Chapter 9
9
Shalendra caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, drawing her gaze to Cyran as he stepped toward her and Castien. His face showed a range of emotions: surprise, then worry, which morphed into anger.
She refocused on Castien. The only way to save Castien from such a cruel fate was to blend her magic with Ashia’s. She refused to let her friend become a shade and would do anything, including tapping into the powers she had kept hidden.
Something stirred deep in her mind. Reaching out with only one thought, she focused on Castien. She allowed the barrier she had erected as a child to crack open, her mind searching through them like an index system until she found the two powers she needed. She closed her eyes and let go of her deep-seated fear, permitting their release.
Forcing her eyes open once more, her gaze searched out Cyran’s. His teal eyes held hers like a lifeline, and her fear receded. She took in the draugar’s magic with a single deep inhalation, pulling them into her body and combining them with her own.
She created an arc between her and the blue flames of the draugar’s swords. Instead of enveloping her as it had the dwarf, the magic encircled her like a cocoon, its presence like a gentle tickle over her skin.
It wasn’t enough to save him, but she hesitated. The power she had kept under tight control since childhood was more lethal, and she was terrified she could not control it. It wasn’t her most powerful magic—that power would forever remain locked inside of her.
To save her friend, though, she had to try with the two remaining powers. The stirring in her mind increased, and Ashia whispered to her, calming her more.
Let go and save him. Your magic answers only to you. It is a part of you and recognizes your love for Castien. Trust in yourself, Shalendra. Trust in yourself… Ashia’s voice faded as if those few words took all her strength.
Thinking back to how she had tried to heal the rabbit decades ago, she remembered holding the poor animal, its soft white fur matted with blood and tufts of grass. In the memory, she reached out and cradled the bunny’s tiny head with one hand, her thumb caressing its cheek with a gentle back-and-forth motion.
She held her other hand just above the jagged laceration across its side, and the bright red blood faded to a light pink and then disappeared. The rough edges of the cut pulled closer, the skin knitting together and the fur growing back as white and pristine as it had been before the injury.
Her joy soared when the rabbit’s eyes opened and stared into hers, and she realized in her child’s mind that her only thought had been to help—to heal her so she could play with her friends. That single thought had directed her magic, and she accidentally took the poor bunny’s legs in her innocence and non-training.
She forced herself to let go of her long-held trepidation and reopened the barrier holding back her powers. She focused on Castien, her only thought was to make him whole and healthy again.
She focused her control on only that thought. The moment it materialized in her mind, the combined magic turned from an ice blue to a rich shade of violet. The flames grew as her magic flowed through her.
You are doing it, Shalendra! Ashia’s excited and much stronger voice returned. Don’t stop, he is so close…
Castien’s body jerked. His mouth opened, and then his head flew back. He let out a low groan, which changed into a louder, keening cry that filled the room and made her body’s hair stand up. Pulling back her magic, she released it from the draugar’s flame and dissipated it.
Giving herself a mental check, she realized she was unchanged. Using her powers had not been the horror she had built up to be in her mind. She was unsure how she felt about it, but if it saved Castien, she no longer cared and was okay with using her magic.
Of course, she kept her mother’s warning close to her heart. Too much power is never a good thing, and sometimes, doing something for the right reason can result in tragedy. Her most crucial ability, raising someone from the dead, was still a secret. Safe and controlled—never to be used. If those who were trying to destroy the Nine Worlds found that out…
She shivered. She would be their number one target. A chilliness settled on her skin like a glove, as if just by thinking about her hidden magic, the unknown evil already knew.
Castien's body fell forward, sliding toward the floor. Cyran leaped forward and caught him before hitting the ground. Adjusting the tall dwarf’s weight, he carried him to the other side of the room and sat him down, propping his back against the wall. He stood, and with a wave of one hand, an over-large, cushioned chair appeared underneath Castien.
Shalendra rushed forward, giving Cyran’s muscled arm a quick squeeze as she knelt beside the chair, feeling for the pulse at his neck. The beat was strong and steady. Breathing a sigh of relief, she stood and moved in front of the two draugar. “Is there something you need to do to make sure he has been returned as he was?”
“No, my lady,” Banayl said with a slight shake of his head, his hair back to the original light brown shade. Daqar’s long strawberry-blond hair was also normal once more. She paused, wondering if the change had been much faster this time or if she just hadn’t paid close enough attention. Something to think about…
Banayl shook his head. “The young dwarf is flesh and bone and was able to cry. If he were a shade, his body would be incorporeal without the ability to communicate. You have a magic I have never seen or heard of. True power, and if others realized, you would be hunted. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden.”
Daqar nodded. “He is right, Shalendra. I would ask, though, if we should once more need to correct a wrong—such as the one that almost happened—may we call on you to share your magic once more?”
Shalendra smiled. “I would be honored to help any of you.”
“If you don't mind, I have a question,” Cyran said. “When I was in Svartálfheimr, I was told a group of creatures were seen near one of the villages. At that time, I assumed they were talking about werewolves, but another dwarf reported a larger group of about ten creatures later heading toward the castle. Do you know anything about this?”
“We were in dwarf country, but that was weeks ago. We were scouting the northern region for Ailuin, but found demon trace, so we headed south and ran across a large company of rogue werewolves. Alva should have reported to the co-regents by now.”
“When will the werewolves and your leader return?” Cyran said, stepping up behind her.
“They should have already been here,” Ukris’s gruff voice answered, startling her. Immobile, he had been so quiet that she almost forgot he was in the room with them.
Ukris stepped forward and stopped beside Banayl. “Our leader, Himra, and another draugr named Dannoth went with three werewolves. Under émilien’s training, we have learned that together, we are formidable. I am worried, though. Himra is the strongest of us all and without him…”
“If they are able, the cursed wolves won’t let anything happen to either of our friends.” Banayl glanced at Daqar. I have a terrible feeling… Should we continue to wait here or head to the assigned meeting place? It isn’t like our brethren to be late like this.”
Castien groaned, his hands cradling his head as he slumped forward. Cyran grunted as he once more supported his weight. “You weigh more than you look, dwarf.” He eased him back on the chaise and squatted next to him with a frown. “Why is your skin turning light green? What’s wrong?”
Castien shook his head. “I’m not sure. One minute, I was feeling fine—as well as I could after being drained by draugar. Now, my stomach is queasy, and I have no energy. Like it was siphoned out of my body in a single instant.” Cyran and Shalendra glared at the draugar.
Banayl and Daqar both shook their heads. “It wasn’t us. The room would have been bathed in blue light if we had drained him again.”
“While I wouldn’t have thought twice about siphoning the dwarf,” Ukris muttered. “For the sake of the…Shalendra’s preference in keeping him alive, I restrained.”
Shalendra’s lips twitched. “Thank you…I think.” Looking back at Castien, her humor disappeared. She laid the back of her hand against his forehead. “You aren’t feverish—you just don’t look well. Do you think you can travel?” Her gaze narrowed. “Something tells me this place is no longer safe.”
Castien nodded. “I agree, but I’m all right. My strength is already returning. They probably gave me some draugar virus no one can cure.”
Banayl’s expression soured as he turned to Cyran. “I don’t know if I should be insulted or not.”
“Err on the side of caution,” Cyran warned. “The dwarf thinks he’s amusing.” He then leaned close to Castien. “If I were you, I would sensor the barbs. Draugar aren’t known for their sense of humor.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Banayl added. “With the werewolves, Daqar is learning how to joke more. Ukris, on the other hand, is clueless when it comes to mirth.”
Ukris scowled. “Watch yourself, Banayl. I may learn, if only to drive you crazy.”
Shalendra’s tinkling laughter filled the small room. “No one says mirth anymore. You are all hopeless and humorous.” She sent a mischievous glare at Ukris. “Even you, whether or not you admit to such a thing. Now, where were you supposed to meet the others?”
“Before we move on,” Cyran interrupted. “I would like to do a little reconnaissance to see what I can find out. Something doesn’t seem quite right to me—as if we are being drawn away.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “We’ve traveled back to the war—sometime during the late thirties or forties, but that’s only an assumption on my part. If my timeline is correct, Ailuin and Lamruil should be stationed nearby. I want to talk to them and get the lay of the land. If anyone knows where your group is, it will be those two. They may also know something about Shalendra’s missing aunt and uncle…something they’ve forgotten in the future.”
Daqar nodded. “That is an excellent idea. While the push to move on has intensified, I do not trust it. It does not seem real somehow.”
Shalendra pondered Daqar’s statement, wondering if a spell could make them feel that way. Turning to ask Cyran, she noticed his eyes had returned to their typical blue-green hue, reminding her of the Mediterranean.
At that moment, she put two and two together. His eye color lightened or darkened with his mood. She thought back to when she noticed the darker shade and realized they turned blue-gray when he was worried and darkened more when he was angry. They were blue-green when he was calm and reflective. He was a puzzle—a very handsome one, though.
She refocused on the ongoing conversation. “Do you think they can help? What if your previous self is already there? You would destroy the current timeline.”
Cyran raised one brow. “I am not an idiot and am quite proficient at time travel. I realize I must stay out of sight until my other self leaves.”
She shrugged. “Sorry. You don’t open up or talk much, so how was I supposed to know you time traveled a lot?” She tilted her head to one side, her long black braid sliding off her shoulder. His gaze slid downward, and for some strange reason, his interest pleased her. “Why are you so guarded?”
“I learned at a very young age to keep things to myself if I didn’t want them used against me.”
She nodded. “That, I understand, but not in quite the same way. When I was very young, my dad and I still lived in Niflheimr. I remember times when my parents fought. My mother asked me leading questions, but I was just too young to understand and would tell her the truth. My words would always come back to haunt me. Looking back as an adult, I realize my mother had no idea how to be a wife or mother and should never have asked me to begin with. It’s sad.”
“That sounds a lot like my stepfather. On her deathbed, my mother told me he was my stepfather, and my birth father had no idea I existed. For whatever reason, he couldn’t be the father I needed. For a young elf, I took that as he was married and refused my mother. She was too good for him anyway.”
Like so many times in the past, he shoved down the painful rejection that never seemed to go away and forced back his shoulders. “I must leave. The twins won’t stay in one place for long.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Fine, but I’m going with you—in case you get into trouble.”
He couldn't decide whether to be insulted or burst out laughing. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“That remains to be seen,” she muttered. Cyran ignored a low snicker coming from one of the draugar.
“We all should go,” Daqar added. “The werewolves and our two leaders will not return here past the appointed meeting time. We must move on. This way, Shalendra and the dwarf will have protection while you talk to the elf kings.”
Cyran couldn’t argue with the draugr’s logic. It was sound. Leaving Shalendra unprotected was not something he could do, which surprised him. Several days ago, he would not have given a second thought to leaving her. He exhaled the mounting frustration.
He needed to clear his head, and the only way to do that was to be alone. Taking her along would only further muddle his thinking, which he didn’t like. He would need his total concentration to get everyone through this unraveling puzzle.
From the determined expression on her face, he realized arguing with her would not make any difference. She would try to follow him without apparating, resulting in her capture by the German army. If he took everyone, he reasoned, he would be avoiding a future mishap.
“Fine. We will have to travel in two groups.” Glancing at the draugar, he met Daqar’s gaze and forced back his growing exhaustion. “I can apparate the three of you first. A small cave behind the twin’s makeshift headquarters is used for storing supplies and will be the perfect place for you to hide. Once we talk to Ailuin and Lamruil, you can stay in the cave while I return here.”
He glanced at Castien, who still had a sort of green hue to his skin, but other than that, he looked better than he had a few minutes before. “I will return shortly.”
Turning back to Shalendra, he narrowed his eyes. “Stay sharp and don’t let anyone in. While I realize you recognize some magic, many other forms scattered throughout the Nine Worlds can fool even the best tracker.”
Shalendra touched Castien’s arm, her fingers gripping his forearm, and no matter how hard he tried, Cyran couldn’t pull his gaze away. He willed her to stop touching the dwarf. Even the knowledge that Castien was gay didn’t help the rising possessiveness swirling through him.
“I don’t think Castien can travel right now,” Shalendra's soft-spoken statement broke the spell, and he jerked. The dwarf looked worse than he had a few seconds ago. “I will stay here with him. I don’t want him to suffer alone.” She gave Cyran a sharp glance, and he reluctantly nodded.
With a quick flick of his head, the three draugar, without taking a single step, now stood around him, their skeletal hands resting on both shoulders and his back. One thought sent them spiraling through what he called spacetime.
A mere minute passed, and they appeared in a small forest clearing. A quaint home stood on the far edge, and the mountain backdrop was picturesque. Thankfully, the white stone building remained unchanged since his last visit. The roses, in all stages of bloom, climbed the weather-stained trellis and farther up along the thatched roof line, drawing his gaze to the smokeless chimney.
On the other side of the front door, the white filmy curtain twitched in the window. Striding up to the wooden door, he gave it a sharp rap with his fist and waited. The door swung open to reveal an empty room. The barren stone fireplace rested in the middle of the far wall, and two matching high-backed chairs stood on either side.
“I need your help, my friend,” he whispered outside the doorway.
“Who’s with you?” Ailuin asked on the other side of the door.
“You may not have met the creatures with me yet, but you will. They will become our partners in a future war.” He glanced at the three draugar, his gaze landing on Daqar and then moving to Banayl. “They will be our friends.”
Ailuin opened the door and stepped into view. With a wide flourish of his free arm, he welcomed them. “I’m not quite sure what’s going on—you were just here?—”
“This version of Cyran was not.” Lamruil, Ailuin’s twin brother, stepped up behind him. “I sensed the shifting of time. If you’ve come here now, there must be good reason.” With a hand on his brother’s shoulder, he stepped back and moved Ailuin back with him. “Come in and tell your tale. I have always wanted to meet the fabled draugar.”
Ailuin’s eyes widened, his gaze moving to the three creatures behind Cyran.
With a nod, Cyran ushered in the draugar, who entered the room, each having to duck to clear the top of the door frame. He followed and closed the door behind him.
“You are correct, Lamruil. Time has passed, but I will not go into those details. The less you know about the future, the better. I will only tell you things aren’t as good as we’d hoped back home. A strange illness invades the land, spreading throughout Alfheimr and Svartálfheimr, and since you do not know the draugar, I can forget asking about the disappearance of their leader and second-in-command.”
Lamruil crossed his arms, a frown on his handsome face. “How is this connected to us during a war on Midgard?”
“I was tasked to find a missing girl and uncovered a rat’s nest. While we have given shelter to the draugar and werewolves…” Cyran’s gaze bored into Lamruil’s icy-blue stare. “Of whom you know much about, there is also a faction of wolves working for someone else and causing mayhem. I have heard a rumor or two regarding rogues, and then shortly after, the nearby population becomes sick with symptoms that mimic several other diseases. Each town I’ve come across seems to be a little different.”
Lamruil’s blond brow rose. “Like the experiment is changing?” Cyran nodded.
The elf moved to look out through the sheer curtain in the window. “Do you remember the weeks leading up to the Great War back home? People were getting sick then, too, but no one noticed because more people were dying in battle. Even so, our father was suspicious and sent your father to study the symptoms and, hopefully, figure out what was happening.”
Lamruil’s icy stare speared Cyran’s. “I don’t recall hearing what your father discovered. You were so young—do you remember?”
The memories swamped him, sending a frigid sensation through his body, all but freezing him to the spot where he stood. He remembered all too well. In his eagerness to help the king, he discovered more than he ever bargained for. His stepfather had planted the magically spliced disease in different villages, using spells to change each version, testing which prospered and which failed.
Horrified at what he uncovered, he returned home and memorized the stasis spell in his father’s private tome. Every slight sound in the empty cave filled him with terror at being caught, but he held strong and memorized the base spell, changing it only slightly to make it his own.
No one had ever discovered what he had done that night. Standing in the ruins of the oldest Elven village, he cast the spell and sent Haman into stasis. He couldn’t kill him, but he could send him into a permanent sleep so no one else would suffer from his madness.
Forcing those memories away, he nodded. “I remember many things, although I never spoke to Haman before his disappearance.” That was the truth, but he had a choice to make. Should he tell his best friends the truth? Would their opinion of him change?
He exhaled his anxiety and blurted out the truth. “I discovered Haman was behind the sickness, but your father died before I could tell him.”
He gave them enough of the story so no more questions would be asked, and his relationship with the brothers would not suffer. “I have no real knowledge of what he created or the viruses he used, but I have a growing suspicion and have also considered the similar circumstances of history repeating itself.”
Lamruil stared at his twin, then turned his ice-blue gaze back to Cyran. “We knew something happened between you and Haman and figured you would tell us in your own time.”
Lamruil placed a steady hand on Cyran’s shoulder. “We are like Dumas’s story—the three musketeers. We were raised as brothers and will remain so, Cyran. Never fear losing that, no matter the deed. Now, go to Austria, a mental asylum called Schloss Hartheim. I think you will find, at least, a few of the answers you search for in that godforsaken place.”
Ailuin nodded. “Keep your eyes open, my friend. I fear you may discover some things haven’t stayed in the past.”
Cyran wanted to ask him what he meant but knew Ailuin would say no more. Instead, he gave the twins a slight bow and stepped away from Banayl, putting an extra foot between them. With a wave of his hand, he motioned to the nearby draugr. “This is Banayl, right hand to their interim leader, Daqar, standing to his left. The one on the other side is Ukris. I must go back for the other two in our party. Their location is unsafe, and I dare not leave them any longer. I will return shortly.”
Before anyone spoke, he apparated back to the cave. At first glance, he thought it was empty, but turning, he found Shalendra rubbing Castien’s back as he rested on his hands and knees, retching in the corner.
“Shalendra?”
She turned, her pretty features masked in worry as she stood and moved to stand beside him. “I’ve tried every spell I know, but nothing has worked. After you left, he complained of a bad headache followed by his skin flushing.”
She exhaled, the sound loud in the silent space. “I’ve never seen anyone go through so many symptoms so fast. It’s like they were accelerated. The flushing morphed into what you see now. He hasn’t had anything to eat or drink in a year, so where is all the vomit coming from? Cyran, I’m scared. Castien is really, really sick.”