Chapter 14 #2
The witch wasn’t the only one weakened, but Calia wouldn’t admit that to Intuition or to Legion.
With her shoulder butted against the wall, she concentrated on slow, steady breathing to get the pain under control.
“I’ve got to get a handle on this shifter magic I’m supposed to have.
The parlor trick of lighting up this hole isn’t enough. I need firepower.”
“Ye are bleeding,” whispered one of Legion’s softer voices.
She swallowed hard and hugged herself tighter, trying not to shiver. “It’ll stop soon enough. I don’t think anything serious is damaged.”
“Start a fire, mistress,” deep-voiced Legion advised. “Ye need warmth.”
“I don’t have any matches, nor do I have any wood.” She’d love to start a fire, but that was currently just a dream. A sense of hopelessness settled across her. She shook her head. No. She couldn’t give up. Mathison was coming.
“What are matches?” deep voice asked.
“Sticks of wood or sometimes cardboard that are dipped in chemicals that flare into a flame when you rub them against something rough.” Never in her life would she have imagined she’d be explaining the concept of matches to a ghost at the bottom of a pit.
“Like a tinderbox,” a softer-voiced Legion said. “Sounds like a tinderbox.”
“Something like that.” Calia closed her eyes, willing herself to remain calm and, above all, strong. Bad guys always sensed weakness, and even though the witch might be slightly afraid, she was also very bad.
“Neither Carman nor Bansys stripped ye of yer magic, because they thought ye ignorant of yer powers,” soft voice said. “But ye could use it to start a fire. Incaendo is the simplest of spells used to teach our children how to control their energies.”
Doing her best to remain civil while trying to manage the nauseating pain radiating through her, Calia slid down to her knees and leaned against the wall. “There’s no wood down here. Only stone and ice.”
“Burn our bones, mistress,” deep voice said. “It would be our honor.”
The class in forensics she’d taken reminded her that bones weren’t that easy to burn. A pre-existing fire, a super-hot fire, would be needed to even get them to ignite. “While I’m touched by your offer,” she gently said, “I’m not so sure it would work.”
“Ye might at least try,” soft voice said.
It appeared that Legion had assigned two particular voices to communicate with her.
The councilors must’ve sensed her difficulty with the concept of speaking to an endless number of random advisors that operated under the Legion umbrella, so to speak.
It also appeared that the councilors weren’t about to take no for an answer when it came to building a fire.
“Let me sit here a minute and get a handle on this pain.” She pulled in a deep breath through her nose and blew it out her mouth. “If I move right now, I’m either going to pass out or throw up.”
“We have already gathered the bones for ye, mistress,” deep voice said. “Open yer eyes.”
Clenching her teeth to keep from cursing, she opened her eyes. A pyre of unlit bones waited for her magical touch, the touch she didn’t have a clue how to switch on or off.
“Reach out and see them burn,” soft voice said, “then utter incaendo. Ye must believe for it to be so.”
It couldn’t possibly be that easy. Still on her knees, leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes again, finding herself stricken with an ever-increasing drowsiness that she knew was hypothermia setting in. She needed to take Legion’s advice and at least try to light the fire.
She forced her eyes open, extended a hand toward the bones, and imagined them burning in a crackling campfire. After watching the flames for a long moment, she whispered, “Incaendo.” Nothing happened. With a disappointed sigh, she sagged back against the wall. “I can’t do this.”
“Ye must believe and do this, mistress,” deep voice said. “Else ye will die, and the witch wins.”
“Think of how happy it will make her to see ye dead,” soft voice said. “Think how she will crow about it to Mathison.”
“Bullshit.” Calia drew herself up and aimed both hands at the pile of bones, curling her fingers as if about to pull them from a fiery pit in hell. “Burn, dammit!”
The pile of bones exploded, scattering flaming bits all over the floor of the abyss.
“I did it.” She stared at the flames in disbelief. “I actually did it.”
Then the burning bones scooted back into a neat pile in front of her as if ordered to fall in place.
“We knew ye could do it,” deep voice said.
“Aye,” soft voice agreed. “We knew it.”
“More bones will be gathered to increase the fire and keep it burning,” said the raspy voice that hadn’t spoken in a while. “Rest, mistress. Heal yerself. The battle has just begun.”
As she reached for the heat radiating toward her, unchecked tears raced down her cheeks.
She couldn’t help it. So much had happened.
She was both grateful to Legion and terrified about what was to come, and, holy crap, she ached and throbbed as if she’d been through a meat grinder.
And heaven help her, she needed Mathison to hold her and tell her everything was going to be all right.
“Mathison,” she whispered, her tears falling faster, “please hurry. I need you.”
* * *
Mathison froze and lifted his head, listening harder, straining to hear Calia’s sweet voice again.
It echoed once more, fainter this time. He felt every word sink into his soul.
“Mathison, please hurry. I need you.” Pain stained the message. Blood. Fire. Ice.
“What is it?” Mairwen paused in her sorting through the wall of parchment scrolls lining the cave’s shelves.
“She is wounded. Badly.” His voice cracked. The ache and frustration of getting to her threatened to shove him past the brink into madness. “My Calia is suffering.”
“But ye heard her.” Mairwen moved toward him, two sets of scrolls clutched to her chest. “That means she lives.”
“Aye.” The agony of hearing her but still being so far away made him sway forward and catch himself on the edge of the heavy worktable in the center of Grandsire’s hidden lair. If not for the massive piece of furniture, he would have gone to his knees. “She needs me. Needs my strength. Now.”
Within him, Dubh gnashed his teeth and growled, battling to be given control and allowed to dash off across the Highlands to their mates’ rescue. “Why can I not hear Litress? If the witch failed to bind Calia’s powers, Litress’s should be unbound as well.”
“Not necessarily,” Mairwen said, once more trespassing across the boundaries of their thoughts.
“If Carman knew of Litress’s existence, which she no doubt did, she could have bound the pale alpha’s powers without bothering to bind Calia’s.
Perhaps she thought the subordinate witch Bansys could handle Calia, since she has yet to learn how to shift, and therefore, would not know how to use her magic either. ”
“Then why can Calia not hear me?” Mathison pushed away from the table. “Why could I not sense her before now?”
With a sympathetic shake of her head, Mairwen gently touched his shoulder. “Since she is just learning her magic, it may need her desperation and pain before it harkens to her commands. Ye know how the powers can be.”
“I must go to her. Now.” He spun about and crossed to the wall of weapons, helping himself to the softly glowing athames, shoving all four into his belt.
The ancient claymore and ax displayed with them were not needed since he already carried Grandsire’s favorite sword, but his hand paused over a suspiciously plain leather flask that hummed and softly glowed as though eager to join the adventure.
“Take it,” Mairwen said. “It will serve ye well along with the wolfstone ye carry to Calia.” She joined him at the wall and barely tapped on the small bulging container.
“This ever-refilling flask of healing herbs blessed by the mighty Danu herself is a rare gift, but use them sparingly and only after Calia has placed the wolfstone around her neck. Yer grandsire must have greatly charmed the mother goddess to have received such a gift.” She handed him the scrolls she’d tucked under her arm.
“Here. A way in and a way out. Commit them to memory. Knowing yer grandsire and the Sorcerer Larofess, these texts are probably spelled to disintegrate if ever removed from this cave.” The worry in her eyes gave Mathison pause.
“My Weavers and I shall stay here and await yer return with Calia. We can help in her complete healing. But make haste. Carman and her sons will fight to ensure Bansys and the ruling twins do not fail in this battle. They know it will condemn them to mortality and death once the curse is broken, and the Shadowmist chieftainship returns to its rightful heir.”
Mathison shoved the leather vessel into his sporran. “I love Calia, and I believe she loves me even though she has yet to say the words. I heard it in her plea for me to come to her. The curse should be broken.”
“What will ye do with yer false heirs, Talon and Tanner?” Mairwen followed him to the mouth of the cave, where the other Weavers of Light stood guard.
“I dinna ken.” And he didn’t. He’d spent the last three hundred years thinking they were his sons who had been kept from him. “If their hearts can be cleansed of the evil Bansys poisoned them with…”
Mairwen nodded. “I shall consult the cards to see if yer mercy for them is warranted.” She caught hold of his sleeve. “Hurry. Consult the scrolls, memorize their words, then give them to me. I shall return them to their place. Do not risk taking them past the threshold.”