chapter fourteen #2
Five majestic waterfalls cascade down its side and into the sea, while silent cracks of lightning dance and zigzag between the floating island and an enormous glowing crater below.
It’s a spectacle of raw power. Surrounding the crater, Caelēn’s white-marble city stretches out as far as I can see in all directions.
In the center, perched on the edge of the island suspended in the sky, surrounded by lush green vegetation, the Arc stands out with its striking architecture.
The towering crystalline structure reaches toward the heavens, its beauty enhanced by the sunlight reflecting off its pristine white surface. It’s a sight to behold.
“Welcome to the Celestial City,” Vilder says next to me. “And the only floating island outside of the Western Plains.”
I turn toward him. He has removed his shirt, and his glistening sweat-covered chest makes it hard to look away.
“What are you made of?” I blurt, then do my best to ignore Seniia as she laughs out loud.
Seriously, La?na? I give myself a mental kick.
I can’t believe I just said that. I’ve never had any problem ignoring men before.
I’ve never even had the slightest interest. Not that it would have been a possibility while wearing the brace anyway, but still.
On the other hand, human men have a long way to go compared to Reān males . . .
I meet Vilder’s questioning gaze. “The city,” I blurt, gesturing wildly toward the pristine white city. “What is the city made of?” I cast a sidelong glance at Seniia, who looks like she’s about to burst, and narrow my eyes at her, daring her to make a comment.
“Caeur’kar,” he says. “Heartstone.” He wipes his forehead with his shirt, clearly oblivious to his own attractiveness. He leans his forearms on the railing, and I notice several more glyphs on his back.
“Ooh,” Seniia teases. “Showing off your powers, Vilder?”
He snaps his head in her direction, and I can’t help but enjoy that he’s the one a little flustered for once. “My shirt was soaked,” he says, exasperation written all over his face.
“Come on now, Vilder. You know you’ll be powerful, right? Once you’re fully initiated, there’s absolutely no way you won’t be amongst the most powerful C’elēn on Reā.” She sizes him up. “How many glyphs are covering your body? I bet it’s over twenty.”
“Twenty-one,” he says, his voice clipped.
“Maybe they’ll bond us,” she says with a wink at him.
“What?” He stares at her with such horror in his eyes that I can’t help but laugh. “How many glyphs do you have?”
“Twenty-one.” A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m not bonding anyone,” he grumbles, “and certainly not you.” He stalks off to sit next to Gray in the shade, and his obvious frustration makes me laugh even harder.
“Wait a minute,” I say as I dry the tears from my eyes. “Doesn’t that mean that you too will be one of the most powerful C’elēn on Reā?”
“Of course.” She smirks. “But I already knew that.”
I stare at her, the weight of it settling over me. The thought of their magic should terrify me. Make me want to run. Instead, I feel safer with them than I ever have.
“Why do you think they will bond the two of you?” I ask Seniia.
“You have to bond within your first year of training, and they will always bond you with someone of equal strength.”
“I said I’m not bonding anyone,” Vilder mutters, the words barely audible.
Seniia’s pretty brows pull into a deep frown. “But you’ll—”
“I’m not,” he says, cutting her off.
Seniia studies him carefully, stroking her serpent in slow, deliberate motions, but says nothing.
“So, how many glyphs can an elēn have?” I ask, mostly to change the topic.
“Twenty-seven, but that’s more or less unheard of,” Vilder says. “Only the gods have more. Most elēn will have between seven and fifteen, with eleven being the average. There has been a slight increase over the past decades though . . .”
Seniia rolls her eyes. “Is there anything you don’t know the answer to?”
Vilder keeps his gaze fixed right in front of him, and though his jaw flexes, he doesn’t give a reply.
She purses her lips in thought. “Did you grow up in Arià? Among the singers?” She stares at him with curious intensity.
Vilder shifts slightly but says nothing.
A smile stretches across her face. “You did, didn’t you? I mean, you do look like them, and although I hate to admit it, you know an awful lot. But, you know, as I said, it’s rare, so . . .”
Vilder stares at her, his expression impassive. “Do you ever shut up?”
She claps her hands. “I knew it.”
“Nosy empaths,” he mutters.
I snort and shake my head at their antics.
I don’t think he minds Seniia nearly as much as his sarcastic remarks suggest. Still, I search my mind for something that can take Seniia’s focus off of him, knowing firsthand how difficult it is to hide anything from her.
It has become clear to me over the last couple days that Vilder is running from something, not unlike how I am, and I understand his hesitance to share his past better than most.
I take in the many glyphs that cover his upper body. Am I imagining it? No. “Your glyphs are glowing,” I say with excitement.
He’s back to his unaffected self. “It’s the proximity to the source,” he says with a shrug, gesturing toward the glowing crater and the frequent jolts of lightning. “Come on. We’ll be in port soon.” He grabs his twin swords and whistles for Gray to follow. “Let’s move.”
STREAKS OF POWER ZIGZAG BETWEEN the deep crater and the floating island of the Arc several thousand feet above it.
Stretching up onto my tiptoes, I strain to peer over the fence encircling it, glimpsing the swirling vortex of golden energy churning far below.
Its power is palpable, a low hum that vibrates through the air and into my bones.
As I push my hand forward, my fingers graze an unseen barrier, causing a slight tingling sensation. I frown.
“You think the C’elēn would leave their source unprotected?” Vilder says in amusement.
I shrug. I hadn’t given the source of their magic much consideration up until this point. I crane my neck. “How do we get up there?”
“Through one of the five gates,” he says, grabbing a couple of Seniia’s bags as he follows her toward a white structure that looks to be made of heartstone.
It bears a resemblance to the Arc in shape, but the way its twisted edges defy any attempt to discern its outline creates an unsettling effect.
Seniia turns toward us, excitement on her face, and I wish I could share their enthusiasm about where we’re going. “Come on now.” She stomps her staff, her serpent seemingly unaffected by the movement. “You’ll have time to explore the city later.”
I nod, praying she’s right. In and out, I remind myself. In and out. Or, if I’m lucky, just going through the gate will be enough, and I’ll be free to roam. My stomach flutters in anticipation of the freedom I’ll have once I’ve seen this through.
Making sure my hood is covering my face, I step closer to the two of them.
“Ready?” Seniia grins at me.
I force a small smile back at her. “Ready.”
Her fingers, cool and firm, close around mine—a light tingle the only sensation as we step through the archway.
Next thing I know, we’re standing on top of the floating island, outside a similar portal, solid ground beneath my feet.
Before I’ve had time to blink, Vilder materializes beside us.
A little unnerved by whatever force has moved us two thousand feet into the air, I steady myself on Seniia.
With a thudding heart, I manage a shaky grin. I’ve made it this far.
The three of us turn to take in the enormous white arch in front of us just as an unsettling pull rips through my chest, stronger than anything I’ve encountered before. Even if I didn’t know of Llyr’s soulbinding, this pull would have been impossible to ignore.
“Where’s Gray?” I say, noticing the large wolf is no longer at Vilder’s side.
“Oh, she needed to stretch her legs,” he says, but his attention is solely on the Arc. Seniia shoots him a sidelong glance, but she, too, seems to be utterly enchanted by the enormous white structure in front of us.
She walks to stand next to Vilder. “Can you feel it?” she says in a hushed, almost reverent tone.
He nods, a look of awe on his face—such a contrast to his usual stoic features.
My stomach plummets as several guards approach, and not ordinary guards. These wield magic. One, likely their leader, carries a staff etched with strange glyphs; another possesses some sort of shimmering orb pulsing with faint light.
My encounter with the guards in Bronich springs forward in vivid imagery: sharing a cramped prison wagon with the dead man, the stench of decay almost unbearable to breathe; Emma’s betrayal and the soft, almost muffled thud as her lifeless body hit the ground, crimson blood spilling from the gaping wound in her neck; the umbra; the confinement.
For the fraction of a heartbeat it takes me to realize I don’t have any choice but to proceed—the tug in my chest tells me I may as well be on a leash at this point—I debate fleeing back through the archway.
“La?na?” It’s Seniia.
My gaze falls to my hand, its grip on her arm tense and white-knuckled.
Although my heart is still pounding in my chest, I release my grip.
“Sorry,” I say, then gesture toward the guards behind her.
How she hasn’t noticed, I don’t know. Even I notice their magic, a tingling sensation that intensifies as they approach.
Stepping in front of me protectively, she shields me from the guards as Vilder moves to stand beside me.
“We are here as seekers,” Seniia says once they reach us.
“Show me your marks.”