Wilder Mage (39 page)

“Ha. Told you. I am a quick learner. So, Tiarra, what about the nightmares? Do you still scream when it happens?”

Her face became a frightening mask of old hurt and memories, and for a moment, his resolve wavered.

Cold. Be cold, boy.

Justus knew everything was on this play. There were no second chances. Still, his soul ached with this action that felt so wrong.

Cold.

“Nightmares... You ask about the nightmares. You have no idea what you are talking about.” Her face was florid, but her tone was soft, almost gentle. Like a mother speaking to a small child, a bird, a frightened puppy.

“You had it good, didn’t you, my love, that first time. It was what you
wanted
.” Tiarra’s voice was warm honey.

He held himself still.

“And your magic erupted into its full state, giving you everything you ever wanted. Power. Courage. Prestige. All those things. It took the awakening to do it. But you wanted it, didn’t you?”

He shook his head. “Your misconception, Tiarra. Yes, I wanted it, but not the magic. I had no idea of what I was, what I would be. Not until after that day.”

She straightened in surprise and then again crouched slightly and continued to circle. “You really had no idea what you were?”

He shook his head and watched her closely. Her mouth and eyes tightened as they focused on him. Her inadvertent signal communicating her intentions. He held himself ready.

“So you still got everything you
wanted
.” She laughed a harsh sound of broken glass. “I wanted it too, but then, I was already a full wizard. All I wanted that day was a little boy’s first time. And I had that. But I digress.”

Tiarra jabbed her bar into his face. His bar threw out sparks of ebony as he blocked it. Her next strike was at his body and then his legs, faster and faster until the actions blurred. Each time, he effectively blocked the hits and bits of black and silver stars cascaded around them as she paused and then began again to circle him.

“So, how is that going for you? Controlling the buggers in your head?” Justus asked.

Tiarra stared at him. A crooked smile pulled one side of her face into a grimace. “They are under control.” For a moment, her face broke, then she smoothed it into another half-smile. “For the most part,” she continued.

“Lots of screamin’ going on in there, I think. Lots of arguing too. Wanting you to do things.” He smiled gently. “Telling you to hurt yourself, make yourself worthy. And cleaning. Always washing. Isn’t that so, Tiarra?”

Her bar slowly dropped until the tip nearly touched the ground, her face a solid smooth mask. Nothing was in her eyes. They were deep dark pools, and she stood frozen.

The scream startled him when she suddenly came to life. She leaped at him, her bar raised, and he stumbled back from her advance. Her bar whirled, striking, and he worked to keep her bar of Fire from hitting him. Twice, it hit his fingers, his wrist, and he buried the pain. She angled the bar low and swept under to hit his legs, and he jumped into the air to avoid it, coming down with a counterstrike to her shoulder, but she blocked it with an upsweep. He stumbled back.

For a moment, they panted, staring at each other. Justus felt the slow trickle of blood from his fingers. He watched her as she gathered herself, took a step back. The drip of the blood caught her eye, but she did not react, not of satisfaction or triumph. She took another step back.

Justus readied himself as she faced him fully. He held the bar in both hands, lifting it in front of his chest. He waited.

Tiarra lifted her chin, tilted her head, looking at him, and then gave a tiny smile.

He felt the magic begin to swirl, but could not see the colors. It mounted higher, vast curls of energy, soaring in weightless, unseen trails. Too late, he realized what she was doing.

Spirit. Tiarra pulled the diaphanous fabric of Spirit from all around her, gathering it into her hand. The silver bar vanished as she pulled more of the element from around her. Her hands disappeared into an expanding gossamer web that glittered with icy sparkles. It grew larger.

“Don’t, Tiarra. Don’t do it,” Justus said. He gestured with his black bar of Fire. “You don’t know what you are doing.”

Her answer was a silent smile. Then she arrowed the mass at his chest.

Time slowed. Justus thought of the lonely barn and his confrontation with the Spirit element. For a moment, he imagined the cold eyes once again in the swirling ball coming at him. It passed through the black Fire without slowing, and Justus saw the dragon in the white ball of Spirit, its mouth wide open, its teeth pointed and needle-sharp. It hit his chest.

The shield of Air did not deflect the glacier-chill of the Spirit element, but allowed it to pass through without effect as it had the bar of Fire. It sunk into his chest, into his body, into his soul, and seemed to mold to his essence, his self.

For a time, an endless moment, he saw the agony that Tiarra lived with every day, every night. The unhappy childhood, the parents who used her beauty and potential as a bargaining tool to a better life for themselves.

And then the man. His face flashed into his mind, bearded, leering. He bought her, paid for her, and by God, he would use her, no matter what.

The face, the agony. All that was hers.

But then enormous power and the man’s face turned from a leer to abject terror as she tore bits of flesh from him in slow torture.

Then the seduction of Magic, its power beyond any description possible. And the plans, the desire for more power. She would find a way to cleanse herself. After. Always after.

Justus came back to himself and felt his gasp. Only a second had passed in that eternity, Tiarra’s life in the magic of her Spirit element. He understood her better. But that wasn’t enough to release his soul to her. Never that.

He felt his ward stone heat, then become icy cold as it absorbed the element that threatened to overwhelm him. Then it did something he had never felt before, and he heard a sharp snap.

No time to investigate. He only wanted Tiarra gone.

She stood frozen, her mouth wide. Then she screamed in hoarse rage.

“Time to go Tiarra,” he said, and then Justus threw out his hand.

A black seam formed behind her and opened into a hole, looking like a vertical eye. She started violently and tried to pull away but she disappeared into its black maw. It closed up and she was gone.

“Huh,” Justus said. “Well, crap, if I’d known that would’ve happened, I’d have done that a long time ago.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

O
verhead, the dirty blanket of magic made by the other wizard cleared. Justus broke his shielding globe brusquely, and it fell in shimmering waves. The night sky returned to a carpet of stars.

He dropped the shield around Bert to reveal the boy curled into a ball. Justus stared hard, waiting for any movement. When Bert’s shoulders twitched, Justus took a breath and turned away. He stumbled as he ran to Sable.

She had not moved. He raked the Air with his hand, and the shielding disappeared as it had with Bert. Justus dropped to his knees beside her, afraid to touch her. A thin line of blood trailed down her forehead, the only motion on her still body. For a panicked moment, Justus saw nothing, no flutter, no breathing. He choked out her name and held his hands above her prone body, unable to reach for her. Unable to conceive of a world without her.

Then Sable jerked and sucked in a deep breath. With that, Life began anew for Justus.

She murmured low, indecipherable words. As his hand slipped under her cheek, her eyes opened and a tiny smile curled the ends of her mouth.

“Hi,” Justus said.

Her eyes closed. The smile disappeared. She opened one baleful eye. “You hit me.”

His mouth quirked as he gave a sober nod. “Hell yes, I did. Gave you a wallop. Knocked you right on your ass. Had to. You were about to lose it. Then Tiarra would have owned you. All of you. I had to stop up your ears, cover your eyes.”

“So you smacked me.”

His fingers trailed down to the spot where Tiarra had stroked her neck.

Remembered pain flashed across her face. “Ah, well. Guess I’ll forgive you. This time.” Her glance was careful. “So. Where is she?”

“Not here.”

She frowned as he helped her to sit up. The cut had stopped bleeding, but she’d need stitches, he guessed. He focused on the jagged cut that had bled down the side of her forehead and into her hair.

I wish I could fix that for her.

With that vague thought, the magic trembled and pointed the way.

Small threads of Air and Water, Earth and Fire to sterilize, Spirit to anesthetize. Draw the edges together, just so, and touch with…

Justus stepped back.

“What?” Sable said.

“Nothing, just...nothing.”

She looked at him, searching his face briefly before wiping the blood from her forehead. She flinched as her fingers touched the cut.

“Ye-ouch, that’s gonna leave a mark,” Sable said.

It would work. Concentrate the elements, form them into a bond, and then settle the gathered layers over her cut. The flesh and outer edges would fill and seal together. It would be clean.

It wouldn’t even leave a scar.

Manipulation of not only the elements, but of the essence of flesh. He would be a god, an ultimate Being in constant demand from every power on the earth. He tested his aches and pains, inhaled deeply, and twisted to check his broken rib. Blood on his fingers smeared at his touch, but there were no gashes. Nothing. All was good. Whole. Perfect.

He shivered again and turned away before she noticed. A low groan startled both of them.

Bert wobbled as he gained his feet. With one hand on his temple, he moaned again. Justus took one arm and steadied the boy.

“Easy, Bert. It’ll pass in a bit.”

Bert pushed away from him and staggered to the side. The boy wavered like a thistle in the wind as he stared at Justus with reddened eyes. The anger that flowed from the boy was like a sentient beast. Rage cloaked him. Justus held out his hand.

“Don’t touch me,” Bert said, his voice low and rock-hard.

“Bert,” Sable said surprised. “Take it easy. We’ll help you get home. Just wait a sec. Don’t take off. You’re hurt and—”

Bert’s blazing eyes rounded on her, and she stopped. “I don’t need you to help me. I don’t
want
you to help me. You, stay away from me.”

“Bert.” Justus spoke as if to a wounded animal, low, soothing. “She hit you with Spirit.”

Bert’s face didn’t change.
Granite’s softer
, Justus thought.

“She used Spirit,” Justus continued. “The essence of emotions, of basic elements. In its purest form. You know. We talked about it before. Remember?”

Nothing changed for a moment. Then Bert’s face smoothed minutely.

“Yes. I remember,” he said.

“Let us help you and—”

“No.” There was finality in his voice. He shivered and huffed out a breath. “No,” he repeated. “Let me work this out.”

Justus tried a grin that felt forced. “Like a hangover?”

Bert stared at him, then turned and stumbled into the darkness.

I could fix him too. Smooth the tatters of his soul and join them as a surgeon does. Or more like a seamstress. The mental shreds of a broken mind. Mended.

Justus swallowed. Hard. Maybe another day, another time.

“What happened?” Sable asked.

“I think he’ll be okay. Just let him simmer for a while.”

From a distance away, Justus heard the boy’s hoarse voice. “Get the fuck away from me.”

Macy appeared from the ring of brush, one arm around Dayne’s waist, looking back over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Spirit. She hit him with Spirit. I-I don’t know what happened,” Justus said. He nodded at Dayne. “What about him? Is he in control of himself?”

“As much as I need to be, Wilder,” Dayne said.

He straightened, but Macy kept one slender arm around him, watching him fiercely. He smiled at her and nodded. She released his waist, but stood close.

“I think you’re going to need me in a little bit,” he said to Justus.

Magic crawled along Justus’s arms. Mages, closing in, not attempting secrecy.

“The adepts,” Dayne said. “They’re coming in for a look-see at you and the prize they were promised.”

“Where is Tiarra?” Macy said.

Grimly, without forethought, they faced outward and together formed a loose semi-circle, their backs to the center.

“Um, gone, I reckon. At least from here. I told the magic to make her disappear, and it swallowed her up.”

Dayne’s brow gathered into a knot. “You ‘told’ the magic to do something. What the hell does that mean?”

“When I want or need a certain effect, the magic chooses the form. It gives me what I want. Comes up with the means, and that’s okey dokey with me. Most times.”

“Most times,” Dayne repeated.

Justus shrugged. He noted the number and location of the approaching adepts. Some came singly, as if sneaking late into class. Others came in pairs, swaggering like the hip kids crashing a party uninvited. They came from all directions and with their magic gathered around them like mantles.

Justus eyed the advancing throng. “The magic chooses how to do it,” he said. “I stand back, give it an idea, and off we go. I leave the solution up to the elements. Simple as that. Isn’t that how you do it?”

Dayne rolled his eyes, then traded a look with Macy. “No, Wilder. I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, but let’s leave this discussion for another time. Company is coming.”

The approaching adepts shuffled through the dry grass. The husky stems snapped and hissed as they broke.

“But doesn’t your magic do what you ask? Come when you call?” Justus asked.

Dayne snorted and squinted in the direction of mumbled voices. “Like, ‘Here, boy. Here, boy?’” His laughter broke off as three figures stepped into the clearing. “Nope. It just don’t work that way with me. I throw it; I don’t have a conversation with it.” Dayne cleared his throat. “Now, if you don’t mind, we need to have a confab with these adepts. But first, a little light on the subject.”