The trees were swimming overhead, swirling together with the bright white light of the sky. Mirah winced, grasping her right shoulder. When she opened her eyes again, the world above her had stabilized. With a quiet groan, she slowly rolled over on her side. Mist was rising from the blood-splattered stones she was lying on. Someone else was lying a few feet away—Peter, a new recruit. His eyes were cold and glassy. Further in the distance several other bodies littered the ground and yet further still a figure moved in the mist.

Mirah froze, an odd mixture of fear and fury building within her, bubbling over until she could no longer stay still. She swiftly and quietly got on her feet, eyes scanning the area for a place to hide. She darted to safety behind a nearby column, unsure of whether she’d been spotted. Aren, a militia veteran from Llane, lay dead by her feet, chest ripped open by huge claws. His pale fingers were still clutching his bow. She pried it out of his hand and took an arrow from the quiver on his back before turning back to search for her target.

Holding her breath, she peered around the edge of the moss-covered stone column, watching for any movement. Whoever had been out there, they had moved out of sight—either they were gone or they were waiting for her to come out of hiding. She was about to lie back against the column to inspect the wound on her shoulder when she heard a small crack behind her. Mirah whirled around, arrow nocked, to find the point of a rapier only a few inches from her face.

The figure from the mist was a young man around Mirah’s age with shaggy brown hair and ragged, dusty leather armor. His gaze was nearly as piercing as his blade and it locked her in place for a moment or two.

“Who are you?” Mirah demanded, but the man just snorted in response, void of any respect for the Ravian Guard emblem on her chest. “Tell me who you are,” she said again, more forcefully, “or I swear I’ll loose this arrow into your heart.”

He only arched an eyebrow at her threat. “You don’t have the strength left in your arm. Calm down before you hurt yourself.”

He was right, of course. Her shoulder wound was too deep to draw the bowstring. But it didn’t make her hate him any less. Mirah gritted her teeth, legs coiled beneath her like a serpent about to strike. She swung the bow left, deflecting his blade and leapt on him, bringing him down to the ground. She pinned him down by his shoulder and drew her sword, pressing it against his throat.

She didn’t have to ask for his name a third time. “It’s Kaspar. My name is Kaspar!”

“Well, Kaspar, what are you doing here?” she asked quietly.

He hesitated at first, but Mirah pressed down harder with her blade and his lips loosened once again. “I-I was looting. I swear that’s it. Here.” His hands moved quickly, fumbling through his jacket pockets and pulling out small coin bags. “That’s all I found. T-take it.”

“What about the others? Are they all dead?”

Kaspar closed his eyes and swallowed, exhaling loudly. “If I say yes, are you going to kill me?”

Mirah sighed, blinking back tears, releasing her grip on his shoulder. “Who did this?”

“You don’t remember?” Kaspar asked in return and she shook her head. “I… didn’t witness the fight,” he answered honestly.

She nodded and rolled him over so he was laying face first on the ground, much to his protest. Mirah took the blue ribbon from her long, black hair and used it to tie his hands together behind his back.

“I told you everything I know!” Kaspar complained.

“And you also confessed to stealing from members of the Ravian guard, which is a crime whether the victims are alive or dead,” Mirah replied, leading him to a small tree just outside the ruins where her men had been slaughtered and tying the other end of the ribbon to it. “Stay here a minute.”

“What if whatever attacked you comes back?” Kaspar argued.

“Then it will save the magistrate the trouble of judging you,” Mirah replied with a shrug. She walked back to the grisly scene, ignoring Kaspar’s grumbling.

In the courtyard of the Templeof Erylian, the mist continued to cloak the bodies of twelve good men. Their bodies were torn open, the skin shredded away, and she realized when she compared her own wound, she was lucky she’d survived. All their faces were fixed with rigid, horrified expressions, like they had seen a monster from their darkest nightmares—and yet Mirah couldn’t remember anything about the attack. But more troubling than their injuries, or their terror, or even her subtle amnesia, was the one thing she did remember: there should have been thirteen men with her.

Lieven, her younger brother, was with her on their expedition into Lyrewood. He was a foolish boy, always in trouble with someone thanks to a quick tongue and a lack of foresight. He had only been a guard for a year, a career Mirah had tried tirelessly to warn him away from. And now he was missing, maybe even dead.

She began checking the corpses, hoping in vain that one of them was alive, that one of them was her brother. When she’d gone through all of them, she checked again—maybe she’d missed one. But despite her obstinance, there were still only the twelve guards she’d seen before. Mirah searched the brushy forest around the temple; perhaps he had gotten separated. But the longer she searched for him, the more afraid she became until she was so sick with worry she couldn’t look anymore. She wiped away the tears on her face before returning to Kaspar. Tying the ribbon to her belt, she pushed him forward, urging him to walk.

“What happened?” he asked, but she didn’t answer him. “Where are we going? Ravia?”

Mirah nodded silently, trying to disguise the lump in her throat. How was she going to tell her mother and sister that Lieven was gone? How would she explain to the captain of the guard that twelve—thirteen—of his men were dead? She was so lost in thought she didn’t notice Kaspar had stopped walking until the ribbon was pulled taut between them. “What are you doing? We’ve got difficult terrain to cover.”

Kaspar didn’t budge. Instead, he studied her a moment with the look of a desperate gambler ready to go all in. “I can help you find whoever you’re looking for.”

Mirah was speechless for a second. “Are you an idiot or just crazy?”

He seemed confused for a second before proceeding to explain. “I’m a tracker… of sorts. If he left a trail, I can find it.”

Mirah smiled thinly. So, he was crazy. “Even if I was looking for someone—which I’m not—I’m arresting you. Why would you help me?”

Kaspar shook his head. “Nothing in life is free— “

“—unless you’re a thief,” Mirah cut in.

Kaspar cleared his throat. “I wasn’t finished. What if I find this sweetheart of yours?”

“If someone was missing—and they’re not—it wouldn’t be my lover,” Mirah supplied bitterly.

“You keep them close, do you?” Kaspar replied with a devilish grin, receiving a sharp glare in return. “Listen, if you plan on taking me to Ravia, you might as well slit my throat right here. Or we can find this lost friend and call it even.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to cut a deal while you’re tied up.” Mirah glanced over her shoulder, as though expecting to see the magistrate or her mother peeking in through the bushes, waiting to see how she responded. She turned back to Kaspar and held up a finger. “You have one hour. And I’m not untying you, so don’t ask.”

Kaspar smiled almost cheerfully at this response, evidently certain that he could live up to the task. “Great. So, who is this person that’s not missing?”

Mirah hesitated. Then, with a step back toward the temple ruins, she answered, “My brother, Lieven.”

The ribbon went taut again and she turned to see Kaspar standing still with a stupid grin on his face. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?”

Mirah’s heart skipped a beat. She knew it. She knew he’d been keeping a secret all along. He knew where her brother was, knew the whole time. And when he told her, she would beat him until he begged her to stop.

“He said he was leavin’,” Kaspar continued, trying and failing to hold back his laughter.

A pun? Was he serious?

All the hopeful anger that was building up in her chest vanished instantly, leaving her empty and cold. She balled her fist up and hammered it into his shoulder. “No more jokes,” she declared.

Kaspar groaned, bowing to the punch. “Fine, no jokes.”

He led her to every corner of the temple courtyard and down every lightly-beaten path heading into the forest, explaining loudly what sort of things he was looking for as though she were a small child. Coming up short, he began traipsing through the underbrush looking for footprints; however, none of those he found led out of the ruins. As the hour came to its end, so did Mirah’s patience.

“Enough of this,” she said at last. “I should have known it was just a game. Let’s go.”

Kaspar was still muttering to himself amidst the vines and leaves and limbs. “It doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t just vanish…. Maybe the monster ate him.” He shook his head. “No, not big enough…. But there’s no trail. There’s always a trail. Unless… he’s still here?”

“He’s not here, Kaspar,” Mirah replied impatiently. “Unless he’s hiding from us, but I seriously doubt— “

“Hiding,” Kaspar interrupted thoughtfully. “Why didn’t I think of it before? It’s the only place we haven’t looked.”

“What are you babbling about?”

He glanced up at her. “The temple. He must have taken refuge inside during the attack.”

Mirah looked from Kaspar to the temple’s stone entrance skeptically. “Wouldn’t he have come out by now?”

“Well, yeah,” Kaspar replied, “unless he’s in danger. There’s no telling what manner of monsters are lurking in there. And then they say it’s cursed, too. We’ll need to go inside to find your brother.”

Mirah frowned. “So you can get me alone in the dark and try to overpower me.”

“I’m hurt,” Kaspar said with an expression of mock offense. “You don’t trust me?”

“You’re a thief,” Mirah replied blandly.

Kaspar shrugged. “That’s fair, I guess.” With a swift, overdramatic motion, he knelt before her, his chest swelling with self-importance. “But I swear to be true to my word, my lady. I won’t depart until we’ve found your brother,” he promised with an absurd tone reminiscent of old tales of knights and heroes.

Mirah rolled her eyes, weighing her options carefully. On the one hand, her mother would never forgive her if she’d had a chance to find Lieven and didn’t take it. But on the other, if Kaspar escaped she would never live it down among the other guards. Then, of course, she could always neglect to mention a few details…. “Fine. But if you try anything, I will end you.”

Kaspar nodded and led the way to the marble doors only to remember that his hands were bound and unable to open them when he got there. “Why don’t you do the honors?” he said with an embarrassed chuckle.

The door was sealed with a small brass latch. Mirah pulled it up with a metallic clang and together they pushed the doors open with their shoulders. They took a few steps inside, awestruck at what they found. The entrance hall opened to a massive throne room, dark except for faint sunlight sifting through a stained-glass window behind the throne itself. Large portions of the floor had given way during earthquakes over the century and a half since its last use, leaving two deep pits, one of which rent a hole in the floor from one side of the building all the way to the dais where the throne was perched.

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” Kaspar whispered, “but it wasn’t this.”

“Lieven would have wanted to explore this,” Mirah admitted. “Come on.” She pressed onward only to find the stairs down into the temple’s throne room were all broken. She leapt down on them, quickly finding a path to the solid floor below.

“Erylian was supposed to be some sort of great king, right? A god on earth,” Kaspar rambled, still taking in the sights behind her. “People came from all over Telas to worship him.”

Mirah scoffed under her breath. “My father told me a different story,” she said.

“Why? What did he tell you?” Kaspar asked as they reached the only remaining set of stairs up to the top of the dais.

“It’s not important,” Mirah supplied. She reached out to touch the arm of the throne, tracing a line through the thick dust. A flash of blue light and a sound like the crack of lightning came from behind her and she spun around with her sword drawn, expecting to find that Kaspar was attempting to escape. To her surprise, however, she found him backing toward her slowly, eyes fixed on a spot somewhere in the darkened distance across a deep chasm where the floor had fallen away. “What happened?”

“I… don’t know,” he replied. “Something flashed over there in the back of that room. Magic.”

His last word sent a tingle down her spine. Magic was forbidden in Telas, and for good reason. It had been wicked men like Erylian who had proven once and for all that magic couldn’t be trusted by enslaving the common man and blighting the land with war against their rivals. Could some of his power still linger here in his temple fortress? It was a possibility Mirah didn’t want to consider. “Let’s keep moving,” she said, putting the thought aside. “There’s a door beneath the platform. Maybe he went through there.”

“Or maybe I was wrong,” Kaspar suggested as they made their way off the platform. “Maybe I just overlooked his trail outside.”

“Did you?” Mirah asked dryly, opening the door under the throne’s dais. Behind it was a staircase leading down further into the temple.

Kaspar sighed, his shoulders dropping. “No, but it was worth a try.” Mirah led him downstairs, into the dark depths of what must have been Erylian’s dungeon. “Did I mention this place is cursed?”

Mirah smiled in the pitch black of the underground. “No, really?” she teased.

“Ghosts and wights and liches and all sorts of undead,” Kaspar mumbled. “And then there’s the magic. It’s everywhere in this place. Can’t you feel it?”

That word again. Mirah swallowed. “Superstitious nonsense,” she declared. “Stop being such a coward and let go of my arm.”

Kaspar didn’t have to say it; her heart turned to ice as soon as the words left her lips. “I’m… tied up.”

Mirah shifted her head slowly. The dim light pouring in from the door behind them was just enough to make out the shape of the rotting skeleton that was standing beside her, grasping her arm with cold, dead fingers.

She drew her sword and plunged it into the heart of the monster. It clawed at her arm, tearing the flesh as it hissed and fell away. She was about to head back upstairs when she felt her hair being pulled back and arms wrapping around her.

Mirah cut the ribbon that tied her to Kaspar. “RUN!” she shouted just as a sharp tug caused her to drop her sword. Kaspar watched in horror, hesitating too long. There were already two more of the creatures between him and the base of the stairs. She saw him kick one of them square in the chest as the undead pulled her down to the ground, their claws digging into her skin. She screamed as they closed in with pointed teeth and long, serpentine tongues.

Her hand wandered, searching for her sword in the sandy earth beneath her. The smell of death flooded her nostrils until she almost vomited. Teeth closed around her wounded shoulder and she groaned in pain, tears dampening the corners of her eyes. At last, she felt the hilt of her shortsword and grabbed it tightly.

Mirah swung wildly, kicking and punching until she could see the stone ceiling once again. Just as she started to clamber up, more claws pinned her back to the ground. One of their ugly faces swooped in at her, ready for another bite but it stopped suddenly.

A deep growl echoed throughout the cavernous dungeon and at the sound of it, Kaspar and Mirah’s attackers fled back into the shadows.

“Not good,” Kaspar said quietly. “I don’t want to know what kind of monster scares those things away.”

Mirah was still lying on her back, her entire body shaking. Was this what happened to Lieven? Did he escape the fate of his brothers-in-arms only to be devoured by those… creatures? She couldn’t begin to fathom what sort of demons they must have been—some minions of Erylian, still lurking down here after all these years?

Kaspar appeared above her, extending a hand toward her. “Are you alright?”

She took his hand, trembling and nauseous. “I’m fine,” she lied, sheathing her sword once she’d gotten to her feet. She squinted at his unbound hands. “How did you…?”

He smirked. “You had me pegged right, sweetheart,” he answered, holding up a small dagger. “I’ve been whittling away at that pretty little ribbon for a while now.”

Mirah didn’t have the energy left to be angry. She grabbed her shoulder where the… wight? had bitten down straight to the bone and stumbled forward. Her legs were weak and she collapsed against a huge stone column.

“Where are you going?” Kaspar asked. “The door is the other way.”

“We still haven’t found Lieven,” she whispered in exhaustion.

Kaspar grimaced, shaking his head. “Look, I didn’t want to say this, but… I think we know what happened to him now.”

“He’s not dead,” Mirah replied loudly, her voice echoing on the dungeon walls. An eerie shuffling sound came from the distance.

Kaspar ran a hand through his hair and wiped some sweat from his brow, apparently considering his options. “It’s not safe down here,” he whispered.

“Then why don’t you just leave?” Mirah spat. “You escaped, now, right?”

“I’m not going to leave you down here to die,” he argued.

Mirah was waiting for the punch line. When he didn’t say anything else, she stared at him in confusion. “Is this supposed to be some gentleman thief nonsense?”

Kaspar grinned shyly, apparently entertained at the idea of being called a gentleman. “No, it’s just decent human being nonsense,” he replied. “I’m the one who convinced you to come down here, after all. If you think your brother is still around here somewhere, then… I guess we should keep looking.”

He took her hand and continued into the darkness. Mirah studied the pattern of their intertwined hands, trying to unravel his motives as she followed along. When her efforts yielded no results, she gave up and searched the shadows for signs of motion, signs of life.

In the distance to her right, spots of sunshine poured in through the holes in the floor above and in the ceiling of the temple itself, illuminating piles of rubble, bits of wood and limestone and old cloth. On her left, there was only stone wall cut into the very earth. Nowhere was there any hope that Lieven had survived the wights, or that he had even been down here.

A knot formed in her stomach. This was all her fault. She could have left her brother in Ravia, forbade him to come, given him some menial task. Instead, she added him to the scouting mission, hoping he’d gain some decent experience. Now he was probably gone forever.

Kaspar stopped suddenly ahead of her, his grip on her hand tightening. Up ahead, perhaps fifteen feet away, was the head of a giant lioness with teeth as long as Mirah’s legs. She was sleeping, cloaked in her leathery dragon wings, her long, spiked tail curled around her.

“Back upstairs?” Kaspar whispered.

Mirah nodded, taking a few cautious steps back. She stumbled over a rock behind her, sending it skittering across the floor, and the two of them froze as the lioness’s golden eye flicked open. The beast sniffed the air and growled; she stood and instantly found the intruders, roaring furiously, spit flying everywhere.

2: Chapter Two

“Nice kitty…,” Kaspar said soothingly. The lion-dragon was not amused; her tail swung behind her and collided with a column, raining dust from the floor above.

 

Mirah sprung into action, sprinting back toward the stairs. Kaspar was just a step or two behind her when one colossal paw swept them off their feet and into the air, sailing across the dungeon and into the earthen wall. Mirah’s head dashed against the hard stone, dazing her as she fell to the floor.

 

She could hear Kaspar muttering as the lion-dragon sniffed his leg just a few feet away, the beast’s hot breath filling the short space near the wall. Mirah drew her blade, struggling to arrive at the best plan of attack. The dragoness pressed down on Kaspar with one of her strong paws and began to nibble on his leg; he let out an agonizing cry of pain, a plea for help, a prayer to the gods before the pressure of her paw cut off his breath. If Mirah didn’t act soon, he would die.

 

Then she remembered the columns. They were the only thing holding the place together, and the lioness had the over-whelming power to displace them. With no better plans coming to mind, she flung her sword at the monster, landing it between the lion-dragon’s ribs.

 

The dragoness roared in pain, rounding on her and closing in quickly. Mirah fled to safety, weaving around one of the columns and into some of the rubble beyond. Behind her she heard a loud crash as dust and small rocks began to fall all around her. She could still feel the lioness’s hot breath on her back as she turned sharply beside another column. Another loud crash resounded behind her as large bricks dropped from above.

 

Mirah only had a few seconds left before the whole ceiling caved in above them. She dashed back to Kaspar, who was still groaning in pain on the ground, and hoisted him up just as the lioness bounded toward them. Mirah scrambled underneath the beast, dragging Kaspar behind her as huge chunks of the ceiling crumbled down to the ground. She rushed toward the stairs, unsure of where the destruction would end.

 

When she reached the base of the staircase, one horrendously loud boom and a wave of sand and dust rushing past them told her it was over. She lowered Kaspar onto the dungeon floor and sat on one of the steps to catch her breath. Mirah passed a glance over his leg; it wasn’t horribly mangled as she’d feared, but it was definitely broken and bleeding in several places.

 

She pulled a bandage from a small bag on her belt and knelt to inspect his wounds more closely. “You’re going to need a splint,” she said seriously.

 

“Wow,” he said, wincing. “No gloating. I’m impressed.”

 

“What?”

 

As though his meaning should be obvious, Kaspar pointed to the vast pile of debris where they had just escaped. “You just saved us from a Ligon and you’re not going to revel in that success?”

 

“A Ligon?” Mirah repeated, arching an eyebrow.

 

“Lion,” Kaspar said, raising one hand. “Dragon.” He raised the other and then meshed the two together. “Ligon.”

 

Mirah rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. She got up and explored the nearby rubble, finding a plank of wood long enough to tie around his leg. When she returned, she found him staring at her thoughtfully. “What is it now?” she asked.

 

“We’ve nearly died together twice now and I still don’t know your name,” he mused. “And then of course, you tried to kill me outside. You’re like my very own angel of death.”

 

“Charming,” Mirah said flatly as she knelt by his leg again. She laid the plank beside it and began to wrap the bandage around him. “It’s Mirah.”

 

Kaspar fell silent for once, watching her work, occasionally grunting in pain as the wrap was tightened around his leg. As she reached the end, he snorted and laughed quietly. When she looked at him questioningly, he said, “It’s just… it’s just, well… if you had looked in the Mirah, you would have seen that your brother was Lieven.”

 

Mirah sighed, shaking her head. And yet, perhaps because she was so tired, or perhaps because of the adrenaline still rushing through her veins, the more she thought on how stupid the joke was, the funnier it became until she found herself laughing along with him. They sat there laughing like idiots in the dark for a few minutes, eventually subsiding into silence as they rested.

 

“Do you really think those wights—or the Ligon killed him?” she asked in almost a whisper.

 

Kaspar knitted his eyebrows, taking a deep breath. “We didn’t find out what that blue flash was upstairs yet. I don’t think we’ll find Lieven there, but… maybe there’s a clue as to what happened?”

 

Mirah shuddered at the idea of going over there. But she couldn’t go home without checking every possibility. “If there’s magic over there, we’ll need to be on guard.”

 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll just be another Ligon,” Kaspar suggested. “Either way, we should probably get upstairs before the creepy crawlies figure out their arch-nemesis is dead.”

 

Mirah nodded and pulled him up along with her, his weight making her shoulder throb. He wrapped his arm around her and they began to make their way back up into the heart of Erylian’s temple.

 

Upstairs, they saw the tremendous damage that had been done to the floor during their desperate encounter with the beast below. To their far left, an enormous section of the exterior wall had fallen down and bright shafts of sunlight were pouring in, illuminating most of the throne room. To their right, however, the place where the magic had emanated from earlier was still cast in darkness.

 

Mirah and Kaspar crossed the length of the throne room back to the broken staircase that led to the entrance hall, which now presented a serious obstacle with Kaspar’s broken leg. Instead of struggling against it, they climbed up to the next level by going around the stairs and up through the rails that blocked it off; first went Kaspar, pulling himself up with Mirah’s help, and then Mirah after him.

 

Leading away on either side of them was a long hall. They headed right and went around a corner. Ahead was the remains of an interior wall, its door broken and falling over in the wake of a giant hole in the floor. The two of them hobbled forward, staying as far away from the edge of the collapsed floor as they could.

 

When they got to the door, Mirah leaned Kaspar against the wall and drew her sword. “Wait here,” she whispered.

 

Kaspar gestured to his leg and replied, “Where else would I go?”

 

Mirah glared at him, putting a finger to her lips before stepping over the pieces of the door. Inside, a table sat in the center of the room with various crystals scattered on top of it. Beyond the table, against the back wall, was an old shrine composed of two stone pillars about Mirah’s height, probably for holding candles back when the temple was still in use, and in the center a tall statue of a man in robes with a scepter in one hand and fire in his other.

 

Mirah sheathed her sword and peered back out the door. “It’s safe,” she said and helped Kaspar through the entrance, leading him to the table.

 

“What’s all this?” he wondered aloud.

 

Mirah returned to the statue, looking up into the cold, marble eyes of Erylian. “I don’t know,” she answered. “But don’t touch anything. There’s no telling what will happen.”

 

“There was a time when I might have been happy,” Kaspar spoke behind her. Mirah turned around to see he was reading from a leather-bound book.

 

“Do you ever listen?” she snapped.

 

Kaspar shrugged. “It’s not like the book’s magic,” he argued before continuing. “‘There was a time when I might have been happy. A time when my kind were not shunned, or hated, or executed as they are now. When we were free to live our lives in peace. Erylian was the symbol of that time—”

 

“Erylian and peace in the same breath?” Mirah interrupted. “What sort of madman wrote this?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Kaspar replied, “but this table is his. There’s not a speck of dust on the whole thing.”

 

“Does he give us any hints about Lieven?”

 

Kaspar shook his head. “He just goes on about how great Erylian was and how everything’s gone to shit. Then it says, ‘For Baden, I will bring magic back to Telas.’”

 

Mirah glanced back at the statue. “Who’s Baden?” she asked thoughtfully. She heard something clatter on the table behind her and found Kaspar picking up one of the crystals on the table. “Would you stop that?” she said, marching over to him and yanking it from his hand.

 

As soon as her skin touched the gem, a flash of blue light came from behind her and the crystal flew from her palm. Mirah spun around and watched as the crystal floated up to the top of the left pillar and hovered there in an azure blaze. “What… happened?”

 

“You tell me,” Kaspar responded. “You’re the one that did it.”

 

“I did not,” Mirah hissed. “How could—? I don’t even….” She was at a loss for words.

 

“Here, try this one,” Kaspar said, passing another crystal to her.

 

She glared at him with wide eyes. “I told you not to touch anything!” she fumed. “And now look.”

 

Kaspar frowned and took a difficult step forward. “You wanted to find your brother, right? So, we need to do some experimentation.”

 

“With magic?” she retorted. “No.”

 

But before she knew it, he had placed the crystal in her hand. It, too, promptly flew away to rest atop the right pillar. There was a crack and smoke and light emanated from the shrine. Mirah covered her eyes with her arm, coughing as the smoke filled her lungs. When she looked again, she saw in front of the shrine a bright blue wall of light.

 

Kaspar was grabbing the other crystals on the table and shoving them in his many pockets. He tucked the leather journal inside his jacket and held out his hand to her. “Well?” he asked.

 

She eyed him skeptically. “What are you planning?”

 

“To go through,” he said simply.

 

Mirah stared at him, aghast at his profound stupidity. “You-you don’t even know what that thing is. What if it kills you?”

 

“There’s only one way to find out,” Kaspar replied. “What would your brother do?”

 

Mirah turned nervously to the blue wall and thought of Lieven. For a second, she thought she could see him there, between the pillars, grinning mischievously at her, his dark blond hair illumined by the sapphire glow. She took a deep breath, grabbed Kaspar’s hand, and walked forward, into the light.

3: Chapter Three

Mirah and Kaspar stepped through the light and fell. There was no solid ground on the other side, only water below, above, around, everywhere, and they were sinking, sinking, sinking. Mirah saw the portal vanish behind them, felt water begin to fill her lungs and she shut her mouth. She was still holding onto Kaspar whose terrified eyes met hers. He shook his head and let go of her hand, fading away in the water.

 

Mirah fumbled with the straps on her armor, shedding her heavy cuirass, and kicked and flailed, ignoring the throbbing in her shoulder, until she could see the sun shining through the surface of the water. She broke through, gasping for air, coughing loudly, hair stuck to her skin. But Kaspar was still below. She dove back down, searching for him through the murk and shells and fish and weeds. Finally, she spotted him, a dark blotch on the muddy floor. Bubbles of air were trailing from his mouth and his eyes were only half open.

 

She scooped him up and swam back up to the surface. She could see where they were now, in the middle of Lake Lomagon, the nearest shore still some distance away. Kaspar sputtered beside her, retching up water, his weight threatening to sink them again.

 

“Come on, Kaspar, kick!” Mirah shouted. “You have to start kicking or we’re not going to make it.”

 

Kaspar waved his arms and she could feel his legs swinging beside hers. To her relief, he was breathing again, too, albeit erratically and in between long bouts of coughing.

 

Mirah steered them toward the coast, every move of her arm sending a jolt of pain through her entire body. The closer they came to shore, the worse the pain became until it was nearly too much to bear. The water became shallower and soon she could stand up in it, doggedly pushing forward with Kaspar limping along by her side until at last, they made it to the sandy beach and laid down on its warm surface to catch their breath. Kaspar’s coughing had subsided, interchanged by joyous bursts of laughter and victorious rambling.

 

But the sound of him was drifting away. Mirah’s eyes were heavy; she tried to blink away her fatigue, but it overtook her. Her entire body felt like it was sinking into the sand. The sand turned into darkness, into the night sky, into the icy, cold glow of the moon.

 

She was on a different beach, one that went on forever in both directions and gave way to an endlessly blue expanse. This one had a dock, and on the dock was a man in a black tunic with long black hair like hers. He looked back at her with a proud smile, familiar and full of love. “Papa!” she squealed and ran toward him.

 

She was a great deal shorter than him. He seemed tall enough to touch the sky and when she got close to him, he lifted her up and spun her around so she felt like she was flying. When he let her go, she fell into his arms, hugging his neck tightly.

 

“I missed you,” she whispered.

 

“I know,” Papa answered, placing her on the dock again. “I hate going away and leaving you behind, but you know I’ll always come back.”

 

Mirah smiled and nodded. “Mama’s waiting for you at home.”

 

Papa sat down at the end of the dock. “Why don’t we surprise her and catch some fish for dinner?”

 

Excitement welled up inside her and she sat down beside him. He passed her a pole and they cast their lines into the water. Together, they sat and talked and laughed for what seemed like hours and when they caught a fish, they tossed it into a pewter bucket until it was full to the brim.

 

They were getting ready to leave when he called her over to the edge of the dock again. “Come here,” he said with a grin. “Come look, Mirah.”

 

She tiptoed up to the edge and her jaw dropped. The water had taken the shape of tiny dolphins leaping through the air and jumping over one another. “How do you do that?” she asked.

 

He looked down at her thoughtfully, considering something very seriously. “It’s easy,” he replied at last and knelt beside her. “Just study the water, watch it move in and out over the beach, learn its rhythm and it will lend its secrets to you.”

 

Mirah did exactly as he told her, her entire body swaying with the motion of the waves. Back and forth, back and forth, until she felt like she was herself a part of the ocean.

 

“Now imagine what you want it to do,” Papa whispered in her ear.

 

“I want it to be a kitten,” she replied.

 

He gave her an amused smirk. “A cat made of water? Interesting choice.” He took her hands into his own and held them over the water. “Now, close your eyes and think of your kitten. Think of the shape of its ears, its tiny nose, the flick of its tail. Good. Open your eyes.”

 

Mirah peeked at first, then opened her eyes wide. Her kitten was there, prancing on the water, rubbing against the side of the dock. She reached down to try and pet it but it splashed back into the waves when she moved.

 

“That was really good,” Papa said encouragingly. “Now, listen.” He put his hand on her cheek, held her eyes with his gaze alone. “This is our secret. There are people in the world who don’t like it and if they found out, they would do bad things to us.”

 

“Why don’t they like it?” Mirah asked.

 

“They don’t understand it,” Papa answered. “And that scares them.”

 

“You should teach them,” she suggested with a smile.

 

He laughed gently. “Maybe I should,” he said and got back on his feet. “Come on; it’s getting late.”

 

Mama was waiting at the door for them, with her big sister, Cecily by her side. Her baby brother was still in Mama’s belly. She didn’t know how Mama knew it was a boy, or even that it was a baby, but she did. They ran out to meet Papa and Mirah; Mama was so excited to see him she didn’t even scold Mirah for going out on her own. They went inside with the fish and Papa helped them cook.

 

For the first time in a long time, their little family ate together in their small farmhouse. Cecily and Mirah were allowed to stay up late, listening to Papa’s stories until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore. He carried them to their beds down the hall and tucked them in, kissing them each on their foreheads and wishing them good dreams.

 

Mirah drifted off quickly, dreaming of entire cities made of water, sculpting them with her own hands. But all her buildings crashed down suddenly with a loud bang. She jumped up in her bed and saw Cecily was awake too.

 

There was a man shouting in the next room. “This is not your business!” he shouted.

 

“Please,” Mama pleaded and Mirah thought it sounded like she was crying. “Please, you can’t take him. What about our daughters? Our son?”

 

Then Papa spoke too softly to be understood. Cecily hopped out of her bed and crept down the hallway; Mirah followed her to the door, not daring to go any further.

 

“Bind him,” said the man who had shouted before. She could see his blue cloak, his velvet hat, and just enough of his face to know he had a deep scar on his cheek. Two other men passed by him and Mama began to wail loudly.

 

Mirah saw them go back out with Papa chained up between them and she rushed down the hall, past Cecily who tried to grab her but missed. Mama caught her, though, before she could run out the door after the bad men.

 

The scar-faced man frowned, looking down his nose at her. “It’s a pity we can only kill the blossom and not the whole vine,” he sneered before turning to leave.

 

Mirah squirmed, trying to worm her way out of her mother’s grasp and failing. Mama pushed her aside and shut the door, locked it, and slid down to the floor in sorrow. Mirah exchanged glances with Cecily and the two of them curled up beside her, wiping away her tears, promising that Papa would come back. He always did.

4: Chapter Four

Mirah opened her eyes and found herself face to face with a wall made of logs. She laid there, blinking at it in confusion for several minutes. She was wrapped in a colorful quilt, laying on course linen sheets and wearing nothing but a pale canvas tunic. Someone was moving around behind her, clanking metal against metal and rummaging through cabinets.

 

She rolled over, discovering the cuts she’d sustained in her battle against the wights and the aching in her shoulder were all gone, though she still felt a bit weak. Mirah laid back on her pillow, taking in her surroundings.

 

There was a woman in the room, putting away pots and spices and things. She was short and plump, wearing a brown and green dress with a white apron. Her curly hair was done up in a bun, revealing her blotchy red cheeks.

 

The woman was cooking something over a small fireplace on the far end of the home. It smelled like saffron and rosemary; the aroma reminded Mirah how hungry she was. She propped herself up and the woman jumped, only now noticing that she was awake.

 

“Oh, it’s so good to see you stirring!” she said warmly, coming to Mirah’s side immediately. “How are you feeling?”

 

Mirah opened her mouth but no sound came out. She tried again. “I’m fine. But… how did I get here? And where is ‘here’, anyway?”

 

The woman smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. “So sorry, dear; we were just so worried you wouldn’t make it,” she answered, handing Mirah a glass of water from a nightstand nearby. “You were terribly sick from that wound on your shoulder. The nasty thing had turned black and dead—poison.”

 

Black and dead. Mirah touched the place where the wight had bitten her and shivered before taking a long drink of water. She felt like she hadn’t eaten or drank for days on end.

 

“One of the fishermen found you and your husband out by the lake,” the woman continued to explain.

 

“My what?” Mirah asked incredulously.

 

“Your husband,” the woman answered. “Kaspar.”

 

Mirah snorted and water fell out of her mouth. “Kaspar’s not my husband,” she corrected, blushing.

 

The woman got up and grabbed a napkin from the counter a few feet away, dabbing the spill. “My mistake, dear. He seems to care a great deal for you.”

 

“He’s here?” Mirah wondered. Why would he stay here?

 

“He’s out chopping wood with Esben, my husband,” she responded, getting up to tend the pot, which had started boiling. “They shouldn’t be much longer.”

 

How could Kaspar chop wood? He couldn’t walk before, because of his leg. Unless… unless she had been out for weeks?

 

“Kaspar is such a good lad,” the lady continued. “He insisted on helping around the house until the two of you were able to make it on your own again.”

 

“How long was I asleep?” Mirah asked.

 

The woman swallowed, hesitating at this question. “Three days,” she replied solemnly.

 

Mirah’s head spun. Three days. Three days behind Lieven, wherever he had gone. Three days since she’d left Ravia for a short mission. Three days since she’d seen her mother or her sister. They must be dreadfully worried.

 

And then… “Wait. Kaspar’s leg… it was badly broken. How could he…?”

 

“I healed him,” the woman answered so quietly she almost couldn’t be heard. “Just as I healed you, and all the sick who find their way into my care.”

 

With magic, Mirah wanted to say. Instead, she stayed silent, processing this new revelation.

 

The door burst open, breaking the silence, and Kaspar walked in carrying a large pile of wood. “Where do you want this, Miss Flora?” he asked.

 

“Here in the corner, dear.” Flora pointed to the location and disappeared out the door, leaving Mirah feeling more than a little guilty.

 

Kaspar set the wood down before turning around and realizing she was awake. “Angel,” he said with a surprised grin. He came to sit on the bed where Flora had been only moments ago and took her hand in his own. “Feeling better?”

 

“I was,” Mirah answered sadly. “But I think I offended our host.”

 

“Miss Flora?” Kaspar asked. “She’ll be alright. She just went to meet Esben outside or something.”

 

Mirah knew this wasn’t true, however. She wished she’d said something before—at least a ‘thank you’. The woman saved her life, after all, regardless of her methods.

 

“I have something that will cheer you up,” Kaspar began again. “I’ve been looking through that journal while you were sick. Some of the pages were damaged by the water, but for the most part it’s still legible. Those crystals we found create portals like the one we went through, only if you use them correctly, it forms a network across the entire kingdom.”

 

“I don’t care about the crystals, Kaspar,” Mirah mumbled.

 

“What about Lieven?” he asked. “This could be our chance to—”

 

“We could have drowned using them,” Mirah argued, warmth rising in her cheeks. “You almost died.”

 

“But I didn’t,” he countered with a smile, “thanks to you.”

 

Tears stung the rims of Mirah’s eyes and she swallowed a lump in her throat. Kaspar’s smile contorted into concern. “What’s wrong, Angel?”

 

“—of death,” she whispered. “You were right. All I bring is death.”

 

Kaspar shook his head and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “No, that’s not what I—”

 

“Lieven. Aren. Peter. Now you?” She was crying in earnest now, despite her best efforts. It only became worse when she remembered the nightmare she’d had. “I’m a curse.”

 

“Mirah, I didn’t…,” Kaspar faltered. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

 

“Why not?” she retorted, sitting up and pulling her hand away from his. “I led them into the forest. I chose to camp at the temple. I told Lieven to stand guard. I—”

 

“Woah, woah, what?” Kaspar said.

 

Mirah punched him in the arm, pushing him away. “You’re not even listening!” she shouted.

 

“No, I am,” he replied, scooting forward again. “You said you had Lieven stand guard?”

 

“I—well, yeah. I asked him to do the night watch,” Mirah answered. “And then we got attacked and he was probably eaten by wights. I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I just leave him at home?”

 

“He stood guard. Everyone else went to sleep. And that’s the last thing you remember?”

 

Mirah nodded, wiping her face dry. “Until I saw you skulking about, stealing everyone’s coin. Why does it matter?”

 

“Because maybe he really did leave,” Kaspar replied. “Long before the attack. Hell, maybe he accidentally unleashed whatever attacked your men.”

 

Mirah shook her head. “I don’t think the magistrate would find it funny if I blamed the deaths of twelve guards on my little brother.”

 

Kaspar chuckled. “Probably not. But this means our best bet on finding him is through the crystals—or at least through knowledge of them.”

 

“You think he read the journal?” Mirah asked.

 

“You said it yourself,” Kaspar said. “Lieven would have explored the temple. You don’t think he would have been at least slightly curious?”

 

Mirah nodded slowly, looking down at the quilt. “I’m sorry I punched you.”

 

Kaspar shrugged. “Well, I have been sort of an ass.” He patted her on the shoulder. “I need to finish helping with the wood. But I’m glad you’re alright.”

 

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Mirah spent most of the day looking through the journal they’d found in Erylian’s temple. It was filled with writings defending mages and expounding upon magic as a tool rather than an objectively evil act. Sometimes the author sounded half mad, other times he seemed like a vastly intelligent scholar, perhaps a student from the university at Rendaven.

 

As for Baden, she found very few scribblings about him but managed to deduce that he was the author’s brother and was presumably dead. It was likely Baden was a mage himself, since the author seemed to inexplicably link his death with a demand for the return of magic.

 

A few of the pages detailed various magic rituals and spells, written in an ancient language Mirah couldn’t decipher. Occasionally there were pictures, which helped give meaning to the runes scratched on these pages.

 

She did glean the same conclusion from the book that Kaspar had undoubtedly come to; the nearest point on the portal grid was in a cave near Lake Lomagon. It was likely that if Lieven had tampered with the crystals, it had taken him there. They would set out the next day, once they’d been to Doenn to replace the supplies they’d lost, including her armor and both their weapons. It wouldn’t be cheap, but hopefully they would be able to strike a bargain.

 

Flora entered just as Mirah laid the leather book aside. The kind old witch had been bustling about for an hour or so while she made dinner. The woodsy smell of a fire burning was wafting in from outside every time she came in or out.

 

“Miss Flora?” Mirah said sheepishly. Flora turned to face her, eyebrows raised expectantly. “I-I just wanted to make sure you didn’t take my silence earlier as… disdain for your craft.”

 

Flora started to reply, but then stopped, fixing Mirah with a sweet gaze and a sweeter smile.

 

Mirah fixed her eyes on the book beside her. “I don’t exactly trust magic,” she explained. “But just because I don’t understand something doesn’t mean it should be feared.”

 

“You don’t need to apologize, dear,” Flora said softly.

 

“I do,” Mirah corrected. “And I also need to thank you. Without your help, I would be dead by now.”

 

Flora was practically beaming now. She crossed the space between them and hugged Mirah tightly. “I’m glad you two were brought here,” she said. “You’ve both been a delight.”

 

Mirah felt more like a burden than a delight, but she was satisfied that Flora at least seemed happy now.

 

Kaspar poked his head through the door, once again letting in the smell of smoke. “Esben says the ham is ready,” he announced.

 

Flora nodded. “Thank you, dear.” When he disappeared back outside, she added, “We were thinking of eating outside by the fire. It’s a lovely night.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Mirah agreed. She tucked the journal under her arm and slid out of bed, pulling on her pants, which had been washed and dried.

 

Outside, the fire was still crackling away, little sparks flying up into the night sky like fireflies. Esben, a tall man with a long white beard and dark, leathery skin, had removed the ham from the spit and was cutting it into pieces on a table opposite the small cottage. Flora brought out a platter of roasted vegetables and then a pitcher of ale, setting them beside the meat.

 

When he saw Mirah, Kaspar stood and ushered her to a log beside the fire. “I’ll make you a plate,” he said.

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Mirah said as she was led to her seat.

 

“I want to,” he answered, sitting her down. “I want you to relax.”

 

Mirah watched him hurry over to the table where Esben was also preparing two plates. Flora was seated on a log across from her, smiling gently as she poked the fire with a long stick.

 

Kaspar returned a moment later, handing her a dish and a glass. “How’s that?”

 

Mirah nodded. Why was he putting all this effort into playing house? Why was he being so nice? More annoyingly, why was he treating her like she was a fragile flower?

 

She took a sip of the ale, enjoying how cool it was on her tongue. She had still only eaten a small loaf of bread since she’d awoken earlier and she could feel a black pit opening in her stomach at the smell of the food.

 

“Well,” Flora began as Esben and Kaspar took their seats, “I’m afraid our lives are outstandingly boring. Why don’t you tell us something about yourselves?”

 

Now that she thought about it, Mirah knew astoundingly little about Kaspar. She knew he was a thief. And that no matter how skilled a tracker he claimed he was, he was truly terrible at it. And for some reason, he seemed as devoted to finding Lieven as she was. But ask anything more and she would be lost.

 

She nudged him with her elbow. “So? Enlighten us.”

 

Kaspar was in the middle of swallowing a rather large cut of ham but she could see his mind was working double-time. When he’d finished his bite, he set his plate down on the ground and stood up. He bowed to them theatrically before taking three pieces of firewood, lighting one end of each in the fire, and tossing them up into the air one by one, juggling them to the great delight of Flora and Esben.

 

“Show off,” Mirah said with a grin.

 

“Where did you learn to do that?” Esben asked. When he spoke, his mouth was hidden by his beard and mustache so it looked rather comically as though his facial hair had taken on a life of its own.

 

Kaspar blew out the flames, replaced the chunks of wood and sat back down. “An old friend of mine was a street performer,” he answered and turned to Mirah. “Your turn.”

 

Mirah shook her head. “My life isn’t all that interesting.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Kaspar said in exasperation. “I met you four days ago and already I’ve been attacked by undead, nearly eaten by a Ligon, gone through a magic portal, almost drowned to death, and I got to prove I can juggle.”

 

Mirah laughed as she took a bite of potato. “This… situation I’m in isn’t exactly normal. I spend most of my time on patrol in Ravia, watching the same streets every day.”

 

“Well how did you come to be here?” Esben wondered.

 

“There were reports from travelers in Lyrewood of strange sounds and shadows along the roadsides,” Mirah replied. “And then a merchant supply cart disappeared on the way to the city. So, the magistrate asked me to gather a small troop and investigate the matter.”

 

The memory of Peter’s lifeless expression flashed behind her eyes. “We didn’t find the supply cart. My troop is all dead now. Except me.”

 

“And Lieven,” Kaspar was quick to add.

 

Mirah nodded. “Maybe Lieven, too. But we’re still looking for him.”

 

She felt Kaspar reach around her shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. “How about you tell us how you met?” Kaspar suggested.

 

As Flora and Esben prattled on about their past, Mirah only half listened, smiling at all the right social cues. She was thinking instead of the twelve who’d fallen at the temple courtyard. Some of them were fathers and husbands. Some were young, with so much future ahead of them. How did she manage to escape with just a scratch? And why?

 

“Are you alright?” Kaspar whispered once their hosts had disappeared into the cottage for a moment, drawing Mirah out of her thoughts.

 

“Yeah, I-I’m fine,” she replied.

 

“You’ve hardly eaten anything,” he pointed out.

 

“I’m not hungry,” Mirah explained, offering him the platter.

 

Kaspar pushed it back toward her. “You need to get your strength back,” he said, “whether you feel like it or not. We’ll be traveling tomorrow, remember?”

 

She stared at him for what seemed like forever, trying to figure out what he could possibly be getting out of this arrangement. “Why are you still here?” she demanded in a whisper. “Why are you doing all this?”

 

He smiled back at her, his eyes filled with that same shrewd energy she’d seen before. “Honestly? I want to know how the story ends. And if helping you ends up in the removal of a few wanted posters, that would be nice, too.” 

5: Chapter Five

She woke up on a pile of hay outside the cottage with Kaspar’s jacket draped over her shoulders. When she found out she had been sleeping in the only bed available during her illness, and that Flora and Esben had been using chairs and beds of hay, Mirah insisted on sleeping outside now that she felt better. Of course, the night was rather cold and she hadn’t gotten much rest in the end.

 

Mirah and Kaspar gathered their things, shoving it all in a leather bag Flora gifted them. There wasn’t much to gather; most of what they owned was ruined or lost in the water. But Esben packed up some leftover ham and vegetables for them and all the crystals went in the bag as well.

 

When they were done, they said their goodbyes and their thanks, feeling quite like beggars. Mirah offered Flora the twelve crowns she had in her pocket, but the sweet old witch refused. Instead, before they departed, Flora whispered some advice in her ear: “Keep him close, dear. You don’t find a kind heart like his every day.”

 

Mirah nodded and accepted a last hug from her before turning with Kaspar to the road ahead. It was a long and wooded path winding northward to Doenn, a small town on the outskirts of Lyrewood. The town itself wasn’t especially known for anything; its fishing business had been dying for a long time and many people had moved to the nearby city of Balibard instead.

 

When they had put a good distance between themselves and the cottage, Kaspar sighed and stretched. “They were really good people,” he declared. “Not everyone just takes you in for free like that.”

 

“I would have paid them,” Mirah countered, “but we still need supplies. We’re completely unprotected on a forest road. If we don’t make it to Doenn by nightfall, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

 

Kaspar made a thoughtful noise, scratching his chin. “Times like these I wish we had trained the Ligon instead of killed it.”

 

“Trained it?” Mirah repeated. “You think you could ride that thing?”

 

Kaspar shrugged. “Yeah, why not? Then we could get to Doenn in no time. We could even fly there. That would be great.”

 

Mirah laughed. “Alright, next time I’ll just stand aside while you train it.”

 

“Now wait a minute, we’re in this together,” Kaspar replied. “You have to help or else you can’t ride him.”

 

“Fine, fine,” Mirah relented. “If we ever see a Ligon again, I swear to help train it.” She very much doubted they would ever come across one of those monstrosities again; however, she never would have imagined seeing the first one.

 

They walked on for a while, keeping mostly to the road, though occasionally Kaspar would see certain plants down in the underbrush and hurry to collect them. He swore each of them had specific effects if brewed with other ingredients and that he was skilled in this sort of alchemical survivalism. Mirah quickly asked whether he was better at that than he was tracking, to which he dropped his jaw and screwed up his face as though to prove the magnitude of her offense.

 

As they hiked along the narrow road, Mirah couldn’t help but think on her current predicament. Lieven was born after her father was taken from them, a new life breathed into their dreary world. Her brother was always smiling, always playing, a fiery spirit that refused to give in even when the world knocked him down. It was partly thanks to that stubborn nature that he was lost now; even if Mirah had left him in Ravia, he would have followed, refusing to be excluded. If Lieven were still alive, she would be profoundly shocked, and yet she wouldn’t allow herself to give up—not until she knew for certain.

 

And then there was the matter of her traveling companion, who had sneakily wormed his way out of answering questions about himself the night before. Mirah couldn’t believe, no matter how much he insisted, that he was only coming along out of whimsical curiosity. And damn Flora’s naivety! Kaspar wanted something out of the deal; she just hadn’t figured out what it was yet.

 

Regardless, he had proven himself at least somewhat capable and his recklessness had admittedly gotten them another step closer to finding her brother, never mind the fact that they had nearly drowned in the process. If nothing else, he at least kept her spirits up with his inane chatter. For all this, she allowed him to stay. Not that she seemed to have much choice in the matter.

 

Mirah was drawn out of her thoughts when Kaspar froze in place a few steps ahead of her. A man was standing in the center of the road. He was thin with a black hood covering his short, straw-colored hair and wearing leather armor that had been dyed red and black. His brow shaded his eyes a bit, hiding the wild violence hidden within them.

 

Every muscle in Kaspar’s back had tensed up, like a dog warning off a predator. One hand hovered over the daggers he carried on his belt; the other extended protectively toward Mirah.

 

When it became evident that Kaspar wasn’t going to approach, the man came forward and for a moment, Mirah felt completely naked. She had left her armor at the bottom of the lake and her sword in the side of a Ligon; if a fight ensued, she was nowhere near prepared.

 

Kaspar apparently decided the man had gotten too close; he grabbed her hand and made a crazed dash in the opposite direction but several other men in similar armor crept out of the bushes and onto the road, blocking their path and surrounding them.

 

“Kaspar,” the man said behind them. Mirah turned to see he wore a broad, toothy smile. “We used to be friends. Why are you running?”

 

Mirah looked between him and Kaspar repeatedly, expecting an explanation. “You know these people?”

 

Kaspar’s face completely drained of color. He dropped his head, drawing a long breath. “They’re Crimson Arrow thugs.”

 

The Crimson Arrow was a crime ring that originally cropped up in Catuna, a town on the Isle of Ronach, and had spread all over Telas several decades ago. Mirah had encountered several small gangs in Ravia and the outlying areas, but mostly just talentless initiates, nothing compared to the assassins and thieves that roamed the northern kingdom.

 

The man who’d spoken before pulled off his hood and took a few steps closer to Kaspar. “Is that any way to talk about old companions?” he asked, his tone unsettlingly even. “Why don’t you introduce your lady friend?”

 

Mirah was immediately on guard, but Kaspar squeezed her hand and let it go. “Leave her out of it, Galvan. I’m the one you’re after.” Something about his words reminded her of executions she’d seen in the past.

 

Galvan laughed, the sunlight glinting in his eyes to finally reveal his insanity. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, ruffling Kaspar’s hair. “You’re just icing on the cake. The client wants her.”

 

“Me?” Mirah asked, somewhat indignant at being the subject of a plot. “Why would someone be after me?”

 

Galvan gave a sick smirk, giving her a once-over with his wide eyes. “I’m sure there’re plenty of people who’d like a piece of you, peach.”

 

Then it happened. One instant, Galvan was laughing maniacally, the next his throat was gurgling on the ground. Kaspar had slit him open in one swift motion. The rest of the men around them were stunned and stood there motionless as they watched him die before closing in tight.

 

One of them closest to her hurled himself forward. Mirah thought at first he was lunging at her but in fact Kaspar was the target of his frothing rage. She stopped him short as his arm reached across in front of her, grabbed hold of the hilt of his sword, and elbowed him in the face, knocking him prone.

 

Beside her, Kaspar had dispatched two men with throwing daggers and was trying desperately to avoid a third’s blade. An arrow flew through the space between them, narrowly missing another of the assassins who leapt out of the way and rushed toward Mirah.

 

He swung at her, their blades meeting between them with a clang. She deflected him and thrusted at the open space created but he made a small target and she missed, a mistake she wouldn’t make twice. He swung again, the point of his sword sweeping toward her as she jumped back. Another arrow flew by, closer than the one before. Mirah made a second jab, this time piercing his side. He stumbled backward as her blade left him, but he seemed undeterred.

 

Before he made a counter-attack, Kaspar grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her away, past Galvan’s motionless corpse, and into the forest. He had managed to get the better of his opponent at last. Arrows continued to fly past them, a couple of them sticking into nearby trees as they sprinted through the leafy underbrush. She could hear feet trampling behind them and men yelling from the road, but she didn’t look back.

 

As far as she could tell there were only two men following them, which meant the other two were still at the road, loosing arrows at them. If they could outrun the range of their shots, the two on their trail could be dealt with easily. Up ahead, the land to their left shifted toward the sky and broke off unexpectedly in a sort of miniature cliff. Mirah yanked Kaspar around the hill and behind the break in terrain.

 

To her great pleasure, the idiots behind them did the same, bringing the fight under cover from the bowmen. Mirah and Kaspar turned around, weapons drawn and ready. The Crimson Arrow assassins came crashing around the corner, eagerly anticipating their triumph, and realizing all too late that it was not to come.

 

Mirah swung her blade before the first of them could react, deeply cutting his thigh. He fell onto the cliffside in surprise and pain, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword. Before Mirah could do anything to detain him there was a flash of steel as a dagger was plunged into his neck and he crumbled to the ground.

 

Mirah watched furiously as Kaspar knelt to wipe his blade clean on the assassin’s sleeve. “You killed him!” she hissed.

 

“Sorry, I thought that was the plan,” he replied casually.

 

“We could have asked who hired them!” she said, kicking the man’s boot.

 

Kaspar shook his head. “That’s not an issue,” he answered, replacing his dagger on his belt. “But we need to move before their friends realize they’re dead.” He turned and started walking away as if nothing had happened.

 

Mirah hurried to catch up and grasped at his shoulder. He winced when she turned him toward her and she noticed he had a slight gash in his side from his duel on the road. “Do you want to explain yourself? Maybe just a little?”

 

He studied her, staring straight into her eyes for a moment, and she knew he was thinking of how he would weasel his way out of the conversation. Apparently, he failed, because the only answer he gave was, “No,” and continued walking through the forest.

 

She watched him incredulously as he stumbled through the leaves and vines, doggedly clutching his side without looking back. “And you expect me to just follow you?” she asked after him. “How do I know you’re not one of them?”

 

Kaspar looked back at her wearily. “I was. Now I’m not. So, will you come on?”

 

Mirah gritted her teeth. If she stayed, the archers would find her and kill her, probably before she ever knew they were there. If she followed… what? Kaspar would slit her throat like he did Galvan’s? He would turn her over to this nameless client? She sighed and walked after him.

6: Chapter Six

They passed the rest of the trip to Doenn in complete silence. Mirah spent the time agonizing over whether Kaspar could be trusted and what she would do if he couldn’t. Meanwhile, Kaspar trundled forward deep in thought, an utterly exhausted expression plastered on his face.

 

Eventually the forest gave way to open, grassy plains and the town of Doenn appeared on the horizon. From a distance, the houses all looked like brown smudges on the green landscape, painted in circles and spirals. As the two of them came closer, the houses and businesses, with their thatched roofs and rotting wood, could be seen more clearly. Dust rose from the streets as the wind blew through, and the men and women on the streets covered their mouths with their sleeves to avoid inhaling it.

 

There were a few carts being led by horse through the center of town, carrying various goods, though how doing business in Doenn was in any way profitable was beyond Mirah; most of the people walking past looked as though they could barely afford the clothes on their backs and there was a desperate glint in the eyes of more than one of them.

 

Kaspar led her sure-footedly through the streets until they came to a pile of firewood with wooden posts marking off the area. He pulled a red cloth out of a pocket inside his jacket and stuck it to one of the posts with his dagger. Then without explaining he walked away, winding his way through the spiraling roads and corners, and ducked into what looked like an old barn.

 

Mirah walked in cautiously after him, watching as he found a place in the hay on the ground and sat down. When she was confident there was no one else there, she relaxed a little and rested on a crate a few feet away from him.

 

Kaspar still didn’t speak. Instead, he retrieved some of the herbs they had collected along the way and began to grind them up with a stick he found in the dirt and a large slab of rock nearby, occasionally spitting in it to add moisture. If she had been uncertain before, Mirah knew for sure now that she didn’t want anything to do with his ‘poultices’.

 

“So, this is the plan?” she asked. “Hide out in a barn until the Crimson Assholes give up and go home?”

 

Kaspar spit again into his healing mixture. “We’re not hiding. We’re waiting,” he replied.

 

“For what, exactly?” Mirah wondered, crossing her arms.

 

He added some soil to the green-and-yellow paste. “Ellian.”

 

Mirah growled quietly in frustration. “I’m getting really sick of this shit,” she said, hopping to her feet. “Either you start explaining, or I’m leaving.”

 

Kaspar looked up at her and his shoulders dropped. “You’re allowed to have magic hands that make the crystals work but I can’t have a couple skeletons in the closet?” he asked. It was the shadow of a joke, all the life sucked out of it.

 

“You can have an entire graveyard for all I care,” Mirah answered, “as long as you’ll give me an explanation.”

 

Kaspar sighed and sat up straight. “A few years ago, I was working with the Crimson Arrow,” he began hesitantly. “At first it was just a matter of lifting a few things here and there. And I won’t lie—it was great. I got to travel all over Telas, I could keep any extra I picked up, and if I got in trouble, the Arrow would take care of it.”

 

Mirah blinked. She couldn’t begin to fathom the life of a thief and a violent reaction inside her wanted to tie him up again. “But it turned into more. They always want more.”

 

Kaspar nodded. “They sent me to rough up a few people who owed them money, lowlifes who pissed all their coin away on wine and women. When I proved I could do that… they gave me a higher purpose.”

 

Mirah sat down on the hay beside him, trying to imagine every word he said. “How many have you killed for them?”

 

He looked away, shaking his head. Mirah conceded the point and waved for him to continue. “They all seemed like they deserved it. Bastards, every one of them. And then they gave me a contract on Rastus Felorin.”

 

“The warden of the Red Tower?”

 

“The same,” Kaspar responded. “I’ve heard stories about the way he treats the people in there. He yanks fingernails. He lashes them until they haven’t got the strength to stand. He mutilates them until they don’t even seem human. If anyone deserved to die, he was the one.”

 

He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I was supposed to get a team and ambush him in Rendaven. We would corner him in an alley, descend on him all at once and then be gone, just like that. But first I had to know where. So, I followed him home one night. And I crept to the top of the roof in hopes of hearing details of his route the next morning. Instead, I heard a girl laughing.”

 

Mirah shut her eyes and saw fishing rods in the evening sun, a kitten forged from water, and a kiss on her forehead. “His daughter,” she guessed.

 

“They were playing hide-and-seek,” Kaspar confirmed. “Then his wife came in; I could hear them kiss. And they sat down and ate dinner. Together. They talked, they told jokes, they did all the things families are supposed to do. And I… couldn’t. I just couldn’t and I knew it.”

 

Her father being led away, a scar-faced man glaring down at her, her mother weeping on the floor. “What did you do?”

 

“I set up the ambush,” Kaspar answered, his voice hollow. “In the wrong location. I informed the guard. Most of the people with me were arrested and sent to the Red Tower itself. Those who attempted to flee got an arrow through the chest. I betrayed the people who trusted me so I could save the life of a torturer and yet in return I was pardoned of my previous crimes and given a hefty bag of silver.”

 

“You did the right thing,” Mirah whispered. “I don’t care what kind of man Felorin is. There are better ways of dealing with him than killing him.”

 

Kaspar withdrew from her slightly with a discontented frown. “I’m pretty sure this is the part where you spit in my face and call me a traitor or a coward—the two-faced son of a donkey’s left butt cheek—something. You can’t just agree with what I did.”

 

Mirah flashed a small smile. “I know what it’s like to lose your father. No one should ever have to deal with that pain.”

 

Kaspar let this acceptance hang in the air for a moment, as if basking in a newfound sense of forgiveness. Then he turned back to his paste, scooped up a little handful of it and began slathering it on his wound.

 

Mirah wrinkled her nose. “Don’t,” she said with a groan. “You’ll just get it infected. Wait here.” She grabbed a bucket and left the barn, retracing their steps through town until she found a well. She filled the bucket with water and was about to go back when she felt something sharp in the small of her back. A man put his hand on her shoulder from behind, trying to steer her away, but stopped suddenly, collapsing on the side of the well.

 

“Walk back to the shed,” a sly voice whispered in her ear. Another man put his arm around her as she turned away from the well; he was wearing a brown, wool cloak with the hood pulled up. “Don’t look back,” he warned.

 

“Did you kill him?” Mirah asked under her breath, smiling sweetly as they passed a woman selling flowers on the side of the road.

 

“You mean the idiot at the well?” the man clarified, watching her from the slant in his eye. “Yes. You’re welcome.”

 

Mirah studied him, taking in every detail to determine just what kind of trouble she’d walked into. He had a dark, thick beard and mustache beneath a hooked nose and blue eyes that reeked of the same desperation that possessed the town of Doenn. In a way, however, his appearance almost seemed priestly and something about his demeanor made her feel safe. “I take it you’re Ellian, then?”

 

“And you’re the pretty little bird everyone’s hunting,” he replied.

 

“So it would seem.” She could see the barn again. No matter how kind he seemed, she wouldn’t feel completely comfortable until she was with Kaspar.

 

“You should feel flattered,” Ellian said as they walked through the doors together. “You’re very precious to someone very rich.”

 

Kaspar was still lying in the corner on the hay, contentedly smearing his paste on himself; when they came in, he looked up with a bright grin and got to his feet. “Ellian!” he exclaimed. He turned to Mirah as he reached up to hug the bearded stranger and said, “This guy is one of the reasons I’m still alive. He’s kept me one step ahead of the Arrow for years!”

 

So, he was one of them. At least that explained why Kaspar wasn’t worried about getting information off the assassins in the forest. But the safety Mirah had felt around him before melted away, replaced by a growing sense of distrust. She scanned him for weapons, but he seemed to have them concealed.

 

Kaspar took Mirah and Ellian’s hands and put them together in front of him. “Ellian, this is Mirah, the other reason I’m still alive,” he added with a laugh.

 

Ellian smiled and kissed her hand. “We met by the well,” he replied.

 

Mirah pulled her hand away and gave Kaspar the bucket of water she had brought back. “What do you mean ‘someone very rich’?”

 

“You’ve got twenty-five thousand crowns on your head, princess,” Ellian explained, his eyes darting between her and Kaspar. “That’s if you’re alive; not two jots to rub together otherwise.”

 

“They want me alive?” Mirah asked. “Does the Crimson Arrow get many contracts like that?”

 

Kaspar shook his head. “Most folks want their enemies dead. But there are some sick bastards who prefer the pleasure of doing it themselves.”

 

“Great,” Mirah said quietly. “So he’s a special kind of lunatic. Who is this client of yours?”

 

Ellian shrugged, shaking his head. “Most clients don’t give their names—you can understand. I’d wager he’s some rich eccentric from up north, probably from an old family. All he gave was a drop location in Balibard.”

 

“Has he made any other contracts?” Kaspar wondered. He turned to Mirah. “He might have your brother.”

 

Ellian nodded, deep in thought as his gaze now fixated only on her, making her shudder. “I hear he gave twenty-five for the boy as well.”

 

Mirah’s head was spinning. She sat down on a crate, one hand on her stomach while she gathered her senses. She’d come all this way from Ravia looking for him with hardly a clue as to what happened to him. But if the same client had captured him, that meant…. “Lieven’s alive?” she breathed, the rims of her eyes dampening. Her entire body was trembling and a hopeful laugh escaped her lips.

 

Kaspar was grinning back at her as he pulled off his jacket and began to undo the straps on his armor. “I told you he made it, didn’t I?”

 

Mirah wiped the tears from her face. If she were honest, she never expected to find Lieven alive. There wasn’t a moment that passed in the temple her heart didn’t give a lurch every time she mistook a shadow for his body. But now she had a reason to believe she might actually find him and bring him home.

 

Kaspar and Ellian were whispering to each other. She thought at first it was just boyish jokes or reminiscences, but Kaspar was shaking his head, a look of disgust on his face. Then she caught a few words.

 

“Y-you want to turn her in?” Kaspar stammered. Mirah stood up and put her hand on the sword she’d taken from one of the thugs in the forest.

 

“I could leave the Arrow,” Ellian pleaded. “For good.”

 

Kaspar’s jaw was hanging open, completely thrown by the very suggestion. “I-I can’t let you do that.”

 

“Why?” Ellian retorted, towering over Kaspar. “Because you’re too much of a coward to face the people you turned your back on? You need me to help you run from the Crimson Arrow?”

 

“No,” Kaspar answered sadly. “Leave the Arrow or don’t. I don’t care. But I won’t let you take her.”

 

Ellian shook his head. Their noses were practically touching now and Mirah could barely see Kaspar over Ellian’s shoulder. “You really are a traitor.”

 

Kaspar winced and let out a little gasp. He reached to clutch Ellian’s shoulder but his old friend turned away. Mirah didn’t fully realize what had happened until she saw the spots of blood falling at Kaspar’s feet. She drew her sword and waited for Ellian to make his move.

 

“Please,” Kaspar begged, holding the place where Ellian had stabbed him. “Please, don’t.”

 

Ellian turned and looked at him. “Stop whimpering,” he barked. “I don’t get paid if she’s dead.”

 

Mirah used the moment to act. She reached up and grabbed a fistful of his hair, placing her sword against his neck. Ellian tensed up at her touch.

 

Kaspar gave a weak smile. “It wasn’t her I was worried about.”

 

Mirah took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Kaspar,” she said and slid her blade across his skin, letting him fall to the ground.

7: Chapter Seven

Mirah pulled Kaspar’s arm around her and started to walk out the door. “You need a doctor,” she said. If he didn’t get one soon, he would bleed to death there in the barn.

 

“He stabbed me,” Kaspar said wondrously. “Can you believe he stabbed me?”

 

“People do all sorts of crazy things when they’re desperate,” Mirah explained. In the back of her mind, however, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. What if she had let him take her? Would she have found Lieven sooner? But then Kaspar would have died. Maybe she could have bargained with him—maybe she could have convinced him to save Kaspar in exchange for her cooperation. But then, once the bargain was struck, he would have assumed all power over the situation.

 

Kaspar was laughing deliriously beside her. When she gave him a questioning look, he said, “These last few days, all I’ve been doing is trying to help you, and yet I feel like you’ve carried me here all the way from the temple. First the leg, now this.”

 

The people on the street cleared their path, gaping at them in horror. Only one stepped in to offer help when one of Kaspar’s legs threatened to give way. A few ran off, probably to fetch the guard. Mirah cursed them all under her breath.

 

Kaspar was lucky: the doctor’s office was only around a corner. They bustled in with the help of the lone compassionate townsman and the doctor spread a blanket over a table for them to lay him on. They hoisted him up and rested him on top of it, making sure he was comfortable while the doctor set to work.

 

Mirah thanked the townsman and gave him a crown for his help before he left. The doctor was washing the wound with a wet cloth behind her; he pointed to a pile of blankets and pillows in the corner of his office. “Prop his feet up and put a blanket over his legs. Whatever you can do to keep him warm.”

 

Mirah nodded and did as she was told; when she was done, she lit a fire in the furnace on the wall, filling the tiny room with a wave of heat. She came back to the table and brushed Kaspar’s wild brown hair away from his forehead. His skin was pale and clammy, his breathing shallow, but he was still awake. He took her other hand and squeezed it, looking up at her with tired eyes.

 

She wondered if he would be angry with her for killing Ellian. They were once friends, after all, regardless of what happened in the barn. She wondered again if she had made the right choice. Ellian, despite turning against them, hadn’t seemed like a bad person. Kaspar, at least, had placed full trust in him. Maybe his actions were just what Mirah had suggested: desperate. Maybe he could have been talked down, reasoned with. But it was too late now.

 

Then she thought about what Flora had said before they left her cottage. Kaspar really was just trying to help her. No game. No expectations. She still didn’t understand what she had done to be rewarded with such open-hearted kindness. She had threatened to kill him. Tried to arrest him. Nearly gotten him killed several times over. And yet he was still steadfastly plodding along behind her, sometimes showing more zeal for finding Lieven than she even felt herself.

 

The door behind her opened up and a guard walked in, dressed in shoddy leather armor he probably crafted himself. “You need to come with me,” he ordered her.

 

Mirah gently laid Kaspar’s hand on his chest. “I’ll be back shortly,” she promised and turned to follow the guard out of the doctor’s office. “I’m guessing you want some answers.”

 

“Starting with your name,” he said with a nod as they walked down the street in the direction of the barn.

 

Mirah followed him back to the grisly scene, explaining everything beginning from the attack made on them in the forest and answering every question he asked. He seemed particularly interested in Kaspar and how he knew Ellian, but she glossed over some of the finer details until he was satisfied. He insisted on writing a letter to the magistrate in Ravia to verify her employment as a guard and get an account of her credibility. Though she wanted to set out as soon as possible, Mirah expected Kaspar would need time to heal, and agreed to wait in town for a reply from Ravia.

 

When all was done, she was allowed to return to the doctor without much hassle. He was still patching Kaspar up when she returned. The doctor was a quiet and stern old man with a balding head and sleek white hair. He wore glasses on the end of his hooked nose and a musty old sweater two sizes too big. But she couldn’t afford to be picky and he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

 

Mirah rested in a wooden rocking chair inside the doctor’s office, watching as he finished his work and praying that Kaspar would be okay. She had grown admittedly attached and even fond of him and the idea of continuing alone made her ache inside. There was something about him that made her smile and she no longer believed she could bear the journey on her own.

 

Eventually, she fell asleep in the chair, warmed by the fire. In her dreams, she and Kaspar found Lieven and brought him back to Ravia. They had dinner with her mother and Cecily and the five of them sat out and watched the stars all night. When the sun rose the next morning, they were sleeping on the soft, dewy grass, content to let the day pass in complete and total rest.

 

Mirah woke to the sound of rain dripping from the thatched roof, pouring into pots outside. She looked out the window behind her to see the entire town had turned gray and damp as the rain continued to fall.

 

Kaspar made a muffled noise on the table. He was awake, staring at a place on the ceiling and looking as dreary as the world outside. When she walked over to him, his eyes met hers with an intense sorrow. “He was the last friend I had,” he said quietly.

 

A pang of guilt washed over Mirah. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

 

Kaspar shook his head slowly. “There was nothing else to do. He wouldn’t have stopped.” He touched the bandage wrapped tight around his ribs, tracing the edge of it with one finger. “And I can’t blame him. I did the same thing when I abandoned that life.”

 

“You didn’t do it for yourself,” Mirah said pointedly.

 

“I did,” Kaspar confessed. “I just like to tell myself a story that doesn’t keep me up at night.”

 

Mirah pulled the rocking chair closer to the table and sat down beside him. They listened to the rain together for a while, passing the early morning hours in a cool, gloomy silence. Eventually, they heard the doctor stirring in a room somewhere in the back of the building.

 

The smell of warm bread wafted in from a door on the other side of the makeshift operating table and they heard the clanking of plates. Soon after, the doctor entered and offered them buttered toast while he changed Kaspar’s bandages.

 

“Well, what do you think?” Kaspar asked him, sitting up on the table with his legs dangling off one side. “Can I start doing cartwheels in the streets tomorrow?”

 

The doctor looked down at him with a serious frown. “You are, of course, welcome to try,” he said solemnly. “But I won’t stitch you up a second time. If you want to live, you should avoid such frivolity for at least a month.”

 

Mirah released a defeated sigh. “What about walking to the lake?” she asked. The letter from Ravia wouldn’t take a month; they needed to get moving.

 

The doctor shook his head. “I would give it a week or so. Even then, any long trips like that would require many breaks. You could take a carriage, but the roads are treacherous these days. Best to avoid it.” He grabbed a cloak and headed for the door. “I’m going to the market for a few items,” he said and gave Kaspar a pointed look before adding, “Try not to do anything stupid.”

 

When the door was closed, Kaspar said, “You should go on ahead to the cave by the lake.”

 

“What? No.”

 

“Yes,” he argued. “Your brother’s trail is getting cold. You don’t have time to wait around on me.”

 

Mirah shook her head. “I don’t think we should go to the cave anyway. You heard Ellian—the drop location is in Balibard. Lieven probably is too.”

 

Kaspar chuckled. “So you want to go to Balibard and ask random people on the street if they’ve seen him? Better yet, if they’ve seen a crazy Erylian worshiper wandering around?”

 

“No,” Mirah replied slowly, “I want you to turn me in.”

 

Kaspar knitted his eyebrows together in confusion. “That… that’s just a bad idea. You killed Ellian for having that idea.”

 

Mirah’s shoulders sank guiltily. “I know,” she whispered. “But I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday and—”

 

“Maybe I wasn’t clear,” Kaspar interrupted. “This crazy man that’s after you is crazy. And he’s a sorcerer. Who knows what kind of plans he has for when he finds you. It’s too dangerous.”

 

Mirah’s hands flew up in frustration. “This is ‘too dangerous’ but walking into a mysterious portal in an evil temple is just another day.”

 

“That was necessary,” Kaspar said over her. “This is not. We—or you—can go to the cave by Lake Lomagon and find more clues.”

 

Mirah stood up. “And those clues will lead to more clues until we’ve covered every inch of Telas and Lieven is lost forever.” She grabbed the supply bag Flora gave them, tossed the eleven crowns she had left into the seat of the rocking chair, and moved toward the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Kaspar demanded.

 

“I don’t know,” she answered, “maybe one of your old friends will find me. They don’t seem to have a problem with my plan.”

 

Kaspar slid off the table and stumbled toward her. “Stop!” he shouted as she opened the door. “Mirah!”

 

She shut it forcefully behind her and stepped out into the rain. Inside the cottage, she heard the loud clatter of Kaspar slamming something around. She hesitated for a moment on the other side; if she intended to do as she said, it was likely they would never see each other again. But she knew if she went back in, the argument would only continue.

 

She wandered the streets aimlessly until she was soaking wet, waiting for the Crimson Arrow to swoop down out of nowhere and whisk her away. She went to the well and stared down into it; there was still a deep red bloodstain on the side of it, somewhat faded from the rain. She walked dark alleys and stood alone in the shadowed corners of the marketplace. After a while, Mirah began to fear they had killed all the assassins that were on her trail.

 

The longer she walked in the drizzle, the more miserable and wretched she felt. The feeling sank into her bones and began rotting through to her soul until the same rampant desperation that infected the entire town of Doenn became a part of her as well. She found the barn where she’d killed Ellian and curled up in the hay to try and dry off, hoping that might make her feel better.

 

While she lay there, she flipped through the journal of the man who had kidnapped her brother, studying the pages diagramming the crystals. Folded inside was an old map of Telas, but there were only a few labels on it. The rest were just dots that, without knowing the Kingdom’s geography, might have looked like spilled ink blotches. In fact, the only labels on the map were ‘Lyrewoode’, ‘L. Lomagon’, and ‘Temple’, the latter of which was positioned around the area of Erylian’s fortress-shrine where Lieven had disappeared.

 

Some of the unlabeled blotches had symbols by them which correlated with symbols given to different crystals in the journal. A star connected the amethyst crystals to the Temple of Erylian. There was a triangle to pair Lake Lomagon and the blue crystals she and Kaspar had used at Erylian’s shrine. In the far northwestern corner of the map, however, on the other side of the Ambulorn mountains from Balibard, there was an X. The journal didn’t list the name of the location; it did nothing more than link the red crystals to it.

 

Mirah’s heart got a jolt of excitement at this new discovery. As far as she could remember, there was nothing in the Ambulorns but monsters and legends of monsters. Perhaps a few people lived in that desolate and frozen region, but only hermits in makeshift shacks. She had certainly never heard of any ruins or shrines being found there.

 

So, Kaspar was right. The best way forward was through another portal. She didn’t relish the thought of telling him, though. Perhaps she needn’t bother; she didn’t want him to get hurt again, especially while he was helping her. Mirah realized with a heavy heart that she would have to go to the cave alone.

 

If she went through the forest on foot, it was probable that she would come across the Crimson Arrow again, though. She thought about hiring a carriage, but remembered she had left her last coin at the doctor’s office. It was possible she could sell one of the crystals, but there was also the chance that it would be recognized as a magic item and she would be thrown in the dungeons for execution.

 

As she contemplated her next move, someone entered the barn slowly. She looked up and saw it was the man who had helped them get to the doctor the day before. “Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked nervously. She didn’t think anyone had seen her come in.

 

“Doctor Broeffsen sent me,” the man explained. “He said Kaspar is gone. He thinks he went to Balibard.”

 

Balibard. “He’s looking for me,” Mirah said, leaping up. She grabbed the journal and the leather satchel from the hay. “This is all my fault.”

 

“I have a carriage,” the man suggested. “If you’d like me to take you there, I will.”

 

Mirah stopped and examined him before nodding slowly. “Yes, thank you.” She headed for the door, felt the cold, wet rain blowing inside.

 

The man took off his cloak and wrapped it over her shoulders. “It’s horribly dreary out there. No need for you to take cold,” he said as he reached around to clasp it from behind.

 

Mirah felt uneasy with him looming over her and she retraced his words since he’d entered the barn. “How do you know Kaspar’s name?” she asked.

 

His hands slipped and he stuck his thumb with the clasp, making a pained hiss as he did so. “The doctor told me,” he explained.

 

“But the doctor didn’t know anything about Balibard,” she said quietly.

 

The man hesitated, fixing the clasp correctly this time. “This doesn’t have to be difficult,” he said at last, his breath hot on her ear. “If you get in the carriage outside, I won’t have to hurt you.”

 

Mirah reached for her sword, but just as she grabbed the hilt, he slammed his fist into the side of her head and everything went dark.

8: Chapter Eight

When she came to a few minutes later, she was underneath something heavy and brown. She could smell hay and old leather and hear the drops of rain as they fell on her. Mirah guessed she’d been shoved in the back of the carriage. She squirmed to try and get out but rope cut into her wrists behind her back and her ankles were bound together.

Outside, she heard a grunt and then the sound of a man dying. A woman screamed and a commotion began in the streets as someone leapt into the driver’s seat of the carriage and it began to jostle forward at an unexpected pace. The cart shook as it smashed into what Mirah guessed were ceramic pots on the side of the road and people shouted as they jumped out of the way.

The harder Mirah tried to free herself, the tighter the rope seemed until it was rubbing her skin raw and her hands began to go numb. Her shoulders ached and she tried to roll over to relieve the tension but found the leather tarp on top of her was pulled taught so she couldn’t raise up more than a couple inches. Deciding she was causing herself more pain than was necessary, she tried to relax.

She closed her eyes and a small trail of tears trickled down her face. If she had listened to Kaspar, she would still be safe in the doctor’s office, listening to him make stupid jokes about rain or toast. Instead, she was on her way to Balibard to face the same fate as Lieven, whatever that was.

She had failed, she realized, as she thought of her mother and sister at their farm outside Ravia and how they must still be waiting for her to come back with Lieven. Her mother would be inconsolable if she knew two of her children were gone forever. And Cecily, who always hated when her siblings were out of town on orders, would feel more alone than ever.

The cart continued for what seemed like ages and Mirah’s sorrow faded into fury. She renewed her efforts to break free of her bonds, struggling so hard against the rope she felt her skin break and begin to bleed. She had several splinters in her hands and arms but she wasn’t going to let the Crimson Arrow bastard take her alive.

Eventually, the carriage slowed and rumbled to an unsettlingly early halt. She heard the man from Doenn climb out of the driver’s seat with a groan and a sharp intake of breath and felt the cart dip as he climbed in the back. Whatever was happening, she guessed it couldn’t be good and she wriggled fiercely, pulling against the rope with all the strength she had left.

The leather tarp was pulled back and the bright white of the cloudy sky above blinded her for a minute. She heard a voice, gentle and familiar, and felt a hand brush the hair from her face. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re safe.”

She stopped struggling as her eyes adjusted to the light and she saw a young man looking down at her with soft, jade-colored eyes and messy brown hair. “K-Kaspar?” she stuttered, her own voice sounding strange to her as she was overwhelmed with relief.

He wiped the remnants of tears from the corners of her eyes. “Let’s get you out of here,” he said with a half-smile. Kaspar helped her up and began to saw through the rope binding her wrists with his dagger.

Mirah glanced down at his shirt and saw a crimson stain spreading wide across his abdomen where Ellian had stabbed him. “You’re bleeding.”

“I noticed,” he replied. “That’s why we’re stopping.”

She looked around and noticed a small cottage with a fireplace and a little table out front. A short old woman and her tall, bearded husband were strolling toward them.

“Guy knew how to tie a rope,” Kaspar muttered behind her as the binding broke. Mirah examined her bloody wrists and massaged the life back into her splintered hands before untying her ankles.

Flora gasped as she reached the foot of the cart. “You were only gone for two days and you come back to me like this?” she fussed. “What happened?”

“Apparently, I’m a bad judge of character,” Kaspar answered grimly. “Miss Flora, we can’t stay for long, but I was hoping you could help me out?”

“Of course, dear,” Flora nodded. “Come inside and we’ll get you patched.

Mirah watched as Kaspar slid out of the carriage and followed Flora into the cottage, leaning on her slightly. He had saved her. She still couldn’t believe it.

Esben held out a hand to help her out of the cart as well and she took it, hopping down. “I’m sorry to impose ourselves on you again,” she said.

Esben shook his head, placing a big, strong hand on her back as he guided her inside. “We’re here to help whoever needs it,” his mustache wiggled in response. “Flora believes her gift should be shared.”

Inside their tiny cottage, Kaspar was sitting on the quilted bed. He had removed his shirt and was helping Flora remove his bandages. “Why would you even bother with a doctor when you knew I was here?” she complained.

Kaspar chuckled, wincing at the pain it caused. “I don’t think I would have made it all the way over here,” he said. “But if you ever figure out resurrection, let me know.”

Mirah watched them peel away the last layer of bandage, the skin partly glued to it with sticky blood. Flora laid him back on the bed and placed one hand over the center of his chest and the other over the open wound. She closed her eyes and nothing happened for a moment. Then a white glow wrapped around her hands and swirled outward until Kaspar’s entire body was surrounded by it.

Mirah took a cautious step back, watching in wonder as Flora began to wave her hands and the glow began to move like waves washing over him. It continued for several minutes while slowly the skin around his stab wound and even the place where he’d been grazed in the forest began to shift and move together until there was no sign he had ever been injured.

When she was done, the glow subsided and Kaspar pulled himself up. “Too bad you can’t leave impressive scars,” he said with a broad grin. “Thanks.”

Mirah stepped forward again, staring at her feet. “Flora,” she began nervously, “I was wondering… I was wondering if you could teach me to do that.”

Flora smiled at her proudly and for a second she thought she could feel her father in the room with them. “I would love to, if you have the gift.”

Kaspar was looking from Flora to Mirah in growing confusion. When Mirah nodded, his jaw dropped. “You—but you never want anything to do with magic!”

“My father was executed for sorcery,” Mirah explained, sitting down on the bed beside Kaspar. “I grew up believing magic killed him, that it was dangerous and evil. But that’s not what he would’ve wanted.”

Kaspar raised his eyebrows and gave a nod. “I suppose that explains the whole magic hands thing,” he said nonchalantly.

Mirah paused thoughtfully, taking a deep breath. “Imagine all the trouble I could have saved us if I had embraced this gift instead of running from it.”

Flora took hold of Mirah’s wrists. “The first thing you need to learn is that magic is the outward application of your inward energy. Which means, unfortunately, that you cannot heal yourself.”

“That is, literally, the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Kaspar mumbled and Mirah elbowed him.

Flora giggled and continued, closing her eyes. “All you need to do is study the object or person you would like to affect until you feel yourself become a part of it.” The same white glow emanated from the old witch’s hands, circling around Mirah’s wrists. “Focus on the effect you wish to have. Imagine every detail, making it real in your mind so you can make it real in the world.”

Mirah felt a tingling in the skin on her wrists as it began to graft itself back together; the stinging faded, and after a few seconds, the wounds had vanished completely. “That’s incredible,” she whispered when Flora was finished.

“I’m afraid we haven’t got anyone you could test it on,” Flora said. “But do you think you understand?”

Mirah nodded. “As well as I’m going to for now, I think.”

Kaspar wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I hate to bust in here like this and then leave, but it’s likely we’ve been followed from Doenn and I’d rather not get caught.”

Esben nodded. “Understood. If anyone passes through, we’ll be sure to point them in the wrong direction,” his mustache offered.

“Thank you,” Mirah said, standing up. “And thank you for teaching me,” she added to Flora.

Flora bowed her head with a smile. “Just promise the next time you visit, you’ll come back in better shape.”

“We’ll do our best,” Kaspar answered and pulled the old witch in for a hug.

Esben and Flora followed them to the door, watching them walk back to the carriage and climb into the front seat. The kind couple waved at them before disappearing back into their cottage together.

Mirah grabbed Kaspar’s hand as he took the reins. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry I didn’t listen.”

“It’s alright,” Kaspar replied with a slight smirk. “You thought you were doing what was best for your brother. I understand.”

Mirah put a hand behind his head and pulled him toward her until their lips met. The reins slipped out of his hand as he reached up to cradle the back of her head, his other arm wrapping around her waist. They broke apart for a second, staring at each other as if they had never seen the other before.

His green eyes held her in place as they had done the day they met. Kaspar leaned forward and kissed her again and she sank into it, his arms wrapped tightly around her, her hands running through his hair, until she was so blissfully unaware she fell backward, smacking her head hard against the side of the driver’s seat.

Kaspar pulled away suddenly and she sat back up. “Are you alright?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

“I’m fine,” Mirah scowled, rubbing her scalp. Kaspar made a noise like he didn’t believe her and a few snickers escaped his lips. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly. “It’s just… I knew you’d come around eventually. This decent human being nonsense always gets the girls.”

Mirah tried to glare at him, but she couldn’t muster up enough anger. Instead, she shoved him away and swept her hair over her shoulder. “Just shut up and move the damn cart,” she snapped playfully.

Kaspar was laughing openly now as he took the reins again and snapped them. When the horse began to trot along the road again, he asked, “So where are we going?”

“The cave,” Mirah replied. “You were right before. The crystals will take us straight to Lieven, but first we have to get to a portal.”

9: Chapter Nine

The road to the southern end of Lake Lomagon was long and Mirah spent the first leg of it braiding her hair, which thanks to the sun’s late-afternoon arrival, was still damp. When that was done, she read through the sorcerer’s journal again.

When the sun began to set ahead of them, exhaustion overtook her and she leaned on Kaspar’s shoulder and drifted off. In her dream, they reached the cave and found a Ligon inside. Kaspar tamed it with fish from the lake and they rode on its back all the way to the Ambulorn mountains. They picked up Lieven and let the Ligon eat the mad sorcerer before bounding back to Ravia.

Kaspar woke her when they arrived; by then, it was well into the evening and the world had gone dark. The carriage was perched on the side of a cliff overlooking the River Kennuar. “The cave should be somewhere around here,” Kaspar said. “But it’s too dark. We should build a fire and get some sleep. Start first thing in the morning.”

Mirah rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stretched. “But we’re so close,” she complained. “When we find the shrine, Lieven’s just on the other side.”

Kaspar hopped out of the carriage. “It’s not the distance I’m worried about; it’s all the monsters between us and the shrine. I don’t particularly feel up to fighting wights right now, do you?”

Mirah sighed, sliding out of the carriage as well. “I thought I was supposed to be the reasonable one,” she grumbled, surveying their surroundings. “Just so you know, it doesn’t look good on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaspar said, “we both know you don’t believe that.”

Mirah blushed as he walked around the carriage, picking up sticks along the way. “Don’t make me regret this,” she warned.

Kaspar smiled and pecked her on the cheek. “Not for a moment,” he whispered. “Now, come on. We need firewood. It’s going to be hard enough lighting it because of all the rain. I’d rather not spend all night searching for it, too.”

She let him lead her into the forest and they grabbed all the sticks and fallen limbs they could find. Not a piece of it was dry, though, and by the time they managed a small flicker of flame, they were both too tired to hunt for food. Instead, they curled up together beside the fire once it was fed enough to keep them warm throughout the night, and talked.

“Why didn’t you tell me your father was a mage?” Kaspar asked softly in her ear. He was lying behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other playing idly in her ebony hair.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were an assassin?” Mirah countered.

“Mirah, you’re a guard,” Kaspar answered. “Why would I confess to a guard?”

“Fair enough,” Mirah relented. “My family doesn’t talk about my father. Ever.”

“Sounds healthy,” Kaspar said.

“And I guess your family’s just perfect?”

Kaspar held on to her a little tighter. “My mother hated me. She left when I was six and never came back. But at least my father and I talked about it.”

“Yeah?” Mirah asked. “What did you say?”

“Not much,” Kaspar answered. “He did most of the talking, actually. Usually very loud talking. Told me all about how she left because I was an annoying little shit and how I had ruined his life forever.”

“So yeah, yours was perfect,” Mirah said.

Kaspar laughed quietly and hugged her close. She turned and kissed him and her insides turned warm and gooey. When they came apart, she asked, “How am I going to explain you to the magistrate?”

Kaspar shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m a guard. You’re… not a guard.” She smiled up at him. “Should be an interesting conversation.”

Kaspar sat up, his face troubled. “I can’t go back to Ravia with you. I told you that back at the temple.”

All the warmth in Mirah vanished. “What are you talking about? Why not?”

Kaspar gave a long, deep sigh. “Take your pick: I’ve got four different charges of theft, three for assault of an officer, and one for murder. And then there’s the Crimson Arrow to deal with, which, I might add, is doing a booming business right under your nose. If the magistrate doesn’t string me up first, the Arrow will cut me into a thousand pieces and scatter them into the Bamorian.”

Mirah didn’t know which question to ask first. She sat there, letting his words flow through her, examining each one as it passed. She might be able to get the magistrate to overlook the theft, perhaps even the assault, but murder? There was no way he would dismiss that. “Wh-when were you going to tell me all this?” she stammered.

“I thought you knew,” he replied sullenly.

“I can’t just not go back home,” she said loudly. “My family is there. My job. Everything. I thought you were going to be there, too.” Kaspar reached to grasp her hand but she yanked it away, climbing to her feet. “No. I should never have started this.”

“Mirah,” Kaspar pleaded. “I want to go with you.”

“But you can’t,” Mirah argued. Her entire body was shaking. “I don’t want you to get hurt.” But she didn’t want to be apart, either. She sat down on the other side of the fire. “It would be better for both of us if we just forget all of this.” Just saying the words broke her heart and she struggled under the weight of it. “Now,” she continued firmly, “we need to get some rest.”

What hurt the most was the dejected look on Kaspar’s face as he turned away and laid down for sleep. Mirah stretched out on the ground and tried in vain to swallow the lump in her throat. She had been stupid and careless. Somehow she had forgotten that nothing good was ever allowed to happen to her.

It took Mirah ages to fall asleep. And even then, every time she closed her eyes, she had a bad dream in which either they found Lieven dead, or the sorcerer killed her before she could rescue him. Nevertheless, she woke early with a powerful hunger. She could smell meat roasting and heard the crackling of a fire behind her.

When she got up, she saw Kaspar had managed to catch some fish and was cooking them with a makeshift stand he’d constructed out of twigs. He didn’t speak to her as she climbed to her feet and dusted herself off.

The sun was just rising in the east and the forest kept the area in shadow. In her head, she calculated the time it would have taken to walk to the lake, catch the fish, clean them, and rebuild the fire. “How long have you been awake?” she asked.

Kaspar opened his mouth to answer but decided against whatever it was, saying instead, “There’s a ladder built into the face of the cliff. It leads down to the cave.”

He had dark rims around his eyes, the whites of which were vaguely pink. Mirah’s head sank guiltily with this observation and she crossed over to the edge of the cliff to see his discovery for herself. As he had said, a ladder had been carved into the rocky side of the cliff, leading straight to the mouth of the cave where a narrow waterfall poured into the river below. It was a steep drop, though, and her stomach lurched at the thought of climbing down.

Kaspar appeared at her side and handed her a stick with a couple cooked fillets impaled on it. “I found some rope in the carriage. We’ll tie it to one of these trees,” he said, nodding toward the forest behind them before taking a bite of his own breakfast, “and secure it to ourselves.”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind,” Mirah replied, dizzily glancing down at the river again.

“No,” he said, his voice hollow. “There’s not a person in the world that can read your mind.” He swallowed the last of his fish and walked away to the cart.

“Well, I’m glad this isn’t awkward,” Mirah muttered under her breath. She took one last bite and tossed the stick over the cliff.

Kaspar had already chosen a tree and she watched him work silently, biting her thumb anxiously. He tied the rope around his waist and then passed it to her. Mirah took it uneasily and began to wrap it around herself, her hands trembling.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights,” Kaspar guessed as he fixed a sword he’d found in the cart to his belt.

“I’m afraid of falling,” Mirah corrected.

“The rope’s nice and tight,” he promised with a smirk, shouldering the supply bag. “I tied it myself.”

“Hence my concern,” she taunted. “But after you, since you’re so sure of yourself.” She made a gesture of invitation to the cliff’s edge.

Kaspar looked cautiously over, then drew himself up, straightening his shirt. He nodded and knelt on the ground to step onto the first level, grabbing fistfuls of grass as though his life depended on them. Mirah watched apprehensively from above as he made it further down before following shakily after him.

The stone rungs seemed strong and sturdy under her weight. All she had to do was keep her eyes on the clouds and birds overhead. She took each step slowly, testing the next rung cautiously before fully committing to it. She was about halfway there when her foot couldn’t find the next step. Mirah looked down reflexively to find the rung but all she could see was the murky water of the Kennuar splashing and frothing against the rocks as the waterfall crashed down into the river and she froze. Her heart felt like it was going to jump out of her chest, pounding loudly and with fearful force until she couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred as her fingers slipped from the rail.

Suddenly the river was rushing toward her. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. The roar of the waterfall surrounded her. She heard someone shouting above her and then with a violent jerk she stopped falling. The rope cut into her and what little breath she had left was forced out of her lungs. She choked, gasping for air, her head spinning, feeling like she might vomit.

She could feel herself being hoisted up from above, increment by increment, as spray from the waterfall washed over her, chilling her to the bone. She was still struggling to breathe when she reached the mouth of the cave and strong arms pulled her onto the stone floor. She sat up, coughing and retching hopelessly. She shut her eyes, felt a hand on her stomach, a voice in her ear. “Breathe,” he said, rubbing her back. “Breathe in deep.”

Her face was flushed and her eyes were wet, but finally, abruptly, air poured into her lungs. She drank it in, curling up to him, balling his sleeve up into her fist, sniffling, trembling, exhaling, and breathing again. A moment later, she felt his arms hugging her, his chin resting on her head, mumbling soothing words. She didn’t want to let go. But she knew she had to or else she would only keep falling for him.

Mirah pulled away, wiping her face on her sleeve, not daring to look Kaspar in the eyes. The cave was enormous, with two statues of Erylian at the back on either side of a coursing underground river. They were the same as the statue at the temple’s shrine, with the scepter and the flames in his hands, only perhaps twice as tall and guarding a pathway further into the cave. She clambered to her feet with one last look to the edge where the cave’s river plummeted down to join the other before untying the rope around her waist and heading into the darkness.

10: Chapter Ten

Mirah was at the feet of one of the massive statues of Erylian when she felt a hand on her back. Kaspar was beside her, cautiously peering into the shadows of the next chamber. A shaft of light shone in the far-left corner where water from Lake Lomagon fell into the cave from above, forming the subterranean river and the second waterfall at the entrance. There was a bridge that crossed the river another hundred feet in front of them, with statues on either side of it that resembled Erylian’s staff. Directly ahead, barely illuminated by the hole in the cave ceiling, were several ominous fixtures, including corroded steel cages and what looked like beds with straps built onto them.

Mirah took a step forward, but Kaspar grabbed her shoulder with an iron grip. “There was something in the shadows just now. Back there in the back.”

She squinted at the darkness to see what he was talking about, but there was nothing there. Nevertheless, the memory of the wights sent a chill up her spine. She took Kaspar by the hand and continued into the room, eyes searching for any signs of movement.

Among the fixtures of the room was a rectangular table with an assortment of strange devices spread out on it. There were knives and saws of various sizes, crystals in all shapes and colors, alchemical equipment like mortars and pestles, and more tools than Mirah knew the uses for. She exchanged glances with Kaspar, finding him just as disgusted and horrified as she was.

Along with all the unsavory gear, there was an old, glass oil lantern and a dusty book. She wiped off the cover of the book, the thick, damp dust peeling away and sticking to her hand. The front of it had brilliant leather tooling that reminded her of an old book her father used to own—one that seemed to have disappeared after he died.

As Kaspar lit the lamp with a long match from the supply bag, she opened the cover and found it was a manuscript written in the same cryptic runes as the journal they’d found at the temple, though in a smaller, tidier print. The drawings, however, seemed to indicate that it was detailing experiments using the crystals. She flipped a few pages further in and gasped, her hand flying out of the book.

“What was it?” Kaspar probed.

“He did tests on them here,” she whispered, struggling to find words.

“Tests on who?”

As if on cue, there was a low growl in the back of the chamber by one of the torture racks. In the shadows, they saw three pairs of shining red eyes staring back at them. “I think we’re about to meet them,” Mirah answered.

The monsters stepped forward but… there was something wrong. One foot came into the dim light, and then another, bringing with it a single hulking mass of crumbling, rotting flesh. The monster had arms the size of an old tree trunk and three heads, all with dangling, slimy forked tongues and sharp, pointed teeth. There was a deep hunger in the six eyes and every muscle in Mirah’s body wanted to turn and run the other direction.

“Well, don’t be rude,” Kaspar said, nudging her forward. “Say hello.”

The beast charged at them, its bare feet drumming on the stone ground. It roared and the sound of it filled the cavernous chamber. Mirah and Kaspar only barely managed to draw their weapons before the monster was upon them.

Mirah sidestepped out of its way and circled around to stab it in the back as it ran past. She didn’t see Kaspar move, but when a blade pierced through the wight’s back from the other side, she felt a rush of relief. As the creature crumbled to the ground, they pried their swords out of it.

“That went well,” Kaspar bragged. “I was afraid with three heads it might be three times more difficult to kill, but— “

A shadow loomed over him from behind. Before Mirah could warn him, a second wight tore into his arms, disarming him and dragging him to the ground. She tried to move in, but something grabbed her leg with a supernatural grip, sending her tumbling forward onto her face.

Mirah yanked her leg free and scrambled to her feet again, turning to see the three-headed beast had risen from its second death and was coming back for a third. Out of options, she dashed over the table like a madwoman, cutting her leg on one of the many tools laid out there. The wight crashed into the table after her, knocking it over and sending all the equipment tumbling across the floor.

Mirah sprinted away blindly toward the river, the monster’s heavy footsteps following closely behind. When she reached the edge of the water, she froze, trying to think of a plan, trying to remember all the old stories she’d heard about creatures like these. Kaspar let out an agonizing cry behind her and the sound of it pushed out every thought in her head. She turned around desperately, sword drawn and ready as the wight rushed forward stupidly.

When it reached her, she shoved her blade deep into its chest, the weight of it sliding her back a couple of inches closer to the river, and a spark of an idea came to her. She used the sword to pivot around the brutish creature and shoved into it hard with her foot, kicking it back into the water. It tried to grab on to her boot as it fell backward but it wasn’t quick enough. The coursing water pushed it out of the chamber and toward the waterfall at the mouth of the cave.

Kaspar’s wails were growing fainter. The other wight had pinned him down to the floor and was feeding on him. This one, at least, only had one head, but the same terrible, glowing eyes. Mirah searched for another plan; she doubted she could trick another one to fall into the river. At the overturned table, a modest fire had started where the oil lamp had crashed onto the floor. Unable to come up with anything else, she hurried toward it.

She pulled with everything she had on one of the legs of the table until finally it gave way and she stuck one end in the fire. When the wood caught a good, strong flame, Mirah ran to the wight that was working steadily to devour Kaspar and struck it with her makeshift torch as hard as she could manage. It rounded on her with a hiss as bits of its old, worn skin were set ablaze. She swiped at it again, this time on its face and in blind rage it lunged at her. Mirah leapt back and swung the torch again.

By now, most of the monster’s upper body was on fire, the flames spreading quickly. It fell to the floor, writhing in pain, the smell of death filling the room as it burned. She watched it with wide eyes until she was certain it wasn’t getting back up and then walked quickly to Kaspar, giving the creature a wide berth.

Kaspar’s arms and part of his chest were shredded and bloody, giving Mirah flashbacks to the twelve corpses she’d left at the temple. He was breathing in frantic, wheezing gasps, interchanged with miserable groans and whimpers of pain. “I… thought you… left,” he croaked when he saw her.

Mirah fell on her knees beside him and took his hand. “I wouldn’t leave you here,” she answered, tears welling up uselessly.

Whatever experiments had been done on the creatures in Erylian’s time, it seemed to have made their poison more effective. The skin where the wight had fed off him was swiftly withering away, turning black and ashen. “Guess it’s… too late… to go to Flora,” Kaspar rattled with the faintest lines of a sad grin.

Mirah bit her bottom lip until it bled, trying to fight off her sorrow. She had only known him for a week, but with everything they’d been through, seven days felt like seven years. And now he would just die and there was nothing she could…

… do about it. Her heart fluttered in her chest. “You’re not going to die,” she promised, though at this point, Kaspar seemed to be fading in and out and she wasn’t sure if he could even hear her anymore.

Mirah put her hand over his heart and felt it beating hard inside his chest. She closed her eyes, struggled to remember Flora’s instruction, trying to focus on the patterns of his heartbeat, listening to his ragged breathing.

She pictured in her mind the tide rolling in and out with every small breath Kaspar took, heard her father’s voice in her ear. Learn its rhythm and it will lend its secrets to you. Mirah breathed in deep, willed his breath to match hers. Make it real in your mind so you can make it real in the world. Kaspar’s chest tightened up and he became quiet.

She peeked cautiously to see what had happened only to find she hadn’t done anything. Kaspar had almost stopped breathing entirely. His face, which had been contorted in pain, had begun to go slack and his lips were turning blue.

Mirah hung her head low with a long sigh. She lay out beside him, hugging him close as she sobbed into his chest. She could hear every wheezing breath, every feeble thump of his heart and she braced herself for the moment they would both stop. “Please, don’t go,” she begged. “Don’t leave.”

She didn’t want to go through the next portal alone, didn’t want to face whatever was waiting for her without him by her side. Maybe it was naïve to have thought she might be able to save him. She was a novice at best, playing with forces she barely understood. But she couldn’t let him die. Not when he would do whatever it took to save her. She wouldn’t let it happen. She had to try again.

Learn its rhythm… her father repeated, his words chiming in time with the beating of Kaspar’s heart. She breathed in deeply, imagining again the rolling of the waves as they washed ashore, and breathed out as the salty water retreated into the ocean. She breathed again and this time she felt Kaspar’s chest rise beneath her.

A warm tingling began at her fingers, spreading out around the two of them as they continued to breathe together. She heard his heart begin to hammer against his flesh loudly again and she assigned it its own rhythm. She watched as the black, dead skin around his wound returned to its original warm tones, sculpting itself back together at her whim, just as it had done under Flora’s command.

When the tingling subsided, Mirah thanked the gods silently. Kaspar was still unconscious. But he was alive. She kissed his hand softly and got up to build a fire from the broken table and what was left of the flames created by the overturned oil. She tore pages out of Erylian’s book of experiments and used them as extra kindling.

There was nothing soft to lay Kaspar’s head on, but Mirah pulled together a smattering of straw scattered across the chamber floor to form a make-shift pillow and used the cloak the man from Doenn had clasped around her the day before as a blanket to keep him warm. She sat cross-legged at his side, watching and waiting for him to stir with one eye frequently darting over to the charred wight just in case.

The longer she sat, the more she couldn’t help but wonder where the second wight had come from in the first place. If it had been hiding behind the torture racks along the southern wall, they would surely have seen it as they entered. No matter how dark the shadows were, its glowing eyes would have given it away. And if it had come from across the river, over the bridge, the light from the hole in the ceiling would have exposed it immediately. She didn’t want to imagine it hiding under the table while they made their first foray into the chamber, nor did she think that was any more of a possibility. But it didn’t just pop out of nowhere.

Mirah turned to peer into the dark recesses across the bridge. There was no way to find out what was lurking over there waiting to be discovered. She guessed the creature may have skittered across the bridge while they were dealing with its three-headed comrade. But that meant it was frighteningly nimble, far quicker than the first. It also meant there were might be others. They may even have been watching her from a distance, made cautious by the deaths of the first two.

She couldn’t afford to wait for Kaspar to wake up. Although it was still early in the day, night was sure to come and the wights would become bolder in the dark. Mirah blew a lock of hair out of her face and scooted closer to the fire. She would have to learn to make her own flames if she was going to stand against the undead on her own.

11: Chapter Eleven

When she had asked Flora to teach her how to use magic, Mirah hadn’t intended to spend the entire next day putting it to practice. In all honesty, she’d rather never use magic at all if she could help it. She still didn’t trust it, even when she was the caster, not to mention the fact that she could be burned alive if she were caught.

Nevertheless, she passed three hours staring at the fire she’d made from bits of a century-and-a-half old table that had, presumably, once been owned and used by the man most people would agree was the pinnacle of human depravity. Occasionally, she looked away, blinking away the dark spots in her eyes, to check on Kaspar, who was still sleeping soundly beside her. But even after all that staring, all that study, she still didn’t feel like she understood the fire any more than when she’d started.

Mirah crept closer to the burning wood so the heat bore into her skin and listened attentively to its crackling. But she couldn’t stand to be so close for very long and was forced to back away in frustration. How could she ‘learn the rhythm’ of something with no pattern, no predictability? She lied out on the floor with a frown, resting her head on Kaspar’s chest and continued to watch the fire flicker away.

When she was little, her mother was always cross with her when she would play with the candles in their house at night. She could remember pretending she could control the tiny flame with her mind, make it grow or shrink. It was always fun until her mother or Cecily caught her doing it and smacked her on the hand so she would stop. It always seemed, though, they were less worried that she might burn herself, and more concerned that someone might see her. It only occurred to her now that maybe she had actually been bending the flame to her will.

She tried to think of the makeshift campfire as a giant candle flame instead, tried to play the same game with it as she had as a child. She chose a point above the flames and imagined them growing to that height. In the end, the soft sounds of the fire and the gentle rise and fall of Kaspar’s chest made her drift off to sleep.

She dreamed she and Kaspar were having tea at Flora and Esben’s house, only Kaspar was a guard, too, and they seemed to be on official business. Flora was petting the Ligon they had flown to get there and Esben was roasting another ham. Lieven came out of the old couple’s little hut with a strong smile that reminded her of her father. He looked a little worse for wear but he was safe and he was there, teasing Kaspar about his uniform.

Suddenly the fire where Esben was roasting his ham exploded and fifty wights crawled out of the ground, surrounding them. One of the monsters leapt on Mirah and bit hard into her throat. She screamed, but the sound came out as a muffled groan. She pushed it off her and pulled herself up only to find the cottage, the forest, the wights, everything was gone, replaced by an empty torture chamber built into a cave. It took her some time to calm down as she realized it was a nightmare.

With a grim look at the fire, Mirah got on her feet and drew her sword. It had only been perhaps a half-hour since she had fallen asleep, but her dream had served to remind her that she couldn’t wait around all day. She had to act before the wights came across the bridge and killed them first.

Ignoring the campfire, she focused instead on her blade, remembering the heat she’d felt on her face from the flame. Her focus became so intense, the metal began to turn red. She still didn’t know if it was enough to catch the wights on fire, but it was all she could manage.

Mirah reached down and ran a hand through Kaspar’s hair and kissed his forehead before making her way to the bridge. She crossed the stone path with her sword ready, her palms sweating and her stomach queasy. When she reached the other side, she braced herself for a swarm of monsters to hurl themselves at her, but nothing happened. She proceeded cautiously, deeper into the cave.

The path diverged ahead, one heading off to her left, the other side opening wide into a room with an unlit stone fireplace in the center. She chose the wide path first; as she went further in, she noticed what looked like prison cells built into the wall on her right and directly in front of her. She stopped in her tracks when she saw shining red eyes watching her near the cells ahead.

Mirah swallowed, counting the eyes. There were eight pairs but she didn’t know if that meant there were eight wights or just eight heads—or which she preferred. Her sword was still red-hot in her hand and she gripped it tightly as she waited for them to make a move.

It wasn’t until the eyes began to come forward that she realized they all moved in tandem and in sets of four. Dust flew up as they made their way to her, growling and snorting, mouths smacking with slimy, poisonous drool. She saw four strong arms stretching and flexing in unison, with sharp, talon-like claws attached at the fingers. The four heads took four deep breaths and drew themselves up to an enormous height, each one nearly touching the stone ceiling and with a trembling step backward, Mirah finally understood it was all one beast.

She thought very seriously about running away. She would deal with the cliff face, and the steep drop into the Kennuar, so long as the tetra-wight stayed behind. Unfortunately, there was no way she could drag Kaspar back up to the surface and there was even less chance that the undead brute would leave her alone long enough to try.

Before she could come up with a plan of action, a huge, clawed hand gripped her by the leg and swept her up into the air. She was swinging upside down, being lifted up, up, up, until her eyes were level with the lower pair on one of its heads. She was frozen in fear as it sniffed her with the two large slits it had for a nose. It leaned its head back, its mouth opened, black ooze dripping out, and she felt herself being lowered toward it, its sickening smell overpowering her senses.

Mirah lifted her head to get a better view, the wight’s hot breath on her face. She held her breath as the beast brought her closer and when she could reach it, she lunged at it with her sword, which was still dangling in her hand. The heat wasn’t enough to catch the monster on fire, only to enrage it. The wight let out an ear-splitting roar and tossed her away to nurse the fresh wound on its lower lip.

Mirah sailed through the air, hitting the side of the cave with a loud crack and crumbling onto the ground. Head pounding, she raised up on one elbow and looked around. Her sword was several feet away, near the feet of the monster, which now seemed to have eight heads after all. She tried to lift herself up, but her arm shook with the weight and she collapsed again. She heard the wight roar again, the sound of it echoing on the cave walls, and then a gravelly noise of rocks skittering across the ground.

The world seemed like it was moving in slow motion. She pictured the candlestick again, with its tiny flame shivering at every thunderous, thumping step of the wight. Mirah shut her eyes, and tried to imagine herself as the wick, burning brightly with fire all around her. She was the fuel that fed the flames; she gave them their pattern, their predictability.

The air grew warm on her skin, though she didn’t know if this was because she had managed to become fire or because the wight was breathing on her again. She didn’t have any room in her thoughts left to focus on anything other than the candle’s modest flicker.

The wight’s hand clutched her leg again and she waited for the moment she was catapulted off the floor and ground between its jagged teeth. Instead, it recoiled with a howl of pain. Mirah opened her eyes to see the monster’s strong fingers had caught fire. She was covered from head to toe in flame; she was the wick.

Not daring to get close to its stomping, agonized feet, she instead focused on the flames that were already spreading onto the monster’s arm. They had sprung from her fire and she was the fuel. She harnessed them to her will, urging them to continue up to the wight’s neck, across its chest, over its back, until it was turning to ash before her eyes, black ooze pooling at its feet, forming a sinister puddle.

When it was done, Mirah got up shakily and retrieved her sword. Not wanting to spend any more time in the room than she had to, she quickly jogged back toward the point where the path had split and rested against the wall. She could see the table-turned-fire still burning across the river and Kaspar resting beside it as if nothing had happened. She stayed there, catching her breath for some time, trying to come up with any excuse not to go into the next chamber.

Coming up short, she warily walked through the narrow path. To her relief, she found the room mostly empty, except for a table littered with books and crystals, and a shrine to Erylian, identical to the one at the temple. When she was satisfied that she was safe, Mirah let down her guard and walked freely into the room.

From what she could glean by reading the small portions of the books on the table that weren’t written in runes, they were instructional tomes for the use of crystals. It seemed some gems could be used for the magnification of magical power, others for fixing magic effects in certain locations (as with the portals), and still others for enchanting mundane objects. The means of accomplishing these tasks, however, were cryptically locked away in the mages’ language.

Another book, thinner and newer, with a black leather cover, was set apart from the others, stationed in front of a chair with a quill and ink beside it. Another journal. Mirah walked over to it, resting her hand on the cover for a moment. When she flipped it open, a blue crystal a few inches away glowed brightly, lighting up the chamber so she could read the words. With a deep breath, she sat down and began to read.

 

The boy’s blood is useless. Useless! What’s worse, I don’t detect an ounce of power within him. He’s nothing more than a nuisance. A violent nuisance. Bit me on the hand the first day he was here. And the Crimson Arrow expect payment for delivering him. Even if I had the coin, I wouldn’t give them a jot—they’ve done me no favors by bringing me this bastard.

Nevertheless, the boy says he has a sister. He clammed up when he saw I had taken an interest, but the wights dragged it out of him. I can only hope she has the gift. Erylian’s power must surely live on somewhere. If not in the boy, it must be the girl. I’ll send word to the Arrow and convince them to find her. Hopefully the promise of another twenty-five thousand will do the job.

 

Mirah looked over her shoulder; she felt eyes on her, watching from somewhere, but there was nothing there except Erylian’s statue. Turning back to the book, she reread the words. She didn’t know what he meant when he talked about ‘Erylian’s power’, but whatever it was, he clearly believed she had it. He was headed for a great disappointment; she could barely create a flame to save her life. She was certainly not an heir to the greatest sorcerer of all time. In any case, it sounded like Lieven was giving him hell, and that at least gave her hope.

12: Chapter Twelve

Mirah passed four days in the cave with no company but herself. She spent the time fishing from the bridge that crossed the underground river, still not ready to try climbing back up the cliff. Instead, she created a rod and line from supplies she found in the cave, and used worms she found crawling around on the floor as bait. Getting a bite was tricky in the river current, but she found enough to feed herself and always managed to save some for Kaspar if he woke up.

With every passing day, she wondered more and more if he was ever going to open his eyes again. She wondered if she should go through the portal without him and make an attempt at saving her brother. But when she watched him sleeping in the evenings, she couldn’t convince herself to go through with it. So, she stayed, washing his face with a damp cloth and giving him sips of water from the river.

She read more from the sorcerer’s journal. Inside it, she found a folded letter from an anonymous sender in the Crimson Arrow demanding payment for the capture of her brother or else their vengeance would be swift and quiet. The letter disclosed the sorcerer’s name, Aleric, but no other clues as to his identity. The journal wasn’t much help on that front, either.

It did, however, talk more about Baden, Aleric’s brother. Mirah read the entire sad story aloud by the fire on the fourth night, curled up by Kaspar’s side. “Baden was the eldest among us, and the kindest, particularly to me. I think he felt sorry for me because Father treated me like I was invisible, like I was an embarrassment to him. Maybe I was.

“But Baden made me feel like I belonged. He took me hunting and we would race on the paths into the mountains. When he found out about my gift, he wasn’t angry or afraid—he’s the one that taught me to see it as a gift in the first place. It was wonderful to have that secret out in the open, to be completely myself around my brother.”

Mirah looked up as Kaspar murmured something in his sleep, his head rolling over to one side. She smiled and reached down to comb her fingers through his messy brown hair. His chin was coated in the beginnings of a soft, downy beard, making him look like a wild man. It only made it more difficult for her to remember that they had to part ways before they got back to Ravia.

She continued reading, half-hoping the sound might wake him up. “If only more people were like he was. My father despised magic and I knew if he ever found out, he would turn me in before Baden could do anything to stop it. Which is why it came as such a shock to the magistrate when he was accused of sorcery.

“A neighbor reported that he had seen magic through the windows of our house. It wasn’t a lie: I had been careless. One night when I couldn’t sleep, I sneaked out of my bedroom to get a book from the shelf. Since no one was awake to see, I made a light in the darkness to read by. Innocent enough. But the light was seen.

“My father was accused and soldiers came to take him away the next day. It was my fault, but what could I do? I didn’t dare speak up, or else it would be me heading to the pyre instead. And anyway, I can’t honestly say I was sorry to see him go. ButBadenwas a better person than I am.”

Mirah sighed, seeing already where the story was heading. She closed her eyes and instead of Aleric’s father, she saw her own being led away in chains, felt the cruel eye of the scar-faced man peering down his hawkish nose at her.

“Baden confessed to the crime,” she read. “The soldiers released our father and took him instead, snatching him roughly by the arms. How could I do anything then? Even if I told them it was me, they would think I was lying just as he did. Or worse, they would assume we were all gifted and burn us all. I watched helplessly as they led my brother away, the one person who cared whether I lived or died.

“My father blamed me, of course. Not because he had any idea that I was the culprit—though, perhaps he had his suspicions. But because I was the cause of everything that was wrong in his life. When I was a few years older, I left home and wandered the mountains until I found Erylian’s old shrines. I studied magic in earnest, determined to be the best, determined to create a world that looks on mages the way my brother once looked on me: with respect and awe and love.”

Mirah closed the book and tossed it a few feet away. In a way, Aleric wasn’t wrong. Any world that would burn a woman like Flora for healing the sick and wounded was a world in need of change. But she wasn’t sure Aleric was the sort of person to bring that change about, especially not with his obsession with Erylian and clandestine partnership with the Crimson Arrow. Only people likeBaden, and Esben, and even Kaspar—kind-hearted people who believed in all the good magic could do—would ever be able to make a difference.

Mirah wrapped her arms around Kaspar, resting her head on his shoulder, and drifted off with a heavy heart.

She woke to the sound of birds chirping outside. There was no sign of the sun seeping through the hole in the cave ceiling; it was still hiding behind the trees above them. Instead, the chamber was filled with a cool, early morning light. Kaspar’s chest was still rising and falling beneath her head and she didn’t want to move. But she had to start fishing early or else she wouldn’t catch a thing.

Mirah stretched herself out with a yawn and started to get up when she heard a faint mumble. She looked down and saw Kaspar was awake, his eyes still clouded and puffy. “Y-you’re awake,” she exclaimed, wrapping him up in a hug.

He laughed but his voice sounded hoarse. “Yeah, I—wait, how long have I been asleep?” Mirah didn’t have to answer. Her expression told him everything he needed to know. Still, he seemed confused. “Why are you still here? Did you go through the portal?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. “Not yet,” she confessed. After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “Not without you.”

Kaspar sat in silence for ages and the only sound between them was that of his slow, steady breaths. His eyes carried that thoughtful energy she now knew usually preceded carefully selected words. He came up blank, however, and sat up instead, dizzily glancing around the torture-chamber-turned-camp. “Do we have anything to eat?” he asked, surveying the overturned and now badly mangled table that had served as firewood for nearly a week.

Mirah got up and grabbed her fishing rod from the floor. “Yes,” she answered searching for a cave worm, “but it’s still swimming at the moment.” She plucked a wriggling, white worm off the stone floor, walked toward the bridge and sat down to fish, feet dangling off the side. 

Kaspar followed her to the edge of the river and stooped to splash water onto his face. He seemed somewhat surprised to find a fairly healthy beard there. He pulled out the dagger he’d used to signal Ellian and began to scrape away at his chin and jaw line.

Mirah watched him work while she waited for a fish to bite, wondering what was going on in his head. He probably still hated her for how she had dismissed him several nights ago. Her nose crinkled as she realized how selfish it was to still expect him to follow her through the portal. The loss of her brother had nothing to do with him. It was likely he was just too kind to say so. That must have been what he was struggling to find the words for before.

Kaspar sat beside her on the bridge, having sustained a few cuts in the process of shaving. They watched the river rushing below their feet for a while and the inches separating them felt like miles.

The longer she struggled to think of what to say, the more unbearable the silence became. When she couldn’t take anymore, Mirah gave up on finding the perfect words. “You don’t have to come with me,” she blurted.

Kaspar glanced at her, his eyebrows pressed together. “What do you mean?”

Her heart was crawling into her throat and she bit her lip to try and suppress it. “Through the portal,” she replied. “You don’t have to keep following me, if you don’t want to. I would understand.”

He took one of her hands from the fishing rod and held it delicately in his own. With a whisper of a smile, he said, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Mirah shook her head. “This isn’t your problem,” she explained. “It’s mine.”

“And I’m helping,” Kaspar added with a tone of finality. “I know this sounds weird, but after living in Lyrewood the last couple of years, this is really the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

Mirah gave him a sideways glance and smiled. “Even the times we’ve almost died?”

Kaspar nodded. “Especially those,” he said, leaning his head against one of the bridge’s rail posts, his eyes tracing the outlines of her face. “I’m just sorry I screwed up so bad in Ravia.”

Mirah recounted in her mind all the charges against him. Theft. Assault. Murder. The questions she’d had several nights ago resurfaced, churning in her mind, but one stood out among the rest. “Who did you kill?”

Kaspar hesitated and shook his head. He looked out to the river, to the statues guarding the chamber’s entrance, and the mouth of the cave beyond. “I don’t know his name. Some drunk from the city slums.”

Something tugged hard on the rod in her hand and the string went taut. She pulled the line in and a small fish came out of the water, flopping around, attempting to get free. It was only a few inches long, hardly worth cooking. “I’ll go find another worm,” Mirah said in defeat.

“Give me that,” Kaspar said with a frown. She handed it to him and watched as he threw it back in, still attached to the hook. “If you want to catch a good fish, you need better bait.”

“Ooh,” Mirah cooed in pretended awe. “Master tracker, master herbalist, and now a master fisherman as well?”

He grinned and nudged her with his elbow. “I think our breakfast a few days ago can attest to my skill.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head on his shoulder while they waited for another fish to bite. They spent the morning side by side, teasing one another relentlessly until Kaspar really did manage to catch a pair of superior fish and a couple more for later, for which Mirah applauded him.

Over breakfast, she filled him in on everything that had happened over the last few days, including Aleric’s journal. He seemed impressed by everything she had accomplished in his absence and when she told the story of the tetra-wight, he hung on her every word like a boy listening to a much-loved bedtime story.

When they were finished eating, they made their way across the bridge and toward the chamber with the shrine. Kaspar stopped along the way to glimpse the charred remains of the four-headed monster in the other room, squinting at the sight of its flesh still rotting away but otherwise astonished that the story she’d told was true. Mirah guided him to the shrine with the crystal-laden table and he pulled out the red stones from the supply bag.

With a slow, deep breath and a gulp, Mirah placed her hands on each one. At her touch, they flew away to hover over the stone pedestals on either side of Erylian’s statue, glowing a bright red. When the second one reached its place, they heard the crack just as they had at the temple and they were suddenly drowned in smoke and light. Once it all subsided, Mirah opened her eyes to see there was a red wall of light between the two pedestals. On the other side, they would find her brother.

She looked to Kaspar nervously and he took her hand. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Let’s just cross our fingers and hope we don’t turn up in the middle of a lake again,” Mirah replied. She could feel her heart beating against her chest. Together, they stepped forward and crossed through the light.

13: Chapter Thirteen

They were standing at the edge of another cliff. Before them was a massive cave entrance carved into the face of a mountain. It was cold here, and Mirah shivered in the icy wind. Somehow, finally being here in front of another of Erylian’s lairs, knowing they were nearing the end, made her less nervous. “So…,” she said quietly, almost drowned out by the northern wind, “just a handful of monsters and one lunatic away from finding Lieven.”

“Why couldn’t he just be out here in the open?” Kaspar complained. “That would be so much easier.”

“Come on.” Mirah pressed onward into the cave. The inside was a massive cavern that likely once stood as a grand entrance hall, with enormous statues of Erylian glaring down from either side of a second, equally large entrance. Like the other statues they had come across, any who passed near them felt as though they were watching… judging.

Through the second entrance, the cave opened up even more and in the center was a throne, far too wide for just one person and yet unmistakably meant for a single individual. There was nothing else in the vast expanse except for loose piles of rubble along the sides; coupled with the howl of the wind outside it gave the place an eerie feel--more so than it would have on its own, anyway.

In the back of the chamber were three doors. Two were small, or at least smaller than the one in the center, which was only slightly smaller than the cave entrance itself. The two on either side were made of stone and sealed with a silver latch similar to the one at the temple in Lyrewood. The one in the center was more like a cage than anything else, with strong iron bars from top to bottom and several chains and locks to hold it shut in the middle. Beyond it was only darkness, too deep to see the back.

“Shall we see what’s behind door number one?” Kaspar asked, flourishing his hands in the direction of the door on the left. Though he joked, his smile was thin and faint and his entire body trembled ever so slightly.

“Something tells me it won’t be good,” Mirah replied with a sour face. She turned to the door on the right, all too aware that the wrong choice could mean facing scores of wights or even tetra-wights, could mean their untimely death. She took a deep breath and headed toward the door on the left.

The silver latch was cold to the touch as she lifted it and pulled the door open with Kaspar’s help. The inside was a long hall of prison cells, only barely lit by the few rays of light that made it through to this far corner of the cave. On the floor near the door was a small lantern with a thick candle inside. “Do we have any matches left?” Mirah asked, picking up the lantern.

Kaspar fumbled through the supply bag at his side for a moment or two and then pulled out a matchbox. Mirah held the lantern to him so he could light the candle and together, with light in hand, they started into the corridor.

They didn’t go very far, however, before hearing a low moan from just a few feet outside the lamplight. In the shadows, Mirah saw something moving slowly, heard it scraping against the stone floor. She exchanged glances with Kaspar before taking a couple more steps forward.

The light of the candle landed first on a black boot, then dark pants and a white linen shirt filthy with dust and blood, resting at last on matted blond hair. Mirah nearly dropped the lantern. “Lieven!” She rushed forward, stopped by the locked cell door.

Lieven struggled to sit upright, turning to the candlelight that had awakened him. He had a healing cut above his right eyebrow and a purple bruise on his jaw; overall, he looked rough, but not nearly as bad as Mirah had feared. He stared blearily at them for what seemed like a long time before speaking in a hoarse, tired voice. “M-Mirah…? Y-you sh-sh-shouldn’t be here.”

Mirah tugged uselessly on the cell’s iron door and found it tightly locked. “Hang on. We’ll get you out of there.” She turned to Kaspar hopefully. “Do you think you can pick it?”

“What?” Kaspar asked, an eyebrow arched. “You don’t believe I’m a tracker or an herbalist or even a fisherman, but when it comes to lockpicking I’m suddenly an expert?”

“Can you pick it or not?”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point,” Kaspar replied with a smirk as he knelt down and pulled a thin piece of metal seemingly from nowhere, diligently setting to work on the lock.

“What’s he doing here?” Hard and dark, the tone in Lieven’s voice took Mirah by surprise. He was still half-hidden in the shadows of the metal bars, his suspicious gaze locked on Kaspar.

“He’s a friend…” Mirah explained. “He helped me get here.”

Lieven’s shoulders jerked upward as he scoffed. “Yeah, I bet; he’s working for Aleric.”

“What are you talking about?” Mirah asked, shaking her head.

“He attacked us!” Lieven was on his feet now, trembling with fury. If he could get out of his cell, Mirah imagined he would likely not have exercised this much restraint.

By her side, Kaspar was sheepishly backing away from the door and the lock, a sickly pale color creeping onto his face. Mirah waited for him to speak, but he just let the silence settle between them. “You said you didn’t see what happened,” she said when it became clear he wouldn’t.

“I didn’t want to lie to you…,” Kaspar said quietly, reaching for her hand.

Mirah yanked away from him as she took a step back. “You killed my friends.”

Kaspar’s eyes shot up, wide with horror. “No… no, I… it’s not like that!”

For a second, she believed him. She wanted to believe him, more than anything. But she knew it was foolish. He was a liar. A thief. An assassin. She took another step back, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Lieven’s voice broke the silence.

“Mirah, run.” It was barely audible, so strong and low Mirah almost didn’t recognize it as her brother’s voice. He was staring intently at some point in the corridor behind her. “Run. Now.”

Mirah turned to follow his gaze. Shadows were shifting in the distant darkness and she heard a faint growl. Then she saw the eyes glowing back at her, at least a dozen pair. Wights. But were they normal or…? She paused to wonder what a twelve-headed wight would even look like before pulling her sword.

“What are you doing?” Lieven gaped at her, unbelieving. “You have to go. They’ll kill you. Just one bite--”

Kaspar fell in at her side, drawing his own blade. “You have no idea what your sister is capable of, do you?” he muttered.

“Pick the lock,” Mirah ordered, trying to disguise any sign of fear in her voice. “I’ll hold them off.” Kaspar faltered for only a moment before dutifully sheathing his weapon and setting to work on the lock again.

Mirah focused on the small flame dancing within the lantern in her left hand and felt its warmth pass up her arm, through her chest, and down the other side, creeping up the sharpened edge of her sword until it was as bright as a torch. She took a couple steps forward, swinging the blade so it made an impressive arc of flames, hoping to make the wights flee in fear.

They did not. Instead, a few of them came barreling toward her, forked tongues dangling from open mouths. Mirah drew an imaginary line in the sand with the tip of her sword, trying to create a wall of fire, but there was nothing for it to catch on, nothing but stone.

Before she could think of another option, the first of them came within striking distance.She slashed at its chest and blackened blood began to seep out as its ashy flesh caught fire. The creature let out an awful wail and began thrashing at the air madly before collapsing on the ground in a pile of flames.

Another took its place as quickly as the first fell. Mirah thrust her blade forward, plunging it deep into the monster’s chest. Flames latched onto the necrotic skin all around the wound, quickly spreading across its chest, to its shoulders and neck. She shoved the wight hard, pulling the sword out with a fair amount of effort.

A third and fourth wight were not far behind, but they slowed their pace at the sight of the burning corpses. Their hesitation gave Mirah enough time to build the fires flickering in front of her so they formed a decent wall. The wights weren’t discouraged for long, however; Mirah looked up to see seven more galloping forward, undeterred.

She focused, trying to exert her will over the flames; if she could make them tall enough, the wights wouldn’t be able to get over without catching fire. There was a rush of heat as the fires sputtered and burst in all directions and she had to jump back to avoid catching fire herself. A chorus of pained moans echoed off the walls of the corridor as the wights flailed wildly, trying anything to stop the flames from devouring them.

Mirah heaved a sigh of relief, exhausted with the effort of manipulating the fire. She turned to see Kaspar make one final twist with his lockpick and swing the cell door open wide. Lieven was staring at her, slack-jawed, eyes darting to her sword, then to the wights, and back to her in disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, something hard collided into Mirah’s back, knocking her flat on the ground.

She smelled the sickly odor of rotting flesh, felt claws digging into her arms, tasted blood in her mouth. Sharp teeth bit into her at the base of her neck and she let out a scream as she struggled against the weight of the thing attacking her, only vaguely aware of Lieven and Kaspar shouting and shuffling around her. There was a thud followed by a loud crack as the wight was flung off her from the side, its claws scraping along her arms, unwilling to let go.

With shaking arms, she pushed herself up. Lieven’s hand was extended in front of her. She grabbed it, pulling him into a tight hug as she got to her feet. Nearby, Kaspar was kicking the stray wight in the head again and again until it stopped moving. Lieven pulled away slightly, his hands cupping her face, and she was suddenly aware of how much taller her baby brother was.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with a slight grin, an odd glimmer in his eyes.

Mirah felt a smile creep onto her face and she cast her eyes on the floor feeling a little shy. “There are a few things you don’t know…,” she answered, wincing at the deep, throbbing pain at the back of her neck. “But there isn’t time. The sooner we leave this place the better.”

"Are you alright?" Kaspar's voice was small and tired and she had to strain to hear him over the crackling of the fires behind her. Mirah and Lieven looked over at him at the same time and he cast his gaze elsewhere with a guilty frown. "I thought I saw it bite you...."

"I'm fine," Mirah lied, Lieven's accusation still at the front of her mind. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions, a thousand and one, but she was certain she didn't actually want to hear any of the answers. Instead, she picked up her sword from the floor and pushed past Lieven, heading for the door back into the throne room.

The light sifting in from the cave entrance blinded her momentarily and she could feel the wight's poison already working on her, making her dizzy and tired. She grabbed onto the stone door for balance and together she and Kaspar pushed it shut. Mirah touched her forehead to the cool stone and closed her eyes; she would need to get back to Flora as soon as possible.

The sound of stone scraping against stone drew her attention and she turned her head, still leaning against the door, to see where the noise came from. Across the cavern, the other stone door had opened and a slender, dark-haired man stepped out. He was tall and gaunt, wrapped in fine, black robes and when his eyes landed on the three of them, his thick eyebrows jumped up in surprise.

“You must excuse me,” he said with an elegant flourish, “I wasn’t expecting guests. Of course, any friend of Lieven’s is a friend of mine.” He spoke the last words with a smug grin on his face. Aleric began a slow walk toward them across the back of the cavern. “You must be the sister. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance. Lieven told me so much about you-- after I loosened his tongue, naturally.”

Mirah opened her mouth to tell him he was an insufferable sociopath, but Lieven moved like a snake striking some dangerous predator. Before she knew what was happening, he had taken her sword from her hand and was rushing toward the sorcerer, the weapon held above his head. Suddenly, there was a loud, metallic clang as three or four strong steel chains flew out of nowhere, colliding into Lieven and sending him skittering across the stone floor, Mirah’s sword falling out of his hand a few feet away.

Mirah started toward the crumpled heap her brother made on the floor, but Kaspar caught her hand and held her back. He gave her a subtle nod and she looked toward the iron gate in the center of the back wall, which had previously been sealed with chains. The gate had fallen open and a low growl was rumbling along the walls of the cave from inside.

“Come out, Chimera,” Aleric said, almost playfully. “I’ve found some snacks for you!”

A scaly, clawed foot as big as a horse-drawn cart stepped out of the shadows, followed by another. Then, a tawny mane and a pair of golden eyes blinked lazily in the sunlight before fixating on Aleric with near-human intelligence. It was another Ligon, this time a male one, far larger than the one they had dealt with at the temple.

“Chimera?” Kaspar repeated indignantly. “Don’t you know a Ligon when you see one?” He advanced on the beast slowly but full of purpose. Mirah tried to catch his hand the way he had hers, but he just wriggled free and kept going.

Aleric squinted at him, as though unsure of what to make of this new development. Then he turned to face the Ligon. “Start with this one, Chimera.”

The Ligon obeyed without hesitation. It took one menacing step toward Kaspar, a hunger in its eyes. Kaspar reached into the supply bag still hanging at his side and withdrew a fish, offering it up to the Ligon with a strange sort of reverence. The Ligon paused, looking at the tiny fish curiously, then took it into its massive jaws and swallowed it. The beast sniffed at Kaspar’s hand.

“More?” Kaspar whispered gently. “Of course you want more. That was barely a bite for you, wasn’t it?” He slowly reached into the bag and pulled out a second fish. The Ligon disposed of it as easily as the first. When it came back sniffing for more, Kaspar reached out and started stroking its giant nose. “You’re not a chimera, are you?” he cooed. “I know. You’re a Ligon.”

Mirah and Aleric both stood in stunned silence, watching Kaspar pet the Ligon. Then with a sharp motion, Aleric waved his hand and the chains that had hit Lieven snapped to attention, flying across the room to wrap around one of Mirah’s ankles and around her arms. Mirah nearly lost her balance as he began to pull on the other ends.

She dug her heel into the stone floor, pulling the other way. She twisted around, trying to get more power behind her. Kaspar tried to make his way to her but the Ligon caught the supply bag in its great teeth and he was lifted violently into the air along with it.

Behind her, she could hear Aleric laughing. “Now this is more what I had in mind!”

The chains around her ankle and arms tightened and she began to lose her footing. Mirah closed her eyes and felt heavy fatigue settle in. When she opened them again, everything seemed dimmer. Kaspar fell to the ground in front of her, having wriggled free of the supply bag. Standing shakily, he hurried over to help her.

With both of them pulling on the chains together, Aleric began to slide across the stone floor, still refusing to let go. He redoubled his efforts; with another wave of his hand, a phantom Aleric appeared and tugged on the chain along with him.

Kaspar looked back at Mirah frantically. “Use your flames again,” he said quietly… or at least it sounded quiet and far away.

It would work. It would have to work. Mirah closed her eyes and imagined the candle again. Gentle flames flickering in the dark cave. Heat wrapped around her and she struggled to open her heavy eyes. She sent the flames crawling up the chain until they reached the hands of Aleric and phantom Aleric. The two Alerics dropped the chains immediately, looking over their singed fingers.

Mirah fell to her knees, exhaustion overtaking her. Kaspar untangled her from the chains. He placed one hand on her cheek, another on her forehead, his eyes a mess of concern. She managed an apologetic look. “The wight might have bitten me,” she whispered.

A wave of heat rushed past them and Kaspar tugged her out of the way as a huge ball of fire hurtled toward the place where they had been seconds before. Aleric was back at it again. But between the poison and the magic, Mirah was too tired to fight back.

The Ligon came near, nuzzling the two of them with its nose, sniffing for more fish. When it found none, it threw back its head and roared, the sound of it shaking Mirah to her bones. Even Kaspar went wide-eyed and pale.

But then something strange happened.

The beast turned to look at Aleric, who was loudly encouraging it to attack them. The Ligon shook its golden-brown mane with a wonderful grace, running its tongue along the outer edge of its mouth. It crossed the cave in one easy step and grabbed Aleric by his elegant black robes. By this point, Aleric was cursing loudly at the monster as he dangled from its jaws in the air high above. But the Ligon didn’t listen; instead, it began to stretch its dark, leathery wings, causing chilly gusts of wind to roll around the cave. The Ligon walked, slowly at first, then more quickly, toward the mouth of the cave, its wings flapping more with each step, until it reached the edge and set out against the pale blue sky.

Mirah missed most of this. She was too tired and her eyes were too heavy to keep awake any longer. She let them slip shut and faded into darkness.

14: Author's Note

That concludes Part One of Mirah and Kaspar's story! If you liked it, look for the second part soon. Regardless of whether you liked it or not, please feel free to leave a review!