Authors: Chris Michaels,Reema Farra
Bound (7 page)
A Wolf is part of the pack; forever, till death
– Grey Wolves’ Handbook
CHAPTER SIX
M
ajick
?
Marissa Cabbot lay against the wall of the underground labyrinth and chewed on the word.
Was I just in a magician’s duel?
A lump formed in her throat.
Did I lose my first fight?
Fear chased through her mind for the first time in years, probing her defenses.
Don’t let Fear conquer. You are stronger. Remember your training, she told herself. Daddies Love Silly Cakes.
Fear is the Prey.
A mountain lion sprouted in her mind, fierce and snarling with hackles raised. No other scenery – only the paralyzing void of a disciplined mind and the Fear she must control. The feline moved forward. She countered left. The two circled each other, dagger and teeth bared.
Daddies. D. Distract.
By force of will, Cabbot turned the black in her mind’s eye to bright day. The feline blinked, blinded and out of its element.
Love. L. Lure.
A staff appeared in her hand. She struck the beast on its left side. Agitated, the lion lunged at her, but she dodged, swapping places with the animal. Now, a cliff face appeared behind the feline; Fear was trapped.
Silly . . . Support.
A pack of wolves crept in behind Cabbot, forming a semi-circle around the mountain lion.
Slowly, she and the wolves tightened the noose. Panic welled in the felines eyes. Saliva dripped from its fangs.
Cakes
, she thought smugly.
Capture
.
The wolves attacked. A flurry of howls and roars. Blood and fur splattered everywhere. When the chaos died, she was in control. Fear dead.
Wolves never show mercy.
A smile touched her lips. In the real world, the sounds of the Ilsan army smashing through the ice-wall grew louder.
But here she lay with just enough time. A new landscape formed. An overcast autumn morning arose over Glass Lake. A refreshing breeze blew across the Floating Village and caressed fifteen-year-old Marissa Cabbot’s cheek. She inhaled the sweet mountain air. Tyren air. Overhead lake wrens called and robins chirped, alive in the heart of mating season – the heat of midsummer. This was eleven years ago.
The Village of Glass Waters floated atop Glass Lake, one of the most treasured Ilsan conquests. A score of stepway-bridges connected dozens of floating shops, parks, theaters, and houses. Beyond the shores of Glass Lake were the estates of the Ilsan elite. In the here-and-now, all those place had been claimed by war, but in Marissa’s memory, everything was exactly as she left it.
Her fingers twitched. She was alone. She stepped forward, anxiously looking around.
He was almost here.
Marissa darted behind the hedgerow and dropped to her hands and knees. She crawled behind the shrubs, out of sight from the main road, tearing her lavish, red silk dress. Her manicured hands sank in the mud. Father would be furious, but that only made it more exciting. More dangerous. Marissa was good at dangerous. This time
she
would win.
A hollywilde tree stood at the end of the row, just to the side of the dirt road. Its autumn bloom of white and red spotted flowers stood out against the green, velvety leaves. She rose in the shadow of the tree and held herself still. He would pass soon.
Time stretched. Her muscles grew tired. In a single moment of weakness, she peered around the trunk.
He did say he would come today . . . right?
As soon as she stuck her head around the tree, someone tapped her shoulder. “Gotcha.”
She spun, heart thumping.
Bryan grinned. “I told you, I never lose.”
Cabbot gulped in Bryan’s handsome features and delved deeper into Marissa’s memory for every detail about him. Bryan wore a black blazer with his family’s crest emblazoned on the chest. Starched. Creased. Perfect. The academy uniform reserved for the best and brightest nobles. Meticulously trimmed hair. Eyes shining blue; filled with fire and ambition. Cabbot hated how much she loved him, yet she didn’t stop the memory.
Marissa’s fingers danced around the silver insignia emblazoned on his jacket: a cobra flanked by two black spears. It reminded her that he was not only strong and ambitious. He was a Santari.
She smiled. “I almost had you this time.”
“Keep trying.” He drew her close, so that nothing stood between them; not tradition or fear or secret lives. No politics. No schemes. “I always get what I want.”
She snuggled in his embrace. Her face flushed. His kiss . . . warm . . . soft . . .
Suddenly, Cabbot’s body trembled. Back in the labyrinth, an explosion rattled the catacomb.
“Successful breach,” one officer shouted. “Executing objective 1713.”
Objective 1713. The traitor. The girl. The Grey Wolves must have broken through the ice-wall.
It was only a matter of time before they captured the fugitives and Cabbot wouldn’t get any credit. Worse than that, her unit would see her huddled in a puddle of weakness. Asleep, the prey within striking distance.
I won’t let that happen!
Her eyes snapped open.
I’m smarter, better, and stronger. I
will
make the kill.
She tried to stand. Pain rocked her body head to toe. Fire ignited her nerves. She collapsed onto her hands and knees.
Not good enough, Cabbot. Get Up!
The commotion of soldiers drowned out everything else.
You are Cabbot. The best. Now, get up!
“Secure the location,” one soldier commanded.
“Find the girl. Kill the traitor,” another bellowed.
Damn it. GET UP!
The commotion ceased. No one spoke. Cabbot clenched her fist.
“Radio the Pack. Securing objective.”
Cabbot recognized this voice. Madigan, her commanding officer. His voice echoed powerfully in the chamber, though he only whispered.
“Fugitives have escaped. They’ve used majick,” Madigan was angry.
Escaped? The witch got away!
“Cabbot. What the hell happened?”
The pain was intense, but it was the shame kept her on her hands and knees.
Madigan spat, “Cabbot, I’m speaking to you!”
She spoke to the ground. “I don’t know, sir.” Her voice felt scratchy and unfamiliar. She raised her head a little and saw boots. A dozen or so soldiers stood behind him. “Some kind of majick. I don’t know.”
She loathed her shaking voice.
The commander squatted. “More majick than the ice-wall?” His voice was quieter now, tinged with concern. “Look at me Cabbot.”
She raised her head.
The soldiers behind the commander stepped back, revulsion plastered their faces. Not one looked her in the eye. No one except Madigan.
“What?” she asked.
Madigan bellowed, “Out. Now!”
The soldiers rushed away, leaving them alone.
“Did the girl touch you?” He spoke as a friend.
“Yes, for a second. Why are you looking at me like that?”
He looked away and fidgeted with the ring on his right hand. Cabbot prided herself on reading people. She read fear, agitation, concern and—
“Pity? Sir.”
He pulled a dagger from his belt. “Look at yourself in my blade.”
He hadn’t ordered her, exactly. Cabbot didn’t understand, but she took hold of the dagger and saw her reflection. A single word fell from her mouth. “No.”
The face in the reflection was not hers. Black orbs replace brown eyes. She pulled off her helmet. Clumps of hair fell out, leaving two ratty, grey wisps. Red and black lines chased each other around her cheeks like spider webs. A few of the marks had cracked, spilling blood.
No.
She had been touched by majick.
No!
Cursed.
Madigan helped her up. “The worst I’ve ever seen.”
She fought back sickening revulsion.
“This is more than a charm or Treatus Spell,” said Madigan. “This is powerful sorcery.”
She’d been contaminated. Ilsans never had anything to do with majick.
Any
sort of majick.
Madigan pressed his blade to her throat, before she had time to react, pinning her against the wall. Most people wouldn’t have seen the uncertainty in his eyes, but it burned clearly for her.
“Andrew? It’s me.”
“You know the law, Mar–” He choked on her name. “Cabbot. We are Grey Wolves, hunters and destroyers of majick – at least until this damn war started. You spent years hunting magicians and sorcerers before the war.”
He was the only person she wouldn’t strike for using her first name. It hurt that he couldn’t now. “I didn’t use majick!”
“You’ve been touched by sorcery, scarred by majick. Unforgivable.”
His hand twitched.
“You’re going to kill me, Andrew Madigan? After all we’ve been through?” Cabbot found her own dagger. She assessed the situation, unsure she could overpower him in her state.
A moment. Two.
“No. We are both Grey Wolves.” He sheathed the knife. “I’m going to close my eyes.”
“What if I can fix this?” she asked.
“If we meet out there . . . ”
“I’ll fight back.”
After a moment, he asked, “Where will you go?”
“Majick did this to me,” she replied. “I will go to Valin City.”
There goes a story from times old and old
Of a Silver Girl and her travels many
A girl of fifteen
A girl misplaced in time
A girl without a memory in her mind
– Chronicle of the Silver Girl
Prelude: Wondering Child
CHAPTER SEVEN
D
irty, freezing saltwater sprayed Hannah’s face pasting her tangled, matted hair to her forehead. She couldn’t believe she was on a slave barge.
When she was eight, her masters at Camp Thane granted the slaves a three day holiday. She had been so excited to have free time she immediately set out to explore. Hannah wandered into Melor Castle and discovered the Hall of Kings, a quiet spot that become her refuge. It wasn’t until she crept back to the slaves’ quarters after the first day that she learned soldiers had spotted her. The commandant was so furious, he put her in solitary for a month. Worse than that, the holiday was canceled for everyone and her mother’s workload doubled.
Hannah had a knack for turning good things into terrible things.
Just like now.
The barge rocked in the canal, tossing her breakfast in her stomach. She doubled over the side. Stomach lurched. Throat burning. Her last meal churned in the canal.
“Disgusting,” said a woman beside her.
“Awesome!” whispered a boy.
“Give the wench some room,” boomed a sentry, “and keep quiet.”
Hannah stilled herself, head over the ledge in case she wasn’t done being sick. The voices died at the man’s insistence. Another moment passed as she stared into the muddy water, then Hannah raised her head and turned toward the others.
Slaves
. She was angry with Broken Nose. Angry with herself.
I’m a slave again.
Hatred wasn’t all she felt. She felt
foreign
emotions. She’d always been able to sense what others were feeling – had the ability to read past words and masks. She’d even caught snatches of Jason’s emotion, though he’d always kept his feelings in check. But something had changed when Travis made her use majick in the labyrinth. “Sense” was no longer the right word. Now Hannah
lived
the emotions of those around her.
These people were full of battling emotions. Anxiety, depression and hopelessness riddled the half-dozen slaves. All their passions and fears jumbled together and stabbed Hannah’s raw mind, threatening to tear it apart. As the sun set, desperation darkened her heart.
Then, one emotion rose above the rest.
Mischief.
A girl in her early teens sat near Hannah’s feet. Her hip-length hair, the color of frost, had a metallic streak running through it. Her brown eyes burned intensely, focused on a pendant in her palm.