The Calling (5 page)

“Can you blow a hole in the wall?” she asked.

“What for?”

“Can you?”

He nodded.

“Then do it.”

Raising his staff, he whispered the words of a spell and the far wall erupted in a cloud of rock dust. When the dust settled, a six-foot hole appeared in the wall.

“Now what?”

“Now we jump.”

Far below them, the courtyard milled with people, gazing upward at the cloud of dust rising above the tower.

Jarrod searched his mind for a spell that would carry them both down safely while his thoughts reeled with the implications. He didn’t doubt for a second that the woman was indeed the Goddess, lost to them for a thousand years.

Not entirely lost. Someone had known she was there. Had kept her in an enchanted sleep.

“Jump!” Freya said again, her tone insistent.

Was she mad?

But she didn’t wait for him. Pushing past, she leapt into the open space. Without allowing himself to think, Jarrod closed his eyes and launched himself after her. He held his staff out and whispered a spell.

For a few seconds, it held them, slowing their headlong fall. Then he sensed the combined will of the warlocks in the courtyard below, and the spell broke and they hurtled through space.

Was this death? He wanted to shout to her but the wind tore the words from his mouth and scattered them.

One moment Freya was falling, the next she was lifted up by a whirl of wind, enclosed in a vortex, spun around, and then lightly put down on the wings of magic. At least she landed lightly. Beside her, Jarrod crashed into the ground with a loud
thunk
.

Trees surrounded her. She guessed they were in the forest to the north of the Keep. If she was right, then Shayla would be heading even further north. She turned to where Jarrod lay on the ground.

“You said you had provisions,” she said, impatient to be moving.

He picked himself up, his staff still gripped tight in his hand.

“That was moon magic,” he murmured. “I can feel it running through my blood.”

“From the Goddess. Now which way do we go?” He appeared dazed, but shook his head and pulled himself together, studying their surroundings for a minute, getting his bearings, then headed off back toward the Keep.

She thought about ignoring him and going the other way, but she might need his provisions if it took her longer than expected to find Shayla.

What if they got to the meeting place and her daughter had gone elsewhere? What if the Enforcer found her first? Killed her?

Freya hurried after Jarrod, weaving through the thick stands of trees, until the stamping of hooves sounded up ahead, and she came to an abrupt halt. Jarrod continued, and after a moment’s hesitation, she followed.

Two horses were tied up under a tree. A boy stood at their heads, and Jarrod approached him and carried out a murmured conversation. He turned back to Freya. “They’ll be preparing to come after us.

We must move fast if we want to stay ahead.

He rummaged in one of the saddlebags, pulled something out, and tossed it to Freya.

“You won’t be able to ride in that.” He nodded toward her and she glanced down.

Her cloak had fallen open revealing the red shift, her body visible beneath, pale skin gleaming through the thin silk. She tugged the cloak tight around her but not before she caught the hunger in Jarrod’s eyes. A wave of heat washed through her at his expression, and she frowned. She’d never experienced the tug of desire. Now it radi-30

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ated out from that place inside her where she could sense the hum of the newborn magic. She forced the feeling down; she didn’t want to feel anything for this man. Jarrod’s desire might be useful, but her own would be inconvenient.

She examined the bundle he had tossed her. A pair of pants, rough material, but very welcome.

Turning away, she dragged them on under the shift. When she looked back, the boy was disappearing into the trees, and Jarrod was readying the horses.

“Come,” he said, indicating the smaller animal. She was a beautiful creature, dapple-gray, but Freya eyed her dubiously. She’d never ridden before, except for her brief time hanging head down, unconscious over the Enforcer’s saddle. Horses were for rich people, and she had never been that.

The horse studied her out of dark, liquid eyes and then lowered her head toward her.

“Her name is Moonlight,” Jarrod said. “She’s a sweet mare. She’ll carry you safely. I’ll help you mount.” She wanted to say she didn’t need help, but it looked a long way up, so she waited, impassive as his large hands gripped her around the waist. Despite her determination to be unaffected by him, his near-ness sent waves of dizziness through her, his fingers burning her skin through the layers of clothes.

He seemed to be unaware as he lifted her easily and tossed her into the saddle. Taking hold of her foot, he slipped it in the stirrup, then moved around the horse to do the same with her other. He stood with his hand wrapped around her ankle, and she resisted the urge to shake it off. Once she had Shayla safe, she would rid herself of the warlock. Maybe permanently.

“Don’t try and guide her,” he said. “She’ll follow my mount.” He dropped his hand and moved away. He swung into the saddle with ease and brought his horse around to face her. “Where are we headed?”

Freya debated how much to tell him, but she needed his help.

“Head directly north until we hit the river.”

“How do you know she’ll be there?”

“I don’t. I just hope. It’s where we were going before the Enforcer found us. We split up, but I think Shayla will keep to the original plan.

She’ll expect me to meet her there.”

“Where were you going? Why risk coming so close to the Keep?

You’ve remained hidden for over twenty years—this seems foolish.” Anger flashed through her. “We had no choice. It was becoming impossible to hide. When Shayla was younger, it was easy. But this last year...”

“What changed?”

“The witches’ mark.” She raised her hand to her cheek and stroked the spot on her right cheekbone. “Here, for all to see.” A tingle ran through her skin, and she frowned.

“Malachi told me there had been reports. That’s why Tallon was sent after you.”

“We heard that there was a place where we could get help—”

“What sort of help?” he interrupted.

“I’m not sure, but there are rumors of other witches over the years.

And a place they could go for sanctuary.”

“Maybe it was a lie to draw you in.” She shrugged. “Maybe, but we were desperate. And now, I don’t know where else she might go.”

“Okay. We’ll go fast, tell me if you have trouble keeping up.” And then he was gone. The little mare bounded after him, and Freya clung on to the saddle. But after a few minutes, she got the feel of the horse and settled into the rhythm, concentrating on avoiding any low branches.

Even so, by the time Jarrod slowed in front of her, every muscle ached from the unaccustomed exercise, and she drooped from exhaustion. Jarrod appeared at ease in the saddle, one hand on the reins, the other still holding his staff.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Freya wiped the expression from her face. She would not appear weak in front of him. “I’m fine.”

“The river,” he said, nodding to the wide expanse of dark water that cut through the forest. “How much further?”

“We need to cross, then another hour, I think. I was told it would be three or four on foot, but we’re traveling much faster.” She glanced up at the sky. The pale violet was shading to purple as the suns went down. They would set soon. “Will the horses travel at night?”

“Yes. Let me go first, see how deep the water is. If the horses have to swim, then hold onto the front of the saddle.” He considered her for a moment. “You might want to take off your clothes, roll them into a bundle, keep them dry. The warmth will go with the suns.” He made no move to take off his own clothes—maybe he thought she’d be shocked. It would take more than a naked warlock to shock her, but if he could put up with wet clothes then so could she. “I think I’ll keep them on, thank you.”

He shrugged and swung his mount around, urging it down the bank and into the water. The river was deeper than it appeared, and the horse’s head disappeared for a moment then rose above the surface, shaking off the water. Jarrod glanced back over his shoulder.

“Come.”

She took a deep breath and urged the little mare forward. She went trustingly, slithering down the steep bank and into the river.

Freya gasped at the first touch of the cold water, and then she was under. She held her breath as the horse kicked out and they broke the surface. Her hair was wet around her face, and she tossed her head and spat out the foul-tasting water.

Jarrod’s stallion was already clambering up the opposite bank.

Closing her eyes tight, Freya forced her body to relax, gripped onto the front of the saddle, and tried not to hinder the mare as she swam.

Finally, they were climbing, sloughing off the water. She relaxed her grip as they reached level ground, then the mare shook herself, and Freya slid from the saddle to land in an undignified heap on the ground.

Luckily, it was a soft landing, and for a minute, she lay there unmoving. She blinked up at Jarrod standing over her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she snapped. She wished he would stop being so solicitous.

He was a warlock. A cold, heartless bastard. They weren’t supposed to ask how you were.

Ignoring his outstretched hand, she struggled to her feet. She tugged off her boots one by one and emptied the water. She could do little else. Her cloak was soaked and weighed her down, but she didn’t want to take it off leaving her in just the thin shift, no doubt clinging to her skin. Instead, she wrapped the sodden cloak tight around her and trudged back to the mare, who whickered as though in apology.

“Not your fault,” Freya muttered.

“You want to stop and dry off?” Jarrod asked. He was as wet as she was, but seemed unconcerned. “I can light a fire.” She nodded at his staff. “Can’t you do a spell?”

“I’d rather not risk it. If there is another warlock near, he’ll sense the magic.”

“Then I’ll stay wet—we need to keep moving.” She put her foot in the stirrup and hauled herself up before he could help her.

“Which way now?” Jarrod asked as he mounted.

She looked around her, gathering her bearings and remembering the instructions they had been given. “Follow the river for a mile and we should come to a stream. That will lead us to a clearing.”

“And that’s where you think she will be?” Freya heard the excitement in his voice and glanced at him sharply. “Why are you doing this? Why do you care?”

“She’s my daughter. But it’s not only that. For a long time now—” He broke off. “This isn’t the time for this discussion.” She glanced at him curiously, wanting to understand why he had helped her all those years ago, why he was helping her again. But time was running out. Even now, the Enforcer might have found Shayla.

“No, you’re right. We need to go.”

She urged her mare forward, and Jarrod’s horse fell into step beside her. The suns had almost vanished, though the sky still showed purple and there was enough light to see by.

Through the thick canopy of trees, she caught brief glimpses of the rising moons, and a shiver of awareness ran through her. The sea-son of the witches’ moons was when their magic was strongest, and as they rose, it stirred inside her, wakening, strengthening. She pulled her horse to a halt and stared up, rubbing her cheekbone where the skin prickled.

Jarrod pulled ahead and then stopped his mount and turned to look at her, a frown on his face. “What is it?” She waved a hand toward the dark red crescents. “I can feel them inside me.”

At that moment, a bolt of crimson lightening lit up the sky. Witches’ magic. Shayla was somewhere close. Freya urged her horse forward. Up ahead, there was a break in the trees and two huge rocks stood guard at the entrance to a clearing. From the information she’d been given, she knew she was at the right place. She pulled up and leapt from the horse as the sky lit up again. She was vaguely aware of Jarrod beside her but ignored him, intent on reaching Shayla.

At the center of the clearing, her daughter faced the Enforcer.

He towered over her diminutive figure, his staff held out poised, his mouth open ready to speak the spell that would destroy Shayla forever.

Beside her, Jarrod lifted his own staff and made to push past her.

But before he could act, Freya saw the resolve harden in her daughter’s green eyes. She plucked a pin from her cloak and slashed it across her palm. Blood sprayed across the clearing as she screamed a word out into the night.

A rent appeared above them, filling the sky with a bright white light. An unseen force flung Freya backward, and she was swallowed by the darkness.

When Freya came to, the night was dark once more. Blinking, she shook her head. She didn’t think she was hurt, but she couldn’t move.

She tried to roll to her feet, but something held her down.

“They’re gone,” a voice said close by her ear.

She shut her eyes and knew Jarrod spoke the truth. There was an empty place in her mind where Shayla had been. Did that mean she was dead? Her panic flared, but she fought it down, breathed in deeply, and relaxed. Shayla couldn’t be dead. She would know.

She was lying on top of Jarrod; he must have broken her fall. Her back was freezing from the wet cloak, her front burning hot where the cloak had come open, and her nearly bare body pressed up against him. She could swear they were steaming.

Sliding a hand between them, she shoved. “Let me go.” His grip tightened for a moment and then he released her. Freya scrambled to her feet and searched the area. There was no sign of ei-36

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ther Shayla or the warlock, no bodies littered the clearing, and the tight grip of fear loosened.

She edged cautiously toward the place where Shayla had stood.

Here she could sense the residual hum of magic and scent the scorched air. “What happened?” she asked as Jarrod came to stand beside her.