CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The forests grew denser as the troop descended into the south of Ephria.
Nearing the end of springtime, the trees were at their fullest. Their flowers had almost completely turned to berries or fruits, now ready for harvest. Woodland creatures roamed freely across their path, the deer and furbearers wandering with impunity.
The skies were blue, and the air was warm.
They passed regular hunting parties on the road, always catching interested looks when their army coats were recognized.
The troop bypassed all noble estates to ensure they wouldn’t get caught up in the aristocrats’ grasp, potentially delaying them due to whatever goodwill the men and women might hope to garner from the king by entertaining his special Order.
Though Brea reminded them that several Ephrian noblemen were actually in service to the Alliance, she couldn’t remember which ones.
“Our work kept us focused on the Waulden nobles far more than the Ephrian ones,” she noted.
“It’d be best not to risk it if you’re unsure,” Deckard decided.
So they continued to stop in the settlements at night, renting rooms in the inns.
Their coins were dwindling, though not by much.
Most innkeepers granted them considerable discounts upon learning that they were the king’s personal task force, and Ephren had sent them off with quite a large sum upon their stop in Loclight.
Once again, the troop fell into a rhythm.
Waking, traveling, training, eating, sleeping.
Every day felt wrong without Auden. Somehow, even though the man had been less talkative than others, his absence was felt more keenly than Deckard might have expected.
In retrospect, the Day Mage’s presence seemed to have had an unforeseen soothing effect that was only noticed when he wasn’t there.
His steady work and constant care, as well as his attentive and insightful demeanor, all lent a subtle ease to their travels.
And now that it was gone, everything else felt off balance within the troop.
However, they were beginning to find their way into a new normalcy.
Deckard discovered a natural split of trios amongst the group—Mages, Warriors, and non-magical individuals.
This divide helped keep Ilain from Brea and Brea from Thom.
After Deckard’s conversation with the lieutenant, she readily complied with his request to behave amicably.
While she didn’t seek out Thom’s attention, if he spoke to her, she would reply kindly, and she didn’t intentionally leave a group to be removed from him.
As for Ilain and Brea’s tenuous relationship, the women had settled into a mutually indifferent treatment of one another.
Ilain was no longer reactively rude toward the lieutenant, and Brea graciously avoided placing herself in too close a proximity to the woman that it might make her uncomfortable.
Deckard was still agitated by it all. He knew Brea wasn’t trying to be difficult.
She genuinely appeared to be working to get along with everyone.
But it seemed her decisive and frank nature lent itself to causticity.
People either appreciated her direct mannerisms or they didn’t. And she wouldn’t change for them.
Her personality was a foreign concept to Deckard.
He’d spent his life catering to the whims of others.
It was his job. As a soldier, you did what you were told, bending to the will of your officers.
As a recruiter, he’d had to draw on each volunteer’s individual sense of duty, shifting his style of speech and demeanor to make the appropriate impact.
Even as a boy, he learned that if you made people feel seen and respected, they would typically do whatever you asked.
But Brea didn’t seem to care about that. She lived wholly to be herself, and she didn’t mind if she was disliked. She simply accepted the individual’s opinion and continued living.
Deckard couldn’t understand it. Though he would admit that the quality intrigued him.
Especially as he continued to struggle to come to terms with his magic.
The compounding failures Deckard had experienced over the last four months of his life had driven him into a near-existential crisis.
As a matter of principle, he worked endlessly to do the right thing, and no matter what, it seemed he was destined to fail.
He had no idea how to control his magic, and, as a result, he’d brought Hewitt and Auden to their deaths.
Additionally, his promise to Auden all those months ago loomed in his conscience. “I want your word that you’ll join the Alliance in whatever capacity they ask of you.”
Though the Mage had released him from the promise, apologizing for his underhanded finagling, now that Auden had died as a direct result of Deckard’s inabilities, his guilt made him feel as though he ought to follow through.
Didn’t he owe the Mage that much? Or would it only be a worse failure—accepting a position as a subpar, inept ruler as a Mage who couldn’t even control his own power?
All those questions plagued Deckard, along with the recurrent whisper in his mind. Let me out.
The magic was getting more adamant and less controllable.
Even as he trained with Isla and Ilain, improving his connection to Space, he was making too grand a leap in his capabilities.
An unexpected danger, as these great feats of power took far more energy than an untested Mage should attempt, according to the women.
Over the past few days, Isla had suggested that Deckard specifically practice his teleportation. “It seems you have a penchant for it,” the Wind Mage said. “If you could so naturally produce the reaction based on a header, we should see what you’re truly capable of with it.”
Initially, Deckard was only able to replicate the basic jump from one place to another.
But over time and with Ilain’s creative suggestions, he discovered that he could use the power to teleport more than just himself.
If he focused enough, he could bring both women along with him or send objects through the space around him, shifting them from one location to the next.
He didn’t even have to see where he was teleporting himself or the objects to.
All it required of him was the foreknowledge of the final location, and poof, the person or object would land there.
Quite a handy trick. But a costly one, if Deckard’s exhaustion after each evening of training was complete. He was coming to have a better understanding of his limits and how these masterful expenditures of power truly cost a Mage.
“You’re getting better,” Isla said with thoughtful consideration as they finished their most recent training session. “Though it still seems to flare out of control when you get distracted.”
“How do I fix that?” Deckard asked, determined to follow through with whatever she advised.
“With practice.”
Deckard was tired of practicing. After months spent as Hewitt’s student and now a month consumed with training to become proficient with magic, he was tired of the constant lessons.
But he also knew he needed the women’s help.
“What if the practice isn’t enough?” Deckard asked, the prolonged weight of his fears sitting like a rock in his stomach.
“What do you mean?” Isla asked.
Looking between the highladies, Deckard was determined to get the answers he’d so long put off. “Do either of you have dreams of the Relics after the Keeps?”
Ilain shared a look with her sister-in-law, who shook her head. “No,” the Fire Mage said. “Do you?”
“After the existential ones,” he admitted. Apologetically, he added, “Do you know if Auden had the same experience? I thought perhaps it was due to our resources.”
Raising her chin, Ilain took a deep breath. “He never mentioned it to me, which makes it highly unlikely that he shared your experience.” Her shrug failed to hide the sorrow in her posture. “We told one another everything.”
Deckard couldn’t help his frown. “What does it mean? Why am I dreaming of the Relics?”
“We don’t know,” Isla said. “It is possibly due to your connection to Space, especially as it is so powerful. However, we can’t know for sure.”
“Tell us about your dreams exactly,” Ilain prompted.
With a sigh, Deckard recounted each experience, noting that they all had nearly the exact same format.
He stood in the Keep, the Shades ran to him, and he absorbed their forms. Suddenly, he found himself in the Chamber, standing on the dais with the pedestal and the Relic before him.
In each dream, he would pick up the Relic, feeling its power radiate through him.
He hesitated before sharing the alteration that came from after the Space Keep.
“When I touched the Space Relic, I heard a scream so loud it knocked me off the dais,” he said. “It was my magic; it echoed through my mind, crying the same thing over and over again.”
The women listened intently, silently waiting for him to go on.
Deckard stared at his hands as though he could visualize the black crystalline shards he’d grown so used to summoning. “It was demanding that I let it out.”
Isla set a hand to her mouth, a look of blatant worry across her face. However, Ilain let out an easy-sounding hum. She stood from where she’d slumped against a nearby tree. “Jonn,” she said suddenly, “come with me.”
Deckard glanced at Isla, whose expression had shifted with understanding. “I’ll meet up with Vayden and the others,” she said, then disappeared through the trees.
Left alone with the Calder sister, Deckard turned to her, confused as to her purpose in requesting his delay. A gentle breeze rustled the full leaves around them, the forest growing shadowed in the late spring sunset. Ilain gestured for Deckard to follow as she walked farther into the forest.
With little other choice, Deckard hurried after her. “Where are we going?” he asked.
“For a walk,” she replied.
“Any particular reason?”