Whispers (Book 3 of Wielder series)

Chapter 1 - Magic

The Evil are so named because their very nature is conceived of all that is horribly wicked. There is no righteousness within them. There is no life, or worth, or good.

   Anyone who bonds with an Evil adopts their persona. They sacrifice the good in themselves to obtain the power of darkness. There is no redeeming them. Once they turn, they are lost forever.

—Excerpt from On Magic and More

Authored by The Historians of the Realm

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Darkness plagued the land.

   It was in the earth, crumbling away the foundation of the world. It was in the air, stifling the magic that lingered there. It was in the water, tainting its purity with unseen, but no less felt, shadows.

  Ever since the magic had been freed from the capitol, Alie could sense the sickness of a world simply by stepping into it. The moment she traveled through a portal, she knew just how bad the world was suffering. Its pain was tangible. She felt as if she walked through air thick not with humidity, but with filth.

   Luckily, she also knew how to help.

   Alie looked out across the valley floor, where a shallow but wide river carved a path through the canyon. A cold, winter wind whipped at her braided hair. It tugged at her cloak and whistled in her ears. It stung her cheeks and dried her eyes, even as she blinked to keep them moist.

   A wisp of magic tugged at her heart, drawing her toward the waters. This was the place. She turned her head. "You ready?" she asked.

   Beside her, Darrel cast his gaze upon the landscape. He frowned at the sometimes rocky, sometimes sandy shoreline beside the river. He scrunched his nose at the canyon walls jutting straight up into the sky. He scowled at the wind as it caught the edge of his cloak against his legs. "It'll be tight."

   "Good. We can pin it in."

   "That's true." He looked to her, his blue-green eyes twinkling with mischief. "Are you going to show off, again?"

   "Maybe." She fought back a smile.

   "Trying to impress me again, huh?" With a wink, he shrugged off his pack, tossing it against the canyon wall.

   Alie did the same. "I'm not trying to impress anyone. I'm just doing what has to be done."

   "Are you, now?" He tilted his head and watched her with half-closed eyes, that troublemaker's smile still affixed to his lips. "I think you're lying."

   "And I think you're flirting," she grinned, reaching for the latch of her cloak. It was beautiful: sewn completely by hand, which was quite the rarity in a land thriving with magic. Its fur lining and thick, intricately embroidered wool had kept her warm in even the most chilly of worlds. An older woman had given it to her in a town two worlds prior, as a gift of thanks for everything Alie had done. As it slipped from her shoulders, she immediately missed its warmth.

   But it would get in the way, so she carefully folded it and set it on top of her pack.

   Darrel's cloak was not handmade, though it seemed to keep him warm enough. He let it fall to the ground in a heap behind him. "Maybe I am flirting," he teased. "Are you complaining?"

   "I will if it distracts you from your job."

   "I'm not distracted. I can flirt and fight at the same time."