Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (2 page)

It was the birds chirping overhead that finally broke through the foggy haze in her mind. She wasn’t sure what hurt worse, the pain radiating through her body, or the pulsing throb in her left arm where the spell had recoiled. “What was that?” Analindë muttered into the rich soil. She rolled onto her back, panting for a few moments before gingerly reaching up to brush dirt and bits of bark off her face. She contemplated lying still for the rest of her life; it hurt too much to move.

She thought of Riian, her older brother, who had recently returned from his
tuvalië
and wondered if he was responsible for the backlash. He’d been so full of himself since he’d been back, strutting around like he owned the place, trying new spells, reading the books in her father’s locked cabinet, and experimenting with spells of which they’d only ever dreamed. Just because he’d traveled around on his own for three years and handled real-life problems and issues while honing his skills didn’t mean anything.

Well, actually it did. She frowned.

He really had learned a lot while he was gone. Even mother had thought he’d done well, which was saying something. Analindë slowly stretched side to side feeling out her aches and pains. It didn’t
feel
like anything was broken.

She’d live.

Analindë relaxed and focused on her breathing, willing the pain to recede.

The moment that band of Energy had snapped back on itself, she’d recognized the disturbance in the forest for what it was. A backlash. She’d never felt one quite like this and wondered if Riian needed help.

It was obviously Riian’s. It couldn’t have been anyone else’s. Since he’d been back, the peaceful valley hadn’t been the same. Fortunately, the isolated mountain village was the perfect place for mages to work with Energy, because if any major spell went awry, the devastation wouldn’t harm many people. Riian’s spells often went awry. That was why she knew the backlash was his. To whom else would it belong?

Analindë wondered how much damage had resulted this time. This shockwave had been significantly stronger than when he’d attempted to locate the mythic mountain dryads earlier in the summer. That time the trees had pulsed slightly from the released energies, but only his maps had incinerated and his workshop been gutted. He’d then proceeded to sulk for a month. Oh how she had missed her brother while he’d been gone. She grinned.

Riian was probably fine, the parents were there to help him. They had put safeguards in place and would take care of him. She shook her arm, attempting to lessen the painful throb, and then sat up with a grunt. So far, so good.

Analindë thought about the last time she’d fallen out of a tree, fifty-seven years ago, and felt her cheeks flush. She would never hear the end of it if Riian found out about today’s mishap; never mind that it was his fault she’d fallen.

She clambered to her feet, brushed stray leaves and dirt from her clothes, and rolled her shoulders. It appeared that the worst of her injuries would be bruises and aching shoulders. She readjusted her scout pack and transferred the twigs she’d harvested to the bag of plants lying on the ground. She wondered what type of spell Riian had botched as she absently rubbed the spot on her arm where the backlash had recoiled.

To be fair, she’d admit that he was quite good at what he did, and he seemed to be learning and adapting to his mistakes. She looked up at the branch she’d fallen from and rolled her shoulders again, stretching out the aches. It
had
been nice to have him back; he didn’t tease her half as much since he’d finished school at Mirëdell and he really
did
know his Energy work. So if she had to put up with the occasional backlash or fall from a tree to have him around, that was fine. It was definitely better to have him around, than to not have him around. She only worried now because he was experimenting with advanced spell weaving, which was dangerous. And today, something had gone terribly wrong.

Anxious thoughts of Riian swirled through her mind as she shook her arm again. Maybe she’d better go home. Analindë shouldered the plant bag, it swung around and bounced against her scout pack. She turned and a moment later was headed off down a deer track through the forest at a brisk walk. The path toward the village was strewn with broken branches and mounds of scattered leaves, forcing her to dodge piles as she went.

A short while later, the babble of a nearby brook pulled her from her musings. This was likely the last time she’d come this way before returning to school. Could she spare a few moments for a brief stop or should she continue home? Her longing to see her favorite hideaway won out.

She left the trail and wove between the trees. Gurgling water enveloped her in a wash of sound. Nestled up against a towering pine was a sun warmed sitting rock.
Her
sitting rock. Five steps away, a cascading brook—bordered by ferns—was hemmed in by moss-covered stepping-stones. A small pool formed at the base of the last fall where fish swam and eddies swirled leaves in rich, golden patterns. The misting water continued on past the sitting rock, winding its way through the forest and eventually out of the valley.

Compelled by longstanding habit, she crouched down next to the towering pine, reached out to touch the rough sticky bark, and frowned in concentration.

“Grow swift and strong, straight and true.” She pushed Energy from her center in order to back the words she’d spoken. A dull ache formed behind her eyes. Her neck muscles tensed as she attempted to slip into magesight. Were those puny sparks of yellow really sputtering from her fingertips or was she seeing things again? She pushed harder and the miniscule sparkles died out.

“Oh, what’s the use?” She stood abruptly and brushed loose dirt from her knee, then readjusted the two packs she carried. Working with energies was difficult; sensing them was even more complex and this afternoon she no longer had patience or strength to contemplate doing either.

She was tired, achy and she still had a lot to do before the sun fell. Hesitating just a moment, she frowned. Then obedient daughter that she was, she plunked herself down onto the ground, legs folded in front of her, palms up on her knees, eyes closed, and breathed deeply three times—the minimum required by her mother after she’d attempted to work Energy—then she stood back up. She really didn’t have time to dawdle. Tomorrow morning, her parents were going to activate a portal to transport their family and the two remaining villagers to the Harvest Festival in Mirëtasarë and she hadn’t packed yet.
Better get going,
she thought as she approached the river bank. Four mages were usually required to activate a portal, but her parents were powerful and they’d manage with just the two of them. Analindë wondered if she’d ever be that powerful, then realized that if she ever voiced that question aloud her mother would assign her a dozen tasks to keep herself “occupied” with more “appropriate” thoughts.

She sighed and rubbed a grubby, sappy palm against her leg, then wondered if her family would have to delay their departure. They’d probably wait for a day or two, just long enough to clean up Riian’s latest debacle
and
miss the best parts of the festival. She massaged her throbbing left arm for a moment before turning to cross the brook. Stepping lightly across the moss covered stones jutting out of the water, she looked back one last time to engrave the tranquil scene on her mind. She studied the graceful sweep of the brook and how submerged rocks enhanced the play of water, then turned her gaze to the gentle ferns and proud trees lining the water’s banks.

A violet-breasted bird caught her eye as it swooped down from the sky, landing in the pool with a splash. It rose again, a small trout clutched in its talons. Water sprayed from the beautiful bird’s wings as it laboriously climbed back into the sky. She followed the bird’s flight, then gasped. Behind it she saw smoke.

Fire.

She tracked the menacing black smoke in the sky toward earth until treetops blocked her view. It was coming from the village. Horror quickly replaced curiosity.
Stars, what had happened?

Analindë dashed across the remaining stones and pushed through the underbrush. She found a smooth track that had been used for thousands of years to cut through the woods, clutched the plant bag to her chest, and ran.

She quickly passed through a growth of young trees, then entered a section of forest filled with pines older than her parents and tall enough to touch the sky. Not as many branches had fallen to the ground on this stretch of the track so she lengthened her stride and practically flew along the forest floor.

A shout followed by an unintelligible scream quickened her already harried pace; unease wound up her spine as her mind raced. Her footsteps thudded unusually loud in the quiet forest. She’d released the plant bag from her arms and it now bounced awkwardly against her hip, slowing her down. She stopped to stuff the bag under a protruding root, vowing to come back for it later, then quickly resumed her headlong flight along the path.

Analindë was truly worried now; she panicked as she ran. Different scenarios flashed through her mind. The spell Riian had been working on, ending in explosion; her mother’s workshop on fire from a complex chemistry experiment gone wrong: surely there was nothing that could catch fire in her father’s conservatory beyond his books? She didn’t think he was breeding any fire plants. Her parents would have been able to bring any fire easily under control unless they’d been injured in the initial blast. Something in her chest clenched.

She paused at the edge of the woods near a large pile of boulders to catch her breath. Hovering just out of sight, she kneaded a pain in her side with her fist. Unease built within her as she scanned the small village. Tranquil well-kept grounds and welcoming cottages met her gaze. It was surreal and perfectly quaint, but a feeling of not-quite-rightness made her muscles ratchet tighter with tension.

The billowing black smoke in the sky was now replaced by slim tendrils of white. As her eyes trailed the streaks of white smoke down to the earth, her skin prickled and her stomach roiled. The stables obscured her view, and so she took several faltering steps to the side.

The entire west wing of the great house was gone.

The Second Chapter

S
hock rocked her back,
her heart thumped painfully as she sank to her knees, struggling to breathe. Charred wood and cracked stone lay strewn about the courtyard and insidious white smoke rose from various bits of rubble. Large gaping holes taunted her from the house where hallways and rooms should have connected.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
The words ran through her mind like the paddle on a river wheel, around and around, over and over again.

“What in the stars happened?” she groaned.

The west wing was the oldest part of her home, built six generations ago by the great-ancestor she’d been named after, Analindëssë. It housed all of their workshops; no one had practiced spells outside that wing for generations, ever since Great-Uncle Jesar burnt down the suite of rooms he’d been living in.

Now, it was all gone.

She felt violently ill.

Mother. Father. Riian. Her right hand clenched the leather strap of her scout pack until her knuckles turned white. Her other arm cradled her aching stomach. White dots exploded at the edges of her vision and her head spun.

Too weak to rise, she rocked back and forth, pebbles jabbing into her knees and shins, but she didn’t feel them. She leaned down until her forehead pressed against the rough ground and she panted.
Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.
“They would have been shielded.”
Please be okay. Please be okay.
“I’m sure they’re fine,” she whispered, lying to herself. Tears dripped unchecked off the tip of her nose.

“And the books. Gone.” She groaned. Stifling a sob, she pulled herself up and walked swiftly toward the village searching for someone, anyone.

Glendariel’s home was closest.

The smell of yeast from rising bread wafted toward her. It reminded her of the many pleasant afternoons she’d spent watching Glendariel knead bread on her marble countertop, of scorched fingers as she’d helped to shift the baking loaves in the enormous stone oven and cold winter nights spent curled up in her kitchen corner dipping fresh, crusty pieces of buttered bread into rich, hot chocolate.

She sped along the side of the two-story cottage on her way to the kitchen entrance while trailing her fingers along the smooth stones and mortar. She rounded the corner to the backyard, tripped over something and fell to her knees.

She caught herself with her hands, wincing. Ignoring her stinging palms, she looked back to see what had tripped her and then wished she hadn’t. Her panic-heightened senses engrained the horrific sight forever in her mind. Tremors and a flash of heat rushed over her as she looked back in mute horror at Glendariel lying face down in a pool of her own blood. Analindë quickly looked away, only to find Glendariel’s husband lying awkwardly in the herb garden just to her right. Blood rushed from her head, bile rose to her throat, and she slumped to her side gagging. She shakily pressed the heels of the palms of her hands to her eyes, attempting to blot out the glassy-eyed stare looking at her from between stems of thyme and flat-leafed parsley.

Prickly chills replaced the tremors as her gagging subsided. She felt clammy and hot at the same time; her scout pack was too constricting. She tugged at the strap of her pack while she batted her racing thoughts aside in an attempt to clear some space in the swirling melee of her mind.
What was going on?

Long moments later—with hands pressed back up against her eyes, her thoughts jumpy, but quieter—she succeeded. She’d carved out a small space to think.

Had the percussion of the explosion killed them? No, if the blast had been that powerful, then more buildings would have collapsed, not just the west wing itself. And then there was all that blood. She blanched.

Mother! She whimpered and pushed herself to her feet.

She staggered away from the baker and her husband. She searched the village looking for signs of anyone else, moving forward hesitantly but urgently, afraid of what she might find. She rubbed a spot at the back of her neck where a slight prickling sensation had taken up residence. It was all she could do to not turn around every other second to make sure she wasn’t being followed. As she neared the gathering hall she caught a glimpse of the great house just in time to see three humans approach the front entrance.

Humans!

She ducked back behind an empty cart, wondering if there were others in the village. Unease churned in her gut. What were
THEY
doing here?

She peered around the side of the cart and trembled as a burly man, his lank hair tied back from his face, opened the front door; a middle-aged woman—a sword stained with blood hanging from her hand—entered first. Both of them wore odd-looking brown clothes. No, not odd. Just sterile and serviceable. Straight cuts that did not drape well, and rough cloth that probably itched. The third—a human wizard dressed in a tattered dark green mage robe, the hood drawn low to hide his face—entered last.

Understanding washed over her like one of the great waves that hit the coast every few years. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes again and groaned. Pools of blood, glassy-eyed stares, and blood-stained swords. Rage washed through her, blotting out the images. She flung her arms down to her sides with fists clenched and then growled, “What do They want?”

She covertly moved closer, and shouting reached her from the inside of the house. She couldn’t make out the words but recognized her parent’s voices. “Thank the stars! They’re alive!” Her knees went weak as relief swept through her. Her legs buckled, and she leaned heavily against the wall. She needed to sit down.

As she began to slide to the ground, her brother Riian appeared next to her, and she ended up lurching sideways instead. He caught her by the arms, pulling her upright, then tugged her into an embrace. He quietly made shushing sounds while patting her back, soothing her. Moments later, when she felt calmer, he pulled away from her and motioned for her to remain silent. Inky black hair was tied back with a thin strip of green ribbon; his face was carved with concern. He glanced after the humans, frowning. He grasped her arms once again, then drew her completely out of sight of the great house. Pulling her forward, he kissed her on the forehead and looked down into her face. His silver-flecked blue eyes were somber. “Analindë, it isn’t safe. Go, . . . hide in the Stonemason’s house until we’ve taken care of them.”

The silver specks in his eyes, reminiscent of a galaxy in the sky, swirled slowly. Not only was he somber, but he was worried. He glanced away from her, scanning the space around them, and then his eyes were back upon her.

She hurriedly searched his eyes again. There was something else in them now, but she couldn’t quite make it out. He’d gotten good at hiding his feelings and suddenly she was more afraid than ever.

Panic gripped her and her legs shook unsteadily beneath her as worry, fear, and anger rose within her again. The sheltered daughter she’d been earlier that day wanted to go hide. Begged for it actually. But newly awakened rage wanted to act. Glendariel and her husband’s deaths, the loss of millennia’s worth of books in the west wing, made her sick. “But I want to help!” The words sounded more plaintive than confident, but she didn’t worry about the fear in her voice. He would easily read it in her eyes, just as their mother had taught them. No need to be embarrassed that she’d spoken her fear aloud. His eyes softened, and her stomach turned over in worry.

“You haven’t yet learned warfare spells. You’ll be safest out of the way.” Riian tenderly brushed the side of her face with his knuckles.

“But there must be some way that I can help.”

“There is. By staying safe.” He swatted her lovingly on the arm—he always did that—and pushed her toward the Stonemason’s house.

“Riian,” she called out in an urgent whisper. He paused, turning back from the great house. The words stuck in her throat. What if something terrible happened? “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Be safe.”

He nodded quietly, and something shifted in his stance. A moment later he’d resumed his pace. She watched him move down the street in stealth; foreboding grew in the pit of her stomach.

Analindë crept away but doubled back as soon as she knew her brother was out of sight. She’d stay away from the great house but remain close enough in case they needed her. She darted across the village square toward the building closest to her home. She slipped through the front door, opened a window, and then settled down to wait.

Only a few moments had passed before Analindë felt unfamiliar surges of power begin to stir within the great house. She heard shouting again but couldn’t make out the words. The surges were powerful. She knew, because she hadn’t yet developed the skill to fully sense energies, and she felt these Energy fluctuations without even trying. The surges were different from the powerful backlash she’d felt earlier in the forest. These didn’t pull at her but ebbed over her in rebounding waves.

The raging power built upon itself, rising into peak after peak, ever larger. When the cone of power had grown to encompass an enormous area, it exploded with enough force to literally knock her over. The shouting ceased, the energies were gone. She scrambled forward, listening, but she heard nothing but the rustle of leaves on the wind.

She pulled herself back up onto her knees, settled next to the window, willing herself to hear something.

Anything.

But there was nothing.

What had happened?

What was happening?

She pressed closer to the open window. She closed her eyes, slipped into magesight, attempting to see. The world was black before her, but she sensed strange bursts of Energy pulsing intermittently from the great house: human spells. Her chest felt heavy with worry and her breathing became labored. She lacked the skills to identify what kind of spells they were, but she recognized their alien feel. Her knees ached from crouching for so long and she began to think about leaving her hiding spot and entering the great house when she heard it.

Laughter.

Then voices getting louder.

She didn’t recognize them. Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach as she trembled against the cool smooth wall. She slipped out of magesight, then took a peek out the window.

She watched the three humans stride out of the great house and into the courtyard. The human wizard had drawn the hood back away from his head and was tucking an amulet with Elvish markings on it beneath his robes. His hawkish face was pale and covered in sweat.

He looked giddy. Not the happy kind, but jittery. The type filled with the skittish elation one feels after one thinks one is going to die but doesn’t. The spell must have pressed his limits and she momentarily wondered, before despair kicked back in, what would have happened if he’d lost control. She ducked down out of sight and shivered against the cool wall while waiting for the sound of their footsteps to fade out of range.

She’d never seen humans before; their rounded ears had looked stubby, and she finally understood what the word ‘tanned’ meant, as in beautifully rich olive tinted skin. She wished that her first encounter with humans had been under different circumstances.
Any
other circumstances.