Текст книги "Air Awakens"

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Vhalla Yarl,

Your tone has changed. Are you beginning to consider sorcery with something more than your prior ill-conceived, ignorant notions?

I regret to inform you that not all people have a magical Affinity. Most are simply close-minded Commons who fear something only because they do not know and cannot understand it. You are special. Magic has chosen you, and it is time you accept that.

I am impressed that you picked a work like Karmingham and deciphered it. Perhaps something has sunk in these past few weeks.

You are correct; a magical vessel can either conduct or store magic. It is impossible to have an item that does both. But vessels are difficult to create, even for experienced Waterrunners. While unintentional vessels are possible, they are highly uncommon because a sorcerer’s will must be very strong to form one. More often, a vessel is created when a sorcerer leaves a magical trace in something he or she makes. Not true power, but like an inky fingerprint upon a blank page.

The Phantom

Her dreams became a growing problem that Vhalla ignored by daylight. Every night, she dreamed of trying to reach a figure in the darkness. The only explanation was that those dreams were a result of the mysterious notes.

Dear Phantom,

Your praise warms me in an odd way, despite your bleak outlook on the world. I think it should be a sorcerer’s obligation to share magic with Commons, as you seem to call non-magical people, in a way that is easy to understand—like you have done with me.

I am not special. I have never been someone who is special. But perhaps you are right that my tone has changed these past weeks under your tutelage.

Here is my question for you today: Why is it that Affinities seem to prefer geographical regions?

Sincerely, Vhalla

While they continued to exchange notes through the introduction book, Vhalla’s reading now extended far beyond that primer. There were times that she wanted to share her notes with Roan or anyone. But then Vhalla remembered what the writing signified. No one other than her phantom would share her enthusiasm for magic. Well, no one other than her phantom—and other sorcerers in the Tower.

As result, in an odd way, her phantom was becoming easier to confide in and speak openly to than her closest friends. The anonymity fit Vhalla’s inquisitive mind and she found it easy to reveal things about herself.

Vhalla,

Call me bleak; I call you naïve and optimistic. Shall we deem it even?

I do not praise you to warm you; I praise you so that you may continue to learn. But you may take what you will from it.

No sorcerer seems to know why Affinities favor geographical regions. It is known that the majority of Firebearers are from the West, Waterrunners from the South, and Groundbreakers from the North.

You think you are under my tutelage. Do you consider me your teacher?

Sincerely, The Phantom

Vhalla wasn’t sure how to respond, so she spent that night tossing and turning. If she confessed she had begun to see the phantom as a teacher, did that make her a sorcerer? The girl within her ran in terror at the thought. But after their correspondence began, there was also a budding woman inside her who faced the idea of being a sorcerer with a level head.

Dear Phantom,

Perhaps I do consider you my teacher. The last sorcerer I spoke to drugged me and kidnapped me to the Tower. At least your worse offense is your sharp tongue and that you have not told me your name. Who exactly are you?

You covered South, North, and West. But, what of the East?

Sincerely, Vhalla Yarl

“Vhalla!” Roan gave her a shove as they wandered toward the library from breakfast.

“Roan, sorry, what?” Vhalla mumbled, rubbing her shoulder.

“What is it with you lately?” Roan studied her up and down.

“I’m tired.” The truth of her words seeped into them.

“Yes, you are, but I have seen you tired before. This is different. You keep weird hours, and only pick at your food during meals, if you take them at all,” Roan argued.

Vhalla shrugged.

“Even Sareem has noticed something is wrong. He asked about you; he’s noticed your habits,” her friend muttered, her voice flat.

Vhalla continued to stare forward. Roan’s words were distant, like she was speaking under water. Who cared about Sareem? There were more important things on her mind. One such thing was the fact that sorcerers no longer seemed to be stalking her waking hours.

“Don’t tell me,” Roan whispered. “You and Sareem, are you an item?”

“What?” Vhalla blinked, summoned back to life. “Sareem and I? No.”

“Really?” Roan hummed. “He clearly cares about you, and he comes from a good family. You know his father was Norin’s ship builder.”

Vhalla nodded.

“And he’s handsome in that Western way. I always thought Southern blue eyes were striking on Western skin...”

“Excellent,” Vhalla murmured, half-heartedly. “Really, not Sareem then?” Roan asked again.

Why did she care so much? “No, not Sareem,” Vhalla confirmed.

“But it is a boy?” her friend teased with a laugh at the idea of Vhalla romantically involved with someone.

Vhalla almost tripped over her own feet, earning a slow, penetrating stare.

“Is it? By the Sun, is it a boy?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vhalla looked away.

The blonde’s hands clasped on Vhalla’s shoulders, and soon Vhalla stood in a small side hall.

“Roan, we’re going to be late.”

“Then tell me faster so we’re not.” Roan grinned.

Vhalla focused on the freckles dotting Roan’s nose rather than the uncomfortably eager look her friend was giving her.

“I thought you weren’t interested in boys after...”

“Narcio?” Vhalla sighed. He had owned her heart for a few months, and Vhalla had been young enough to think it was love. She didn’t regret her time with him, but things just hadn’t worked out. Vhalla wasn’t exactly good at relationships as she preferred to spend more time with books than people. Still, Vhalla wished she knew what became of the man whom she had lain with for the first time as a woman. “I’m not a Crone. Of course I’m still interested.”

“So who, what, where, when, how?” Roan persisted.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Vhalla sighed, finally relenting. “I don’t know his name, I don’t even know if he is a he...” she revealed softly, looking into the neighboring hallway to see if anyone walked too close.

“You’re making no sense.” Roan loosened her grip.

“It’s complicated, but it’s special. I’ve learned a lot; he’s really smart, and witty too...in a mean sort of way sometimes. But he is someone who seems to understand just how to push me, and yet I can’t seem to figure out anything about him.” She stopped herself before rambling on and giving away too much.

“But, how do you not know...?” Roan scrunched her eyebrows.

“I’ve never actually met him.” Before her friend could ask Vhalla continued, “We communicate through notes in books. That’s all.” She turned and quickly continued down the hallway to the welcome escape of work.

“Wait, so that’s why you’re always running off lately? And carrying your satchel?” Roan pointed to the leather bag on Vhalla’s shoulder that she subconsciously gripped tighter. “To write notes to your secret lover?”

“Not my lover,” she remarked sharply.

“Fine. But, Vhalla, this is weird,” Roan whispered. Before Vhalla could offer up some kind of retort, her friend continued, “But it is kind of exciting.”

They parted ways upon arriving at the library. Vhalla quickly learned her task for the day, completed it, and headed toward her window seat. Her hands were eager to find a book with a note tucked within.

Dear Vhalla,

The East’s Affinity was air. They were called Windwalkers, but there has not been one for one hundred forty-three years.

I have already told you who I am. I am the phantom in the darkness.

Sincerely, The Phantom

Later that night Vhalla fought sleep. In one hand she clutched the cryptic note, the other ran through her long hair, snagging on tangles.

She was tired of these games. Despite the trenchant and dry nature of her phantom, she did not want their correspondence to end. Her eyes drifted closed, no closer to a resolution of the battle raging inside her.

She stood in the empty hallway before the torch-lit library doors. Normally she entered at a run, but this time she walked. There was no need to run; it would all be the same anyways. She passed through histories, down the hall of mysteries, and a little further still to her window seat.

There she saw him, a black shadow illuminated only by the light of a single flame hovering magically at his side. He didn’t move and, for the first time, she didn’t speak.

In the silence Vhalla studied him. This night her dream became sharper, clearer. By not trying to speak, the dream remained stable long enough to make out features that normally were shadowed and fogged. The man was older than her by about six to eight years. His shoulder-length black hair was slicked back, away from his face and set with something that gave off a dull shine in the light.

“You are early tonight.” A deep voice hovered in the silence.

Vhalla was confused. I’m early? she wanted to ask, but only air escaped from her mouth.

“You have to try harder,” he sighed, pretending to inspect the book he had propped against his black-clad knees.

Try harder? Still only air passed through her moving lips.

“Tell me your name,” he commanded. What?

“Tell me your name,” he demanded again, agitation clipping his words.

Vhalla.

“Tell me your name!” He snapped his book shut and turned to her. She could almost see the fire behind his coal-colored eyes.

Don’t slam books closed! She found her voice, and it echoed through the dream from her to his ears.

Vhalla felt his laughter resonating through her as she woke with a start.

Sitting, she tried to control her ragged breathing. It was hopeless and something wild took her.

She was up, on her feet, and down the hall in a flurry of motion. Vhalla didn’t even think twice as she put her shoulder to the solid library door to push it open. A faint flicker of light glittered off the lacquer of the shelves.

Her sudden stop almost caused her to tumble forward into the man on the window seat. Her window seat. Her chest rose and fell with each gasping breath, and her side hurt slightly from the sprint, but her eyes locked onto him. She stood there in silence for a long moment, the stunning clarity of the world around her reminding her that this wasn’t a dream.

Slowly, he put his hand on the seat and turned, piercing her with his eyes. A knowing smirk spread across his face as he commanded her with only his stare. Minutes or hours could have passed before he spoke.

“I knew you would come.”

REALITY HIT VHALLA like a slap across the face. Pinned to the man’s breast was a symbol she knew well. She would know that symbol—a symbol that hovered over her every waking hour– better than any in the world. Crafted in gold gleamed the blazing sun of the Empire.

She stood bare-footed and in her nightgown before the crown prince, the second most powerful man in the world. He shifted his feet to the floor, nonchalantly placing his book on the bench. Moving his elbows to his thighs, he rested his head in his palm with one dark eyebrow arched, as though he had already become bored.

His eyes held her to the spot with an unbroken gaze. They simply stared at each other and, while Vhalla felt her anger slowly rising to a boil inside, his demeanor was perfectly calm. As time dragged on, it gave birth to her nerves. Whatever had possessed her vanished, and she realized this was a dangerous course of action. She was playing with fire.

“Y-you, you knew I would come?” Vhalla finally stammered out. Wishing her tongue would obey her more eloquently before a prince.

“Oh, without doubt.” The prince’s voice was soft but she could feel it reverberating through her bones.

“How?” She blinked.

“Oh, Vhalla,” he chuckled and it made her tense. “Since when have I simply told you things?” He stood and she looked up at him, realizing he was head and shoulders taller than her, even taller than his brother. “I have never fed you information; you are far too smart for that. Where is the sport?” He rounded her, peering down the bridge of his nose. Vhalla felt like wounded prey snared in the trap of far bigger game. “Think, Vhalla. How did I know you would come running to me?”

“I don’t know...” she whispered.

He paused behind her, leaning close to her ear. Vhalla could feel the small hairs on the back of her neck move as he spoke.

“Vhalla.” She barely suppressed a shiver at his voice on her skin. “Show me that big intellect that the world seems to praise you for.”

“The dreams,” she breathed deeply and closed her eyes. He leaned away from her, and she let out a small sigh of relief.

“Very good.” It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel sincere.

“What about the dreams?” She turned to face him. A flame hovered magically over his shoulder. Her fascination with the tiny fire was only halted by her inability to catch her breath when she looked at him.

From this angle, the light was at her back and she could study his face properly. He had high cheekbones and a pronounced nose, his face was narrower and more angular than his brother’s. All of his facial structures were distinctly Western, save for Southern pale skin that seemed paper white even in the orange glow. Nothing about him was traditionally handsome, and for it all, he was astonishingly striking.

“Not thinking again,” the prince drawled, leaning against a bookshelf and looking bored anew.

“I don’t know,” Vhalla said weakly.

“Of course you do.” He yawned.

“No, I don’t,” she insisted, putting her hands on her hips defiantly.

“Then I thought wrong about you. You are boring, like everyone else.” He shrugged and turned, starting down the row of books.

Frustration and helplessness twisted her insides as she watched him go. She had no business speaking to the crown prince.

“Wait!” Her curious mind objected to that obedient, rule-abiding voice within her. “Wait, my prince!” She scampered after him blocking his way.

A small smirk played at the corner of his mouth. The arrogant royal had known she was going to chase after him.

“They weren’t just dreams,” she forced herself to continue. He crossed his arms over his chest cocking his head to the side. “I don’t know what they were, but they weren’t just dreams.”

“Well, that is something; twenty percent I would say. Not yet passing marks.” One corner of Prince Aldrik’s mouth curled upward.

Vhalla stood dazed; she really didn’t know anything more than that. But, she thought, there had to be more. How had he known?

“You knew, the dreams. When I was dreaming, you knew that I was here,” she realized.

“Very good. Now we are getting somewhere, my budding Windwalker.” His eyebrows raised and his grin turned into a smile that Vhalla assured herself wasn’t a sneer.

“Windwalker?” she repeated dumbly.

“You have heard this word before,” he reminded her.

“Sorcerers, from the East,” Vhalla breathed. “But you said there aren’t any more, there haven’t been for over a century.”

“There were not,” the prince corrected.

Vhalla frowned. “You said—”

He cut her off. “I am still your prince. You would do well not to forget that, apprentice. Do not question me so.” Prince Aldrik spoke low and slow.

The expression fell from her cheeks. For the first time Vhalla felt terrified of the man. His proximity gave off a fearsome heat that sent a chill through her. He straightened. She grabbed her hands and wrung them together.

“Forgive me, my prince.” Vhalla lowered her eyes, unable to handle the intensity of his gaze any longer. He turned, walking deeper into the library. “Where are you going now?”

“Stop asking questions and follow,” he ordered with a sigh.

She quickly crossed the distance between them. Vhalla looked down at her feet as she followed behind the mysterious being that was the crown prince.

In that moment of silence, she could appreciate exactly how odd it all was. It was some ungodly hour of the night and a library apprentice was being led by the crown prince to some mystery location. Fear and curiosity compelled her, making her all the more entranced with the man before her. Vhalla had every right to fear the prince and yet, after weeks of exchanging notes, she found him less frightening than she had the Minister of Sorcery.

She was certainly going mad.

“I would have expected you to have put it together. I had you reading books on Affinities to push you toward a realization.” He sighed again, letting out his disappointment. “You seemed so close, too; some of your questions made me think you were wondering about your own potential Affinity. Surely one of your Manifestations has given you a hint.”

“I still don’t believe I am really a sorcerer. I haven’t had any—Manifestations. Nothing about me is magical,” Vhalla whispered, thinking back to the Minister of Sorcery. “Reading the books, I’ve always loved reading. It was easier than talking. Like a child playing games.”

“You are a child.” He looked her up and down with apparent disapproval. “But we are not playing games.” She put her hands together and began to fidget. “And stop that!”

He slapped at her fingers then grabbed her chin, forcing her face up to look at his. The jerking motion was painful, and she barely managed to suppress a whimper. Vhalla was fairly certain he would’ve liked that even less.

“You are a sorcerer—albeit a small, untrained, helpless little slip of a sorcerer—but still a sorcerer! Stop shrinking or you will be an embarrassment to the rest of us,” he scolded at her shocked and helpless expression. His grasp slowly loosened, then relaxed until he was holding her chin with only his knuckles and thumb.

“Your Affinity is air,” Prince Aldrik revealed softly, dropping his hand and turning away from her dumb stare. There was a sudden and surprising gentleness about him, but the moment was fleeting.

“Air?” she repeated, her face hot from his fingers. His touch had felt different than his brother’s contact. Even months after Prince Baldair had caught her in the library, she still remembered the feeling of his calloused fingers on the backs of her knees. Then again, everything about the princes was night and day.

“It is like walking around with a parrot. No, I take that back, the parrot would be better conversation.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How do you know?” Vhalla was forced to ask.

“Affinities of the self,” he answered cryptically.

Vhalla did not have time to ask anything further, a gasp stopping the words in her throat.

They had reached a wall bearing a tapestry. The prince pulled apart the molten metal of the tapestry’s frame, heated by only his fingertips, revealing a secret passage behind. He smirked at her expression.

“You did not think servants were the only ones with hidden ways of getting around, did you?” He chuckled darkly and entered the narrow passageway.

Vhalla glanced over her shoulder, she could still disappear into the library. She could go home. The light of the prince’s flame began to fade as he continued on without looking back. She never knew exactly what beckoned her to step into the passage after him, just before the secret door closed with a heavy clang.

“Where are we going?” Vhalla asked again.

“We are going to show you what you stubbornly refuse to believe, little parrot,” Prince Aldrik answered, his hands folded behind his back.

“I’m not a parrot.” She frowned. “And I’m not a sorcerer.”

“Your problem—” the prince began as he started climbing up the pitch black passage. Vhalla was left no other option than to follow closely behind the magic flame that hovered over his shoulder as the only source of light. “—is that you rely entirely on books.”

“What’s wrong with books?” she was forced to ask.

He stopped, turning on his heel to stare down at her. “What is wrong is that you cannot learn how to really do things from books.” He ignored her open mouth, continuing, “They are starting points for principle, theory, and concept. Your mind understands, but your body does not know until you perform the act yourself. Without action and practice, your hands will not oblige. Experience is a far greater teacher.”

“Tell me, Vhalla, have you ever made love to a man?” He closed the distance between them as he spoke. With a single step, the crown prince was painfully close after asking such a question. “Tell me, have you ever pleasured yourself ?”

Vhalla swallowed hard. Her brain betrayed her and she thought of clumsy experimentations on lonely nights. The guard, Narcio, flashed upon her mind without her command. Fleeting pain and the memories of brief satisfactions brought a hot flush of embarrassment to her cheeks, as though she would tell anyone any of that.

“Whatever it was, I doubt it was very good,” he sneered down at her. She wanted to hit him. “I will tell you why it was not. Because, Vhalla, you think and you watch, but you never do. You can read all the books in this library, be wiser than the master himself someday, and then you will die having never really done anything. You will have only ever lived through everyone else’s experiences.”

Vhalla stared up at him, at those cold judgmental eyes that threatened to pick her apart and lick her bones clean. Looking away only provided minimal relief. He was still there assaulting her senses. Resisting the urge to fidget, she brought her hands together, squeezing them tightly.

“So then, how do I do?” she asked, still avoiding his eyes. It was a potentially dangerous question given their recent conversation.

“You follow me, and you stop ignoring what is right before your eyes.” They continued walking up a swirling staircase into the heart of the palace. Sometimes they would curve off as the path split before heading up again. There were no windows, no lights, no ornamentation, no signs. She was well and truly lost.

By the time they stopped, Vhalla felt dizzy from going up all the stairs. Above them stood a wooden door impeding their progress. The prince unbolted it and pushed open the hatch. Like ice water running through her hair and down her shoulders, cold wind poured down into the stairway. It forced her to blink tears from her eyes and shield her face.

“Come,” he ordered, and she obliged.

They emerged into the night air in an impossible place. The wind took the breath right out of her lungs. They stood on a small landing, barely large enough for the two of them.

It felt like the top of the world.

They had climbed straight up through the servants’ halls, the public areas, past the Imperial Housing, to the top of one of the golden spires that she had only ever looked upon from far below.

Vhalla could see the castle stretching outward beneath her, its many tiers cascading down the mountainside and into the capital. The distant, flickering lights of the city mirrored the stars in the sky. Vhalla could see the dual peaks of the mountain, and if she stretched her vision towards the horizon, she could see the Great Southern Forest, which hid a road that could take her home.

“What do you think?” He had moved behind her. Even at such close proximity she could barely decipher his words through the howling wind.

“It’s amazing,” she breathed.

“I have heard it said that the Windwalkers were the children of the sky.”

His words barely registered as she looked upwards at the heavens above. It was an engrossing scene, as though she was at the very place where the earth and sky met. Vhalla took a tiny step forward, sweeping her gaze back to the glittering city below.

Perhaps it was her enchantment with the wonder surrounding her. Or perhaps it had been the wind filling her ears. Whichever, it masked his last footsteps. The prince placed his hands lightly upon her shoulders.

“Trust me,” he demanded, his lips barely brushed over her ear.

Vhalla did not even have a moment to turn her head before he pushed her effortlessly into the empty air beyond.