For four days bodies were burned, and funerals administered. Only one person in camp tried to hide she’d been bitten but it only increased the tears and cries and heartache when they had to end her.
Layala didn’t know any of the elves here, but their pain was palpable. It permeated the air, and after listening to some of the speeches, especially a young father who had to burn the bodies of his wife and three-year-old daughter on a funeral pyre, tears flowed in a steady stream down her cheeks. She’d never seen a grown male fall to his knees and sob like that. Never seen so many people sad at one time. The father repeated, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you,” until Layala couldn’t take it anymore. Thane put an arm around her waist and hugged her to his side and they walked away. When she looked up, tears glistened in his green eyes, but he blinked them away.
“Let’s go.”
Layala’s throat was too constricted to respond so she nodded. How could she ever walk away from the elves of Palenor now? If she could do something to help, if she could indeed destroy the Void, she had to try. She wrapped her hand around the willow necklace at her chest for comfort.
“I think now is a good time to meet with the elf I told you about. She might be of great help to us.”
They walked away from the burned section of the city. “Who?” Some piles of debris still smoked, if only lightly. A child reached under a half-charred door and pulled out a stuffed pony that miraculously didn’t have a single mark. He held it tightly to his chest with a smile.
Within minutes the air chilled significantly. Dark clouds rolled in overhead. A summer storm brewed with low rumbling thunder. It smelled of a coming rain.
“There’s an old mage tower here. It’s a thousand years old at least. Thankfully it wasn’t destroyed. She’s the keeper.” Thane looked up. “And we better hurry or we’ll be soaked.”
“How far is this mage tower?”
“Far enough that you’ll have time to answer some of my questions.”
“Questions?”
He pulled a lazy smile. “Yes. What is your favorite color?”
His eyes captivated her for a moment, and she blurted out, “Green.” Although her favorite color had always been purple. “And purple. I like purple.”
“Green and purple. For some reason I pegged you for a blue kind of girl.”
Cheeks warming, she cleared her throat. “Let me guess, your favorite color is blue?”
“Black.”
“Black?” Layala chuckled. “Nobody’s favorite color is black.”
“Mine is. I look good in it.”
“Touché,” Layala said. “But I don’t think you could guess much about me.”
“No?” he smirked. “I think I could.”
“Then what is my favorite animal?”
“A horse.”
“That was too easy.” She tapped a finger against her lips. “What do I prefer to eat for breakfast?”
“Scrambled eggs and fried potatoes.”
Layala’s mouth dropped. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve watched you eat.”
“And you’re so perceptive of everything I do?”
“Not everything.” He licked his lips. “I don’t know how you feel about me anymore. But if I had to venture a guess, I think you want to kiss me again. You just don’t want to admit it.” A sly smile followed his remark.
“Your ego knows no bounds.”
“You liked it when I kissed you.”
“Was it the slap in the face that told you that?”
He laughed. “I think it was the way you wrapped your arms around me and kissed me back. Or maybe it was when your tongue slid in my mouth that gave it away.”
She thought back to that kiss. It was days ago but she still felt the fire of it. The burn of it still smoldered in her. “That was a mistake on my part.”
“You should make that mistake more often.”
A raindrop hit her cheek, then another. She stopped to look up and in seconds a downpour hit. The heavy rain pounded, drowning out the sound of the city around them. Water cascaded in tiny rivers down Thane’s beautiful face. They both should have been moving, trying to get out of the storm but let it pelt them. As if it could cleanse away the wickedness of what befell the city and the monsters they fought to save it. Thane tilted his face toward the sky, his eyes closed.
“We should get out of the rain,” she finally said after they stood there until their clothes were soaked through.
“We should.” He started off at a jog, through the street that was very quickly flooding with small streams of muddy and blackened water. They raced past houses and buildings of various kinds. Save for a few soldiers, the roads were empty. Splashing through puddles Layala let out a burst of laughter when Thane slipped, wobbled, arms flailing around wildly and finally steadied himself.
“You think that’s funny?”
All the sadness from the day seemed to go down with the water. “Yes.” Then she slipped in the same spot and waved her arms to try to get her balance but fell into Thane’s chest. He caught her under her arms. She pushed herself upright and then lifted her eyes to find him staring down at her.
After several long beats, he said, “Will you ever forgive me?”
She blinked away the rainwater collecting on her lashes. “Forgive you for what?”
“For taking you from Briar Hollow. For forcing you to come with me.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I am sorry. I should have told you everything from the start. But I—I was scared.”
He was scared? Thane Athayel? The Warrior King… “I wouldn’t have listened. And I have already forgiven you.” She replied, repeating what he once said to her.
Slowly he angled his mouth toward hers, and this time she didn’t try to pull away. She didn’t want to. She craved the feeling he gave her even though she fought it as much as she desired it. When his breath swept over her lips, he pulled back. “We should hurry. She’ll be waiting.” When he turned and ran, her heart crashed against her ribs like a fist trying to break free. Why had he pulled away?
A white-washed gray spiraling tower overgrown with vines and weeds, and missing a few bricks, came into view at the edge of Doonafell. They passed under a stone archway and pushed through overgrown grass to get to the wooden door. Thane pulled the latch and shoved his shoulder into the door. It slowly groaned open.
Candles lit above from the hanging chandelier, flaming torches lined the walls. A stone stairwell was to the left but the room they stood in now had one large table with ten place settings and ten chairs. Walls lined with shelves, some held books, others, scrolls stacked within the cubbies. It smelled of old paper and dust, although the place was kept immaculately clean.
“Does she live here?” Layala asked and stepped forward. “It seems rude to barge in.”
“She does but she won’t mind.”
“Greetings,” a soothing voice called, emerging from the stairwell. “And it’s not rude if it’s the High King and his mate barging. For I should think they can very well barge wherever they’d like.”
How did she know who she was? Her light lavender eyes seemed to observe much more than what could be seen when she stepped into the room.
“Atarah, this is Layala Lightbringer.”
She dipped at the waist. “I know, quite a famous name now. I could sense her power. Very distinct in nature. A little unruly, wants to protect its master,” she straightened, and arched her sleek dark eyebrow. “Compatible with,” she bowed again to Thane. “Your highnesses’ magic. Which isn’t always the case, mind you. Sometimes the magic within another is repelling.” She gestured to the table. “Not every mage to ever sit here enjoyed each other’s company.”
Curious, Layala walked around the shiny black table and stopped at the high-backed chair with snakes and lilies carved into the wood. It was cruelly beautiful. Thunder boomed loudly outside, adding to the dark aesthetic of the place. “Were there many mages here at one time?”
“Oh yes,” Atarah said. “I sat at this very table with some of the greatest mages of all time. Roelan Cross, Quntius Corvus, Brizelyn Stormfront.” She stared at the chair Layala stood beside. “Zaurahel Everhath.”
“And you are a mage?” She didn’t recognize any of those names, though she thought perhaps she should. In her stubbornness to hide her magic she didn’t learn about it or any other mages besides the terror the Black Mage caused. But everyone knew about how he tried to take over the entire continent of Adalon with his wars.
“I was once. Now I am but a keeper of this tower.”
“Once?” Layala asked. Had she lost her magic? Was there a way to lose it?
She waved her hand, nearly covered in her draping silver robe trimmed in pale pink. Her warm brown skin was beautiful against strawberry blonde hair. “Let us sit and talk.” Layala pulled at the snake chair and Atarah blurted out frantically, “Sit anywhere but there.”
Layala jerked her hands back as if those snakes could bite, and looked to Thane. His face was grim when he gestured to the seat next to him. “No one sits there anymore.”
As she sat beside Thane and across from Atarah, she wondered who that seat belonged to. Someone revered or despised, although she leaned toward the latter.
“I apologize I didn’t mean to frighten you. That was where Zaurahel sat. The most powerful mage in history.”
“The Black Mage,” Thane clarified.
Dear Maker, she almost sat in his chair. Her skin crawled looking at it now, as if she was tainted for touching it. “Why not burn it then?”
Atarah lifted a shoulder. “I’ve tried. And I’ve tried hiding it in closets, and throwing it outside. It returns.”
That said all Layala needed to know about the matter. “You knew him. Were you friends with him?” She didn’t mean to sound accusatory, but her tone was a little sharp.
Atarah lowered her chin and tapped her fingers on the dark tabletop. “I was. He wasn’t always the Black Mage, you know. But power corrupts and truly, he had power. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen and we praised him for it, like he was one of the old gods, or the Maker himself.”
“I know he was able to create spells but what else?”
“What more need there be?” Atarah’s eyes widened, making Layala feel like she asked a stupid question. “He created rune magic and it was limitless. If he could think it, he could do it. All he needed was to create a rune to hold the spell.”
Limitless. Suddenly her magic, though strong, felt inadequate. The praise she received wasn’t deserved. “And you could use those spells too?”
“Many elves could then. A thousand years ago there was at least one mage per family, oftentimes entire bloodlines held the power.” She slowly pushed her finger around the rim of a crystal glass. “And elves fell prey to the seduction of it. See Zaurahel could make it so that any elf could get their wish. But with a price and at first it was for money and precious things but after some years he changed, and the price often claimed your soul and it belonged to him. Elves willingly made those bargains, and the pale ones were created. Even after elves knew what the cost was, they’d still risk it, until we were all punished, and our magic was taken from us by the Maker. Mages stopped being born. Elves took sides, wars started. Humans abandoned us. Dwarves hid in the mountains. Dragon shifters stayed in their beast form.”
Layala looked at Thane. “Mage Vesstan said he didn’t know the consequences when he bound us together. It seems everyone knew.” She should have known.
Thane pursed his lips. “He knew. He just thought there wouldn’t be a problem with us fulfilling it.”
Layala pursed her lips. It’s not as if it mattered now. The deed was done and calling Vesstan a liar wouldn’t change anything. “How can elves be bound to the Black Mage if he is dead?”
After bringing that crystal glass to her mouth for a sip, she answered, “The Void is him. He is the Void. He is not truly gone until it is. Somehow, he tethered himself to the land. And the more pale ones there are, the larger it grows. It’s why they are drawn there.”
“But there must be a piece of him within the Void that is connected. Where is his body buried?”
Thane answered this time, “All accounts say it was burned. And we’ve tried burning the land, but it won’t catch flame. No one who enters the Void ever comes back without being turned so if there is a piece of him there, we don’t know of its existence.”
The candles in the center of the table flickered as if a gust of wind swept through but she didn’t feel a breeze. A chill ran down her spine like something caressed her skin. Was there someone else here? She peeked over her shoulder but found nothing but the books on the shelf. “What if we captured Mathekis? We could get the information from him. If he wants to use me to bring back the Black Mage, then he must know how to destroy him.”
“Don’t think we haven’t tried,” Thane leaned forward and rested his forearms against the table. “But there is only one being in Adalon I have never wanted to face and that is Mathekis.”
Bobbing her head Atarah added, “Mathekis was once called Eldan Avarahim. And he once sat at this very table. He still has some of his power, and its nature is persuasion. His words to many are like bees drawn to flowers. When he commands, most cannot help but follow. He is the most dangerous person in Adalon even if his abilities aren’t as strong as they once were.” Atarah turned slightly and shouted, “Finnegan Thistle! Get down here with that wine!” Then she faced Thane and Layala again. “My apologies for shouting. My gnome servant is old and slow. Anyway, where were we… Ah yes, we were called the Ten Mages of Magnavallis. For many years kings, queens, lords, and people of all manner would seek our council. We kept the peace between races. Even the ogres and trolls caused no trouble.” She took a deep breath. “Until Zaurahel started demanding more than gold or jewels as payment for his magic. He wanted more power. He wanted an army. I opposed him as did six others of the Ten. Mathekis chose his side.”
What seemed like a long pause passed. Layala thought she wouldn’t continue but she went on, “He betrayed us. He poisoned those who didn’t choose his side. Disguised it as a toast to make amends. The only reason I’m still alive is because I didn’t drink the wine that night. I pretended to take a sip. I knew something was wrong. After that my magic slowly faded away over a few hundred years as did everyone else’s. A few were born after the war: Vesstan, a female named Inara but she’s dead, and as you know Vesstan hasn’t much magic left. Then you two were born. It is not a coincidence you are together now.” The mage lifted her eyes finally to meet Layala’s. “Tenebris may have bound you two together with his own selfish motivations but in the end, I think you two will save us because of it.”
“Why do they change their names?”
“Zaurahel always wore a black robe, and he had black lilies tattooed on his forearms.”
Layala’s insides cramped at the realization of the connection. A cold sweat broke out over her skin. She was born marked with black lilies. The very nature of her magic was so relatable to the Black Mage’s chair that it now felt encroaching as she stared at it. The serpents resembled her vines, her dark purple lilies uncanny in relation to the carvings.
“He said the poisonous flower that only bloomed at night represented him best. It was quite stark against his light skin. People started calling him the Black Mage. He didn’t call himself that. And once Eldan changed into a pale one, he changed his name. Mathekis is fitting for what he has become. It means ‘from shadow’.”
Layala shivered again, finding it hard to look away from that haunting chair. Did it mean something that she’d been drawn to it? Overwhelming anxiety whirled through her, and she nearly jumped up from the table to escape, when Thane placed a gentle hand on her knee. She whipped her head around to face him and a reassuring smile tugged on his beautiful mouth. He didn’t say anything but the warmness in his eyes was enough to calm her nerves.
A further distraction entered: a gnome rounder and taller than Tifapine, hobbled into the room carrying a bottle of wine on his shoulder. His white beard nearly touched the floor, and his brown trousers had patches of polka dot and stripes on them just like Tif’s. Layala asked once if she wanted new attire, but it turned out that patches were the fashion for gnomes, as were holes in boots. He grunted when he shoved the bottle into Atarah’s hand. He grunted again when he climbed up on a chair and then onto the table. After he took the wine back from Atarah and pulled the cork, he hobbled over to pour the white liquid into Layala’s glass.
“Thank you,” she said when it was full.
He glared, mumbled something under his breath and poured a glassful for Thane. After setting the bottle down rather loudly and shuffling his boots across the tabletop, he slid off out of sight.
“He pretends to hate everyone, but I’ve tried to evict him. He refuses to leave so I said if he was going to stay, he’d have to work. I think he secretly enjoys dusting.”
“At least you have company,” Thane said with a half smile.
Layala took a few gulps of wine trying to work up the courage to ask if she knew of a way to break the Black Mage’s spells. She knew if she asked it would ruin much of the progress that she and Thane had made. It would mean that she still planned to break from him even if they’d become friends.
Thane and Atarah talked about the battle for a while. The gruesome details made her skin crawl, but she listened quietly. Thane explained the nature of Layala’s magic and Atarah only nodded. Atarah didn’t show any signs of shock or approval. Layala supposed it was because Atarah had seen a lot of mages in her lifetime, but she wondered why neither of them saw the connection she did to the Black Mage. Or perhaps they did but didn’t dare speak it aloud.
When some time passed Thane turned to Layala. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Is there something on your mind?” Atarah asked, eyes twinkling as if she already knew the answer.
She gently chewed on her lip. Layala had much on her mind but most pressing, “Um, I was going to ask…” she hesitated. “Is there a way to break a spell by the Black Mage?” She kept her gaze pinned on Atarah to avoid seeing Thane’s reaction. She tried to block any feelings that might come from him through their bond too.
Unlike Vesstan, she didn’t stare at her in pity or condemnation. Maybe she didn’t understand why she asked the question. “The only person to ever break a rune spell was the dragon shifter Varlett. A sorceress. She worked with Zaurahel and was duty bound to him. A rune mark branded her forehead. She is one of the most vile people I’ve ever known. She released herself from his hold somehow.”
“And no one has any idea how or why?”
Atarah finished off her glass of wine. “Your guess is as good as mine. She’s clever and cunning.”
This was the same person that Mage Vesstan spoke of, and seemingly the only one alive with any answers. “And she’s in the Sederac Mountains?” Layala asked.
“Can she be trusted?” Thane interrupted.
“Yes she is, and certainly not.” Atarah’s eyes moved back and forth between the two of them. “As I said, she’s one of the vilest people I’ve ever met. She drank the blood of elven babies from a hideous gaudy goblet. I faced her in battle once.” She tugged down her collar to reveal a thick red scar from the side of her neck, down across her collarbone until it disappeared under her robes. “Left me with this. Her claws are infused with poison. After four hundred years it hasn’t fully healed.”
Layala sank further into her chair. The one woman with answers was likely the last person Layala wanted to meet. “Why did she break from the Black Mage?”
“I have not the faintest idea. Everyone else who took his side has always been extremely loyal. But even if she is not loyal to his memory anymore, she is as evil as he was.”
“Is there another way?” Layala asked.
“Why do you ask?” Layala stayed silent long enough that Atarah answered anyway. “There is the All Seeing Stone. It would be able to give you the answer but might be even more dangerous than Varlett.”
Thane and Layala exchanged a glance. Thane said, “That’s rumored to be near here.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Where the Void and Palenor meet in the tomb of the one who killed the Black Mage. Many have sought it of course but none have succeeded.” She glanced toward a window. “Oh look. The rain has stopped.”
Thane stood and the chair scraped loudly against the floor as it pushed back. “Thank you for the wine and conversation. We must go. There is much to do.”
“After your mate bond is settled and the risk associated with it is gone, come back and we’ll work on a plan to finish off Zaurahel and the mess he made for good.” Atarah walked them to the door. “I have kept faith through all these years that someday, somehow, it could all end.”
Layala shook her hand. “Thank you for having us. It was wonderful to meet you, Atarah.”
“You as well, Layala.” She gave her a knowing look. “Fear is the enemy of hope. And you will need hope for what lies ahead.”
