Ice Burns (18 page)

She supposed it made sense that he made that assumption of her.

“I knocked it off the table by accident, Master.”

When a reprimand didn’t come, Chandra raised her head to find the blade balanced in the air. The shimmering blade spun like a pendulum. Light glanced off its edges and played across the room as if it were a diamond.

“Let us hope that is the only clumsiness you will exhibit today,” Master said, his eyes locked on the blade. “You could say that today is the most important of your young life, Chandra. Today, someone will die in this room and with that death, someone’s destiny will begin.”

14

Chandra cut her eyes to Deakon. His face had gone pale, and his lips parted as he set his wide-eyed gaze on Master Dreys.

He had not known, either. The surprise on his face only lasted a moment before shifting to unreadable. Chandra wondered if she could be as calm and put her emotional mask back in place even though it didn't fit any longer.

“Think of it as tug-of-war," Master's teeth flashed. "It is called a Throwing Talon. You will push it between you with the intent of striking the other. I must know that, whoever wins the spot as my apprentice, is willing to do what I ask when I ask it.”

Chandra felt a shift in the tension of the room and knew that Master Dreys had given Deakon the incentive he needed. She looked across the room at the boy she had known hated her and wanted to be an apprentice, but wondered if he could kill her just because Master Dreys said so.

A moment later, the Talon spun on its side, one point aimed at each student. A breath later, it flew toward her, and Chandra ducked. It embedded itself in the wall behind where she was standing. She looked from the blade to the one controlling it and saw sweat pouring down Deakon's face. Master stepped near her as Deakon fought to remove the Talon from the wall.

"I know you've been hiding your magic from me," he whispered, his face so close that the whiskers of his goatee scraped at her cheek. "I know the fountain in the peristyle was you. I know that the magic has grown within you and made you powerful. You want to keep control of your magic, don't you? It would be so easy."

Master Dreys stepped away from her as the blade came free and back at Chandra. Her hand lifted to deflect it; heat swelled in her left hand, and the flying terror bounced off. The Talon was lighting in the air as it flew from its path and buried itself in the floor at Deakon’s feet. It hadn't been her intent to send it anywhere near him.

Deakon's face flushed. Blue eyes, cold and pointed caught hers and his nostrils flared as he turned his gaze back to the Talon. Master had reached Deakon's side and was speaking to him in a quiet voice. Chandra couldn't hear what he said, but she saw two sets of eyes on her filled with death.

When the Talon lifted from the floor and came to her again, she raised one hand and stopped it a foot from her face. She kept her hand up, and the blade spun slowly in the air, the points directed at her and Deakon.

Green eyes sought out dark brown to plead the man who had raised her to stop what was happening; to return to his senses. Master Dreys only took slow steps around the perimeter of where his two students battled. A glance from him shook her to the very heart of who she thought she was.

A feral beast replaced the polished mage with lips that were drawn back from sharp, white teeth. Gone was the boredom and hint of scorn from those dark eyes, replaced with anger and blood lust. Chandra saw madness and the gaze of a hunter.

As his eyes drifted between the two mages, Chandra realized it didn't matter to Master Dreys who won. All that mattered, was the power that would be at his disposal. Her senses balanced on a knife's edge; Chandra felt his magic rise like a sandstorm within him.

In one heartbeat, she saw that the man she had called Master would happily kill them both if he felt the need. The beast in him, whatever it was that stretched beneath the surface of the face she had known would bathe in her blood if it thought there was power to be gained from it.

The air in the room stilled and everything seemed dark as tears rolled down Chandra's face and she wondered, in some still-logical part of her brain, how long she had been crying. A small part of her wondered if it was better if Deakon won. Perhaps dying now would stop the pain that grew inside her.

Pressure built in her mind and Chandra felt her friend shriek at her. There were no words, just images that blurred and scraped across her soul with cold blades. The Talon came closer to her. It was now close enough to her that if she moved, the spinning blade would slice off an eyelash if she chose to blink.

She didn't want to die. The pain, so cold in her began to heat and melt the frozen blood that flowed through her veins. Chandra wanted to be free to be something more, just as she had always wanted to be for Master Dreys. There was no freedom of any kind in that room for her. Chandra asked her friend if he would help her find a way to be free and she felt his warmth slide over her. Comforting warmth quelled the fire that started to burn her with frustration and rage. She made her decision and tried to make peace with herself as she turned the Talon away from herself. She exhaled gently and pushed the blade away from herself. It spun at her will and blinked across the room with speed and accuracy to pierce the man’s chest.

For a moment, it seemed as though Master Dreys was pinned to the wall like an insect in a frame. The Talon had found its mark with such force, that it had made the man weightless. Blood soaked the body and turned his ever-neat robes wet and stained in a way that would never come out.

Chandra wanted to close her eyes to the death, but she made herself face what she had done. She watched as the ferocity and life bled from the man who had been her only family. Her fingers burned and then chilled as though a rush of circulation had flown through them. The tips felt wet as though she had driven them into Master Dreys chest as he bled instead of the blade.

A choking sound brought Chandra back to where she was. It drew her gaze away from the corpse. Deakon stared at the dead body and seemed to have lost any ability to speak.

Frostwhite pushed at her, and she knew that Deakon would not let her leave the manor after what had happened.

“I’m sorry,” Chandra whispered. She lifted one hand, focused on the slumped form and swept her arm in a broad gesture. Deakon squeaked as he was lifted and flung at the wall. He crumpled to the floor after impact.

Chandra passed a hand in front of his face to ensure he was breathing and touched his neck. She nodded and stood.

"Time to go."

Frostwhite jumped down from the rafters and landed in the window. She grabbed bread off of the tray. There was nothing else there she could take with her because it was either wet or without something she could put it in.

She turned and looked at death on one side and opponent on the other. No more of her life, or any life, would be influenced in any way by her former Master. She hoped Deakon would realize that she had saved them both.

"I need not to be seen," she turned to where Frostwhite perched. "I know it had to have been you because it didn't work when I was alone in the garden."

Frostwhite flew down and moved to her shoulder. She patted the bird for a moment. If there had ever been a time she needed not to be visible, it was now. Without it, they would never make it out of the manor.

For a few frantic heartbeats, Chandra stood beside the door. Pressure that was feather-soft slid over her. She lifted her hand and waved invisible fingers at her face. She wasn't sure if it was Frostwhite or her that made them disappear, but she trusted it would work. She opened the door and stepped out of her room with the great hawk on her shoulder. Chandra knew she would never again return to that tiny room.

Part II – The Journey

Part II – The Journey

The old woman stood up from her chair, her bones creaking as much as the old wood on which she had been seated. Her feet whispered on stone as they carried her to the massive stone fireplace. Gnarled fingers curled into the cool depths, hovering for a moment over the black dust that lay in the bowels before plunging her hand inside. The ash flew apart like a miniature storm had erupted within it. Stumpy fingers wiggled within the ash which moved and shifted as though it were breathing.

A frown disappeared in the lines of her face as a fold among many. After a few passes at stirring the ash, she stopped and lifted her hand. In the center of the twisted bone and flesh grew a tiny ember that was as vibrant as the ash was in shadow. The wrinkles on her face rearranged themselves like curtains separated from a window as she smiled. She leaned in toward the ember and breathed. It lifted as if carried by a much greater breeze and floated like a thought.

A moment later, it landed in the center of the mounded black mess within the hearth. After a moment, another golden spark appeared near the first within the ashy remains. Then another. Soon, a dozen or so glowed within the disarray, and the woman nodded. The light caught in the woman's smile and echoed it with a million shadows across the wizened face.

Eyes glowed as she picked up a piece of wood from the small stack beside the hearth. She whispered a prayer so close to the wood it was as though she kissed it. Like a lost love, she tossed it into the growing flame, a feast for the sparks. The embers seemed to draw lines to where the wood set and carved the glow into the once-tree. The woman lent her breath a few more times, and flames rose up from a zigzag of glowing lines on the log. The hungry heated hearth fed gratefully on the offering.

The dark ash lifted as though it had awakened. It swirled around the new flame, licking at it as the flames did air and wood. The old woman didn't notice a shift within, nor would she have completely understood what it meant, had she seen it. Her eyes were for the flame alone, as welcome as a friend in the lonely cottage. She added another log, nodded and returned to her chair that creaked with a sigh echoed in her limbs.

The old woman shifted around in the seat for a moment, her eyes drooping and her breath deep in the steadily warming air of the tiny cottage. After various twists and shifts, her ancient body fit itself into the curved grooves and worn cushion of the seat. A sigh escaped her again, and she let her eyes drift down. She traced the patterns in the darkness of her eyelids while her body warmed and became liquid with sleep. It claimed her, and she journeyed down a worn path within the dream.

The old woman was the guard she had been in her youth. She watched a single fat flake drift with a sort of lazy ease along the edge of the window. Her eyes were so focused that she was blind to the flakes that descended with it. The world outside flowed and shifted with thick layers of white like a child madly sifting flour.

Her station by the back door in the kitchen was warm against the cold that radiated off of the expensive glass. It was comforting in its hominess, and residual baking smells that seemed to have soaked into the very wood of the house. Being in the warmth could almost make her feel as though the snow was peaceful and gentle as it drifted around. She knew that to venture long into its beauty would probably be the end of any fool.

She stretched stiff muscles, grateful for the indoors when she saw exactly such a person. She shook her head as she watched a lone, shadowed figure hurry through the descending and shifting blanket of dandelion fluff. The snow was a wave of white that crashed on either side of the tall figure as he moved as rapidly as he was able. She scratched her head for a moment and then realized it had to be the young man who had been inside delivering something to honor the lady's baby.

Again she marked him as a fool. Late visitors, such as him, would have been given a room off the main entry near where the guards had bunks. Likely, he was someone's messenger who was anxious to hear that the favor had been given and had commanded an immediate return.

He was one of many who sought the favor of the lady for a master or himself. It wasn't often a baby in such a powerful family was born. Anyone who looked to gain favor would need to make the lady happy or best the Lord in a way that didn't injure his honor. It had been like that for weeks, though she had thought that the snow would slow the visits down.

She frowned. The guard woman noted he held a bundle. For someone seeking favor, it was odd that he left holding something. It was as if he had changed his mind. Who would bother to make such a journey just to change their mind and depart?

No one. She frowned and tugged at one ear as she considered the slow-moving figure.

It was more likely the Lady had refused the gift as not lavish enough, and caused the traveler to depart in shame. Lady Ice Wrath, as she was called in furtive whispers, was never satisfied.

Still, she could not help but be sad for the baby. What child needed to be raised by an evil mother in a stark, loveless environment. The child may have been destined to power, but power was not the only reward to be had in life.

If only the child would have the opportunity to learn such a lesson.

She hoped that life would create someone who could be better than the woman that raised her and returned to her musings of the traveler. Shame should not be enough to risk one's life.

"Idiot," she whispered.

The figure paused in the world of white. Snow swirled, filling in footsteps behind him, yet he turned and looked in the foggy window the guardswoman occupied. Despite the darkness and snow curtain, she met the darkest eyes she had ever seen in her life. She felt fear slide under her skin just before her throat closed. She was hit with a sudden sense of vertigo as her body lifted. It was as if a giant hand grasped her and threw her across the room. Her body and various kitchen items crashed down from the wall to the stone floor.