Chapter XIV. Domenic
XIV
DOMENIC
WINTER
“—But does he really have it in him, is the question,” spoke radio personality Floyd Wilder. “And it’s a question I think a lot of folks, myself included, have found themselves asking tonight.”
“Destiny wouldn’t have Chosen him if he didn’t,” political correspondent Amos Cheng pointed out.
“Sure, but just being Chosen isn’t a guarantee you’ll succeed. And as his classmates told us, they never expected Barrow to bond with Valmordion. Aloof? Lazy? He turned tail and bolted from the vigil, even! I mean, come on! Do you think that sounds like the best man for the job?”
Domenic stared with bloodshot eyes at the ceiling of his train car.
No, he thought. I don’t.
The door slid open, and a frigid wind whirled through the compartment. Beyond the windows, the Aldrish countryside blurred past. Winter had stripped lush forests into desolation: every tree gone skeletal, every hillside barbed and barren.
“How’d your call with your family go?” Peak asked, shutting the door.
Amid every frantic minute of tonight, this night that would seemingly never end, Domenic had only just informed the Barrow family that their youngest, forgotten son was suddenly the most important person in the nation.
Domenic had braced himself for shock, maybe a few tears, but no.
As soon as his mother had finished blustering about the embarrassment of first hearing this news from her best friend-slash-nemesis at the country club, Domenic had learned his family was proud.
His father had even boasted how this would rocket up the company stock price.
This had relieved Domenic, who, of course, cared about nothing more than shareholder value.
Never did they state whether they were surprised that their third born was a Chosen One. Domenic had considered asking whether they’d failed to mention some tale of falling stars or serenading songbirds that had heralded his birth. But he doubted his parents would remember even if there had been.
“I think I’ve made their year,” Domenic answered Peak dryly.
On the table beside him, the radio continued to blare.
“—slayed that winterghast in Mercester Square two weeks ago, didn’t he? Well, Floyd, maybe he lived through the Syarthis Disaster for a reason, too,” Cheng declared. “That’s the way destiny works. It always has a grander purpose—”
Peak switched the radio off.
“That’s enough of that,” he rasped, clapping Domenic hard on the shoulder.
“Sorry, Dom, but that can’t be good for you.
It just can’t.” Domenic was about to argue that actually, listening to people publicly debate his trauma was great for him, when Peak slid into the booth across from him. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, five hours ago, I bonded with the most powerful wand in Alderland. Then I spent the whole evening being told how worthless I am by a man who’s been around since prehistory. And now I’m being thrown into a category-three winterscurge. How should I be feeling?”
At Domenic’s description of Sharpe, Peak stifled a laugh. “Look, um, Dom. The Council knows what the past day has put you through. You’re only being sent out so that our forces and the public see you on the ground, already helping them. But we don’t expect you to do anything.”
“Yeah, because you all think I’ll fuck it up.”
“I definitely don’t. Hell, after blasting a winterghast with a training wand, this storm might be a cakewalk, yeah?
” Peak flashed him a smile, goofy-wide, his dimples visible even beneath his gray scruff.
Domenic wondered what he’d ever done to make this man so fond of him, if it wasn’t too late to reverse it.
“I didn’t do that alone.” And then, as if a horrible pendulum, Domenic’s mind veered from impending mortal peril to the other subject that had haunted him all evening:
Ellery Caldwell, radiant and ethereal at the base of the alban tree.
Ellery Caldwell, wielding a Winter wand.
Ellery Caldwell, who’d heard what sounded an awful lot like a prophecy piece.
And he hadn’t.
“I know Caldwell hurt Hanna and Iseul,” he said. “I just—she never would’ve done it on purpose.”
“Whether she did it on purpose or not doesn’t matter,” said Peak.
“The thing is, that wand of hers having Winter magic? Take it from someone who’s been fighting Winter his whole career.
I’ve lost a lot of friends over the years.
Made some … some pretty big sacrifices, too.
Put Caldwell outta your mind. That wand will be destroyed.
All that matters now are whatever plans destiny has for you. ”
Maybe Peak was right. Yet each time Domenic thought of Caldwell, a feeling wormed deeper inside him, a weed he couldn’t uproot.
Domenic laughed nervously. “You really trust destiny, don’t you?”
“Yes and no. I do believe destiny is a guiding force for all Living Wands, but ultimately, I believe the only person or force who can give you purpose is you. And purpose can make you capable of extraordinary things.” He tapped Targath’s sheath jutting out from his breast pocket.
Domenic’s gaze swiveled between the wand and wielder, considering.
“Tell me what it’s like, fighting ghasts, being in a scurge. I know I’ve done it before, technically. But it all happened so fast that I don’t remember much.”
Peak’s smile sharpened on one end, curved up like a sickle.
“There are two ways to end a scurge. The first is to slay all the ghasts within it. The more ghasts there are, the more powerful the scurge grows. So you gotta move fast. And the big storms…” His tongue swiped over his teeth.
“You can get some real nasty monsters in those. The sort right outta nightmares.”
Domenic shuddered. “And what’s the second?”
“The second way is to breach the eye of the scurge, the central point of all its magic. There you can stop the storm from within and wipe out all the ghasts in one blow.”
“I’ve never heard of that before.”
“That’s because it’s only been accomplished a few times in history. By that wand you got lying right there.” Peak jerked his head toward Valmordion, resting sheathed beside the radio.
“Oh,” Domenic said, because he wasn’t sure how Peak wanted him to respond.
But Peak betrayed no disappointment. He stood with a groan and lightly slapped his left knee. “Well, it’s been a long night. You should try to get some sleep before we arrive.”
“Yeah. All right.”
After another hard clap, Peak returned to the rest of the team in the adjacent train car.
Domenic slumped across the bench. His eyes drifted toward Valmordion, like a fly drawn fatally to a flame.
He’d already believed destiny was bullshit. Maybe prophecies were just bullshit, too.
Still, he jolted up and switched the radio back on, even if it meant hearing prime-time star Floyd Wilder warn the whole country to kiss their hope goodbye.
It was better than hearing nothing.
Domenic cringed as he forced open his car door against a barrage of icy wind.
Orange Nature Defense Corps vehicles clustered on the highway bank, their headlights shining across the craggy field toward the winterscurge raging a hundred yards beyond.
It rose from earth to sky and stretched out endlessly in either direction.
Although glints of silver frost whirled across the storm’s surface, no light penetrated within it, the blackness so absolute that Domenic swore he was staring at the very edge of the world.
Immediately, a young magician scampered to greet their team, then gawked at Domenic. In his bulky Winter gear, it took Domenic a moment to place him as Elijah Kleid, a boy from the class above him who’d bonded with a mid-tier nature wand two years ago.
“What is this?” Peak demanded. “I was told thirty minutes ago the storm was at the 306 mile marker. Just how fast is this thing moving?”
“That’s the thing, sir. Th-the winds just broke a hundred and twenty knots. At this rate, it’ll hit Oldermere before sunrise. And there’s been two more winterghast sightings, as well—small ones, we think. We dispatched another scouting squad thirty minutes ago, but they haven’t returned yet.”
Peak’s expression darkened. “Osakwe, radio Oldermere, then Gallamere. Tell them I’m reclassifying the scurge as category four. Matthews, get me a full roster of every magician here. And Barrow, suit up. You and I need to lead a unit into the storm.”
Domenic swallowed down a noise of alarm—he’d barely braced himself for a category three. But Peak and his retinue had already dashed off to join the other officers, leaving Domenic alone with Kleid, who stared at him with something uncomfortably close to awe.
“This way, um, sir.” Kleid led Domenic to a large utility vehicle, which Domenic immediately noticed from the logo was manufactured by his father’s company.
A pair of magicians huddled behind it to escape the onslaught of wind.
Judging from the gray insignia on their uniforms, they were hedge magicians—magicians without Living Wands whom the Order hired to fill the gaps in their ranks.
Recognizing yet another former classmate, one he’d rather not acknowledge, Domenic hastily turned his back to them. Kleid dug through the crates in the trunk and began thrusting gear into Domenic’s arms.
“—aren’t real,” Former Classmate grumbled. “The Dire Three are just conspiracies made up by rookies who saw a ghast for the first time and shit themselves.”
“I’m telling you, my friend swore he saw Decibel,” her companion hissed, shivering as he smoked a cigarette. “Spotted it while patrolling the border of the fallen territory. Said it must’ve been ten feet tall, with the spikes and everything.”
“Well, if ghasts like them are real, then there’s no way your friend would’ve survived … Barrow?”
Domenic cringed as he zipped his coat and spun around. “Hi, Sanford.”
Vivian Sanford’s companion balked. “Barrow? You’re here? And you…?” His eyes locked onto the white sheath poking out of Domenic’s pocket—alban wood.