On Wings of Chaos (Revenant Wyrd Book 5) (31 page)

“I haven’t known many people to talk about Grace like that and not fear punishment,” Joya joked.

“Oh, we’ve had our go rounds when I was younger, but I don’t fear her any longer. I think she realizes now that she isn’t the only smart one in the bunch, and we rely on one another.”

“You don’t really seem much like sisters,” Joya said.

“I won’t go into all of it now, it’s not my place, but when our sister Tori died, Grace became somewhat of a vagabond, traveling the realms like a gypsy, living life, sowing her wild oats, drinking her share of ale and spirits. Annbell and I worried about her. She left soon after Tori died, wouldn’t listen to reason, and we couldn’t follow; we’d just been selected as Realm Guardians. Tori’s death kind of created a rift between us: Grace pulled away, probably in fear that she would lose one of us as well, and since then we’ve been more acquaintances than family.” Sara sighed.

“I’m sorry,” Joya said, her face cast in shadows. Sara wondered if Joya expected her family to go the same way. Sara felt for the girl; they’d gone through so much already. They were the last living three of Sylvie’s family. But they’d stuck together, their bond was still strong. “Was Grace very close to Tori?” Joya wondered.

“Inseparable,” Sara said. “Tori was like a mother to her, when our mother wanted nothing to do with us.”

Sara could see the thoughts running rampant across Joya’s face. She laid a hand on the younger sorceress’s shoulder.

“I’m sure it’s nothing you have to fear. If you’re worried you’ll turn out like Grace if something happens to Amber, I’m sure you
won’t
. If you fear something will happen, it likely won’t, because you’re already prepared for it.”

Joya attempted a smile, but it was forced, and Sara knew it. She couldn’t blame her; it was a scary situation they were in.

“Now,” Sara said, pulling Joya back to the task at hand. “Have you ever made a message orb?”

Joya nodded.

“Good, form the orb,” Sara told her. Joya cupped her hands before her face, and Sara found a spot to rest. She sank into the high-backed chair, her legs screaming with the motion. An audible sigh escaped her lips once her weight was off her legs. It would be so much easier if she just used the wyrd to strengthen her legs, but Sara feared then she would always have to use wyrd on her legs. She needed to strengthen the muscles, and that wouldn’t happen with wyrd.

When Joya opened her eyes there was a pink orb bobbing happily in front of her face.

“Good,” Sara nodded, her hands kneading her legs to relax them. “Now, instead of putting your voice into the orb, put your will, your focus. You’ve used your stone, right? The one I’ve heard is like the Orb of Aldaras?”

“Yes,” Joya nodded. “The Shiv of Beatrice.”

Catchy name,
Sara thought. “Alright, it’s very similar to that, just instead of letting the orb pull your mind in, like the stone does, you have to
push
your mind in.”

“Alright,” Joya said, a look of confusion on her face.

“Don’t worry, it’s much easier than it sounds,” Sara said. “You might want to open the window first, because after you put your intention into it, the orb will go off on its way.”

Joya nodded, unlatched the window, and swung it open. A blast of cold air wafted into the room, and Sara moved her chair closer to the crackling fire. She thought about going to get a blanket, but decided she’d rather be cold than put weight on her legs again.

The orb floated out the window, and with it went Joya’s mind.

She had never flown before, and it was unsteadying. Joya still felt as though she was comprised of a physical body, and her mind reeled even as she tried to find her footing in the air. She tried to cartwheel her arms, but she was, truly, without form. Sickness rose in her as the air whizzed by.

Joya tried to close her eyes, but again, she didn’t have any eyes to speak of, and so she had to witness the courtyard, the wall, Grace climbing the stairs, the dwarven army, and the endless expanse of snow far below her as the orb descended from the mountains and continued its path along the wide plains beyond.

An endless scream sounded in her head as she whizzed over the land.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die!
The mantra ran on endlessly in her mind. At any moment she felt she would plunge out of the orb, and into the snow below. Of course that wouldn’t kill her, the rational part of her mind said, but it would maim her.
Great, that’s a better option, really!
she thought snidely.

When Joya was finally able to calm her racing heart and her panicked brain enough, she realized that her vision was covered in a pink haze, a miasma of wyrd that encased her within the orb.

Joya heard the approach of the army before she saw them. The mechanical wagons the frement used rumbled across the snow, and what she’d thought was a storm front rising up before her was nothing more than the snow being churned up from their wheels.

The machines went first, cutting a path through the endless drifts and banks of snow for the ooslebed on their white hecklin behind. Their thin swords rested in scabbards, their bows slung along their backs. Their skin was a deep blue, and blushes of green alighted on their surface, calmly, almost resolute, like the dark elves knew what they were going toward, and they were not afraid.

And then, behind them, was an army of the darkest forms Joya had ever seen. She thought for a moment that they were shadows from the Shadow Realm, following in the wake of the races she had called, but on closer inspection she saw some similarities between these figures and the dryads she had met in the Realm of Earth. These ones, however, looked much more human than the dryads she was used to. Deep in the black wooden sea she saw the white poplar bark of Uthia.

There was a feeling coming from the ebonwood dryads that she couldn’t resist, a desire to feed. They craved blood, just as she imagined the rephaim would. The thought startled her. She gasped, and felt the wyrded orb burst.

There was a dizzying moment as her mind slammed back into her body. Joya slumped to the floor, and Sara pushed up from her chair, leaning heavily on her cane, a worried look on her face. She closed the window and came to Joya. Sara held a hand down for Joya, but she shook her head.

“You’re too weak,” Joya said. “I would pull you down on top of me.”

Sara withdrew her hand with a sheepish smile. “True.”

Joya felt a headache blossom in her head, screaming through her brain, making the floor shift painfully.

“What did you see?” Sara asked her, sitting down on her bed.

Joya pushed to her feet, her green woolen dress settling around her legs, making her skin itch. She had a love-hate relationship with the fabric. She loved how it kept her warm, but it made her break out and itch all over. She sat down in the chair that Sara had abandoned.

“They aren’t far. Maybe two days’ travel,” Joya told her.

“They come fast,” Sara remarked.

“They have machines,” Joya said.

Sara looked at her, confused, like she didn’t know what Joya meant.

“They have these metal wagons, with large metal wheels. They run on steam, they say. They move much faster than horses.”

“And all of your people come this way?” Sara asked.

“The dryads are walking, though they seem to keep pace with the rest. The dark elves are riding their hecklin.” Her head ached so much she nearly missed the worried look on Sara’s face. The other Guardian schooled her expression, and looked out the window, as if she could see them from here.

“I didn’t know you had dryads,” Sara said.

“They live in part of the Sacred Forest that goes into the Shadow Realm, called the Haunted Forest there. They aren’t what you would expect,” Joya told her. “They are almost chaotic, more human-looking than your dryads, and I fear they feed on blood.”

“What?” Sara asked, her head snapping around to face Joya.

“They’ve been ordered not to harm anyone, and told they can feast all they want on the enemy army,” Joya said. “They have agreed.”

Sara nodded. “Hecklin are dangerous too.”

“The dark elves have them trained as mounts,” Joya said.

Sara gave a bark of laughter Joya wasn’t expecting. “Who would think,” Sara said, once her laughter had calmed. “That after all we’ve feared them, the most dangerous of chaos hounds are nothing more than lapdogs for your elves.”

Joya smiled, and laughed, but it hurt her head. She groaned.

“Yes,” Sara said, standing once more with a pained expression. “You should go rest. You snapped out of the orb — I could
hear
the force of it, it trembled along my wyrd. You need to rest, or you will have a wyrded hangover for days.”

Joya stood and sought the shelter of her own rooms.

Maeven stood in Jovian’s room, naked, scanning the scene past the window. He had to make the shift, but he hated it. It wasn’t the form he hated, but the process of changing. It
hurt
having his muscles reform, his bones snap and take new shape. He shuddered with the thought and heard the door open behind him.

It shut quickly.

“Well hello, Maeven’s butt,” Jovian said, and Maeven smiled.

He wiggled his butt a little. “Enjoy the view — your carpet is about to be littered with golden feathers.”

Jovian groaned. “I figured. You know I much prefer to unwrap my presents anyway, rather than just having them show up outside of their packages.”

Maeven grunted a laugh. “Open the window for me when I’m changed.”

“Sure thing,” Jovian said, and went to picking up his room. “Maeven, do you
have
to just toss your clothes everywhere on your way to the window? It’s not like you burst out of them, you know you can fold them up and set them on the bed, right?”

“But I thought you enjoyed the wrapping?” Maeven smirked.

“I like
un
wrapping, not cleaning up after a birthday party,” Jovian grumbled.

“You’ll live, princess.”

“But I’m worried you won’t if you don’t pick up after yourself.”

“Then you would miss my butt,” Maeven picked.

“But I’ve always wondered how eagle would taste.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maeven said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m about to break every bone in my body and grow wings.”

“Have fun,” Jovian said, tossing more wood on the fire.

The spirit of the eagle came first, swimming up into his consciousness, taking over his senses. It was only when he melded his mind with the eagle, feeling the wild nature, the need for flight, for the cold air against his wings, that the shift happened.

Maeven opened his mouth to scream as the first of his bones popped, but no noise came out. His mind writhed in pain as bones slid together, forcing muscles that were used to one shape and form into a new one. His bones cracked, rippled like water, and then settled into their new homes.

He stumbled to the floor, the pain washing over him, and lost himself in the pulsing throb. When it was done, his skin began to prickle, and then the feeling of thousands of bee stings came over him as golden feathers sprouted from his flesh.

In his calculated sight, he saw Jovian open the window. He jumped up on the ledge, and out he went, his large wings snapping open, and he drifted along the currents of the air.