His eyes held on a sleek-haired, violet-eyed Louving, who felt strangely familiar to him. He stood near the entrance of the hall, hidden in shadows, not participating, but watching the entire fight.
Taren blinked, his magic had found something else—a disguise. Without his art in reading magic, he would have missed it, but he had read this one before. There stood an imposter among the Louving.
In all the mayhem, Taren slipped quietly into the outlying tunnels.
~*~
The fight continued in the Grand Hall—a perfect distraction. The time had come for the deception to be over, and the sleek, violet-eyed Louving needed to act. Naomi had vanished in the back tunnels and he had to reach her before anyone else. But first, he needed to check on his prisoners.
Past the entrance of the hall lay a tunnel which spiraled downward, wrapping around and down, past empty rooms and hallways. He heard the rushing of water from hidden falls.
Madden reached a room in the middle of the path and opened the door. Inside sat two silhouettes: one small and fidgety, the other hardly responding to his entrance, staring and expressionless. Their hands were tied and their legs bound at the knees—the true Louvings, Hughes and Madden.
Hughes made a strange whimpering sound but hardly moved.
“You won’t get away with this,” the prisoner Madden said in a voice as smooth as silk.
“I already did.”
The prisoner analyzed the disguise. “How dare you pretend to be me?”
The mirror image of the Louving smirked at his clever deception. “It takes a lot more bravery to pretend to be a Louving than to actually be one.” The fake Madden ripped a bandage from the man’s arm to expose a fresh cut, still bleeding. “I may not need this, but just in case.”
The real Madden swore in anger, but returned to his sullen, hate-filled glare as he watched the imposter squeeze a few drops of blood from his arm and place it in a vial around his neck.
“Why do you do this?”
The man disguised as Madden capped the little vial of blood. “Things just got more complicated.”
“But why my blood?”
“Yours will do.”
The Louving’s eyes flashed in the dark as Madden’s doppelganger sealed their cell.
The Imposter Madden moved down the tunnel toward the sound of the falls. He remembered a secret ladder somewhere nearby and needed to find it before anything happened.
Someone spoke. He stopped and turned, but saw nothing there. It came again, whispering in his ear.
Madden reached for his sword and prepared to face whatever it was.
There was nothing—or was there? He looked hard into the dark tunnel. Mists formed along the pathway, moving about like ghosts.
A form molded and a shape appeared—the shape of a man.
He stood before Madden. His broad chest and shoulders now appeared real, light and transparent, but thick in mass. His face looked careworn, but his expression reflected honor.
Madden froze. He knew this man who stood before him—yet this man had been dead for years. Cornwallis Fairborne. Madden lost his breath as he stared at the figure.
Cornwallis looked Madden up and down. “There is one here.” Four other apparitions appeared behind him.
“Find where they have hidden the prisoners,” Cornwallis commanded. He turned back toward Madden. “Who are you? Why are you here?”
Madden could not speak. He had so wished for the day when he could see this man again. The shock and emotion ran through him like life flooding back into his veins after so many years.
“Answer me or die!” Cornwallis commanded.
Should he tell the truth? If he did, he might die as a consequence.
It didn’t matter. He would rather die than live with regret. It was time.
“It’s me. Reynolds,” he said in a near whisper. “Your son.”
Cornwallis stared hard at the Louving. “You lie. How dare you?”
“No! It is me. Believe me.” He reached around his neck and pulled the amulet over his head—an amulet that shielded his real appearance. He appeared, unmasked: Reynolds, undisguised, warily met his father’s gaze. No tears. He couldn’t spare them here.
Cornwallis looked at his son. He eyes shone with pride, and his face with sadness. The two embraced. Reynolds felt the strange, magical imprint—different compared to the warmth of real skin, though his reaction was the same.
The moment ended too soon. Both had to complete what they had come to do.
“We must find the Louvings.”
“They are in the Grand Hall,” Reynolds answered. “There are also prisoners deep in the outer rooms.”
“We will take care of it,” Cornwallis assured him. “We heard Harrow’s message. He is looking for a girl.”
“I’ll find her.” Reynolds felt the determination stronger than ever. “I promise I’ll keep her safe. It’s time for me to make things right.”
Cornwallis placed a firm grip on his son’s shoulder. “You can find me here, if you need me.”
Reynolds nodded, and then the Stain vanished. No goodbye, just as before. For a brief moment, Reynolds relived the childhood memories he’d buried in the recesses of his mind: his troubled magic-meddling, his years of loneliness without a father.
His life could have been so different with the continual improvement and guidance provided by a parent. And all those years were lost because of magic. He could find his father here. The hope to make everything right filled his soul with new life.
Naomi, he exhaled inwardly. There was nothing more important than her life—to the world, and to him.
He slipped the amulet back around his neck, and into the appearance of Madden, and went back in search of the ladder behind the falls. The light from the Grand Hall illuminated all the outer tunnels. A rushing wind whipped around, pushing toward the cascading water.
His magic searched out hers and found her like a beacon in the dark. She felt close.
He ran down the path and back into the darkness. The tunnel turned and spiraled, but he didn’t care. He ran blindly, feeling his way toward her into the depths of the cave.
From somewhere nearby, Reynolds spotted an eerie luminescence and heard the roar of the falls.
Voices of magic echoed around him; Harrow moved through the rock, taunting Naomi with the inevitable absorption of her magic to his. The desperate thought pushed Reynolds forward.
A scream resounded through the tunnels—Naomi’s scream. Harrow had found her.
Reynolds’ pace quickened. He had to be close, but he couldn’t find the way in. He could hear the conversations passing through the rock. Harrow’s ravenous hunger terrified him. A low, throaty laugh sent vibrations through his soul.
Reynolds turned and found himself in a cavernous room, a large pool splashing water from the nearby falls.
Across the water, Naomi leaned against the wall, terror in her eyes. Light shone from her neck as the medallion pulled away from her body—sweet purples and brilliant blues swirling around, breathing her life. Harrow chanted ancient words, coercing it further.
The Vivatera, his precious treasure—held fast around the girl he loved.
Naomi screamed in pain, grabbing at her chest and sinking to the ground. Harrow hovered over her now, consumed with the greed of his years of confinement. Her breath slowly squeezed from her body.
Reynolds ran forward, still disguised. “Enough!” he shouted as he pushed the underlord away from Naomi, standing between the two.
The connection between Harrow and Naomi broke, and her breath evened. She looked at him now, not recognizing the illusion before her eyes.
Harrow spun around in anger, turning his staff toward Reynolds. More incantations flew from his mouth, and bolts of lightning came flashing out of his staff.
Reynolds dodged the blast and whipped out his sword, but Harrow only laughed. “So you want to fight me, Madden? Do you think you can win?”
“You are not going to harm
her.”
Harrow shot another electric pulse his way. “Louvings only care about money and blood.”
Reynolds sprang back. The strike narrowly missed. He steadied himself again. “You don’t want her just for power, Harrow. You want revenge.”
Harrow’s brow rose. “I’m impressed. You have studied, haven’t you?”
Another strike grazed his left side, making Reynolds wince in pain. But the blow only made him angrier. He charged his sword at the old man.
Harrow deflected with his staff and countered with a gust of wind from his breath that knocked Reynolds back.
Naomi scurried to her feet, giving Reynolds a puzzled look—or rather, Madden the Louving, who now stood before her as a guardian. “If you want her, you’ll have to kill me first, and I’m not that easy to kill.”
Harrow laughed. “The Louving with a heart—how noble of you.”
Reynolds stood ready for the advance—so focused on Harrow’s attack he didn’t notice the figure at his side. Suddenly someone hit him square in the jaw. Pain seared through the right side of his face. Shaking his head, disoriented, he looked up to see Taren.
Reynolds recovered in time to defend another blow with his arm, and a third with the hilt of his sword. “What are you doing?”
“Get away from her!” Taren shouted, running right for him, plunging himself full force against Reynolds’s chest and pummeling him repeatedly.
“Stop!” Reynolds cried. “Naomi!”
Naomi looked stunned as he shouted her name. A glimmer of recognition filled her eyes.
Harrow laughed more at the two men brawling than anything else. “It seems I have already won.” Abruptly, he hurled a powerful shock at Naomi, overwhelming her and dragging her body toward him.
Reynolds finally pulled free from his attacker. “Taren, stop! We have to save her.”
“We? That’d be your job.” Taren grabbed the amulet and yanked it from Reynolds’ neck, severing the illusion and revealing Reynolds’ true self. “You’re pathetic, hiding like this. I knew it was you.”
Reynolds stood before him, exposed. The years of hatred built up between them boiled to the surface. Reynolds pulled back his fist and swung, hitting Taren directly in the jaw. Taren fell to the ground, seeming stunned, then angry as he tackled Reynolds around the knees, and they were at it again.
“Naomi!” Reynolds stretched for her.
In her magical bindings, Naomi gasped. “Reynolds!” she cried out to him for help, struggling more than ever.
Reynolds gave another good punch, this time into Taren’s back, which sent him to the floor.
“You!” Harrow shouted as he recognized Reynolds, whom he had undoubtedly thought long dead. He sent out ropes of energy around Naomi, lashing her to himself as she lay on the ground.
Seeing his rage, Reynolds advanced. “Let her go!”
Harrow’s face seethed with anger. Bolts shot out of his staff, shaking the ground above them. “You were foolish to trick me! Her death will be the result of your deceit. I rule the Underworld!”
“Then why do you need her magic?”
“Because I am banished here!” Harrow’s voice boomed. “She has the power to bring me to the surface. I will break free of the bonds and rule with power above. It is time for me to return to my world. And it is time for you to leave this one.” Harrow directed his staff right at Naomi’s heart.
Reynolds couldn’t think, only react. He lunged for Naomi, shielding her from any assault. He grasped the medallion around her neck. The delicate stones inside revealed the innocence of his youth, the pain and regret, the loneliness and heartbreak—and a small infant, cradled in his arms. Power began to build up, surging to the surface of the stone. Reynolds held it out from her neck and pointed it in the direction of the light.
Streams of magic shot out like piercing darts, striking Harrow in the chest. A sharp ripping tore through his body as he neared the falls, the border of his realm. He grabbed his robes, his head rolling back as his scream echoed, unearthly, rumbling from the depths of hell and pushing upward to the heavens.
His cry of rage filled the mountains with the energy of waking giants. The rock and river sucked the life from the demon of the dark. Harrow had crossed beyond the boundary of his exile. His body went limp and his face fell, mangled and melting as if burned with acid. With the heat of the fierce magic, his reign came to an end, and he disappeared.
The energy around Naomi vanished. She looked up and blinked, confused. Reynolds offered her his hand, and she stood, staring without comprehension. “You’re here.” She lifted her hand to his face for reassurance.
Reynolds took her in his arms and held her close. Her scared little heart raced next to his body. He no longer cared about her magical hold on him and how it controlled his actions. He wanted this, her near him, safe from the unspeakable horror Harrow would have exposed her to.
Behind them, Taren interrupted the sweet reunion. “I know what you did to her.”
Reynolds broke from his embrace and stood, defiant against the accusation. “I just saved her.”
“I assumed I had it right, but the magic confirmed it.”
Reynolds knew where Taren was trying to lead him, but this wasn’t the place for the truth to come out. “I’ve protected her as no one has.”
“Just as you protected me?” Taren walked closer until he stood toe to toe with his former friend, eyes flashing with anger. “Did your protection come from obligation or guilt?”
Reynolds darted a quick glance at Naomi, who didn’t seem to understand what Taren was hinting at.
“From sincerity.”
“You know nothing of sincerity—”
“You know nothing of love!”
Taren’s hatred intensified, his neck turning red from anger. “I understand what you don’t.” He raised his fist, which gripped a small knife. “It’s time to finish the experiment.”
Taren moved faster than Reynolds could react. Naomi screamed as Taren’s dagger plunged deep into her chest. “So much for your promise.”
“Taren . . .” she started, but lost breath. She stumbled back into the wall.
Reynolds rushed to her. “No! Naomi, no, please.” He dislodged the knife, which clattered against the stone. The unbelievable truth stabbed at his heart as blood began seeping through her clothes.
Taren stood back, watching without satisfaction—only duty. “It’s the only way, Reynolds.”
“Naomi? Don’t leave. Naomi.” Reynolds couldn’t control his panic, his heart felt as if ripped from his chest. “Find the magic, please.”
Naomi struggled against the pain, blinking and gasping.
Anger coursed through Reynolds’ veins as he met Taren’s gaze. “How could you do this?”
“I know the rules.”
There was no time. Reynolds worked quickly, fastening and ripping. Blood dripped from the corner of Naomi’s mouth. “Oh, no, please . . .” He pressed on the wound, mopping up the blood that soaked through her clothing.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Reynolds shouted back at Taren
“No more secrets!” Taren cut him off. “It’s time to own your mistakes!” He stared at the mess surrounding Naomi—the blood scarlet next to her snow-white complexion.
Naomi’s eyes moved to Taren, briefly connecting. Her breaths came slowly, her face contorting in agony.
“Stay with me, Naomi. Come on. Fight . . . find your strength.” Fury raged inside Reynolds, but he was helpless.
She struggled to breathe.
“No, stay with me.” Reynolds stroked her neck. His hand grazed against something—a tiny metal chain traced with blood. His hope now lay with something over which he had no control.
Naomi’s breath came in short gasps as the pain took over. She closed her eyes, fading away.
“No!” Reynolds gasped. His grief overwhelmed every impulse for control, and the tears he’d held back coursed down his cheeks. His arms curled around her as they had lon
g ago, rocking her as his tiny hope faded.
. . . Light
. . . Warmth
Swirls lifted away from her chest: pink, purple, gold, wrapping and entwining in delicate patterns. Magic, sweet and pure, pushed out, surrounding the precious vessel. Naomi’s limp body lifted in the air.
The colors wrapped around her form, tendrils holding her in place. Gold streams circled her heart like a protective mother containing her life force, the innocence and purity quietly sleeping in her blood.
The magic held her taut in the air, exhaling as the last of its life entered to save her. Peace could reside inside her now without the unnatural exposure. The Vivatera had found a way home.
Chapter Twenty-two
Paradise
A glorious sun lit a beautiful meadow. No one could plan a day like this. The sun smiled brilliantly, high above the trees. The grass, long and tender against her toes, tickled the soft pads of her feet.
Naomi could not remember feeling like this. Her arm reached up and fingered through her long golden tresses spiraled across the turf. She lay among the grass and wildflowers and thought of nothing.
She had no recollection of how long she stayed there, silent, listening to the sounds of life. It didn’t matter. Freedom filled her. For the first time, she had no worries.
The valley about her smiled. The wind danced lightly above the flower tops and weaved happily in and out of the reeds before breezing by and kissing her nose. A gentle nudging started at her palm, and she glanced down to see a kitten snuggling and purring next to her. How tender, she thought, and petted the little thing.
What a wonderful place. She lay back down, closed her eyes, and drifted as the kitten cuddled on her chest.
Time passed, or maybe it didn’t—dreamless, still. The wind switched direction, and a familiar smell wafted past. Sandalwood on a hot day. She opened her eyes and saw him sitting in the grass next to her.
She remembered him, or did she? The image looked different from any memory she had of him. He didn’t look as worn or tan or nearly as tired as she remembered, but his eyes were the same: grey and bright. They transmitted everything: sadness, loss, hope . . . The hope caught her attention. She sat up.
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