Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) (8 page)

Lyall cocked his head, displaying a stripe of tree sap on his jawline. “You do have a unique way of seeing things. It's no wonder the Hunters talk about you.”

“Talk about me?”

Lyall started back down the trail, walking with deliberate slowness. “Not ever day, you understand, but every now and again they talk about how you tricked that wraith. It's a legend.”

I blushed and was immediately annoyed at myself for being pleased. The air was still, humid, and thereby hot in the sunny trek.

“I didn't do anything spectacular. Simple little illusion is all.”

“Just the same thing which killed Cole, a simple little illusion.” Lyall's boots scuffed on the timber stairs descending a rocky drop off too steep for a trail yet far too short to call a cliff. Seep springs trickled under the staircase, yellow-spotted monkeyflowers poked their heads over the boards around my ankles.

I thought we'd finished on the topic. Lyall stopped at the bottom and added, “Know that illusions, delusions, lies, and ignorance have great power. It is possibly the most wicked weapon of all, the ability to deceive. Think about that before you approach the Offering Tree.”

Lyall continued the final distance to a cluster of leaning river birches. I waited until Mordon stopped on the grassy glen beside me.

“What do you think?”

Mordon plucked a yellow and purple monkeyflower. “I wonder why people are scorned for their lies yet celebrated for their ignorance when it is all a form of deception. In a lie, one knows more than they say; in ignorance, one says more than they know. He has me pondering which of the two is a greater evil.”

Lyall whistled impatiently. “You coming?”

I smiled and soon ducked under the low branches of the first river birch, encountering a tiny stream. I hopped over it, noting that it may have been deep enough for a large toad to wallow in, and arrived in a nest of rocks and red-tinged columbines as tall as my waist. Tied to the most upright trunk of three trees all grouped together were a lot of scrolls. Crimson wax sealed each scroll, the edges tattered by the weather.

This hadn't been here when I was on my hike with my parents.

“What are these?” I asked.

“It's like a fortune tree,” Mordon said. “Don't you know? The colony has one, we maintain it for the children and New Year's. People write encouragements, prompts, and dares. They leave it tied to the tree. Our rule is to compose a message you would like to receive. If you tie a bad note to the tree it will take that note away and give you one of the scrolls previously confiscated.”

He laughed, making me think he'd done this intentionally as a child.

“Speaking from experience?”

“I learned a few choice words that way. Agnes was not happy to hear me repeat them.”

Lyall patted the trunk affectionately. “Our tree does the same. Feraline of the Swift Clan, all you two need to do to officially be welcomed to the Verdant Wildwoods is to take a scroll. Mordon Meadows, Drake Lord of the Kragdomen Colony, same goes for you.”

I reached forward and took one that was wrinkled from rain and brown from dust. Mordon grabbed the nearest one at hand.

He got his seal open first.

“When in doubt, have faith and believe.”

Lyall shrugged. “I wonder how many there are that say that.”

Mordon's may have been common, but I could tell there was something weird with mine. The underside of the scroll was black as I uncurled it, its writing revealed in flashes as the light reflected off it the way a feather gleams.

It took me a minute to be able to read it.

Miss Swift,

You face a foe who is one step ahead of you. These people need you more and more as the day becomes dark.

Remember, on a cold night keep a warm hearth.

-Death

My brow furrowed. I wanted to show the message to Mordon, but before I could, I felt the page lighten. It broke into five chunks which became crow feathers in my palm, its words the glint of light.

“Incredible,” Mordon said.

Lyall wordlessly reached for them. A honeysuckle scented breeze snatched the feathers and swirled them out into the canopy of leaves.

“What was that?” Lyall asked.

“A correspondence from Death,” I said, setting my shoulders. “There's work to be done.”

Lyall gazed westwardly, checking the path of the sun. “It will have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, we camp. The intruders mean that I need to check upon the health of the wards within this area. Stay at camp. The last thing I want to do is rescue you two.”

…
The gray-coated Hunter gripped my arm and hauled me into the shadowy recesses of shrubs. Behind us were thin woods. Ahead of us, the place a wraith held my father captive. Indignation tightened my throat. My parents would expect me to use the small door in the quietest part of the house, it was what we'd discussed many times before. I relaxed in the Hunter's grasp before quickly jerking free.

The man snatched my jacket. “Get down! If they see you, we're caught. And I never wanted you in this.”

His name was Desmond and he was one of three Hunters who had decided to join us on the wraith hunt. It had started off with my parents being contacted about a supposed possession of a woman. It turned out to be much, much more. A low-grade demon wasn't too terrifying but was still serious, so my parent's hadn't been concerned until I discovered that we were deal with a wraith.

Finding a wraith was like finding smallpox in a children's daycare. A wraith was fast, deadly, and quick to leave bodies in its wake.

For one thing, wraiths could and would change bodies as often as desired, becoming crazier with each change. No one to my knowledge had survived being possessed by a wraith. For another thing, wraiths could mist when agitated. This made them enter a kinetic state of being which rendered them very hard to kill.

So when we found out that we had a wraith on our hands, I'd supported getting back-up. Right until I met Desmond, that is.

The Hunters in general treated me fine in front of my parents but when it was just me they acted as if I were some cock-sure arrogant kid. I was newly out of my teens, but I lacked the confidence I seemed to display as I followed to the letter exactly what I'd been taught. Desmond had been sure that, considering our respective experience, he could do no wrong and I could do no right. As a result, I wasn't where I should have been and it wasn't me who paid the price.

Our trouble was the Hunters were treating this wraith as if he were a demon. Demons could be overcome, would fight and wane, then run. Wraiths gained strength through confrontation, yet their weakness was they loved to swing a deal. You just had to be particular about what bargain you were making.

The wraith, half-mad in soul lust, now had Father in a shack perched at the edge of a cliff.

Guess who was the scapegoat for that blunder?

“We can't sneak up on her. If she's old, she already knows we're here. If she's young, she won't like being startled.”

“She will not let your father go. I know. Follow my lead or stay here,” he said.

Without waiting for a response, he scurried through the shadowed hedges along the house. Lately I'd been wondering if I was in too deep. The cases were spiraling ever closer and closer to sorcerers, and being near one made me feel jealous. Having the Hunters give me the cold shoulder was yet another reminder that I would not be one of them, no matter what my parents thought.

I could not bring myself to follow Desmond as he navigated gracefully through defensive wards, avoiding them with the aid of a spell at the tips of his fingers. It was a sore reminder of the magic I hadn't regained. Around these people, my parents began to use spells freely. When they were alone with me, my parents were conservative with their spells as a consideration. Now, though, they'd taken on a different attitude.

It was expected now that I'd be over losing my magic. That I'd accept my position as a scint worker, something to be shown off as a mark of courage yet also pitied and secretly sheltered. That was what the Hunters expected of me: to be a crippled mascot cheering from the sidelines.

Once the crunch of Desmond's feet faded, I stood up in the night.

I had a choice. To do as I was told, or to be on my own.

A sharp spell pierced through the midnight air. I heard the cry of alarm. I ran.

I came awake under the sweeping boughs of a droopy evergreen. Mordon nestled against me, chest rising and falling with slow breaths. His arm was slung over my shoulder, flexing when I wriggled. A honeysuckle breeze tickled my skin. Tiny little hairs stood up on my neck. Slowly, I pried his hand off me.

“No.” Mordon's muscles hardened. He pulled me snug to his chest. “Mine.”

He nosed my neck as if to affirm I was there.

“Mordon,” I whispered and tried to shrug him off with the same results. “I want to sit up.”

He tightened his grip, ant then a growl slipped from his throat. I prepared to push my way out of his arms. Teeth closed about my ear lobe, firm enough to make me freeze.

“Mine.”

I sighed and went limp in his grasp. “Yes, yours.”

Suddenly content, his body softened and he licked the ear he'd been biting. I scrubbed at the saliva, deciding that licking wasn't really my thing. I tried to make my neck comfortable by using his bicep as a pillow. It sort of worked.

“What was your dream about?” Mordon asked.

“How long have you been awake?”

“Since you woke me with all your tossing and turning.”

“Maybe I wouldn't toss and turn if you'd let me be comfortable.”

“If I do not hold you, I get a knee in my gut or heel in my throat.”

“Whatever.”

“I do. You are a very mobile sleeper.”

Distantly, I recalled that I used to fall asleep with my legs propped up against the wall. It seemed that Mordon had taken the wall's place in my sleeping arrangement.

“Sorry.”

“You apologize too often for no solid reason. I am considering banning the word 'sorry' so you learn when to use it.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn't think I said it that much.”

“You say it when you are not at fault, thereby making it too often. Next time you apologize, you had best know what it is for.” Quieter, he added, “It's not good to hold yourself accountable when the consequences were not a direct result of your decision.”

“Fine.”

We were there in silence. Quick little darts of bats sliced through the air. At times I thought I could hear a faint click from their wings.

“The dream?” Mordon asked.

I shrugged. “Nothing too bad. Well, not yet. It was about one of the Hunters who was with my parents and me. Father was caught. I was trying to help free him, but the Hunters didn't want to listen to me.”

“The reason being?”

“I had the least credibility.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Who would you listen to, three seasoned Hunters or a barely twenty-year-old without magic?”

“Hmm.”

“One of them went and got himself killed.”

Mordon stroked the hair out of my face. “That seems to happen to your companions.”

I stiffened. “Not funny.”

“That makes it no less of a valid observation. What killed him?”