840’s eyes had gone wide. Doran smiled. Naavah Ora was convinced the cultists used terrible magic, but from the look in his eyes Ginger had never seen much of it.
“Thank you.” Doran hoped it would pacify her. “I appreciate—where do you think you’re going?”
“Away.” She sounded hurt. His fault. “Don’t worry, thief, I’ll come back.”
Doran figured there was nothing he could do to stop her short of tackling her to the ground, and then she’d definitely never forgive him.
She disappeared in the thick dark of the forest, and Doran lay back. He could just about see the first pale stars against the pink sky.
If she needed time alone, he’d let her have it.
I’ve endured for such a long time, I can stand a little more silence. But, of course, it’s no longer all that silent. She senses me within her soul.
Chapter 16
Naavah Ora
Don’t worry, thief, I’ll come back. Why did she have to say that? She wanted to be away from him. Doran annoyed her every time he smirked like the world belonged to him.
Naavah Ora stepped through the underbrush, careful not to get her feet caught in the low branches. They couldn’t have got far. Her village was still less than a day’s travel away, if she left now…
No. She’d stay. Not because her grandmother was right—she did want to see the world and find some of their lost knowledge—but because—because—
A stray branch caught her cheek and cut her skin. She kept walking.
She’d never felt this vulnerable, but perhaps that was her grandmother’s intention. Once she inherited the clan and became their Elder, she’d need to lead everyone else in her care. She couldn’t go traipsing through the forest and complain every time a branch cut her. She had to be strong. Her people deserved better than what she was now.
She stepped into a clearing and paused. There wasn’t much space, but it would have to do.
If this went well, she shouldn’t need her staff. She closed her eyes and reached out with every one of her senses. She felt the forest, the familiar touch of the mossy ground beneath her feet, the soothing sound of the leaves rustling above her. This wasn’t her forest, but they still recognised each other.
She reached a little deeper into the fabric of the world and called the mists before her. She had never succeeded at this herself, but she’d just have to learn a little faster. As much as it pained her, she couldn’t always rely on her grandmother. Eventually, she would raise the next Suf’afir, and then she’d have no choice.
Ithrean protect me. Ithrean guide me.
The familiar sensation rose by her feet and excitement coursed through her. The thinnest sliver of mist slithered through her toes and reached up her ankles in soft swirls, answering her call. Now she just needed to stay focused.
The mists wove their way up her legs and stretched out, searching for something familiar to hold on to.
Just a little more…
Ithrean guide me. Ithrean guide me. Ithrean—
The magic was strong. All she needed to do was finish the spell and she could escape Doran and his constant nagging, if only for one night.
She gave as much of herself to the magic as possible, felt the gateway to the spirit realm strengthen and manifest entirely. This was it. The portal was right there, in front of her, begging her to come home.
Naavah Ora opened her eyes—
And the gateway collapsed under the pressure of the world.
She was the only Suf’afir who was able to move inside the spirit realm. Her grandmother could open the portal within seconds. What had taken her minutes only to fail should have come much easier to her.
Perhaps if she practised a little every night, away from Doran and 840…
It shouldn’t have been this hard for her. She had felt the mists build, had felt the gateway to Dunhă tighten, only for her fickle attempt to collapse. Perhaps it was best she didn’t use it. Her hardest try was still unstable.
Deflated, she turned around and started back to the small camp they’d set.
The air around her changed.
Something wasn’t right. She felt the portal behind her, but—
She turned on the spot, just in time to see three corrupted spirits—their swords raised and eyes cold with malice—step through the portal she thought she’d failed to open.
And the more I wake, the more I hear their cries for help.
Chapter 17
840
840 warmed himself by the fire Naavah Ora had lit. The sun disappeared behind the trees, and there was a chill—like he was being watched, but not by someone dangerous. They’d disturbed the gentle peace of this forest; if he concentrated, he saw the glint in the eyes of a critter in the shrubs around them. It felt odd, but also freeing to know the only eyes on him belonged to rabbits.
And Doran, who sat across from him.
“How are you feeling?” Doran asked. He looked rough, like a man who’d spent most of his life on the road, but he didn’t look mean. Strangest of all, he looked concerned. 840 had expected that least of all.
He stayed quiet but nodded. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Why today? Doran and Naavah Ora already thought he was in the way. Why did he have to faint, of all things? Why couldn’t he just have blushed?
You’re from Hjeva, aren’t you? That one question had spiralled his mind out of control. His thoughts had reached deeper than they’d done in years, deeper than he’d ever allowed them to go.
Only a couple of days ago, this would have been unthinkable. The elders would have bled him for hours if he’d passed out in the village—they wouldn’t have held and comforted him.
The name still tasted strange on his tongue. Hjeva. Hjeva. Hje. Va. He remembered it, but with it came other memories that vied for his attention. He wasn’t ready to face them.
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I haven’t met many Hjevans, but the few I’ve spoken to couldn’t talk enough about their home.”
Again, 840 nodded. When he leaned back and looked up at the stars, he could almost remember his home country. The incredible sight of the sorcerer’s lights overhead, dying the sky a hundred different vibrant colours. He hadn’t seen anything as magical since his parents had come to Vaska.
The small village community was comforting and welcoming at first, but he had soon learned they were nothing like his small home on the cliffs, overlooking the ocean and filled with sea air.
His mother had often taken him to the beach below to collect rocks. Small, beautiful shapes with extraordinary colours. She’d said time and corrosion had given them their shapes and vibrancy. He used to have several jars and glasses full of them. To think he’d once been so proud of something so stupid…
He would give anything to see those jars and glasses again, to empty their contents out before him and remember every single time they’d found each stone. The thought hurt. He shouldn’t want to remember it, but he did. Desperately.
They had used to watch the stars like this, too. Just him and his parents. His father had never been home much, because he had fished for money. His mother had stayed at home and had taught him to read, numbers, and manners.