Blood & Shadows

Eighteen

Warm sunlight bathes my face, coaxing me into consciousness. I head for the basin and wipe my night sweat from my neck and chest. The water is freezing but I can't waste the magic to heat it. I rub the ring on my thumb, the soft vibration of my nail catching on the sigil is oddly calming. It might seem like a simple thing to break a spell but undoing something as powerful as a thread of fate is dangerous. If I don't do it right the snap of power could overwhelm me. Never mind how I can easily overwhelm myself trying to undo the strands in the first place.

Today could be the day I die. The idea is strangely abstract. Without many memories and loathing present company, I feel untethered enough not to care. No one will mourn me. I'll be like the bard and my father, just another body without much in the way connection.

As I step out of my corner, I find Vrythien lounging in bed, he's not sitting Calm he's simply there. His attention snaps to me and I make a point not to look at him as I walk over to where Faeriel and Geraent break fast.

Dark beer, sausages and light yeasty rolls. The beer doesn't appeal to me and neither does the sausage, so I pick at the bread. As I tear a small piece off and stare at it, I can't recall the last time I ate. I nibble at the bread and my stomach protests in a growl.

"So, it will really be over?" Faeriel whispers as though it's some secret.

I nod. "The spell will be broken at least. Then we'll have Razeth to contend with."

"Good luck with that," Vrythien speaks from behind me. I don't give him the pleasure of my attention. "He's the high Red Wizard, darlings. He will end us if we come against him. So, after dear sweet Catriona casts her spell I'm leaving."

"We could use your blade; it will be no easy feat bu--" Geraent starts and Vrythien cuts him off.

"No. I know when I'm not wanted. Besides, I have better more important things to do than to watch you die." That smirk is in his tone and it almost makes me want to glance back at him. I don't. Given what he did I'm allowed to be petty, I'm allowed to hate him.

No matter how petty I'm being the thought of sending him back into the night, back into the darkness and his master gives me pause. No one deserves what he's been through.

I spend the day readying myself for the spell. I reclaim the magic I used to conjure the bed and screen. The vast majority of sorcery is innate, but any big spell requires forethought and preparation. With luck I've come up with the correct approach. Wait until dusk when the shadows are longest, and use the natural darkness around me to aid my power. I drag a bench to the middle of the room and straddle it with the crystal in my hands.

Vrythien stares at me unseeing as Faeriel and Geraent pray together by the fire. Their soft murmurs fill the air, though far less desperate than they had been when Faeriel sought to bring Geraent back from the dead.

Laying back I place the crystal on my chest and let my arms fall out to the side. With a long slow rattled breath, I release my power, a blanket of darkness falls over the room that the candle and hearth struggles against and near to loses in a flickering fit.

The music below grows muted as the floorboards and rafters creak with the pressure of my full power. Weightless and light, I focus on the crystal and it glows with a dim dark red light as I open myself to the spell fully. The strands of the threads of fate become a glittering shimmer of stars above me and with a the twitch of a finger I guide the inky tendrils of my power along the first of many strands. That inky greedy tendril of shadow consumes the power before moving on to the next. It's deceptively easy, but that is only the first of what looks to be thousands.