CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
However, Ilain’s smile grew. “I think you must have some theory.”
“Ilain,” Auden warned.
She ignored her brother, holding Rafferty’s challenging stare.
Deckard narrowed his eyes, confused. The two were engaged in a silent conversation, challenging one another.
He attempted to puzzle through the weasel’s earlier question but found his mind too baffled by the twisting words to remember them all.
His conclusion was that whatever theory Rafferty had, he believed someone in their party had magic that they didn’t know about.
And that sounded downright preposterous.
“Put the Relic away, Rafferty,” Deckard ordered.
Eyes still locked with Ilain’s, Rafferty spun the Relic’s chain around his finger, letting it flip into his palm. “Sure thing, Colonel,” he said. Then he flung the necklace through the air straight at Deckard’s face.
On instinct, Deckard raised his hand, catching it.
“What are you—?” Deckard cut himself off, finding the Night Relic a vibrant purple in his grasp. The facets of the amethyst stone beamed like moonlight as he turned it over in his hand.
He blinked, looking down at the glowing gemstone.
He’d never seen one so closely before. A strangely familiar heat raced across his skin as he studied the etching along the gold pendant.
It reminded him of his dreams after the Day and Night Keep.
He realized the Relic in the second dream was identical to the one now in his hand.
He wondered if the Day Relic would match too.
“Why is it glowing?” Thom asked, bringing Deckard back to the present.
The revelation hit Deckard suddenly: The Night Relic was glowing.
In his hand.
Deckard’s eyes met Evylin’s, confused. She stared back at him, her lips parted in shock. He turned to the Calders. “What is this?” He raised the Relic toward them. “Why is it glowing?”
Slowly and almost hysterically, Ilain began to laugh. She leaped out of the hawthorn and pointed at Auden. “I told you!” She cheered. “I told you back in Loclight, and you didn’t believe me!”
Auden looked as though he’d been handed a sack full of potatoes and been told they were made of gold. He scratched his copper beard and mumbled, “Seems you were right.”
Wishing that someone would show a shred of sanity, Deckard rose from his seat. “I don’t understand what’s going on,” he said, brandishing the Relic at the two of them. “Why would this be glowing?”
“I think it’s rather obvious, Jonn,” Ilain said wryly.
Though he knew—he understood the truth and knew the answer—Deckard shook his head.
His eyes found Evylin’s once more across the camp.
He couldn’t read her expression, restrained and thoughtful as it was.
The tight set of her mouth and narrowed slant of her eyes could convey a multitude of emotions.
However, he wasn’t sure that any of them were positive.
He turned back to Ilain. “No,” he said decisively. “It’s not possible. There’s been some mistake.”
“Relics don’t make mistakes,” Auden said.
Deckard shook his head even more furiously, holding the Relic out to Rafferty. The weasel just stared at him with a knowing smile. “Take it back,” he ordered.
Rafferty shrugged. “Won’t change the facts, Colonel.”
Deckard stepped forward, thrusting the Relic at him. “Take—it—back,” he commanded. He wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to be free of the thing. But his mind couldn’t reconcile the beaming stone in his hand. He couldn’t accept the truth it offered. He wanted it as far from him as possible.
When it was clear Rafferty wouldn’t do as requested, Deckard scanned the rest of his companions. They all stared at him: Auden and Ethenn with awe, Ilain and Rafferty with smug satisfaction, and Evylin and Thom with disbelief. And all of it made his skin crawl with panic.
“No,” Deckard said again, now emitting a nervous chuckle. He thrust the Relic into Rafferty’s lap, the purple gem falling instantly lifeless. Then he turned to Ilain, sure to show his determination in his expression. “No.”
Ilain practically bounced with her uncontainable joy. “You can’t run from it, Jonn. No matter what, you know now. And the magic will work its way out, however it must.”
“I am not magical!” he exclaimed.
“You are!”
“Lain,” Auden said cautiously. “Be careful. If you get him too riled, he may lose control.”
Deckard glared at him. “Control of what? I don’t have magic.”
The Mages gave him a look that said he was behaving like a petulant child. Which, Deckard’s most mature self told him, you are.
“I don’t understand,” Evylin said, her voice thin. “How is this possible? Is Jonn a . . . a Warrior?”
Though Ilain began to speak, Auden shot her a fierce glare. The woman pressed her lips together and sat down. Then the highlord turned to Rafferty. “Would you give the Relic back to Jonn, please?”
Rafferty held it aloft.
Begrudgingly and only to prove them wrong, Deckard took it. The amethyst light beamed accusingly once more.
“Try to turn it into a weapon,” Auden instructed.
“How?” Deckard asked.
“Think about what you want it to become,” Evylin said. “Any weapon. It’ll listen.”
Deckard sighed and thought about the short sword she’d summoned earlier. He flicked his wrist as he’d seen her do. Nothing happened.
Auden nodded. “As I suspected,” he said.
“What?” Evylin asked.
“Jonn is a Mage.”
The statement struck Deckard like the Day Guardian’s talons, slicing open his gut. He looked down at the Relic. The impossibility of it all sapped the rest of his strength to argue anymore.
He looked up at Auden. “I thought you said that Ephrians can’t be Mages.”
“We’ve already established that you aren’t wholly Ephrian,” he replied.
“When did we establish that?” Thom demanded.
“Just after we arrived in Wauld,” Ethenn said, turning one of his knives thoughtfully. “We were discussing why Blount wants the Relics, and Auden suggested that it’s because he wants to control the whole continent so that he controls all magic along with it. Mages and Warriors.”
Auden gave the hunter a nod. “Exactly. Ilain and I have recognized the signs of the West in both Deckard brothers. Though more predominantly in Jonn.”
Thom shook his head. “That’s not possible. The war put a stop to cross-border dalliances almost two centuries ago.”
“Unless,” Deckard frowned, “they snuck in like some other Wauldeners we know.”
The group glanced at the Calders. Deckard considered Auden’s previous point about the signature Waulden characteristics: red hair, lean figure, pale complexion, excessive height, and sharp features.
He could admit that, aside from Thom, he looked far more like the Calders than any of the rest of their troop.
Thom opened his mouth to argue, then paused. “Grandfather,” he said.
With a sigh, Deckard shrugged. “It was one of Father’s favorite stories,” he said. “No one knew Grandfather’s family. He showed up one day, seeking work. Said he’d chosen to make a better life for himself away from the border. He even had a strange accent.”
Reluctantly, Thom nodded. “Mother got her red hair from him.”
Deckard sighed. “And she passed it down to me.”
Their grandfather’s story replayed through his memories.
Marc Reid, a twenty-something traveler, arrived in Stocburrough with nothing but the clothes on his back and a handful of coins in his pocket.
He sought trade as a day laborer around the farms in exchange for meals and a place to sleep, impressing the village with his efficient work and steady character.
Soon, he met the Duncaan family and fell in love with their only daughter, Lizelle.
They married shortly after and began a family of their own.
Their youngest, Serah, grew to wed Mathes Deckard, and thus Jonn, Thom, and their sister, Meria, were born.
Throughout his entire childhood, Deckard remembered their father telling the story of the red-haired stranger who won the whole village’s loyalty.
But now, he wondered if they knew who their grandfather had been at all.
Marc was a common name; Reid, an even more common surname in Ephria.
Was it possible that he’d fabricated his entire identity to hide his Waulden heritage?
“It doesn’t prove anything,” Deckard said, unwilling to concede. “He said he was from the border. It could have been the Ephrian side.”
“Does it matter?” Ilain asked. “Whether it was your grandfather or his grandfather, you’re a Mage. Which means someone in your ancestry was Waulden.”
“Which means . . .” Rafferty raised his brows, turning to Thom.
Lips parting, Thom sucked in a sharp breath. “I have Waulden blood too.”
Ilain folded her hands demurely on her lap. “Your most desirable quality.”
“So,” Ethenn said, “Thom could be a Mage too?”
“Technically,” Rafferty said, “he’s more Ephrian than he is Waulden. So he could be either, right? Mage or Warrior. Or . . . both?”
“Either or neither,” Auden said. “Never both.”
“Ah, well.” Rafferty shrugged, then sent another Relic flying across the camp toward Thom. “Heads up, Thommy-boy.”
Deckard watched nervously. The determination of Thom’s magical status would impact more than their chances at success.
Their entire lives, Thom had been desperate to prove his worth.
Proving to have magic would finally validate that worth.
But if it were discovered that Deckard was magical and Thom was not, it would be another barrier between them.
Another chance for Thom to see himself as the lesser brother and Deckard as the golden child.
With almost frantic anticipation, Thom sprang forward to catch the Fire Relic. It landed securely in his grasp, and they all leaned forward to see . . . nothing. The ruby remained dull and lifeless as it had in Rafferty’s hands.
Thom’s gaze locked with Deckard’s, a flatness in their icy gray-blue depths. “Guess not,” he muttered.
Ilain sighed dramatically. “Well, your value to me just decreased exponentially.”
Thom glowered at her.