Hidden Power (18 page)

Aurora’s power surged through him as she hissed, “That’s enough, Kayne.”

“We shall what?” heckled the Tree, then all the trees, as Aurora and Kayne made their way into the forest. “We shall what?”

“Be careful what you say,” Aurora warned, still clinging tightly to his hand for light in the darkness. “The trees have ears.”

“Literally,” chuckled Lutheran, using his shortened walking stick to point at the mossy growths of a nearby tree.

The forest thinned considerably after the first thick outcropping just inside the mountain walls, but fewer trees did not make for faster going. The ground was soft and moist, covered in a thick white fog that hid gnarled roots and slithering bugs.

They walked closely together, Kayne holding Aurora’s hand to help light the way. The fog thickened the farther they went into the forest, making it hard to tell if they were going north, or south, or east, or east again.

Aurora was leaning over to tighten her laces with her free hand when a voice whispered in her ear, “Turn back, dear.”

“Kayne,” she said, slapping his shoulder playfully. “Quit toying with me.”

“Me?” he asked, fog up to mid-thigh. “I didn’t say a word—”

“Not him,” said the voice, louder now. “ME!” 

Suddenly Aurora shot through the air, as if shoved from behind, landing shoulder first against the nearest tree trunk. 

“Ooomph,” she gushed, the wind nearly leaving her body. A lance of pain shot through her right arm as she slid down the leathery bark to the cold, mossy ground, shaking her head in confusion.

“Who’s there?” Aurora shrieked, hating the high tone of fear in her voice but unable to control it. “Show yourself!” 

She raised her hand to light the path in front of her, but could do no magic without Kayne by her side. She blinked her eyes, the mist rising, and could no longer see her traveling companions.

Have I been thrown that far
? she wondered, silently, shivering in the dark and desperate for the enchantment Kayne gave her when they were together. 

“I am!” said the voice, vaguely feminine, with dark, masculine overtones. “Right! Here!” 

Aurora felt herself being kicked in the stomach, hard, by rock solid feet. Or hands. Or who knew what!?

She grunted and rolled away from the source of violence, finding only the musty cold chill of the earth to greet her. The forest seemed to slide away as she rose, on unsteady feet. 

“Kayne!” she called, desperate now, frazzled.

Helpless. 

“Lutheran?”

But her voice didn’t travel far, lost in the thick white mist that surrounded her. She felt her way along the tree trunk, hearing distant cries just out of reach. 

“They can’t hear you now,” came the voice, more feminine this time. Closer, too. “You’re all mine!”

Aurora felt pressure at the back of her hair before, suddenly, she was yanked off the ground, feet dangling inches above the mist as someone, or something, held her by her hair. She cried out in pain, only to be let go unceremoniously, landing in a heap at the foot of yet another towering tree trunk.

She spun, quickly, spying the shape of a girl as it formed from the mist. It glowed an eerie light blue, the mist taking shape, limb by limb. One leg, then another, a torso, an arm, another, a neck, a head, long, stringy black hair. It was like a block of clay taking shape before her eyes.

Aurora took her walking stick and swung, the wood swirling through the gray-blue mist. But as soon as the danger had passed, the shape formed again. Angry laughter filled the air around her. 

“You can’t hurt me, mortal!” it cried. “Just you try!”

Aurora knew, instinctively, the shape was right. It must have been a forest spirit, a haunted soul, one of the angry mortals who’d died in pursuit of the elusive Oracles. 

“W-w-who are you?” Aurora stammered on purpose, playing the part of the fearful mortal. “Why are you doing this?”

The shape grew more physical as it inched toward her, long dark hair surrounding a ghostly face, harsh black lips curling in a frown below big, black eyes. 

“Who are you?” It mimicked Aurora, like a schoolgirl might, sneering a ghostly sneer. “Why are you doing this?”

Aurora quivered, on her knees, pretending like she needed the walking stick for support. As the shape drew nearer, details of the face became clearer: a nose, sharp and unpleasant, with a sharp chin to match. Piggish eyes and big ears and that stringy, black hair that seemed to surround the ghostly white face like a funeral wreath. 

It wore a dowdy dress, made of thin material, as if from olden times and not of the latest styles. Her feet disappeared into the mist, topped by long, bony legs. 

“What befell you?” Aurora tried to reason with it.

“The same fate that will befall you!” the Shape cried, proudly, as if Aurora had already been frightened to death. 

Aurora watched the Shape drift closer, becoming more real with every misty step. “Won’t you do me the honor of telling me your name?” Aurora asked, grasping at straws.

“Is that your final request?” the Shape laughed, a hollow sound echoing through the Sacred Forest. 

“If it must be.”

The Shape wavered, looking doubtful. 

“Sharazam,” it blurted, quickly, as if Aurora might change her mind. 

“But why did you try to find the Oracles?”

“I wanted to know my future, of course.”

“Did you find out?” Aurora asked.

Sharazam seemed to grow before Aurora’s eyes, her face filing with rage. “Does it look like it?” she bellowed, a cold breeze passing through Aurora’s skin. 

Aurora held up her hands in defeat. “But how did you even get in here?” she asked, buying time. She kept waiting for Kayne to approach her, for her skin to tingle with the presence of his half of their magic connection. 

It never came. 

She was trying to save herself, one word at a time.

Sharazam cocked her head, black hair waving in the wind of her own making. It was like the hem of Kayne’s cloak, always moving, even when she wasn’t. 

“I seduced a mage,” she confessed, almost proudly, “who gave me the spell to chant and open the door.”

“You tricked them?” Aurora marveled, really playing it up. “How… imaginative.”

The air grew chill and, suddenly, Aurora felt the presence of another ghosts. Or several, as it turned out. One by one they appeared from the mist, some more focused than others, some wispy, all surrounding her with their gray, unhappy faces.

“What’s… what’s happening?” Aurora stammered as Sharazam faded into the background. 

Sharazam’s voice was distant as she chuckled, “I wanted you to meet a few of my friends.”

The ghostly images wavered in front of her, beside her, behind her. They lifted her up as if she were no heavier than a rag doll, tossed her around, pulled her hair, tore at her clothes.

Aurora was confused. She’d always believed that ghosts were specters, images, ghostly visions to be heard, even seen, but never touched. But these ghosts had physical form, some more physical than others, all painful!

“
Stop!
” Aurora chanted and, in her anger, small flickers began to crackle at her fingertips. Still the ghosts persisted, battering her, beating her, tugging and kicking and pulling. 

“
Stop! This! Right! Now!
” At last Aurora’s hand was engulfed in power, as if she was wearing a glove full of moonlight.

It glowed as she waved it at the creatures, their faces, horrified and angry, coming into clearer focus as she pointed at them, waved her fist at them, illuminating each one as she passed. Sharazam cowered in a corner, clinging to a tree, as Aurora approached her.

“What have I done to deserve this?” she asked as the ghost, shivering now, slid down the tree trunk, covering her head. “What do you have against me?”

“You’re alive,” came a gentle voice from behind. 

This one was different. It sounded almost… human. Aurora whirled, only to find a small, frail woman dressed in rags and leaning on a gnarled root for a cane. 

“That’s why they taunt you, dear. Can’t you see that?”

Aurora approached her, fingers crackling with power as she neared. The woman squinted, raising a frail hand to guard against the powerful light. 

Feeling her rage dissipating, Aurora’s fingers dimmed, then extinguished. She studied her hand, feeling disappointed that her power had left her. 

Was Kayne near? 

Was that why she was feeling so… magical?

“It’s not your friend,” said the old woman, winking at her knowingly. “Your power is your own, dear. You just haven’t mastered it yet. But you will. Give it time, dear, and you will some day.”

“Are you… are you the oracle?” Aurora asked.

The woman cackled, joined by a chorus of ghosts as they inched closer, surrounding Aurora with their spectral bodies. 

“Heavens no, child,” she said, voice hearty despite her frail, wizened appearance. “Anyone with a pair of eyes can see that you’re bursting with power just dying to get out.”

The old woman crept nearer, using the cane to hobble along, her legs hidden up to the ankle in the Sacred Forest’s hovering mists. Her hair was wispy white and long, her wrinkled skin covered in a humble, linen robe.

“Then who… who are you?” Aurora asked. 

Around her, the ghosts kept a respectful distance. Even so, Sharazam inched closer to the old woman, putting a protective, spectral hand on her shoulder. 

With her misty young hand on the stranger’s flesh and blood shoulder, it was even more apparent that the old woman was not, in fact, a ghost.  

“I am a guide, of sorts,” said the woman, nodding kindly up at Sharazam. “I’m sorry if my friends were… rude… to you but, you see, they’re very protective of me.”

Aurora nodded. She could see that. All around the old woman, ghosts stood, or hovered, or bent, or glowered. There were dozens of them, all around this tiny clearing in the Sacred Forest. Men, women, children, teenagers, young, old, all shimmering or firm or ghostly or misty, but none flesh as the old woman was.

“I help to guide the spirits to salvation, you see,” the old woman said, voice soft and gentle. “It’s the only way out of here.”

Aurora nodded. “And what of the living? Do they deserve salvation as well?”

Sharazam hissed, her anger forcing her into clearer focus. 

“We’re all alive in some form or fashion,” she spat. “Don’t think that just because you’re flesh and bone that you’re more alive than my friends and me.”

Aurora considered the young girl’s words, and nodded. “Of course, you’re right. I’m… I’m sorry. It’s frightening, this place.”

Sharazam nodded, softening a touch, half her face wavering in the mist, the other more fleshy and real. “It is frightening, yes,” nodded the woman. 

“Unfortunately, for us, it’s home. But not for you, dear. Time is short. The Sacred Forest waits for no man, or woman, or girl, in your case. You and your friends must—”

“My friends?” Aurora barked, taking a step closer. Sharazam hissed and blocked her path, as did several other ghosts. Aurora put her hands up, in surrender. “I mean no harm, I just… how did you know about my friends?”

“Mathilda is a spirit guide,” explained Sharazam almost reverently. “She sees between both worlds, and knows every resident of the Sacred Forest, new and old.”

“But how?” Aurora asked.

“She was hired to help grow the forest,” Sharazam explained patiently. “Many, many eons ago, when these towering trees were but seeds in her pockets. The Oracles hired her to erect a forest, to protect them. They let her live here, and tend the trees, and water the plants, and feed the forest animals. Then, when her time was at hand, when she was an old and frail woman, the Oracles were set to send her off to sleep. 

“But the forest grew greedy, and didn’t want to let her go. The trees, living so close to the Oracle’s power, had grown enchanted, and now had a mind of their own. They enchanted poor Mathilda, giving her the blessing – and the curse – of immortality.”

“So… you’re a ghost?” Aurora asked the old woman.

“I wish,” chuckled Mathilda, shaking her head in sorrow. “Alas, I am flesh and blood, cursed to live out my days with aching joints and weary bones, with all the ailments and sorrows of a woman who’s lived far too long on this earth. I roam the forest, trapped, for the trees will not let me go. But the ghosts are my friends and now, Aurora, I hope you will be, too!”

“How did you know my name?” Aurora asked. “Are you enchanted as well?”

Mathilda used her walking stick to point to Aurora’s hand, the one that had flickered to life with magical power only minutes earlier. “No more than you, my dear. I heard you tell Sharazam here.” 

Aurora nodded, feeling a stirring in the mist. She heard grunts, and breathing, and knew it wasn’t coming from her ghostly friends. “Aurora!” Kayne said, bursting into the clearing. Immediately, the ghosts rushed to crowd around Mathilda.

Aurora held up her hands in a cautionary gesture. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, noticing Lutheran right behind him, walking stick raised in a threatening manner. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for you,” gasped Kayne, bent at the waist, struggling to catch his breath. 

“Young man,” said Mathilda, more forcefully than before. “Come here.”

“Why should I?” Kayne sneered.

Sharazam hissed, flying to block him. 

“Because she asked you to,” hissed the ghost, wavering and misty. Kayne’s eyes grew big as he looked toward Aurora for guidance.

“Do as she says,” Aurora said, gently. “Trust me, it’s all right.”

Kayne nodded and inched closer to Mathilda. Next to him, Sharazam hovered slightly above the ground, the hem of her ghostly dress fluttering much as Kayne’s shimmering white cloak.

“You possess something of great power,” said Mathilda, gently, quietly, once Kayne had stopped before her. “That is why you seek the help of the Oracles?”

“Yes,” Kayne said, gentler now, more trusting. Behind him, Lutheran and Aurora watched cautiously. “We only hope to restore the balance between darkness and light. We… we mean no harm.”

Around them, the ghosts murmured. “Sharazam,” said Mathilda, gesturing with her cane. The teenage ghost floated over and bent down, listening, nodding, as the old woman counseled her.