Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (67 page)

All this he understood in the time it took for his father to look up. Sparkstone blurted a laugh before seeing something in his son’s face, something that made him hesitate. Augum, in Centarric perfection, calmly pointed the staff at his father. He accessed that mysterious and arcanely wild part of him he knew could slow time, and watched in fascination as the flames, leaping tall behind his father, slowed to a calm wavering. Everything began to sparkle, just as when he had been under the influence of the Slow Time spell. He hoped Mrs. Stone had worn the Lord of the Legion down just enough for him to pull this off.

Ever calm, he allowed the lightning to manifest inside him, building and building, until the blue crystal scion shone radiantly. Before his father even blinked, he pointed the staff and discharged the buildup of his arcane strength, like an over-extended crossbow bolt. Even under the influence of Slow Time, the bolt of lightning was instantaneous. For the briefest moment, he glimpsed surprise on his father’s face as the bolt smashed into him, sending him flying backward into the fire.

Now came the choice he’d known he would have to face the moment he had gripped the staff—even though Centarro’s duration would be extended, it would not be extended enough for him to rush into the fire, find Mya, carry her back, and then do the same for his great-grandmother.

He could save one of them, but not both.

The choice was impossible, but it had to be made. He glanced up at the flames, roaring in one giant inferno.

“I’ll always remember you …”

He pointed the staff at his great-grandmother and effortlessly lifted her with Telekinesis. He then raced back to the girls, Mrs. Stone floating alongside. He had to return before the side effects of Centarro kicked in, and he still had to give Nana back her staff, for if his father was right, she would die without the scion in her control. The thought reawakened the memory of Thomas Stone aging before his eyes.

Augum navigated trees, bodies, horses, and fire as if they were mere puddles, yet when the scion-extended effects of Centarro finally began wearing off, he still had not found his friends.

“Bridget! Leera!” he kept calling out. “Bridget! Leera! Where are you!”

At last, there came a muffled reply. He ran stupidly, every ounce of his concentration dedicated to keeping Mrs. Stone afloat—and stumbled right into Leera’s arms, somehow managing to allow Mrs. Stone to float safely to the snowy ground. With the last echo of any rational thought, he thrust the staff into Leera’s hand.

“Give … this … to … her…” he said before the familiar nebulous fog overtook him for the second time that night.

Reunion

When Augum regained his senses, he found himself bobbing to the rhythm of a horse. Leera sat behind, holding him tenderly with one hand, reins with the other. They were riding through snowy woods on a black warhorse, Bridget and Mrs. Stone on a chestnut mare beside them. Dramask blankets covered everyone.

Leera was unaware he had woken from his stupor. For a little while, he just let himself feel nothing but the secure sensation of being held in someone’s arms.

Suddenly he remembered holding Mya, his hand over both of hers trying to stop the blood flow, her eyes watching him. He bolted upright, searching for her.

“Aug, it’s all right, we’re safe now,” Leera whispered, squeezing his midriff.

Bridget glanced at him, a pained expression on her face.

He wanted to ask about Mya, if she had made it out, but couldn’t voice the question. It wouldn’t move past his lips. His heart tightened painfully as he let Leera guide him back into her embrace.

Then he remembered, and the world turned gray and hollow.

“You did good,” Leera whispered. “Mrs. Stone is all right, but she’ll need lots of bed rest.”

He glanced over at the unconscious form of his great-grandmother. The legendary warlock held her staff to her chest, the scion tip gleaming. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it looked like there were more lines on her face.

“We don’t know what happened to Haylee though,” Bridget said, tugging at the blanket so it covered Mrs. Stone’s neck. “She stayed behind to take on Robin and the wraith. I hope she’s all right …”

His thoughts were black. Haylee, too, was gone. What happened to her? Nothing turned out as it should have. He dully watched fields of stars sparkle in the cloudless sky, thinking how miserably his plans had failed.

“You were senseless a long time,” Leera said. “Half the night. It was odd.”

Augum recalled the lightning striking his father. His voice was distant when he replied. “I used Centarro a second time. The scion made things weird. It made my spells … stronger. I even used wild arcanery with it …”

“I think you pushed your arcane stamina beyond its limits.” She delicately brushed aside his muddy hair. “We have to clean you up, you’re a mess.”

As if all the pain needed was a reminder, his ankle began stinging where Robin had scorched it. His head, too, throbbed. He licked his lips, tasting blood.

“Aug, you did … you did amazing.” There was a quiet affection in Leera’s voice, but to him, amazing wasn’t good enough. In fact, he wished she would curse at him instead.

“I really didn’t think we’d survive that one,” Bridget said.

“Yeah, neither did I,” Leera said. “How’d you get past your father?”

He said the words without emotion. “Centarro and Nana’s staff. Got lucky—he was distracted. Blasted him into the fire.” What did it matter though? Mya was gone.

“You mean distracted like Corrigus? It’s not all luck, you know.”

He didn’t bother shrugging. Why won’t they just leave him alone …

Leera gave him a squeeze. “One day, they’ll call you a hero as great as your great-grandmother.”

He sat up suddenly, blanket falling from his shoulders. “Stop it! If you were in my place, you would have done the same, probably better even. I failed, all right? Mya’s dead, do you understand? She. Is. Dead!”

Leera’s hands quickly retreated, dropping the reins. A hurt look passed over her eyes.

“Aug, you did what you could,” Bridget said. “We all did what we could …”

He took up the reins, face hot. Not good enough.

Leera placed the blanket back on his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

They rode in silence for some time, Augum hating himself.

“Think your father survived?” Bridget finally asked.

He pondered the matter. His father had been walking through that fire unscathed only moments before he struck him. “Probably.” Then he remembered something. “We have to tell Nana about Thomas.” How in Sithesia was he going to approach that subject? How does one tell his great-grandmother her husband died? And One Eye made them promise to pass on his message of apology too.

“Better wait until she’s well enough. I wonder what the Seers told her …”

He didn’t reply, in no mood to talk. Anything he said would probably come out wrong anyway.

They resumed a silent canter.

Eventually, he started feeling terrible for taking his anger out on Leera. She was Mya’s friend too. What right did he have to be angry with her? Better to reserve that for Robin and his father. His thoughts turned against him and all this silence was making it worse.

“So where’re we going, anyway?” he asked, trying to sound somewhat amiable.

“To retrieve Leland and Mr. Goss,” Bridget said. “Mrs. Stone told us she sheltered them in an abandoned cabin somewhere west of Sparrow’s Perch.”

He felt a warm gladness sweep over him—so Nana
had
saved Leland and Mr. Goss first. He wondered how she knew they would need help.

His thoughts wandered to the selfless acts of the healer, Ms. Jenkins. She had saved him and paid the ultimate price for it. Sacrifice on his behalf was a recurring pattern. Maybe a witch had cast a curse on him when he was a boy …

“I hardly knew Ms. Jenkins,” he said. “Are all healers like that?”

“I think most healers have a kindly disposition,” Bridget said. “Makes you wonder how many under the Legion’s thumb are like her.”

“I didn’t know they could remove witch curses though.”

“Neither did I.”

He lit up his wrist with his degree ring, heart filled with gratitude for that greatest of sacrifices, all so he could cast his arcanery once more. The thought was powerful and unnerving—
someone had actually given up their life for him to be able to cast spells again.

It will not be wasted, that was a promise.

He gave a half-glance back at Leera. She quickly looked away, but not before he had a chance to spot the dark circles under her eyes. She had to be as tired as he was.

“Lee, I’m sorry.”

She didn’t reply, choosing to fuss with a loose strap hanging from the saddle.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” he continued. “I’m a rotten friend and I got Ms. Jenkins and Mya killed and—”

“Stop it—” Leera said, looking up with watery eyes. “Just … hush.”

He turned back around, confused.

“We should go single file,” Bridget said, ducking underneath a snow-covered branch. “I’ll take lead.”

Time passed. The cold deepened as night fell. A hush descended over the snowy forest.

Augum adjusted the blanket, stretching it so that more would be available for Leera. She took it wordlessly, wrapping it snug around the two of them. Suddenly she put her arms around his waist and placed her head on his shoulder. It wasn’t long before she slept quietly.

He was confused as to his feelings. He remembered kissing Leera on the cheek and felt a hot flush. Then he remembered Leera’s advice to stop torturing himself with Mya—but now Mya was gone. He had watched her die in his arms. It all made little sense and hurt to think about, so he shoved the thoughts aside, choosing to focus on the path, the forest, anything but Mya.

It proved impossible. That look—that final look would never leave him. The fading pulse in her porcelain hands, that shining smile, those almond eyes …

At last, after hours of trotting well into the wee hours of the morning, they arrived at a dilapidated cabin surrounded by frozen overgrowth and towering cedars. The snow here was pristine, only punctured by occasional rabbit tracks.

“Leera,” Augum whispered over his shoulder. Leera groaned and readjusted her grip on his waist. “Leera, we’re here …”

She stirred, lifted her head, and opened her eyes. “Already?”

“Yeah, sleepyhead, come on.” He helped her dismount. He then took the reins of Bridget and Mrs. Stone’s horse, leading it up to the cabin. The rickety door suddenly creaked open and out came a tired-looking Mr. Goss, adjusting his spectacles.

“Mercy, what a wonderful, sooty sight you all are—!” He quickly drew Augum and then Leera into a tight hug.

“And Bridget … oh, I am just so happy to see you all safe.”

“Hello, Mr. Goss,” Bridget said in a weary voice. “How is Leland? Is he all right?”

“Oh yes, he is sleeping inside.” His eyes then travelled to Mrs. Stone. He gracefully took her hand and kissed it. “My dear Mrs. Stone, this is the second time I find myself thanking you for saving the life of my son …”

Mrs. Stone stirred, too weak to speak. She patted his hand without opening her eyes.

“Come, let us take her inside,” Mr. Goss said.

With a little group effort, they carried her to the dilapidated hut and bundled her in blankets near Leland, who blithely snoozed away, a linen bandage wrapped around his head.

Augum went out to tie up the horses. “Ms. Jenkins didn’t make it,” he blurted upon his return, closing the door behind him, head low. Her life for his arcanery. He never felt more undeserving.

Mr. Goss, who had been busy helping Bridget remove the rucksack, slowed down. He placed it on the ground and took off his spectacles to clean them. “I … I see.”

“We don’t know what happened to Haylee either,” Bridget said. “And one of our other companions …” She looked to Augum, whose mouth suddenly went dry. Mr. Goss didn’t know Mya, so what was the point of telling him? He looked away. He’d rather not talk about it.

Mr. Goss held the spectacles in his hand while staring at his son lying quietly beside Mrs. Stone. “There has been much loss this day.” He slowly glanced around at them. “Yet we live on. Ms. Jenkins saved the life of my boy. I will never forget that. I will never forget her, as I will never forget Mrs. Stone for her efforts. I am a humble chandler with no hope of paying these debts back.” He replaced his spectacles. “You all look exhausted. Let us not think on the matter anymore. Get some sleep. There will be plenty of days ahead for rumination.”

They washed their faces and hands with snow as Mr. Goss swept the floor and readied blankets. By the time dawn sent thin light streaking in through the shutters, everyone snoozed, breath fogging in the crisp air.

Augum dreamt of Mya. He was holding her as she disappeared before his eyes, like the morning mist after the sun shone upon it. The harder he held, the more she faded, until she was gone, leaving the memory of that final look.

A Quiet Fire

Little was said the next morning. They packed and washed up. As they were readying to take inventory, Augum realized he had forgotten the Orb of Orion. Luckily, he still had the pearl in one of his pockets.

He had to see. Maybe Mya was there, waiting to be rescued.

When they weren’t looking, he closed his eyes and concentrated on seeing through the orb. A moment later he was staring at the remains of two cots, a tent, and a slew of blackened bodies. In the background, between clouds of black smoke, was the hazy outline of Hangman’s Rock.

The scene was eerily still.

Suddenly he realized what he was doing—somewhere in that charred mess lay Ms. Jenkins and Mya. He tore away from the orb, gasping for breath. Everything that had happened came rushing back. The fire, the chaos, the desperate struggle for life. He fell to his knees, thinking he was going to retch, pearl rolling from his hand. Mya was gone and he was still here, walking and talking and breathing …

Leera rushed to his side. “Aug, you all right? What happened?”

He only shook his head.

Leera picked up the pearl. “So you still have it. And you looked through it, didn’t you? Don’t do it again, all right?”