The Calling (9 page)

Freya had no clue what she would do when she got there, but she had faith she would be shown the way. There was a purpose in all that happened. She just had to read the signs, and when the time was right, hope that she would make the right choices.

For herself and Shayla. For Arroway.

But what about for herself and Jarrod? Was there a future for them? Would she be made to choose?

Jarrod pulled Starfire to an abrupt halt.

“What is it?” Freya asked, but even as she spoke, magic shivered on the air.

Jarrod pulled his staff from the sheath by the saddle and held it in front of him. The wood glowed in the dim light.

“Stay here,” he whispered.

Clasping her around the waist, he lifted her to sit astride the saddle. He put the reins in her fingers, and then he swung his leg over and slipped down to the ground, just as a group of men emerged from the trees ahead of them. Warlocks. They all carried their staffs held out in front of them. Freya counted twenty at least between them and the clearing.

Jarrod turned to look up at her. Sadness filled his dark eyes, but they hardened with resolve.

“Tell Shayla I would have loved to have met her.” Freya opened her mouth, but he shook his head and continued.

“You stay and we both die. And any hope for Arroway dies as well.

Find our daughter, do whatever you have to. Just remember, I love you.”Fear gripped her mind. Panic and denial exploding inside her.

He raised his staff, whispered a word, and fire sprang from the end. Starfire rose up on his hind legs. She clung on by instinct alone, and then the horse wheeled around and bolted back the way they had come. The branches whipped at her face, her fingers gripped onto the reins, but she was powerless to stop the horse’s headlong rush.

Finally, he slowed and stood head drooping with exhaustion.

She couldn’t see, her eyes blinded by tears, but if she listened, she could hear the clash of magic in the air, and she knew Jarrod was still alive and fighting. But how could he last against more than twenty?

He had given her time to escape.

The Goddess had told her to find the witches with the mark, that only they could save the land. She could hide in the forest until the warlocks went away, and then resume her search for Shayla.

But she was filled with a sense of wrongness. Doubts nagged at her mind, and she struggled to make sense of them.

Their world had been fading for a thousand years, ever since the Laws of Segregation and the persecution on the witches. But as she had traveled with Jarred, the land had bloomed around them, growing lush and bursting with new life as though their very presence together brought renewed vigor.

Her and Jarrod. Witch and warlock.

Bound by some magic she didn’t understand, but which grew stronger with every moment they were together. And as the bond grew stronger, the land gained in strength. Perhaps the bond between a witch and a warlock was the very thing that stopped the fabric of their world from crumbling.

The Goddess had told her when the time came she must make the right choice. Her mind whirled. She didn’t know what to do.

She remembered Jarrod’s words after they had made love. That once he had seen her, he’d had no choice. And suddenly, she knew it was the same for her. Or if she did have to make a choice—then she chose Jarrod. In that moment she understood why Casterix had done what she had. Freya was willing to risk the existence of the entire world for the man she loved.

But what was the point in saving a world where love was the price of survival?

She pulled the dagger from the sheath on the saddle and slipped it down her boot, then tugged on the reins and turned Starfire back the way she had come. She kicked her heels into his side, urgency giv-ing her strength, and he set off at a gallop.

~*~

Jarrod stood between two warlocks. His staff was gone and blood stained his lips. He looked up as she came through the trees, and despair flashed across his features. She stared into his eyes, so like their daughter’s, and tried to convey strength, hope.

A man stepped out from the mass of warlocks surrounding Jarrod. Dark blond hair hung to his shoulders, his eyes were purple, almost black, and his face held an unearthly beauty that sent shivers of revulsion skittering down her spine.

She had seen him around the Keep when she was younger and knew this was Malachi, the head of the Order, and the warlock responsible for the Laws of Segregation. Hatred welled up inside her, but she kept her expression blank as she walked the horse toward them. She knew the one thing they wanted more than her.

“Promise to let him live, and I’ll take you to my daughter.”

Malachi stared at her for a moment, his eyes narrowing on the witch’s mark on her cheek. Then he nodded once.

Freya slid off the horse. For a moment, her legs refused to hold her and she gripped the saddle for support. She closed her eyes and prayed to the Goddess for strength to see this through. For the magic to answer her call.

It was there, deep inside her, but she had yet to attempt to use it.

And this could very well lead to all their deaths. If that happened, she could only hope that she took the warlocks with them.

She walked side by side with Jarrod surrounded by the warlocks who kept their distance as though afraid she might infect them with her moon magic. After a minute, she slipped her hand into his. He gave her a sidelong glance, and she squeezed his fingers. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

She followed the path of the stream and it led them to the clearing.

She halted and closed her eyes, envisaging exactly where Shayla and the Enforcer had stood.

“Where is she?” Malachi snarled.

She blinked at the question.

The power was growing inside her as though released by this place. The warlocks must have sensed it, because they backed away but kept a wary eye on her.

“Where is the witch?” Malachi’s tone was harsh.

She ignored the question. Keeping a tight hold of Jarrod, she stepped further into the clearing. When she was sure she stood in the exact same place as her daughter had, she stumbled and fell to her knees. Gripping the hilt of the dagger, she pulled it free of her boot, held it close to her thigh as she rose to her feet.

Jarrod was frowning as though he was aware she was up to something, but had no clue what.

She lifted their joined hands. She didn’t want to let go of him in case he was left behind, but she raised the knife and sliced the blade across the back of her hand so blood spurted from the cut scattering over the ground.

Taking a deep breath, she threw back her head and screamed the Word of Power into the night sky.

All around them, the edges of the world began to blur. A huge rent was torn in the sky and bright white light streamed through, illuminating the clearing. She caught quick glimpses of shocked faces full of fear. She tightened her grip on Jarrod’s hand. Was this the end?

The light flared brighter, and they were engulfed in darkness.

Freya opened her eyes. Then shut them quickly. Something was very wrong. The light was too bright. Wasn’t it nighttime?

She forced her lids open. A single sun was high overhead. She rolled her head to the side and warmth and relief flooded her. Jarrod lay beside her, his fingers laced with hers. Blood dripped from the wound on the back of her hand, onto the green grass, and she could sense the residual hum of magic inside her.

As she stared at him, unable to drag her eyes away, he blinked and turned to look at her. His lips curved into a smile. “We’re alive.” Happiness bubbled inside her. Sitting up, she peered around, half expecting to see Shayla, but no one was in sight. They were on a green hillside, surrounded by a ring of tall stones. Beside her, Jarrod sat up.

He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her palm.

“Where do you think we are?” she asked.

“Right now, I don’t care.” Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, his body hardening against her.

She lay back under the warm sun and gave herself up to the feeling of being alive, and loved and safe, if only for a little while.

His grip tightened on her shoulders and he raised his head, staring at something over her shoulder. Freya pushed herself up onto her elbows, as a woman emerged from between two of the tall standing stones. She strode toward them with an easy fluid grace, coming to a halt a foot away, hands shoved in the pocket of her pants. She was tall with short dark hair and wide cheekbones, and a vague feeling of familiarity tugged at Freya’s mind. On her right cheek, below her eye was a small scar, almost unnoticeable if you didn’t know to look.

Freya’s hand went to her own cheek, and the woman’s gaze followed the movement, her eyes narrowing on the mark. Then she turned to look at Jarrod.

“Brother, how nice to see you after all these years.” For a moment, he looked at her warily, then wonder broke through, and a smile spread across his face. “Cass.” Freya’s gaze flicked between the two; she could see the likeness now. So this was where the witches of Arroway had escaped to. But where was Shayla? “My daughter...?”

The women shrugged. “Shayla? You missed her. She and her warlock returned to Arroway days past.”
Her warlock
?

Did she mean the Enforcer?

“Shayla is with Tallon?” Jarrod asked, his tone reflecting her own disbelief.

“Hmm. She chose him.” Casterix grinned. “Poor man, I almost felt sorry for him—he didn’t stand a chance.” She held out a hand, Freya took it and allowed herself to be pulled upright.

“Welcome to Earth,” Casterix said.

Nina Croft grew up in the north of England. After training as an accountant, she spent four years working as a volunteer in Zambia which left her with a love of the sun and a dislike of 9-5 work. She then spent a number of years mixing travel (whenever possible) with work (whenever necessary) but has now settled down to a life of writing and picking almonds on a remote farm in the mountains of southern Spain.

Nina’s writing mixes romance with elements of fantasy, the para-normal and science fiction.