Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (30 page)

“I killed all of them,” Kira whispers in a meek voice. She puts her legs across the half-elf’s lap to pull herself even closer. “I . . . I snapped Asher’s neck and threw him off the wall. I broke my father to the point where he couldn’t defend himself. The rest died because of my connection to you. I’m the only Grasdon left and it’s all my fault.”

“It sounds more like it’s my fault,” Luke tells her, stroking his fiancée’s ebony hair and putting his other arm around her. “If I kept ignoring you at the academy or called it off when I graduated or ended things when I met Sari then this wouldn’t have happened. Stephen is a sadistic monster who did this to hurt me and he accomplished that. I’m not sure what to do about us.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“More than Sari?”

Luke hesitates and looks away, cringing at the feel of her nails stabbing his chest again. He carries the young woman to the neatly made bed, concerned about how limp she feels in his arms. When he lays her down, he slips out of his shirt and escapes her grasp to examine the crescent-shaped marks all over his skin. Kira hugs the shirt to her chest, but holds it out when she feels it stick to her neck. She sees the bloody marks left by her piercing his flesh and throws the garment into the corner.

“I’m sorry about that,” she whispers while she watches Luke pace in front of the bed. “I shouldn’t have hurt you.”

“About Sari.”

With a sudden surge of energy, Kira leaps off the bed and tightly claps her hand around his mouth. “Please don’t say anything. It was wrong of me to bring her up. You blame yourself for all of this even though it isn’t your fault. I’m filled with grief over killing my brother, attacking my father, and losing everyone. Yet I have enough of my wits to know that we shouldn’t talk about our future. No good decision could be made like this.”

“What are you going to do?” Luke asks, removing her clammy hand from his face. He kisses her palm and pulls her into a hug, his sound sight focusing on her stuttering heartbeat. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“I said I wasn’t going to make any decisions,” the heiress mutters in a voice that is both amused and angry. She puts her head on his bare shoulder, her fingers trailing along his pink scar. “There’s really only one thing for me to do. I need to bury my family, study my father’s ledgers, and take over the business. Most of our partners will understand that we’ll be quiet for a while. Those that don’t will be handled when I’m better or by a surrogate of my choosing to run the business in my place. That’s the plan we’ve always had in place in case something happened to my father and I’m going to abide by it.”

“Let me do it.”

“You have to go with your friends.”

“I can stay with you.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I can stay with you and return to them when you’re ready.”

“Don’t lie to me, Callindor!”

Kira shoves Luke away and slaps him across the face with enough force to split his bottom lip. Immediately regretting her actions, she puts her hands on his cheeks and kisses him even though she can taste his blood in her mouth. The force becomes greater as she lets the sliver of happiness wash over her. Forcing the half-elf back, Kira pins him against the wall and grabs his wrists to stop him from pushing her away. Her head swims after a few minutes, so she breaks the kiss, but keeps Luke cornered.

“I’m sorry for all of that,” she gasps as she wraps her arms around the warrior’s neck. “I got angry and then I feared I would drive you away. You’re all that I have left, Luke, and I’m not allowed to hold onto you when I really need you. I can’t be selfish when you have a greater purpose.”

“Sari will understand,” Luke emphatically insists. He strokes her cheek and gives her a quick kiss on the lips. “Although, Stephen might come for me if he learns I’m on my own. I would put you in danger again.”

“You’re a champion and I’m the head of a merchant house. For now, we’re not able to grant what the other wants,” Kira says, her knees giving out as the adrenaline leaves her body. The half-elf slides down to the floor with her, which lets the young woman straddle him. “How long until you leave with your friends?”

“Once Delvin and Dariana are able to travel. I can convince them to give us a day.”

“Thank you.”

“I do love you, Kira.”

“I love you too,” the heiress replies, holding him tighter at the sound of Eileen opening the door. “That’s why this hurts so much.”

16

Sari is sprawled on the floor of the tent, her hair and limbs splayed as she pants like an overheated dog. Her clothes are soaked with water that she pours over herself every fifteen minutes, the orb of liquid hovering over her face. She opens her mouth and whimpers while a few precious drops fall on her swollen tongue. The warm water makes her moan in despair, so she reaches her hand into the orb to cool it with an ice spell. Turning her head, she can see Timoran sitting in the shaded corner. With a weak flick of her hand Sari sends a spurt of cold water at the sweaty barbarian. He shakes and shivers from the sudden chill, but nods his head in thanks to his exhausted friend.

“She’s being a little dramatic, isn’t she?” Misrae asks from the table. A snowball strikes him in the side of the head and he yelps in surprise. “By every god of fire and heat, that is a horrible sensation! Is that how a guest thanks her host?”

“Sari is part ocean fairy, so the desert doesn’t agree with her,” Nyx says while she scratches her back with the scepter. She puts the holy relic in her lap when she sees the look of horror on Sharne’s face. “I’m sorry, but I’m not able to break contact with this thing. Ever notice that when you have even one of your hands stuck with something, parts of your body itch that you need that hand to get to? Then again it could be the uncomfortable feeling I’ve had ever since I picked this thing up.”

“I think I see my family waving to me,” Sari blurts out in a dreamy voice. “Should I go to them?”

“You’re not dying!” the Tribe King snaps, tossing a pillow at the gypsy. “The moment we find an oasis, I’m tossing her into the water.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, my benevolent and handsome host.”

“Can I hold the scepter?” Sharne asks, reaching out for the relic. “I want to see what happens if you release it. I promise to hand it back at the first sign of trouble.”

Nyx gingerly hands the scepter to the holy woman, but refuses to let go when she is struck by a panic attack. Strange noises whisper in her mind, some of them faint voices and others distant shrieks. Gripping her necklace to calm down, the caster releases the scepter and is knocked on her back by a bolt of hazy energy. Sharne is dragged along the floor by the thrashing object, her body shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. Bolts of fiery lightning lance out in every direction, sending everyone scrambling for cover as they punch holes in the tent. One blast streaks for Misrae, who is saved by Timoran deflecting the spell through the roof with his great axe. Nyx tackles Sharne and gets her hand on the holy item, causing the explosions to stop immediately.

“Thank you, my friend,” Misrae says while gently smacking the barbarian’s shoulder. “I should leave to calm our people and get some air. Please don’t do that again, dear Palqua.”

“I promise not to touch it,” the startled woman swears, taking a seat on a pile of pillows. She is surprised when Sari crawls out from under her, the gypsy returning to her dramatic pose on the rugs. “It appears that the monster inside has bonded with Nyx. At the very least, it wishes for her to hold onto the scepter. Has it said anything to you? I hear a voice from within the ruby whenever I sleep, but it is never clear.”

“Nothing even when I sleep,” Nyx admits, putting the scepter in her bottomless pouch. With a fiery flash, it appears back in her hand and she gets the sense that the beast within is glaring at her. “There was a specter who visited me and talked about how my bloodline is connected to Helgard. So maybe it has to do with me being the champion destined to cleanse and revive the temple.”

An oddly human growl comes from the scepter and its end coils around Nyx’s wrist. She gets her other hand up in time to catch the relic as it swings for her head. Dropping to her knees, the caster whacks the relic against a low table a few times as if it is alive and can feel pain. On the last strike, a block of ice appears to freeze it to the solid wood. Nyx looks over her shoulder to see Sari with her arm out, the gypsy licking her dry lips. A jolt of lightning shatters the ice and stuns the scepter, which returns to its normal form.

“That was disturbing,” Nyx gasps, dropping the relic. It leaps back into her hand and smacks her across the face with a hand of force. “This thing can cast spells on its own? What kind of monster is in here, Sharne?”

“All we know is that it is dangerous.”

“It became agitated when you mentioned being a champion,” Timoran points out from his corner. Yawning from drowsiness, the barbarian walks over to the half-elf and takes a closer look at the relic. “We only have a few vague stories and some conjecture to go by, but it would appear that the trapped beast is connected to the champions. It does not appear to be in a good way too. Perhaps a weapon of the Baron’s that was imprisoned or the corrupted guardian of Helgard. Do you sense that it does not want to return home?”

“Oh, it definitely wants to go to Helgard,” Nyx replies as she stares into the ruby. For a second she thinks she sees a violet eye winking at her, but decides it is nothing more than her reflection. “I sensed that it was moping as we set up the encampment, so it might be restless. I’m still surprised the Helgardians don’t have any detailed information on this thing. You’ve had it for centuries.”

“Well we were run out of our home rather quickly,” the holy woman claims while she gets a drink of water. Noticing the pitiful look of the panting gypsy, she dumps the liquid on Sari’s head. She chuckles at the blissful look on the girl’s face, regaining her composure when she remembers her train of thought. “To be honest, we’re not even certain it was by servants of Baron Kernaghan. We have stories that tell of a mad caster causing the disaster and unintentionally teaching the dark agents how to further corrupt the sources of your powers. It would imply that we were the first group of champion servants to be negated by the Baron’s people.”

“There’s going to be a lot of answers in Helgard,” Nyx whispers, running her finger along the runes on the scepter. “Channelers, the champions, mad casters, great beasts, and who knows what else was involved in this. Do you know anything about the guardian that we’ll run into? The previous temples had some type of creature looking after the place.”

“Nothing about a specific beast taking the role of guardian,” Sharne admits while she fills a pitcher from a water barrel. She hands it to Timoran and strokes his hand, assuring him that he can drink the entire thing. “It could have been one of the beasts put into the scepter, which means it’s no longer alive. Unless it’s the sand golem, which can be revived by your friend. Personally, I don’t believe a creature chosen to be a guardian would be so poorly used. It would have to be very powerful for the initial role.”

The scepter glows and hums, leaping from Nyx’s hand and spinning around Sharne. The dark-skinned nomad stands very still, fearing that the relic will attack. She breathes a sigh of relief when it softly bonks her on the head with its rounded end. It moves to Timoran, but stops when he draws his great axe and backs against the warm fabric. A burst of light erupts from the ruby, temporarily blinding everyone in the room. When their vision returns, the scepter is lazily floating with the Compass Key dangling from one of its blue lotus leaves.

“Give me that!” Nyx snaps, grabbing the relic and removing the Compass Key. She smacks the ruby and curses when she feels an edge cut her palm. “Here are some rules, you glorified backscratcher. No attacking my friends, no casting spells without my permission, and no stealing. If you cause any more trouble, I will melt you into a puddle and remake you as a chamber pot. Do you understand?”

“It’s like a child,” Sari says as she flips to her feet. For the first time since they retrieved the scepter, the gypsy gets near the relic and runs a smooth finger along the ruby. “This would make a very pretty belt buckle for Timoran. Though he’s kind of sloppy when eating sauce-covered ribs.”

“Are you two done threatening the monster possessed artifact?” Timoran asks, taking the Compass Key back from Nyx. He turns the necklace in his hand and stops when he sees the indented backside. “This is interesting. I believe the Compass Key can fit on top of your scepter. There are grooves here and I can see faint ones on the ruby, which implies that they lock together. We should keep this in mind when he get to Helgard.”

“I have a question,” Sari claims, wiping sweat from her brow. “Give me a minute to clear my head. Too hot.”

“We aren’t testing the scepter and Compass Key, little sister.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to ask,” the gypsy argues as she walks over to the water barrel. She puts her hands in and covers her body in a thin layer of cool liquid. “Sharne mentioned caretakers for the other temples. Does that mean the Island of Pallice and the Garden of Uli had people on them at some point?”

“I assume so,” Sharne awkwardly says.

Sari excitedly bounces on her toes, dripping water on the rugs. “Then wouldn’t the servants know about the Baron like the Helgardians instead of having him blocked from their memories like everyone else?”

“Yes, but I am not sure we understand what you are alluding to,” Timoran states before an idea pops into his head. “I get it now. We have thought that only a handful of people know of Baron Kernaghan, but it might be a lot more. If anything, we could have six societies where such knowledge is just under the surface.”

“Or the Helgardians remember because they have a holy relic from the temple,” Nyx suggests, waving the scepter over her head. It keeps moving her arm, so she stuns it with a lightning bolt. “My point is that this could be a special situation. The other groups might have escaped empty-handed and been absorbed into Gabriel’s spell over time. After all, imagine what happens when a person keeps saying a word or phrase that is heard as something else. They might have changed to the spell-induced version and the Baron’s name disappeared along with all memory of him. We’re talking about the dynamics of a god’s spell, so we shouldn’t waste too much time trying to understand it. They’re far too complicated for mortals.”

“Says the woman who cast a forbidden spell by accident,” Sari mutters. With a cough from Nyx, the water on the gypsy’s body evaporates into steam that heats her skin. She glares at the half-elf and speaks in a droll, steady voice. “I hate you, Nyxie. If anyone needs me, I’ll be sleeping in our tent’s water barrel. At least I mastered breathing underwater while I was bored in Grasdon Manor. That’s probably the only good thing to come out of this disaster.”

The gypsy splashes more water on her face before she walks out of the tent, whimpering when the sun and heat hits her body. The others watch her silhouette through the tent, making sure she does not collapse outside. Not wanting to leave the suffering naiad-blooded girl alone, Timoran nods to Sharne and hurries after his friend. The last they see is his hulking form putting Sari over his shoulder and jogging out of sight.

“Your friends are very interesting,” Sharne whispers to Nyx as they sit down. “I can see why you missed them. They must keep life interesting.”

“That’s an understatement,” the half-elf says with a smirk. A musical sigh escapes her lips as she listens to the sound of people outside. “It’s good to have my family back. I couldn’t handle my destiny without them.”

*****

Luke sips at the waterskin and stares at the midday sky, his fair skin showing signs of sunburn. He enjoys the solitude of being away from the encampment, his mind clearing of his stressful thoughts. Traveling with the nomads has been uneventful and he has gone out of his way to avoid his friends who would ask him about Kira. Every time they stop to make camp, Luke has slipped away and escaped into the desert. He only goes a mile or two away depending on the height of the surrounding dunes. Giving off the scent of the spirit naga and the griffin has helped keep predators away, but he continues using his sound sight to stay alert. The brief vision of Fizzle darting around behind him catches his attention and he waves to the drite who has been quietly watching over him since they left Bor’daruk.

“You’re going to get burned if you keep wandering away,” Dariana says as she walks up behind the forest tracker. She jumps back when he whirls around with his sabers drawn. “I’m sorry that I startled you. I cloaked myself from your mind, so you wouldn’t run away. There are a lot of beasts out here that will attack you.”

“I’m alert and Fizzle has my back,” the half-elf claims, staring at the blazing sun. His eyes glisten with a rainbow shimmer that reminds Dariana of oily water. “Did you know that griffins have a film over their eyes? It lets them look directly into the sun, which is why you see them use it to escape enemies or launch surprise attacks.”

“Does that take your mind off Kira?”

Luke scowls and opens his mouth to talk, shutting it and turning away with his arms childishly crossed. His head is pushed down by the sudden weight of Fizzle, the tiny dragon dropping his invisibility spell. The drite hops onto the warrior’s shoulder and calmly puffs shapes of rainbow smoke. Each one is more detailed and complex than the last in an attempt to make the half-elf smile. It becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the display when Luke falls into his own thoughts and Stiletto attempts to take control. An excited bark and fur growing on the warrior’s pointy ears are the only changes that the dog achieves before being subdued.

“You two are determined to make me talk,” Luke complains as he takes a deep drink from his waterskin. He offers it to Fizzle who wrinkles his nose at the smell of leathery water. “Did you know a spirit naga can live in extreme heat without water for a week? Even longer if they dig underground and hibernate.”