Chapter 5 #3
“Enough.” Old Ferin’s voice came from somewhere behind me, but Merra barely seemed to hear him.
“I saw them. They ignored people to get to her.”
“They killed anyone in their way.”
“They were looking for something.”
My blood went cold. The thing beyond the ridge. That vast attention turning toward me. Hunger. I forced the memory down.
“You don’t know what they wanted.”
“Neither do you.”
“No.”
“Then how do we know it won’t happen again?”
I had no answer. That frightened them more than anything I could have said.
“She should go.” Someone muttered it from behind Merra.
Tomas spun toward the voice. “Say that again.”
No one did. They didn’t need to. I looked around the square.
At people I knew. Every one of them. Sylla stood near the well with her youngest son pressed against her skirts.
I had dragged that boy beneath the overturned cart when a wraith crossed the square.
Derren had bandages wrapped around both forearms because he burned himself pulling two children from the meeting hall.
Mirae stood near the eastern road. Her husband would have bled to death if I hadn’t held pressure against his leg while Maia treated someone else.
People who were alive. People who had watched silver-blue light tear the wraiths apart.
People who knew exactly why they were alive.
And not one of them told Merra she was wrong.
Heat flared beneath my ribs. At first I mistook it for anger. Then it sharpened. I sucked in a breath and folded over. Pain ripped through my left side so suddenly my knees struck stone.
“Lyra.”
Tomas reached me first. I barely heard him.
Heat spread beneath my ribs. Not across my skin.
Inside it. I grabbed my side and screamed.
Every head in the square turned. The burning became unbearable.
It felt as if someone had pressed a blade beneath my skin and begun carving from the inside out.
I clawed at my tunic, trying to reach whatever was happening beneath it.
“Don’t touch me.”
Tomas froze. I dragged the fabric upward.
Silver-blue light spilled across my hands.
The square went dead silent. I stared. A mark was forming beneath my left ribs.
Not appearing all at once. Writing itself.
Thin silver-blue lines curled beneath my skin in shapes I did not recognize, delicate strokes winding together somewhere between script and constellation.
They spread outward from a single bright point, curving along my ribs while I watched.
Every new line burned itself into me with enough force to make my vision pulse black at the edges.
I pressed my palm against it. The mark moved beneath my hand.
Not the skin. The light. It traveled through the lines with a pulse that felt almost alive. I jerked my hand away.
“What is that?” Tomas sounded horrified.
“I don’t know.”
The final line formed. The pain stopped.
Not faded. Stopped. I remained on my knees with my tunic clenched in one fist and my other hand braced against the stone.
Silver-blue light pulsed beneath my ribs once, twice, then dimmed until the mark remained etched into my skin in pale, intricate lines.
Someone gasped. Someone else whispered a prayer.
I lowered my tunic. No one spoke to me. No one came closer.
Even Tomas had stepped back. I looked at him.
He realized it at the same moment I did. His face changed.
“Lyra, I—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped. I stood. My knees shook, but I stood. Merra made the protection sign again. This time three others did it with her. I stared at them until my eyes burned. Then footsteps sounded at the northern end of the square.
No one had heard the horse approach. That was the first strange thing.
The second was the man walking toward us.
He did not belong in Edenlo. That was obvious before I noticed anything else.
His coat was dark and cut too well for anyone from the Hollowlands, falling nearly to his knees over travel-worn black trousers and boots dusted with road grit.
A silver clasp fastened the high collar at his throat.
The emblem worked into it meant nothing to me—a circle divided around a sharp eight-pointed star.
He walked through the ruined square as though thirty people staring at him were an inconvenience rather than a warning.
His eyes found me immediately. Not Elder Rina.
Not Tomas. Me. Then they dropped to my left side.
The mark beneath my tunic pulsed once. The man stopped.
“Well.”
I stared at him. He looked somewhere past forty, though I couldn’t have guessed how far past. Dark hair threaded with gray at the temples.
No visible weapon except the narrow blade strapped along one thigh.
He looked at the burned buildings, the shattered fountain, the blackened road, then returned his attention to me.
“Who are you?”
Elder Rina stepped forward. The stranger reached inside his coat.
Tomas moved before I could think. He put himself between us.
The stranger looked at him. That was all.
Tomas stopped. Not because the man threatened him.
Because whatever he saw in the stranger’s face apparently convinced him that moving closer would be a terrible idea.
The man withdrew a silver medallion and held it where we could see. The same symbol as the clasp.
“I’m Coren. Emissary of the Arcane Sanctum.”
No one responded. His gaze settled on me again.
I had heard the name before. Everyone had.
The Arcane Sanctum belonged to the same category of things as the elemental realms, the Veil, and the old wars Maia refused to discuss in detail.
Real enough that maps included it. Distant enough that it had never mattered to anyone in Edenlo.
Until now. I lowered my hand from my ribs.
“What do you want?”
“You.”
Tomas stiffened. Coren did not look at him.
“Why?”
“Because three nights ago, you manifested.”
My pulse stumbled. No one moved.
“How do you know that?”
Coren studied me for a moment.
“The Sanctum felt you.”
Cold moved through me despite the lingering burn beneath my ribs. I thought of the western ridge. Of whatever waited beyond it turning toward me. Becoming aware of me. “What does that mean?”
“It means exactly what I said.”
“That explains nothing.”
“No. It explains enough for now.”
I stared at him. Coren’s gaze moved briefly over the village.
“The Sanctum maintains wards across Alareth. When elemental magic manifests for the first time, those wards respond. A location is recorded. An emissary is dispatched.”
“You came because of me.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been here?”
“In Edenlo?” His gaze flicked toward the graves beyond the eastern trees. “Less than an hour.”
“And you already knew where to find me?”
“Yes.”
The answer unsettled me more than it should have. I folded my arms over myself. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His features remained still. “I expected you might say that.”
“Then you wasted a trip.”
“No.”
My jaw tightened. “I just buried my mother.”
The words registered in the smallest tightening around his eyes. Not pity. Thank the gods. I would have hated him for pity.
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
“I know thirty-two people were buried this morning. I know your village was attacked three nights ago. I know you manifested enough elemental power that the Sanctum wards reacted from across the Veil.” His eyes settled on mine.
“And I know the mark beneath your ribs means your magic has begun settling into your body.”
My stomach turned.
“What mark?”
Coren looked at me as though my question had told him exactly what he needed to know. “The one that appeared less than five minutes ago.”
No one breathed. I stared at him.
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Because I know what happens after manifestation.”
“What is it?”
“A rune.”
The word meant almost nothing to me. Maia had mentioned runes before, but only in passing, one of a hundred things about wielders that had never seemed relevant to my life. I hated that it mattered now. “What does it do?”
“It tells us your magic has anchored.”
“What kind of magic?”
Coren was silent for half a second too long. I noticed. His eyes dropped again toward my ribs.
“Light.”
The word landed strangely. I thought of what had come out of me. Silver-blue. Cold and bright enough to turn midnight into day.
“That wasn’t Light.”
Coren’s attention sharpened.
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
His stare held mine. Neither of us moved. Then Coren looked away first. “You’ll be assessed at the Sanctum.”
“I told you I’m not going.”
“And I heard you.”
“Then leave.”
A few people shifted behind me. Coren looked past my shoulder at them. It was the first time since arriving that he seemed interested in anyone else.
“You intend to remain here?”
“Yes.”
The answer came automatically. Edenlo was home.
Maia’s cottage was here. Irelia was here.
Nara was here. Every year of my life was buried in these roads and walls and trees.
Coren’s gaze moved over the villagers once more.
No one spoke. When he looked back at me, he hesitated. “If that is your decision.”
I blinked. “That’s it?”
“What did you expect me to do?”
“I don’t know. Drag me away?”
“If I intended to drag you anywhere, we would not still be discussing it.”
There was no humor in his voice. I believed him. Coren tucked the medallion back beneath his coat.
“But you should understand what you’re choosing.”
“I’m choosing my home.”
“Are you?”