clouds paused in the sky. The blade of my sword glittered in the half-sunlight as I slowly lowered it.
Every witch, hag, elfling, child, and creature remained motionless, like wax statues in that Madame something-or-other’s famous house of wax. The slither’s head was thrown back, puffs of smoke frozen in the late afternoon sky.
That is, everyone was motionless except for my brother and the silver glow that surrounded him. Even as I stared in amazement, Todd’s sword came within an inch of hacking off the hag’s head before he pulled himself back.
Shock blasted through me that my magic hadn’t fazed him this time, but more than that, what I felt w
as pissed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I strode toward Todd, my voice carrying throughout the silent village. “And what are all these—these—things doing tearing the village apart? That hag could have killed you.”
Todd’s own expression of surprise was quickly replaced by a scowl. “I don’t need your help. I could have taken her by myself.”
“Are you some kind of moron?” I reached him and it was all I could do not to slug the twit. “You would have violated the treaty between witches and oldeFolke, and then we’d have a freaking war on our hands.”
“Screw you.” Todd shoved his sword into its sheath, the sound of leather against steel loud in the quiet village. He narrowed his eyes that were eerily blue like our mother’s—I mean Nire’s—eyes. “I just needed to take the bugbears for a run, and the toads and horned horses came with. I didn’t know they broke the latches. And I didn’t mean to wake up Harold, but he likes unicorns, and—”
“Not again. Not without my permission, understand? We need to plan—”
“Man, shut up. You aren’t my dad.” Todd’s snarl echoed off the village walls. “You think you’re so hot just because you’re King of the Witches.”
Todd and I had been in fights lots of times, but I’d never heard him sound like he was filled with as much venom as the water serpent I had battled last summer.
One by one, I spelled his menagerie back to the keeping grounds outside of oldeTowne. With each spellblast, I forced myself to calm down even though I wanted to knock my brother upside the head. The little snot didn’t even try to help, not even when I had to move Harold back to his day-lair.
At last, when the final super-toad took a ride back to where it belonged, I turned on him. Todd was standing, arms folded, still glowing a soft silvery blue.
“I am King of the Witches,” I reminded him in the quietest voice I could manage. God, I sounded like Dad. “This place and everyone in it are my responsibility.”
Todd smirked and glanced at the frozen chaos that surrounded us. “Some job you’re doing.”
L.O.S.T. Trilogy Box Set Page 27