Chapter 13 Reflection
Reflection
Venomthorn Academy, Nhamashel, Under Dark, Fifteen Years Ago…
Rahven stared down at his right hand as the purple magic crackled over the surface of his palm.
He had been Awakened. He was not a Null!
When he grinned though, his throat tightened and hurt from where Vulre’s arm had clamped over it.
Vulre would have killed him. Intended to kill him.
But Rahven had Awakened and saved himself.
The magic had bloomed inside of him. Flowed outwards from the center of his chest to every inch of his body and then from him to Vulre.
And oh, it was glorious!
Purple lightning had sent Vulre flying back from him, slamming him against the walls of the Venomthorn Keep. The wall had depressed and cracked and smoked. If it hadn’t already been black, it would have been from his power.
From his power!
In contrast to Vulre who lay stunned in a crumpled heap on the ground–he would have been dead but for casting a shield and the enchantment on his armor–Rahven landed lightly on his feet.
The purple electricity crackled over his arms and wrapped around his chest in an almost embrace. He stared at it in wonder.
Then he heard another cracking sound from overhead.
His head snapped up just in time as he saw one of the Venomthorn’s towers nearest the lake crumble and slide into the dark water.
The rumble continued for some time after the tower had disappeared from view.
Waves from its passage slammed against the base of the Venomthorn and spray leaped to where Rahven still stood.
He’d done that!
He’d cracked the thick walls of the Venomthorn as if they were porcelain plates slammed into the ground.
He spared a moment to remind himself that no one was in the tower–no one was in the Venomthorn at all–as the other students and teachers had gone on wilderness training.
A training he had not been allowed to go on, because he had no magic.
Had no magic. So no one had been hurt by his magic exploding out of him.
Then he heard a moan.
Correction, only one person had been injured.
He whipped around towards Vulre, rising up on the balls of his feet. The purple lightning crackled around him like a live thing. A cloak of magic. That’s what it was. He was surrounded by it. Enveloped by it. Embraced by it.
Loved by it.
Vulre’s red eyes slowly opened. His pupils were pinpricks. Blood streamed down his neck from the back of his head. His sword was several feet from him, snapped in two. Rahven reached for it and the hilt with the broken blade flew to his hand.
He laughed.
So easy!
So effortless!
Magic was his to command! It would protect him. It would defend him. It would strike his enemies down.
Is this what Vex felt when his magic Awakened? Rahven thought.
And, for a moment, after he thought the Night King’s name, he believed he heard a simple, Yes.
He stood there. Head cocked to the side. Listening. Had it been the same voice as the one urging him to let go? It sounded like it was. But more–and less–definite at the same time. Tentative as if the speaker wasn’t sure he was hearing a question.
Does he deserve death? The voice was suddenly much clearer. Crisp.
Rahven stared at Vulre’s crumpled form. He was moving sluggishly and uncertainly. Unfocused and confused. Likely from the head injury. It was bad.
He would have killed me, Rahven found himself answering.
Would? Or… will? The voice asked pointedly.
The magic surged around him. Crackling. Sparking. Spitting. Snapping.
Will. She’s not here to stop him. And I’ve defeated him twice, Rahven answered with cold satisfaction.
If he lives you have not defeated him at all, the voice scoffed.
Those other fights were not to the death! Rahven disputed.
That is where you are wrong, the voice was so cold. Every fight is to the death or you risk your enemy regrouping and taking everything from you. Will you let him take everything from you, Rahven?
Rahven’s lips parted. It was the first time the voice had spoken his name. And he realized something else. This voice was not his own. Not some part of his consciousness that fought against the indignities of being jadir, of being a Null, of being bloodless, friendless, loveless, powerless.
I have nothing to lose, Rahven finally answered.
The voice chuckled. You are alive against all odds. How much is that worth to you?
Before, Rahven might have discounted his life. After all, what was he worth when he had no family and no magic and was clearly a burden on everyone around him? But now? The magic seethed and crackled. It loved him.
Everything, he answered.
Then protect it with everything you have. Do not hold back. Let go.
Softly, Rahven stole over to his fallen foe. Earlier that day he’d had a victory against Vulre. He hadn’t taken the kill then. He’d had reasons. Good reasons. But Vulre’s treachery had eliminated them, hadn’t it? It was kill or be killed like the voice said.
Wasn’t it?
Give him a chance to recover and see if it isn’t, the voice taunted. You already know the answer, but you also know…
Know?
That once you cross over this line–once you take a life–you will never be the same.
But this is in defense!
Yes.
I have no choice… do I?
Do you?
The magical crackling lowered in intensity.
I could leave, Rahven said. Leave the Venomthorn.
Ah, yes, run away. The voice laughed unkindly. Cackled practically at his foolishness.
It wouldn’t be running away! Rahven gritted his teeth.
Wouldn’t it? The voice sounded unconvinced.
If I killed him I would have to leave anyway! Rahven pointed out. And the others would hunt me.
Because Vulre is worth so much more than you? Because he is a Blood Knight and you are…
Rahven didn’t have an answer to that. He was jadir. He was… This magic I have. It’s powerful.
There was a pause and then, Yes.
More powerful than Vulre’s and I am just a boy, Rahven said.
You are not wrong about that, the voice agreed.
In time, I will surpass him and all like him. I will surpass the lords and ladies of the High Houses. I will…
Surpass Vex? The voice was tight.
Be like Vex, Rahven corrected.
If you wish to be like Vex, you will strike Vulre down and then prepare for the rest of the students and teachers to return and kill them, too, the voice muttered.
Vulre does not matter, Rahven realized and lowered the broken sword. None of these people do. I’m not nothing. They are.
His shadow fell over Vulre. The Blood Knight’s eyes which had been unfocused suddenly appeared sharpened as he struck out with his own magic.
While Rahven had not been allowed to participate in the magical training–what was the point of training a Null in magical combat and defense?
There was no point, according to Vulre–Rahven had watched.
But he’d practiced the moves over and over to block, imagining magic shimmering all around him.
And it worked.
The purple lightning formed a glowing shield between himself and Vulre as he pushed the air ahead of him with his palm facing forward.
The stream of fire that Vulre had intended to burn his face off with was diverted and struck the building.
Vulre roared like a wounded bull and put more energy into the fire.
Rahven felt a touch of heat against his fingers and he flowed more power into the shield.
Realizing that he could angle the stream of fire with his shield he slowly started to turn it.
The stream of fire inexorably moved across the wall by Vulre’s right side towards his head.
The elf was so angry that he didn’t realize he was going to burn himself alive.
“Rahven, Vulre, stop!” Lady Ashryn’s voice broke through the crackling of flames and lightning.
Suddenly, a wave of cold air swept over him and Vulre.
It extinguished Vulre’s flames, but it did the same to his magic.
The purple electricity was snuffed out. Rahven felt like someone had chopped off a limb.
He let out a strangled cry and curled forward momentarily.
Vulre lunged towards him, not as affected by the silence spell as he was, but Rahven had the broken sword.
He swung it in a dangerous arc. It sliced through the armor covering Vulre’s belly.
Blood spurted. The Blood Knight let out a scream of pain and rage.
“STOP!” Ashryn screamed and Rahven found himself ten feet from Vulre, pinned against a boulder while Vulre was similarly pinned against the pocked Venomthorn wall. “Stop! What is happening? Why are you fighting?”
“He–he must die!” Vulre spat as he strained against the magical bindings that held him while Rahven did the same.
“Vulre, you don’t know what you’re saying!” Ashryn cried. Her white hair whipped around her in an almost frenzy. Unlike her usual calm demeanor, she was trembling, shaken, unsure.
“He’s a threat to you, Lady Ashryn!” Vulre shouted. “His magic Awakened! He has destroyed the Venomthorn and attacked me!”
Lady Ashryn went silent. Her eyes flickered between them.
See? You should have struck him down when you had the chance, the voice sounded bored. Who do you think she’ll believe is responsible for all this? Him or you?
A cold vise closed around Rahven’s heart. He was jadir. He’d Awakened, but Vulre was Lady Ashryn’s Blood Knight. He had served her for millennia. Protected her life. She trusted him implicitly. But Rahven? What loyalty did she owe to him?
I need to get out of here! Rahven cried and helplessly thrashed against the magical restraints.
Test the restraints one at a time, the voice instructed. There will be a weak one. The one she used to tie it off. Undo that one and the whole restraint spell will collapse.
But my magic–
Is there. Once you slip this leash, she will be too startled to hold onto the silence spell. Take advantage of being underestimated, the voice advised.