2. The Mage Behind the Wall
The Mage Behind the Wall
“Stand there.” The Marshal pointed at a silver-capped drain in the center of the white floor.
On sluggish legs, I obeyed, stumbling into the dimly lit space.
With immense effort, I stood tall in the strange room nestled away in the lowest reaches of the base.
There was no furniture. A dark mirror took up the entirety of one wall, with a wide silver spout protruding from the middle of it.
A small porthole, cut out near the entrance door, connected the chamber to another room, which had oil lamps flickering against the walls.
After I’d gotten dressed, Shadow Swords had led us down a maze of stairs and endless corridors deep underneath the military base. Then the Marshal had taken over, leading me alone through the last few halls. I hadn’t realized anything was below the palatial hangar that opened to the desert.
“Face forward.” The Marshal gestured at the dark mirror.
Sweat poured down my forehead despite it being mild under the ground. I mopped it off with my sleeve. Since the Iron Ritual, I couldn’t stop perspiring. I want my mom. My throat was sore. My vision blurred.
“Do you see this?” the Marshal asked as she patted the silver spout.
I nodded shakily.
“Verbal confirmation, soldier!”
“Yes, sir.”
She rested her hand on the spout. “The storm magic is going to come out of here—and you’re going to use your new Knight Mage ability to neutralize it. Stop the storm before it starts. That’s how you pass. Simple.”
A bad feeling twisted my gut.
“And if it doesn’t stop?”
“It will. Form a Shield with your hands and hold it. Block the magic.” She mimed making an X with her arms across her chest, the legendary Shield of the Knight Mages.
“But what if it does—”
“SILENCE, SOLDIER! Are you aware that . . .” The Marshal blurred, her voice drifting too far away to grasp. Strung out and raw, muscles quivering, I had nothing left to give. My vision wavered with tears, and I fought them back.
The girl in the mirror looked like a crone.
Hunched and sheened in sweat. My silver scar was bright across my pallid, green-hued skin.
Dark circles rimmed my amber-brown eyes, which were so light they appeared yellow.
My long braid was half undone, a rat’s nest of fine, straight hair hanging tangled to my waist.
I looked better than I felt.
“Give me the bird.” The Marshal held out her palm, her voice cutting through the haze.
“No.” I clutched Squire to my chest. He squawked with defiance, his head swiveling one hundred eighty degrees as he looked back and forth between us.
The Marshal’s glare could strip paint. “It’s not safe for him in here.” She gestured with her fingers to the open door.
Not safe?
“Fly into the other room, dear,” I whispered, lips trembling against his tawny head as I kissed him.
“Me wait for Zora,” he chirped as he spread his wings and obeyed. He soared through the door and settled into the porthole. His tawny head tilted, eyes wide with concern.
“Do not leave the drain,” the Marshal instructed as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Make a Shield.”
“How is it possible to test magic . . . without a Royal Mage here to create a storm?” I blurted the question that had been bothering me since she said there would be a test.
The entire basis of the Storm Wars: Knight Mages nullified the destructive storm magic of Royal Mages.
“I’ll be behind the glass, watching.” The Marshal pointed at the mirror. “Do not disappoint me, soldier.” She stalked out of the room, long cape fluttering.
She didn’t answer my question.
The door swung shut, and locks clicked.
Squire stood in the porthole, a lonely, familiar face, pecking at the glass.
Crossing my arms over my ribs, I made a Shield like she’d demonstrated. Gravity pulled at my chest, my reflection looking more like a fairy-tale witch by the second. All I needed was a pointy hat, a broom, a hut deep in the forest, and the confidence to speak only in cryptic riddles.
My ragged exhales were too loud, air whistling from my parched throat. Maybe nothing will—
A muffled scream sounded.
Silence.
Another awful noise filled the shadowy room, even louder than the last. The wall of dark glass rattled. Agonized noises increased, and they sounded . . . male?
The Marshal is torturing someone on the other side.
Skin crawling, knees weak, I struggled to stand on the drain.
Copper flooded my mouth, and I wiped at my wet lip; I’d bitten through it.
In the mirror, blood dripped down my chin.
As I rocked back and forth, my heart pounded against my rib cage.
I blinked rapidly, struggling to keep my eyes open through the stinging sweat.
I stared at the innocuous silver spout.
The glass shook violently as a deep baritone voice bellowed with absolute agony.
I stepped back, flinching.
The Marshal said she’d be watching; it’s a two-way mirror.
Shaking uncontrollably, I stumbled back onto the drain.
A loud scream was followed by a new gurgling noise. Pipes creaked . . . Rushing water? Hostile shadows stretched, and I curled low, steeling myself for certain pain. Strange vibrations mounted behind the rattling mirror.
I shuffled off the drain.
Don’t be a coward, Zora.
I lunged back onto it.
Holding my stance, I braced myself, tired arms burning just from holding them in a Shield across my chest.
You can do this, Zora.
No, you can’t.
You’re blessed with freedom and strength. Lucky girl.
Sounds of someone being tortured echoed behind the glass.
I tasted bile.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water trickled out of the spout, dripping slowly onto the floor, streaked with glittering silver lines. Magic rose from the puddle in a smoky, metallic haze. The mirror stopped rattling.
Abrupt silence.
Is that it? The crushing pressure lifted off my shoulders, and I felt like Antichthon’s biggest fool, blubbering and shaking over a tiny magical puddle.
A deep voice bellowed with agony, and the mirror clattered, shock waves rippling through it, nearly breaking it.
Gurgle.
Water exploded from the spout with intense pressure—straight toward my face and chest. Sputtering, I fell to my knees, arms shaking as I barely held them crossed.
The arc of icy liquid drenched me, soaking me to the bone.
It slammed painfully against my face, burning through my sinuses as storm magic hissed all around in a blinding haze.
Magic burned as it streamed out of my nose.
I squinted through the awful spray and burgeoning headache because my hands glowed a bright celestial silver. Storm magic. Awed, blinking in the watery deluge, I focused on the blurring shimmer.
I’d seen the only other living Knight Mages in action six years ago—Ella and Axel, the famous twins. Their arms had shone with a similar silver as their Shields redirected fire. The magical flames had never touched them, not once. So why is the magic still intensifying as it touches me?
Quaking from immense strain, I screamed through gritted teeth as the flow pushed me backward. Liquid quickly filled the room. It rose up, higher and higher, covering my knees and heading toward my waist.
I would drown at this rate.
The cold spray filled my nose, mouth, and lungs. I shook my head, lips pressed shut, desperately trying to get away from it, but there was nowhere to go. The drain on the floor was directly in front of the downpour. I teetered on my assigned position.
I will not fail.
Banging my fists against my soaking chest, I made a tighter Shield with my glowing hands, but it didn’t stop the magic like it should have.
Liquid was at my waist.
A horrible throbbing pierced the right side of my head, and the muted light in the window was suddenly too bright. The overpowering scent of magic made me nauseous. The two-way mirror juddered, sending vibrations through the droplets.
You can do it. You can do anything. I imagined throwing the storm away from myself and diverting the torrent.
Nothing happened.
The icy liquid was at my chest—my chin—my nose.
Finally the spray stopped battering my face. I tipped my head back, inhaling raggedly. Pain throbbed deep inside my skull—like nothing I’d ever felt before—as my feet left the floor. I floated upward with the water, heading for the ceiling.
Hands splayed wide, I stopped pretending to make a Shield. They glowed bright silver in the swirling water, beacons of light in the darkness. Bubbles shimmered like glitter, rising off my fingers.
My nose bumped against the smooth stone ceiling. I inhaled deeply, strangely absent of panic as I was fully submerged.
Slipping under, I slowly drifted down through the blue; arms glowing silver, they shed rays of metallic light. Everything was quiet. I sank deeper, braid unraveling, long strands of hair floating all around. Tap. Tap. Tap. Squire pecked on the submerged porthole, yellow eyes wide and nervous.
I gave him a thumbs-up.
His head tilted with confusion.
I reached my hand out toward Squire to offer comfort.
Shock waves of magic rippled through the water, exploding off my fingers.
Senses heightened, I turned slowly toward the dark glass, hyperaware of a presence on the other side.
I could sense . . . another person? They felt strangely familiar, like we were one and the same.
Save them.
Arm still outstretched, silver strands of magic tendrilled off my glowing skin. Faster. Faster. Faster. The mirror rippled, groaning as I sent water gushing toward it. A cyclone spun around me.
A scraping sounded, metal grinding against metal as the drain opened. Bubbles floated upward. A second, smaller spiral was forming near the floor.
Bang. Bang.
“Stop.” Through the watery haze, the Marshal stood at the window next to Squire, banging on the glass with both hands. Her eyes were wide, hat askew. “Stop,” she shouted, the sound muffled.
The drain groaned below.