Page 124 of The Iron Flower

“I know.” She considers the White Wand on the table before us. “I think we’re being called by the Wand to be more than we ever imagined we could be. To do more. To risk more for the good. Elloren, I never imagined I could wield a wand. That I could escape a fasting and rescue my sisters. If someone told me when I was thirteen that all this would happen...”

Sage coughs out a sound of disbelief and shakes her head. “Yet, here I am. Here webothare.” She reaches across the table to place her scarred hand on mine, her rune-chains cool and bumpy as they drape against my skin. “The world is very dark, Elloren. And it’s growing darker. But I have Fyn’ir. And Ra’Ven. And my sisters. And good friends.” She eyes me meaningfully. “Againstallthe odds. You need to hold on to your faith in the good.”

Tears are suddenly stinging at my eyes, and I’m all twisted up inside. “It’s so hard sometimes.” I can barely get the words out.

Sage’s grip tightens on my hand. “It’s going to get a whole lot harder. But hold on to it anyway.” Her eyes flick to the Wand, then back to me. “Vogel and the Gardnerians and the Alfsigr Elves aren’t the only forces at work in this world.”

I glance at the Wand, as well—a shard of wood in the face of a raging storm of darkness. “I don’t know, Sage. If you saw what’s going on in Verpacia...” I gesture toward the Wand. “If that’s truly the White Wand, then the force of good seems very, very weak.”

“Then we strengthen it,” she says with hard resolve. “I think it needs us in that way.” Her expression darkens, and she looks hesitant for a moment. “Elloren, there are shadow forces after that Wand.”

Trepidation shudders through me. “What do you mean?”

“Shadow demons,” she says ominously. “I’ve seen them in my dreams. Their numbers increase every day. I warded the Wand back when I was very young, but I should ward you, too.”

Fright fills me. “I don’t see anything like that in my dreams,” I protest. “Not even in my nightmares. Shouldn’t I be the one having demon dreams, if that’s truly the Wand, and if demons are after me?”

“You’ve only had the Wand a few months,” she counters. “I had it foryears.It bonds with its bearer over time. It’s like it’s sleeping, and you’re sleeping, and you both start to wake up together. But once you wake up, even if the Wand leaves you, you stay awake.” Sage eyes the Wand intently. “It still sends me dreams. I still see the Watchers and the tree. And sometimes, I can feel the Wand calling to me. Tonight, I sensed the Watcher outside in the back of my mind. That’s why I opened the door.”

Sage gives me a small smile, gets up and settles a sleeping Fyn’ir into his woven cradle, tucking him under a deep green blanket embroidered with intricate emerald runes. Then she sits back down and takes her own wand in hand.

“Give me your arm,” she says.

Confused, but trusting my friend, I hold my arm out to her.

Sage pulls up my tunic’s sleeve, turns the base of my forearm up and sketches a small, circular rune on my skin with the tip of her wand. It takes a while for her to draw it, the glowing emerald design similar to the complex geometric style of the runes outside her dwelling.

“Those emerald runes aren’t Amaz runes, are they?” I ask curiously.

“No,” Sage says as she concentrates on fabricating the rune. “They’re Smaragdalfar runes.” She touches the tip of her wand to the rune’s center, and the emerald glow pulls back into the wand, leaving me with a black rune-tattoo in the center of my forearm.

“What does it do?”

“This one is a shield-safe rune. You can pass through a rune-barrier now.Anyrune-barrier. Without harm.” She motions up with a flick of her hand. “I need you to stand up.”

I move to comply, wondering what’s next. “Pull up your tunic a bit,” she directs, a new urgency in her gaze that sends a thread of unease worming through me. “I’m going to place a ward on you that will deflect most demonic search spells.”

“Demonicspells?” The words burst out of me with alarm.

Sage waits, her grave expression unmoved, and my concern notches higher. Shakily relenting, I pull up my tunic and camisole, the skin of my abdomen pricking with goose bumps as she lightly traces an elaborate rune onto my stomach. The rune lines flow out from the wand in deep, glowing emerald as her deft strokes quickly form a series of interlocking patterns inside a circle.

Sage lightly jabs her wand tip into the center of the rune, and its glow flares bright. I gasp as the light sinks into my skin with a crackling sting and morphs into solid black lines.

Sage steps back and surveys her rune-work, seeming grimly satisfied. “If it lights up—and you’ll feel it prickling if it does—then be wary of whoever is around you, even if they seem harmless. Remember—demons are capable of glamours.” She points to the rune on my stomach. “This will make it possible for you to look demons in the eye without them sensing the presence of the White Wand.”

I’m struggling to take in the enormity of her words.

“Keep the Wand hidden,” she says. “Speak of it no more.”

Heart thudding, I lower my tunic. Sage presses her wand to my sleeve and the violet vanishes from my tunic and skirt as she changes them back to Gardnerian black.

To look like one of them again,I brood. To look like the Black Witch herself.

Dread ripples through me.

Sage, I’m scared. My grandmother’s power flows through my veins. And it’s growing stronger.

“What if I’m the wrong person for this?” I send her an anxious glance.

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