Chapter 39
She grew frustrated working through the mess on the shelves, but manuscripts were rolled and easy to spot amongst the clutter. She vaguely wondered how long she’d been down there and if morning had come yet up above. She’d be missed by mid-afternoon if she didn’t hurry up.
An entire shelf of manuscripts held nothing. It must have taken her another hour to go through two more shelves. The fourth shelf held a mix of items—jars, books, and manuscripts all piled together in an intricate stack of items.
Then she sensed something different. Defensive magic swirled around her head and pulsed against her palms. This magic seemed unique to any she’d encountered before. It felt old—ancient, really.
Her shadows responded to her call, but as much as they pressed against the barrier, they couldn’t penetrate it. It reminded her of the magic—also old—that guarded the master witches’ restricted section in the library back in Stralas.
Imani remembered the complicated spells she had to wield in order to crack a hole in the previous shield, an alteration spell with a gravity shockwave enchantment then coupled with shadows to pass through. It was worth a try.
With her wand out, Imani began casting.
While it was similar to the master witches’ defenses, this was far more sophisticated and powerful. After almost a dozen tries, she collapsed on the floor with her head in her hands. What was she even doing? She had no idea what this spell hid. It could be nothing.
But a gut feeling told her it was something important—something critical.
So, with a sigh, she stood again and cast. But this time, she let her shadows build up even deeper and darker around her. Then she pushed. And pushed. And pushed.
Eventually, a minuscule crack appeared where the shield met the floor, no bigger than a small hairline fracture, inches long.
Sweat dripped down her brow, and her arms were shaking, but Imani smiled.
It might not even be what she was looking for, but if it was the only thing in this library that was this protected, it was worth seeing, in her opinion.
She worked for what felt like another hour.
Wielding her shadows was natural, but the alteration and enchantment magic took a toll.
Swaying on her feet a little, Imani examined her work—there was an opening now, no bigger than a cubby hole, that had cracked near the floor.
Dropping to her hands and knees, Imani willed her shadows to seep into her skin, fully covering her, protecting her.
Her breath came in short pants as she crawled forward. Her hands shook.
She was afraid.
The hole might be too small, she might get stuck, there might not be anything on the other side. Her magic might not be able to hold it open.
It was a tighter squeeze than she’d originally thought. Wiggling and shimmying her way through took several minutes, and she could feel the syrupy magic trying to stop her. She wouldn’t stop now—she couldn’t. She’d come too far.
Finally, she tugged her second foot free from the hole and plopped on a mossy, wet floor, trying to catch her breath as she took in her new surroundings.
A bookshelf, just like the others in the room, lorded over her, like some fearsome beast. She had no doubt there was more defensive magic she’d need to overcome to reach whatever was hidden here.
She could feel a power emanating like all wands did, except this felt far more pervasive. It seeped into her bones and tingled with a warning.
Standing upright, she found a ladder attached to the shelving, which she promptly climbed. Imani was far too short to reach the manuscripts at the top, but that was where she needed to start. Careful not to disturb too many of the items, she grabbed the first scroll she could.
It was titled Manuscript 1147. The sight made her giddy. Painstakingly, she placed it back on the shelf and grabbed the one next to it.
A zap shocked her, forcing her to rip her hand away as it burned. Shaking it out, she stared at the plain-looking scroll for a moment. This was something special.
With her wand out, she cast more spells to break through the wards and shields surrounding the paper. The shocks grew more and more fierce and persistent. Her hands and arms were covered in welts by the time she’d stripped it bare.
Wiping more sweat from her forehead, Imani took several deep breaths. She rubbed her hands on her leggings to get rid of the clamminess and some of the blood from the burns then reached for the manuscript.
As she unfurled it, something dropped to the floor below, tumbling and rolling away as it hit the hard stone.
Imani could have sworn it was long and slim.
The sound it made when it fell against the hard ground made her think it was perhaps made of wood.
Her entire body froze.
It couldn’t be.
Imani’s heart pounded in her ears. Would finding the Drasil be that easy? Granted, it had taken her almost a year to track it down, plus this room was cavernous and a scrap of paper with numbers on it hardly counted as a clue.
Still, this could be it. Her grandmother wouldn’t have saved that number if it wasn’t important.
Moving as fast as she could, she descended the ladder and jumped down to the ground.
Unlike the gnarled uniqueness of each Draswood wand, this one was smooth and covered with small grooves and patterns, almost like a work of art. The wand seemed to glow the closer she got to it, and when she reached down to pick it up, searing heat burned her skin before shooting up her arm.
With a startled shout, Imani dropped the wand to the ground again.
She tried three more times, and each time was worse than before. She would kill herself if she kept trying to pick it up.
Dropping to her knees, Imani took out her Draswood and whispered several words of a spell she’d used many times with Master Selhey—how to determine what magic a wand held and how to reconfigure it.
Inside the wand was a myriad of layers, more than she’d ever felt before.
Counting each one, Imani discovered there were more than twenty layers to the wand, meaning it could wield at least twenty different types of magic at once.
She only had eight markings, and the most anyone had in the Mesial realm was twelve.
But, since one of hers was from the Under, she surmised that this wand was configured to wield far more magic from other worlds, not just here.
This was, without a doubt, a powerful wand, and she had a feeling which one.
It took her a long time to stabilize the layers.
It had to be creeping toward the afternoon by now.
Such complicated, intense magic took intense concentration, and she was already exhausted from breaking through two sets of wards.
Eventually, she’d forced as many layers as she could into latency—not all twenty, but some—and brought forth her own power to fuse them to the core.
The wand glowed again, an intense brightness that lasted for several seconds, then it dimmed into a dull ember.
Tentatively, Imani reached out and touched the wood. It was cool to the touch, and she allowed herself to try to pick it up again.
This time, it worked, and she felt the small, intricate grooves that wound up the base of the wand.
Then many things happened all at once. A searing burning shot through her right arm where her magical brands were and forced her to curl into herself in agony.
The pain reached a fevered pitch, and she rolled over and threw up what little she had in her stomach.
A snake slithered out, signaling that all the glamour she’d recently cast had been stripped away, likely by the Drasil.
Only a tremendously powerful wand could instantly wash away flesh magic glamour with a touch.
The pain continued. She writhed on the floor and moaned in agony. Tears streamed down her face, and she wanted to scream but held herself quiet, not knowing if anyone would hear.
She lay there for several minutes, shaking, until it finally stopped.
Trembling, Imani gently caressed her right arm then ripped up the sleeve. Gleaming bright purple on the top of her hand was the master witch symbol. Up farther were two new magical brands; one for elemental fire, the other for terrestrial magic.
She gasped and covered her mouth with her left hand.
An accidental ascension wasn’t unheard of, but it was extremely rare.
It made sense once she truly thought about it—she’d just undergone three tests of her magic with breaking both the wards, using her shadows, enchantment, and alteration, and then tapping into her wandlore magic to reconfigure the most powerful wand in the realms. While not violent tests like the princes had put them through, they were still tests all the same that had pushed her to the edge of what she thought she could do with her magic.
She slipped her Draswood into her sleeve for safekeeping, but from now on, she’d be using a new wand to cast her magic.
Shaking with excitement, Imani stood, rolling the Drasil back and forth between her fingers to remind herself it was there. The best part? It was configured for her—and only her—to use.
As the sole wielder of the Drasil, and now with a master brand, Imani would be powerful enough to save herself from all these wretched bindings and break free to go and do as she pleased. She would be one of the most powerful in Essenheim. One of the most powerful in the realm.
And no one would underestimate her ever again.
Imani could feel the Drasil wand’s magic as it warmed to life in her hands. It was like a hum, a kind of vibration that bounced against her chest.
That subservient position she’d been in with the Serpent Prince eroded further at this moment. Trepidation slipped through her that Kiran would have to start considering her an equal when he learned about the Drasil.
An equal meant a threat, and Kiran didn’t take well to threats.