Page 81 of The Shadow Wand

The vengeful fire in my lines rears hotter at the sight of it, my wand hand fisting as a crackling energy fills the demon-sensing rune Sage marked on my abdomen.

I freeze, alarm overtaking me as I consider what that might mean.

And then Vogel lifts his wand.

A wave of invisible black affinity fire hits me from clear across the room, its knifelike sting shooting straight through my lines. My whole body constricts, my gut cinching tight as I’m rendered suddenly immobile.

A flash of crimson lights my vision, and the room goes dark.

I inhale, cast into a sudden, claustrophobic panic, the image of the hall, the giant flag, the crowd of Mages—all of it disappears.

Roiling dark shadows now surround me.

An image forms in the shadow that’s closing in—the black silhouette of burned branches against a red sky, the dead tree rapidly melding back into the smoking, undulating shadow. And then,poof, both the smoky darkness and the shadow tree blink out of sight, the room once again lit up sapphire before me as I’m released from Vogel’s grip.

I reel, unsteady on my feet as I struggle to control my panic, hollowed out as the terrifying certainty fills me...

Vogel’s grown even more powerful. And it’s because of the wand.

That shadowy wand in his hand.

I can feel it in the way his magic is pulsing over the room in an odd, spiraling coil.

My gaze darts frantically across the hall, the Mages around me seeming oblivious to the reality of the creature that stands before them.

Marcus Vogel raises both hands once more and I flinch down, ready for another shadow assault. But Vogel’s power remains firmly contained.

The Council’s sole Light Mage steps forward, his dark garb marked with glowing deep-green runes, his white hair and beard flowing over his tunic’s back and front like a pale river. He lifts his wand and marks a suspended, verdant amplification rune to hover in the air before Vogel.

“Pray with me, Mages,” Vogel intones over the crowd, his words amplified by the light magery, his elegantly inflected voice resonating through me. Vogel closes his eyes as he begins to recite the Ancient One’s blessing, the entire crowd joining in with impassioned force.

Oh, Blessed Ancient One. Purify our minds. Purify our hearts. Purify Erthia from the stain of the Evil Ones.

In unison, everyone brings their right fists to their hearts with an all-encompassing thud. Everyone, that is, except me...and Lukas, who remains stiff as an iron rod, his hand gripping the handle of the wand sheathed at his side as he eyes High Mage Vogel boldly. It surprises me, Lukas’s refusal to pretend to be part of this communal piety, and strikes me as potentially foolhardy. As it did when I first saw him in his tent, a heightened awareness hits me that Lukas is in a very small minority of Mages still wearing the old military uniform.

Vogel opens his eyes and looks over the crowd. “Blessed Mages,” he says with simmering import. “Tonight is a night to celebrate what the Ancient One has wrought.” He pauses, and his devotees wait breathlessly, the faint noise of the entire crowd reduced to an almost imperceptible rustle of silken fabric.

“The Ancient One has brought us victory after victory over the heathen races who seek to destroy us,” Vogel proclaims. “Who seek to pollute our lands. Enslave us. And corrupt all that is sacred. And so the Ancient One has enhanced our runic magic, calling upon us to wall out the Evil Ones with border runes and holy purpose.” Vogel pauses as he takes in the crowd, and the Mages around me strain forward as if to breathe in his every word. “Beloved Mages,” Vogel calls out, his tone resonating with vengeful force, “we will drive the Evil Ones from our lands. We will wall them away from our children. We will cleanse this land and bring the Reaping Times to all of Erthia.”

Thunderous applause breaks out and swells, aggressive cheers sounding as my mind snaps back to the image of the odd, glowing green line stretched out over the Malthorin Bay.

A terrible realization coalesces.

He’s building a runic border.

To magically keep non-Gardnerians out. To keep the Urisk imprisoned on the Fae Islands with no chance of escape East. And, eventually, to keep anyone who wants to flee East trapped in Gardneria.

Including me.

“A new day has dawned, Mages,” Vogel says as the applause and raucous cheers fade and the crowd settles back down into enraptured silence. “The Reaping Times are here,” Vogel says, his tone so ominous that it fuels the dread in my heart. He pauses, the room his, every ear straining toward him. “The Great Prophecy has been struck down,” he states with terrible finality.

Surprise bolts through me as a confused murmuring rises throughout the entire hall. Mages look to Vogel and to each other in sudden, obvious astonishment. Even most of the Mages on the dais seem thrown, including Lukas, who seems to be scanning everyone around him for some clue as to what Vogel means.

Only the attending members of the Mage Council seem unsurprised, their serene posture exuding confidence and triumph.

A crow flies down from the branches woven across the domed ceiling and alights on Vogel’s shoulder, and the sting along the rune on my abdomen abruptly worsens. Foreboding sweeps through me.

“The Great Icaral Demon of Prophecy has been found,” Vogel announces, his voice booming throughout the room.

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