Whispers (Book 3 of Wielder series)

Chapter 31 - Brother

After several prompts from Evan to get her focus back on track, Alie's magic finally broke them out into open air. The air was hot and dry and smelled of burning earth, but her heart still leapt for joy when she stepped clear into a cavern as large as an ice rink with no signs of the prison in sight.

   It had been weeks. Countless days since she had walked in a space not enclosed by stone walls. She didn't care how uncomfortable the air felt. Her spirit finally felt free.

   Evan glanced around as he followed her from the tunnel. "How far away are we from the prison?"

   "About a half a mile," Alie guessed, pointing toward her left. "It's that way."

   "That should be far enough."

   "How close is the portal?"

   "Only another few minutes walk, if we haven't overshot it." He glanced around, squinting at the cavern's walls to determine whether anything looked familiar. "Can you feel it with your magic?"

   Alie reached out her senses, but everything around her felt wrong. "I don't think I can. I know the prison is that way: I can hear the alarm if I amplify my hearing. But everything else feels... off."

   "It's the volcano," Evan nodded in understanding. "There's a lot of untapped power inside. It makes magic difficult to sense." He looked in both directions with a frown. "Let's try this way first," he suggested, pointing away from the prison. "We can always come back if we need to."

   Alie let him lead the way. She kept her hand on the Ultimate, its magic a reassuring anchor in the churning uncertainty that swam eerily around her.

   She tried to keep her focus on where they were going and stay alert for anyone coming after them, but her thoughts kept drifting to her brother. To Roger. To every word he'd said, to every thing he'd done. Had he tried to tell her, but been unable to? Had he shown at all that he cared she was his sibling? Had he ever, even once, wondered whether what he was doing to her was the right thing?

   And then, as if her very thoughts had caused him to materialize, they rounded a corner, and there he was.

   Roger - no, Samuel - stood with his back to them. One arm clung to his stomach, his shoulders hunched as if he'd taken a blow. His back heaved with heavy breaths. He swayed a little on his feet. His other arm hung limp at his side, as if he no longer had control of it.

   She saw Roger Sole, the commander who had imprisoned her and beaten her and driven her to death's door. But she also saw a broken man in agony. Someone who battled an internal war that he had no hope of winning. Someone cursed. Someone who had created something beautiful and drew magic to him with it. Someone who was ashamed of the man he'd been, who wanted to be someone new.

   She took a step forward, her eyes brimming with tears, and took a chance on him. "Sam?"

   His name was spoken softly, like a whisper, or a prayer. But Roger froze the moment she spoke, every muscle in his body going taut. With a slowness that was almost comical, he turned his head toward her.

   She'd seen many emotions from him before. Anger. Fury. Rage. Calm. Confusion. Control.

   But never fear.

   His eyes were white with it, as if fear had made him frantic. He looked terrified, though whether it was of her, of being caught, or of his situation, she had no idea.

   She dared another step. Roger flinched back, stumbling clumsily over his own feet. He barely managed to stay standing as he fought to regain his balance.