CHAPTER TWELVE #2
"Jorik's told me something of your travels," she said when the silence had stretched long enough. "How you've survived in the wilds, facing threats from all sides."
Jorik nodded, some of the shadow lifting from his expression.
"We've had our share of close calls. The Deep Tide is the most dangerous, of course, but hardly the only threat.
Isle Warden raiding parties still attack isolated settlements, not realizing or not caring that they share a common enemy with the mainland.
The Northern military hunts deserters like us with more fervor than they pursue the actual darkness that threatens to consume us all.
" A note of bitterness crept into his voice.
"And we've encountered refugee bands who would sooner steal our supplies than join forces. "
"Yet you survived," Thalia observed. "Fourteen of you, against odds that have broken larger, better-equipped groups."
"We survived because we adapted," Jorik said, his eyes meeting hers with sudden intensity. "Because we stopped clinging to old ways and old hatreds when they no longer served us. We learned from each other. Combined our strengths."
"A fusion of magics," Davan said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deeper than Erek's, rich with the distinctive accent of the far Northern reaches. "That's what saved us more times than I can count."
Thalia felt a jolt of recognition, a sudden connection between his words and the fragments of knowledge still floating in her mind. "Fused magics?" she repeated, leaning forward with renewed focus. "What kind of combinations?"
Jorik's expression brightened with genuine enthusiasm. "We've developed several techniques over the months. Lyra's storm-calling abilities combined with Northland cryomancy create effects neither discipline could achieve alone." He glanced at the young storm-caller. "Show her the ice-spark."
Lyra hesitated, glancing around the crowded hall. "Here?"
"Just a small demonstration," Jorik assured her. "Nothing that will draw too much attention."
The young woman nodded and extended her palm, holding it flat above the table. Tiny arcs of electricity danced between her fingers—a controlled display of storm magic that reminded Thalia of what had happened during her coma.
Then, with her other hand, Lyra made a gesture Thalia recognized from cryomancy training.
A thin layer of frost formed on her electrified palm, but instead of the electricity dissipating as one might expect when ice and lightning met, the two elements merged.
The frost crystals began to glow with inner blue-white light, and tiny sparks jumped between them in intricate patterns.
"We call it frost-lightning," Jorik explained as Thalia watched, transfixed. "Only our storm-callers are able to do it, since it requires storm magic; Erek and Davan know cryomancy from their days here at Frostforge, so they taught it to the rest of us. At least, the basics.” Jorik nodded to the electrified crystals in Lyra’s palm.
“When cast offensively, this creates sheets of electrified ice that can cut through Deep One tendrils like a heated blade through butter.
But more than that—it seems to cauterize them somehow, prevent them from reforming.
" He leaned forward, lowering his voice.
"We've found ways to create hailstorms charged with lightning that can be directed at specific targets.
Ice projectiles that ride wind currents with unnatural precision.
Even defensive walls of ice strengthened by electrical currents that the black waters can't easily penetrate. "
Thalia's heart raced, each word resonating with the fading visions from her coma. Three becoming one. The ancient methods she had witnessed—storm-callers, cryomancers, and root-singers working in concert—echoed in these new techniques born of desperation and innovation.
"We've been experimenting with similar combinations," she said, her fingers moving to the hilt of the blade strapped at her hip.
She drew the sword partway from its sheath, revealing the distinctive blue-silver gleam of ice-glacenite infused with storm essence.
"This is one of our prototypes. Ice-metal smithing combined with storm magic.
It's effective against the Deep Ones, but the knowledge to create it is limited to a handful of us at Frostforge. "
Jorik's eyes widened as he studied the weapon. "May I?" he asked, extending his hand.
Thalia hesitated only briefly before passing him the blade. He accepted it with a craftsman's reverence, his fingers tracing the intricate channels carved into the metal.
"The construction is remarkable," he murmured. "The storm energy flows through these veins?" He looked up at her, genuine admiration in his gaze. "You forged this?"
"With help," Thalia admitted. "I discovered the glacenite ore, but the storm infusion was done with the aid of Isle Warden storm-callers who agreed to ally with us.
" She glanced at Lyra, who was studying the blade with professional interest. "The results were promising, but we've only been able to arm a fraction of our fighters. "
"This is just the beginning," Jorik said, returning the sword with careful precision. "If we could combine what you've learned with what we've developed... the potential is enormous."
"Have you found other combinations?" Thalia asked, barely containing her excitement despite her lingering exhaustion.
A look passed between Jorik and Amara, some silent communication that Thalia couldn't quite interpret. Finally, Jorik nodded. "We have. Though with less success and more... unpredictability."
"There's a third element we've been working with," Amara said, her Southern accent soft but clear. "A magic that none of us fully understand." She pulled her son closer, almost unconsciously. "My father practices it. He calls it earth-speak."
"Root-singing," Thalia whispered, the term surfacing from the depths of her visions before she could stop herself.
Amara's eyes widened. "Yes," she said slowly. "He’s used that term before, too. How did you...?"
"In my coma," Thalia explained, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as though to anchor herself to this moment, this revelation.
"I saw visions of the ancient past. Root-singers working alongside storm-callers and cryomancers to create a seal against the Deep Ones.
" She leaned forward, urgency sharpening her voice.
"Your father—he's a practitioner of this magic? An actual root-singer?"
Amara nodded, though uncertainty clouded her features.
"He claims to be, though I've never seen another like him.
He can sense currents of energy in plants, in soil, in stone.
Can manipulate those currents in ways I've never understood.
" Her expression grew troubled. "He's been trying to teach Niko, who shows signs of the same ability, but my father is.
.. eccentric. His explanations rarely make sense to anyone but himself. "
"Grandfather says the energy sings to him," Niko piped up, his child's voice clear and unselfconscious. "He says I need to learn to listen with more than just my ears."
Thalia's pulse quickened. The boy's simple explanation matched the talent she herself possessed.
But what she'd seen in her visions was more than the sensing of currents.
Fully fledged root-singing, performed by a trained practitioner, was far more overt magic, able to do more than detect the flow of energies. It could rearrange and direct them.
"I need to speak with him," she said, the words emerging with an intensity that surprised even her. "With your father. As soon as possible."
"Tamsin is helping in the herb gardens," Amara said. "They've put him to work identifying medicinal plants among what was salvaged." She studied Thalia with new interest. "You know what earth-speak is, don’t you? I’ve never met anyone else who has heard of this."
"Yes. I do." Thalia glanced at Kaine, whose watchful expression told her he was following every word with careful attention. “I am… I am an earth-speaker. A root-singer."
The words felt powerful—and hollow all at once. She could hear the roots. She could feel the slow, ancient language of stone and soil. But she did not yet know how to answer it, how to shape what she heard into something deliberate.
She swallowed and lifted her chin.
“Or, at least… I need to become one.”