Malin – Meant to Be
Malin
Meant to Be
The heavy canvas of the portaller’s tent whipped violently in the icy wind as Malin shoved her way inside. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. The air in the enclosed space was thick, vibrating with a hair-raising hum of raw energy that made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
Glancing over her shoulder, she ensured Jacien Livadais was following.
The tall, lean Elven male slipped through the flap behind her, moving with the effortless, predatory grace of a street brawler rather than a noble.
The difference between him and his cousins was striking, making her wonder how differently they were raised; even his accent was different.
The brisk walk to the tent had been used to hash out the sparse details of their mission and to size each other up. When Anariel had told her, through a messenger, that Jacien could help her, her hopes had risen.
“I have heard of you from the twins,” Jacien said, a faint but genuine smile on his lips. “It is nice to meet the Duchess Rauno. I have much respect for your father.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t know as much of you, but Anariel spoke highly of you, and her word means everything to me,” she replied, as she sidestepped a frozen puddle.
“I want to be honest with you about this mission. I won’t pretend I know what to expect on this trip.
We could be walking into a dead end, or a deathtrap. ”
“I’m good with whatever comes our way,” he answered with a rakish grin and a drawl that didn’t sound at all like the Elven aristocrats. It suited him perfectly.
She shifted her attention to the older Elf sitting at a cluttered field desk in the corner. He was reading a heavy tome, seemingly unbothered by the static charge in the air.
“I was told you could get us to Four Winds. Unfortunately, I don’t know much more than that,” Malin said, stepping up to the desk.
The portal technician closed his book, thought for a moment, and stood.
“I know of it. It’s a small town in the Fellspire territory.
I can get you to the outskirts, but I’ve never been inside the actual town itself.
There is a main road that leads to the Hold, and I know the path that forks off toward the village.
I can only send you where I’ve been, but it’s not far,” he explained carefully. “I hope that will work.”
“I appreciate any help,” Malin said.
The portaller bowed deeply. “I am in the service of my Queen, and happy to provide her help.”
He stepped back, sweeping his arms in a wide, fluid arc. The crackling energy opened with a violent hum, tearing reality to form a massive golden circle in the center of the tent. Beyond the bright threshold lay only a swirling, bottomless blackness.
Malin stared into the void, her chest tightening with a spike of dread. She looked back at the Elf, who was literally following her blindly. “This is it. Your last chance. I have no idea what comes next,” she murmured.
Jacien stepped up beside her, his silver eyes catching the harsh light. “That’s the best part.”
Malin anchored her boots firmly to the floor, hesitating before the shimmering magical ring.
She had already survived a portal jump to reach the camp, and while the others promised the violent retching only occurred on the maiden voyage, her body refused to believe them.
The vivid memory alone was enough to make her stomach turn in premature protest.
“I thought the rumors said you were some brave warrior woman,” Jacien teased, his drawl thick with amusement as he watched her delay.
He stepped closer and offered his arm. “It is just an arm. Nothing attached. Having a physical tether to someone who travels often can help ground you and ease the sickness.”
Swallowing hard, she cautiously accepted his offer. Her grip was firm against the rigid muscle beneath his tunic as they stepped into the ring together.
Instantly, the world bent and warped around her.
A jarring jolt of energy surged up through her boots, racing up her spine like lightning.
In the final, fractured second before the magic swallowed her head, Malin’s mind flashed to Media.
The woman she was then was a lifetime ago.
Maybe it would have been easier if she had stayed in the dark.
Then, the world collapsed into blinding silver light.
And Malin was ready to see what waited on the other side.
A wave of nausea twisted Malin’s stomach into knots as the portal ejected them into the freezing morning air. The ground felt like it was tilting, pitching her toward a ditch lined with frosted brambles.
She threw out a hand to catch herself, but Jacien was faster. He caught her elbow, locking her in place while the horizon stopped spinning.
“Breathe,” he murmured. A low, barely contained laugh slipped through the word, his voice rough gravel against the ringing in her ears.
The magical conduit snapped shut behind them with a concussive force that rattled Malin’s teeth.
She gasped, sucking in lungs full of thick air with the taste of burnt ozone and frozen dirt.
Her eyes streamed with tears of exertion, and she blinked rapidly until the blinding, golden afterimage of the portal faded into the stark, unforgiving gray of a country road at dawn.
Before her feet could stabilize, a second, entirely different wave crashed through her, knocking her to her knees in the dirt.
A flash of brilliant light detonated behind her eyelids, manifesting the vivid image of a towering golden man with long, straight black hair standing over her with his hand outstretched.
She blinked hard to clear the hallucination, and the specter instantly vanished, replaced by Jacien standing in the exact same pose with his own arm extended.
Accepting his grip, she pulled herself up and brushed the frozen mud from her trousers.
“What was that?” he chuckled, sizing her up with a curious glance. “I’ve never seen anyone have that kind of reaction to a portal.” Malin shook her head, her mind spinning too fast to formulate an explanation for a vision she didn’t even understand.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the crossroads; a gravel road met a smaller road made of packed dirt, leaving slight ruts in the rock-hard path.
In the distance, down the dirt road, there was a luminescence just beyond the crest of the distant hill.
On the right side of the road, just after the split, stood a battered sign.
Four Winds. Population 247, it said, in hand-painted blue script.
Malin’s pulse immediately surged. This was it. The exact sign from her vision. As she walked, she tried to dissect what she had seen. The image made no sense to her.
The same bitter chill from the War Camp smashed into Malin. It bit through the seams of her jacket and chewed at her fingers, sinking into bones and nerves. The frost on the weeds lining the road was so thick it looked like sugar poured over every blade and twig.
She pulled her focus inward, reaching blindly down the soul-bond to Will’s mind. She caught a whisper of his emotions, but the mental connection was faint. No words. No clarity. Only an erratic, frayed buzz. She swallowed hard. Was it the physical distance, or their bond glitching?
She watched the playful ease bleed right out of Jacien’s shoulders. His flirty smirk vanished as he swept a hard, calculating look over the dark tree line. The sudden vigilance made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. He turned and started toward the faint glow in the distance.
“It shouldn’t take us long to get to the town.” He added, walking away. “It would be useful to know your powers.”
“You going to tell me yours?” she asked.
“No. What fun is that?” he teased.
Malin blinked, momentarily stunned by the flat refusal. Her mouth parted in surprise before she caught herself and snapped it shut. If he wanted his secrets, fine. She certainly wasn’t going to hand over all of hers, even if he was Anariel’s family.
She lifted her chin, her eyes flashing with a stubborn challenge. “Then I guess we will both be having fun.”
As she followed him, Malin studied his profile.
He prowled down the road; his stride was a perfect combination of relaxed and deadly.
It was a stark contrast to the charming smartass he was playing at.
Yet, watching the capable way his hands flexed and relaxed as he surveyed the shadows, she got an odd, instinctual sense of safety.
He had Anariel’s trust, and Malin’s instincts were telling her to do the exact same thing.
“So, Duchess,” he drawled, not bothering to look back. “Here is the deal. My stomach thinks it’s midnight in Mellyrn, and my head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. We need to find a tavern. I will eat something that used to have a pulse, and my eyes will shut for a bit.
“Please don’t call me Duchess. I have a name.” Malin took a deep, centering breath. “That’s all fine, but all I know is, I saw an image of a tea shop. Hopefully, it won’t be too hard to track down.”
“Great. Tea. After we eat,” he looked back and pressed his lips into a tight line, then suddenly flashed a crooked smile. “I’ll follow you to this mysterious teahouse of yours. Unless you prefer, I faint on the job.”
“Food sounds like a good idea.” She dug into her pack and pulled out two hard sticks. “I have these ration bars. They aren’t the best, but I had the kitchens make them based on the recipe we used in Media for the slums.”
He accepted the neatly wrapped bar and took a bite. A mildly impressed expression crossed his face. “Not bad. I’ve survived on worse.”
They walked in companionable silence, accompanied only by the crunch of their boots and a melodic whistle from him. Eventually, Malin voiced the logistical flaw that had been bothering her since they stepped through the ring. “How do we get back? Do you know where to find the next portaller?”