Текст книги "Air Awakens"

Автор книги: Elise Kova

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

SHE PLUMMETED THROUGH the air in a surreal trance. Her shoulder hitting the golden rooftop jarred her back to life with a sickening crunch. Vhalla half tumbled, half bounced small distances down the slope of the roof, desperately trying to grab a handhold. But the pitch was too steep, and each desperate grab resulted only in a fingernail being pulled back or ripped off. Soon there were no more golden shingles and there was nothing left to reach.

Vhalla had heard stories of one’s life flashing before one’s eyes in the moments before death, but all she saw was the round moon overhead, staring down at her. As the wind whipped around her body she began to twist in the empty space. The celestial body departed her field of vision as she spun head over heels. It was replaced by the ground rushing to meet her.

She was going to die.

She opened her mouth to scream but the force of the wind pulled her voice from her, flooding her lungs.

She tried to turn herself to fall toward a nearby balcony, a landing, or even a decorative molding. Her body slammed against the castle wall, succeeding only in knocking all the air from her lungs with a cry of agony. Then she was falling again. Her small frame smashed against an arch before tumbling back into the night sky. She searched for a stone that would catch her, but every attempt tossed her back to her death.

Her vision blurred and blood smeared her hands. She held out her arms, the ground was close now. She could only see the sky above but she knew it had to be over soon. Vhalla groped at the empty air, clinging to nothing but the wind slipping through her fingers.

An explosion rang out through her—and she sat upright, jolted awake.

Vhalla instantly regretted opening her eyes. The world looked hazy, both too bright and too dark; the colors twisted, and her eyes had trouble focusing. She turned quickly, retching over the side of the bed. Hot bile splattered on the vaguely familiar floor. The process of vomiting caused her abdomen to object to the tightening spasms, and she let out an agonizing cry as she fell back onto the bed in a heap.

Her entire body felt wrong. It felt as though someone stole her soul from her old body and placed it in a different one. Nothing matched up, nothing obliged in the way it should, and everything worked in ways it shouldn’t. Her brain felt scrambled, and under the fingers clutching her abdomen she felt the sickening angles of broken ribs. She likely shouldn’t be lying on her side but it hurt if she moved, and it hurt if she didn’t. So she only endured her current position over risking any change.

Through the sliver of light between her eyelids, Vhalla tried to orient herself. The first indication she should panic was the window; it was three times larger than anything she had ever seen before in the apprentices’ and servants’ halls. When her eyes found the dragon molding around the top of the room, Vhalla tried to scramble out of bed, making unreasonable demands of a broken body.

Muffled voices and quick steps approached on the other side of the door before it burst open for two figures frantically approaching her. The older man she recognized instantly—the Minister of Sorcery. But the woman, she was a surprise. Vhalla blinked at the fuzzy shapes of the people.

“Larel?” Even her own voice sounded strange to Vhalla’s ears, and she struggled not to retch again. The dark-haired woman departed quickly from the room. Vhalla grimaced. The woman should be ashamed her role in Vhalla’s current state. If it wasn’t for Larel thrusting that book in her hands, she would have never met the prince.

“Don’t talk,” the minister demanded sternly. Vhalla cracked her eyes open against her better judgment. His hand ran between her forehead and her shoulder. Vhalla did not have the strength or will to fight against his touch as she would have wanted.

The minister rolled her onto her back, and Vhalla’s body objected painfully. With a scream she tried to push him away. This man, his world of magic, and all the sorcerers within were nothing but pain.

“Vhalla.” She stilled at the sound of her name in his mouth. “You need to believe me now. I am here to help you.” The minister’s voice was gentle, more than it had any right to be.

“You have to get down—and keep down—some bone regrowth this time.”

This time? Vhalla was so confused and so tired, she closed her eyes. Sleep was much easier she realized. All this could go away if she closed her eyes and pretended to no longer exist.

“No, Vhalla stay here.”

“How...?” She could barely manage one syllable words, but he seemed to understand.

“I said don’t talk.” He shot her a cold gray glare. “Prince Aldrik brought you here after you awakened.”

She shook her head. Awakened?

Vhalla heard a commotion behind him and struggled to open her eyes again. Larel had returned, apparently not ashamed in the slightest, with a bucket and mop. It was actually Vhalla who felt shamed when the woman began to clean up her spew that puddled on the floor.

“Larel, the blue vial,” Minister Victor demanded. She nodded obediently and scampered from the room. Vhalla permitted herself darkness again. “No, Vhalla, you have to stay awake now.” The man shook her shoulders slightly, where only a small touch sent waves of pain down to her toes. She whimpered in protest. “Vhalla.” His voice was sharp—demanding, and the stern tone reminded her just enough of another man’s voice that she wanted to throw up all over again.

But it did the trick, and Vhalla obliged him, opening her eyes slightly. She had tunnel vision and didn’t even see the female sorcerer passing the vial to the man silently. He turned and slipped his arm under Vhalla’s shoulders, propping her up. Vhalla shook her head violently, remembering the last time she sat. Her brain only rattled around in her skull, threatening to make the blackness at the edge of her eyes all-consuming.

“Stop, stop, stop,” the minister ordered, holding her close to him with one arm and pressing the vial to her mouth with the other. She didn’t want to drink, she wanted to sleep. However, his insistence yielded her eventual surrender, and Vhalla gulped down the syrupy liquid with a small cough. It flowed through her like fire and she heard someone screaming as the minister threw the vial to the floor with a shattering noise and took her in his full embrace. It wasn’t until she was cognizant of thrashing against the firm arms holding her that she realized the screaming was coming from her own mouth.

The agonizing cries gave way to eventual sobs as the burning slowly passed and she went limp, relying entirely on the support of the man whom she wanted to hate. Vhalla cast aside all decency and she simply wept against his chest. Somewhere he was talking; she could hear and feel it.

“—too susceptible to magic now. We tried—help you be more comfortable. But your—magical passages are too—and broken to—handle any more being—on you.” She hated magic, her original opinion was reaffirmed anew as her mind began to level from the potion. “Vhalla -ten, you had two broken ribs – – left side and the right side of your -cage was shattered. Your hands are a wreck. Your left shoulder was shattered, and your right was dislocated. Your spine was all out of alignment, and your hips were fractured along with one of your legs.” Vhalla laughed into his chest with an insane rasp.

“You will be fine,” he assured her gently. Now he was the insane one. “But since we are healing almost exclusively with non-magical clerical potions and salves, it’ll take some time.” The Western woman had shifted Vhalla’s pillows so she could sit in a more upright position and the man gently returned her to them, taking a green bottle. “This one is next; it shouldn’t hurt.”

True to his word the chalky liquid went through her cracked lips and caused no immediate discernible change in her overall state.

“Water,” she rasped softly and he nodded. He poured a small cup from a clay pitcher on the bedside table. The minister brought this to her lips also and held it there so she could take a few long gulps.

“This is not how I wanted to meet you next. Believe me, Vhalla,” he started, placing the cup back and taking a third strangely shaped vial from the silent woman. “I wanted to give you time to come to terms with what is happening. I have seen people run if forced, and I thought you would benefit from distance. When I found out the prince had taken an interest in you, I felt I had little to worry about.”

Vhalla rasped in bitter laughter. She had begun to think that perhaps magic would not be so frightening after all his notes. It was ironic that the man holding her shattered form was the man she should have trusted all along.

“Prince Aldrik didn’t know how to tend to your current...condition,” Minister Victor bit out the last word before pausing. “So he brought you to me three days ago.”

Vhalla coughed on the last sip of liquid in the vial that was pressed to her mouth. “Three...days?” she managed, rather proud that two words could pass her lips.

Victor nodded. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it. The second morning we forced you to sleep as you were thrashing and screaming too much to keep you awake,” Victor recounted dutifully. Vhalla’s mind was overloaded and the horrors hardly registered anymore. “But putting you to sleep disrupted the healing of your magical Channels when you kept reliving your awakening.”

“Awakening?” she asked.

“Awakening is when a sorcerer’s powers first Manifest in full.” He studied Vhalla for a moment before adding somewhat apologetically, “It’s normally a bit gentler.”

Larel came in with yet a fourth vial, and Vhalla shook her head. She didn’t think her shrunken stomach and battered body could handle anymore. After delivering the potion, the woman retrieved the bucket and mop, vanishing into the outer rooms.

“This is the last one for now,” the minister promised, so Vhalla relented. The world seemed to slowly stabilize, though Vhalla still felt like she would rather be asleep than awake. “Good,” he encouraged as she finished the last drop. “Now please, try to keep those down; no sudden movements.”

Vhalla gave a small nod. “May I sleep now?” she asked weakly.

He shook his head, which earned him a whimper. “Almost,” Victor assured her. “I have one more thing to try. I hope that it will make you feel better.”

She was helpless to object with anything more than a shake of her head so she relented without fuss. If these people had planned on killing her, they wouldn’t be exhausting themselves to keep her alive.

Victor left the room for a moment. He returned with a wooden case that he held with great care. Sitting, he placed it in his lap and popped open the latch. Within it were many stones of different shapes and colors. Vhalla wondered if it was simply the strangeness to her vision or if the stones actually shined and glittered unnaturally, as though a cosmos of stars swirled within. After a moment’s consideration he pulled one of the shining rocks and placed it on her forehead. She was too tired to feel silly and, out of necessity, already trusted him completely. He took a similar one and placed it on her stomach.

Vhalla’s eyes snapped open. The world was suddenly clear again. Her vision shifted back into focus, her ears heard a beautiful stillness.

“Don’t talk,” he reminded her, “but I take it that helped a bit.” She hoped the flick of her eyes was enough of an acknowledgement. “I am going to leave those there for a little, so try not to move much. Not that you should be moving anyways.” As if she could. “And yes, you can now sleep.”

Vhalla closed her eyes with a small sigh and felt her body relax a fraction before slipping back into the welcoming darkness.

It was night the next time Vhalla woke. Her room was empty save for a small bowl of fruit, a loaf of bread, and a series of vials on the table next to her. She slowly eased herself into a seated position. The stones had been removed, but her vision seemed to be holding steady. The world shifted a little, but her stomach remained settled—she considered it a small victory. Vhalla assessed the food cautiously. Bread and fruit would hurt more than bile coming up.

Her hand paused midair so she could assess the bruises and scratches that marred her skin. Even the moonlight made her feel uneasy as she involuntarily recalled the last time she had seen the celestial body. Vhalla retrieved one of the small red fruits and brought it back into her lap, a strawberry. She smiled faintly.

Long ago her mother had planted some strawberry shrubs near their home. Every year they had eaten the few sweet berries the plants yielded. Despite their love of the fruit, neither Vhalla nor her father seemed to have the energy to maintain the plants after her mother died from Autumn Fever. She hadn’t eaten a strawberry since then. Even if they had been available to apprentices, Vhalla didn’t know if she would have been emotionally willing.

A few stray tears dripped into her palms as she looked down at the tiny fruit. She was so far from home—felt so small and broken. Her body was foreign to her, to the point that her mind didn’t even recognize it. She had something in her, magic that she had never known and didn’t think she wanted.

She wasn’t supposed to have to deal with this. She was a library apprentice, no one—less than. Exhaustion consumed all of her emotions, and she couldn’t even summon anger. She simply wanted to feel normal again, whatever that meant now.

Choking down a sob, Vhalla took a bite of the fruit, chewing thoughtfully. That was when she heard the muffled discussion through the door to the room beyond. Invisible beetles crawled beneath her skin. The resonance of one voice was unmistakable, causing Vhalla to nearly gag on the fruit.

Staring down the door, she debated if she had the strength, mentally or physically, to know what was being said. On legs that could barely support her, Vhalla stumbled over to the door to lean against it. Ear pressed to the wood, she could make out the two male voices.

“Really, Aldrik, what were you thinking?” the minister asked.

“I do not have to explain myself to you, minister,” the prince sneered.

“You could have killed her.” The Minister Victor voiced Vhalla’s fears.

“I could not have killed her,” the prince retorted, utterly confident.

Vhalla knew that the prince was rumored to have a silver tongue. But there was a peculiar sort of agitation to his voice, as though he was truly offended the minister would even suggest it.

“How did you know?” the minister demanded. “She had hardly Manifested more than trace magic on those notes. There was no way you could have known her Affinity.”

“Then you underestimate my prowess.” Vhalla could hear the click of boots across the floor as the prince paced the room.

“Certainly,” the minister remarked with bold sarcasm. “I only ask because I have this wild idea that you may have some insights to her that you are neglecting to share, my prince.”

“Victor,” Prince Aldrik sighed dramatically. “You think I would lower myself to trouble with a plain commoner like her?”

“You troubled yourself enough to write her notes,” the minister pointed out.

Vhalla hadn’t thought about it, but it was strange that the crown prince had sent notes to an apprentice.

“She is the first Windwalker in almost one hundred fifty years. Of course I would trouble myself.” His tone had turned cold and calculating.

“Well, the next time we have a new Manifesting sorcerer, I will be sure to ask you to assist, what with your mysterious powers of deduction on Affinities,” the minister commented dryly. There was a long silence, indicating the prince was finished indulging the minster on this matter. “However you knew, the fact remains she is a Windwalker. I confirmed it.”

“You felt the need to confirm it when she survived a fall from the palace spires?”

Vhalla could almost see Prince Aldrik rolling his eyes with his tone alone.

“I used crystals upon her,” the minister continued, ignoring the prince’s sarcasm.

“You what?”

Was that worry that Vhalla heard in Prince Aldrik’s voice? She thought back to the shimmering stones that Minister Victor placed upon her forehead and stomach. Those were crystals? They couldn’t possibly be the same as the taint-causing stones from the War of the Crystal Caverns. They had helped her, not hurt her.

“We should tell the Emperor.” Minister Victor seemed to be well versed at overlooking choice comments from the prince. “He will want to know. He could use her in the war.”

Vhalla’s heart began to race. The idea of her at war was ludicrous. She had never even hit a person in play or sport.

“No.” As if the prince picked up on her panic, he squelched the idea sharply. “I will deal with my father, Victor. I do not want to catch wind of you breathing a single word to the Emperor about her.”

“Very well,” the minister sighed. “Aldrik, I can only theorize on what your grand plan is for the girl, given our histories. I know what we read, what we studied—”

“Victor,” the prince growled dangerously.

“I remember wishing we had someone like her,” the minister continued, ignoring the warning tone. What did these people want with her? “I would be false if I claim to have not had similar ideas cross my mind already. But she will need to be trained first. We will need—”

“She is not your concern,” Prince Aldrik snapped. “I will oversee her training.”

Vhalla rested her forehead against the door, reminding herself to breathe. It did not seem like she would escape the prince anytime soon.

“Larel will be her mentor, and she will report to me. I thank you, minister, for keeping your distance.”

Her heart was racing, and the adrenaline replaced the pain. How had he known her Affinity? Why had the prince decided out of all the sorcerers that he had control over, she would be the one he would make his pet? Vhalla’s face twisted in agony. She should be Eradicated, certainly that was still an option.

“Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to check on her.” The prince’s footsteps neared the door.

“My prince, please let her rest.” Vhalla’s opinion of the Minister of Sorcery was steadily improving.

But nothing stopped the prince if he wanted something, and Vhalla took a step away from the door, glancing around frantically. Once more she was reminded how trapped this room made her feel. She had yet to stumble back to the bed when the door opened.

Dark eyes met hers, and Vhalla looked up uncertainly, caught in a whirlwind of apprehension and fear. Would he know that she had been eavesdropping? She couldn’t imagine the prince would take kindly to it.

“You’re awake.” He breathed the words and his eyes softened with what looked like relief. Though Vhalla was certain she was mistaken.

“I am.” She nodded, her voice no longer sounded wrong.

“I’m glad,” he said softly.

Vhalla squinted up at him, not caring for how bold it was. “You, you’re glad?” Anger stammered her words as she glared at the tall man dressed all in black.

“I am, Vhalla—”

The prince took a step toward her, and Vhalla took a step back.

“No,” she shook her head. “No, don’t come near me. Never come near me again.” Vhalla’s voice was rougher than she had ever heard it before. She didn’t care that he was the prince, and she didn’t care that the minister stood as an observer.

“Vhalla,” The prince had the audacity to have the start of a smile on his face. Who did he think she was? Some ignorant child? “This is not a time for anger; we should celebrate.”

“You—pushed—me—off—a—roof.” Vhalla wished she had a more dramatic word for roof because it didn’t seem to quite cut to the truth of the matter.

He laughed.

Vhalla had never struck someone before, but he was making an appealing case.

“You are fine. See how quickly you are healing now? You will be better than fine soon. I will even teach you myself.” He outright smiled, as though he was bestowing some great honor upon her.

But Vhalla did not smile. She took another step away and swayed as the world was suddenly unstable. She had been on her feet for too long.

Prince Aldrik was there in a moment, his hands on her upper arms for support. “Stop this foolishness,” he said, his deep voice gentle. “You know you should not be standing. Let me help you back to bed.” His sudden kindness made her want to scream.

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered.

“Vhalla—” The lightness was beginning to slip from his face.

“Do. Not. Touch. Me!” she cried, pushing his hands off and taking a step back. Vhalla stumbled, her world tilted, but her feet held onto the floor with all the force of her rage. “You threw me off a roof !” Her voice had risen to a near shrill. “You didn’t tell me! You didn’t warn me!”

“If I warned you, it would not have worked. If I had warned you, then you would not have done it.” He crossed his arms on his chest.

“Of course I wouldn’t have!” She threw her arms out and swayed dangerously again, but regained her balance. “I trusted you to be my teacher! I did not trust anyone else, but I trusted you as my prince! I trusted you because you asked!” The confession caught in her throat as she choked it out. Vhalla wasn’t sure if she only imagined his eyes widening by a fraction before darkening.

“And you were right to; I awoke you to something great.” His voice grew colder.

“I didn’t want this.” She looked down at her bruised and broken form.

“You asked for this!” he snapped.

“My prince, please, this isn’t...” The minister saw the conversation devolving before his eyes, and he took a step in from the doorframe.

“I didn’t ask for this! I don’t know what I wanted but it wasn’t this!” Her rage kept in the tears, and in that moment she swore he would not see her cry. “I am confused. I am broken—”

“You will heal, better than you were before,” Prince Aldrik assured her.

“I was fine before,” Vhalla protested.

“You were boring. You were worse than boring. You were normal and content. I gave you a chance for greatness.” He looked at her harshly.

“What would’ve happened if I hadn’t been a Windwalker?” Her words quieted the air.

“I will not indulge such nonsense.” He brushed off the question.

“Do not toy with me anymore,” she spoke slowly. “What would have happened?” Vhalla asked again.

He stared at her a long moment. “If things were not as they are and you were not a Windwalker, then you would have fallen to your death.” Prince Aldrik shrugged as though the thought had crossed his mind, and he couldn’t have been troubled to care.

“You bastard.” The words were out before she even had time to consider them, but after spoken she hardly regretted them.

“What did you say?” Prince Aldrik snarled.

“You, my prince,” she sneered in kind. “You are a self-centered, egotistical, self-absorbed, narrow-sighted, vain, self-important,” she felt her anger finally reach its boiling point, “conceited bastard!” Vhalla cried out.

The window next to them shattered, flooding the room with a gale peppered with shards of glass. She hardly seemed to notice as the minister braced himself against the wind. The prince stood motionless, staring at her darkly from behind a thin screen of flame that broke the wind and protected him from the shattered glass.

“Calm down,” he growled.

“You can’t tell me what to do anymore!” she screamed.

“I can tell you whatever I want. I am your prince!” he shouted and the thin fire that protected him lashed outward.

Vhalla raised her hands to shield herself from the flame. The fire passed over her palms and face as little more than heat—but it broke her concentration. The wind died down and, with it, Vhalla collapsed to the floor, her energy spent.

The prince looked down at her, a stone mask across his features, judgment burning in his eyes. “Stay there,” he spoke slowly. “Stay on the floor where you belong. You are like a pathetic little worm who only wants to sit in the dirt when I was prepared to give you a chance to grow wings and fly.”

“My prince,” the minister said firmly, but was easily ignored.

“I chose you, and you threw it away,” Prince Aldrik snarled.

Vhalla stared up at him. This was the prince she had expected. Not the mysterious intellectual phantom, and certainly not the awkwardly kind man who had first entered her room.

“So stay there, with the filth you so happily chose.”

He stormed out of the room. Vhalla’s face stung, and she swallowed hard. The minister hovered uncomfortably.

“Leave, please,” she whispered. Ignoring her wishes, the minister knelt by her side. “Don’t,” she said, staring at the shattered glass from the window. “Just...leave.” She had no right to command him but there was nothing in her left to care about that fact.

“Vhalla,” he said softly.

It was too kind for what she felt. She wanted nothing more than for him to scream at her and leave too. Or throw her out the window and finish what the prince had started.

“Go,” she demanded. He stayed. “I said leave!”

Finally, with an audible sigh, the minister stood and left.

Vhalla never heard his footsteps walking away from her door. She knew that he stood right outside as she collapsed among the broken glass and cried out, sobbing, until she had nothing left to feel and the darkness took her again.