Page 27 of The Dark Mage
Fael turned, producing a wrinkled apple from his pack while still watching for danger.“Yes.I can hear someone—or something—whispering.Is it thedead?”
Ren’wyn chewed her dry, tasteless biscuit before nodding.“It is.”
She considered how best to explain it as she accepted the apple.“Shades are the restless dead—souls with unfinished plans or unfulfilled dreams.Usually, their whispers are only audible to dark mages.For them to be this loud… there must be many, and they must be restless.”
Fael suppressed a shiver.Ren’wyn felt the sudden urge to comfort him and slid a little closer.
“I’ve helped settle so many shades since my power woke,” Ren’wyn said softly.“With my Masters, I learned how to pacify violent, wild shades.But some spirits...some can never be settled.They’ll wander aimlessly forever, lost in their unachieved hopes.”
Fael’s hazel eyes remained guarded as he considered her words.She smiled warmly, hoping to ease his anxiety.Death was complicated and dark, and most people had no experience with it except to fear it.Sensing his tension, she interlaced their fingers and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, letting her settled confidence soothe the burning magic he held tightly at the ready.
By late afternoon, they reached a stark divide where low evergreens gave way to towering pines.The ground lay barren except for pale, luminescent plants poking through the fallen needles.Ren’wyn recognized the blooms as ghost pipes—rare, parasitic flowers that fed on tree roots.Prized for their potency against poisons, they were notoriously difficult to find and harvest.She marveled at their fragile forms, but Fael’s arm shot out, holding herback.
“We have to go in, Fael,” she murmured.
He was trembling, rage and fear radiating from him in waves.He felt it too: something twisted dwelled here.The whispering had stopped but hadn’t faded; the voices waited, invisible eyes watching them from the shadows.
Fael’s jaw clenched.“We shouldn’t.Something’s wrong in there.”
The glade was oppressive, yes, but also alluring.Silent anticipation filled the air, and Ren’wyn swore she heard her name whispered from the pines high above.Fael’s power flared, rage and bloodlust palpable.She reached out, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, grounding him as he had done for her after her nightmares.When he turned to her, fire smoldered in his eyes.His rough fingertips traced her brow, as though reassuring himself she was real.She covered his hand with her own, but the silent pull of the glade was too strong.
She released Fael and stepped into the clearing.
The canopy of pine branches interlaced so tightly above that it dulled the afternoon light.The air thickened around her, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a relief.
It would be so easy to lie down, just for a moment.
Her eyelids drooped, and her body sagged.
“Ren’wyn!”Fael’s voice sliced through the haze like a blade.
Her eyes snapped open as his magic hit her like a wall of heat.Fire seared through her bones, encircling and flooding her.The ancient spell dissolved beneath the force of his power.
She met his gaze—feet planted wide, arm outstretched, short sword angled defensively across his body as his magic poured into the clearing, wrapping around her like molten armor.
Her own power stirred, answering the call, and she dove into theVoid.
Hundreds of shades erupted within the clearing on a frozen wind.Their wild shrieking assaulted her senses, but Ren’wyn forced herself to dominate the Void.Death clawed at her, trying to pull her free from her body.Only once before—during Master Jure’s battlefield training—had she faced such wild fury in death.Circling a few feet away, the shades reached bleached, bony hands toward her, but they stopped short, their fingers grazing a barrier of red energy—Fael’s shield.
The thought of what might have happened without him struck her like a punch, but fear wouldn’t master her.This was her realm.Fael’s shield made her untouchable.
Out of practice, she scolded herself.I’ll get us both killed with my weakness.
She breathed deeply, closed her eyes, and let her second sight bloom.The shades sharpened before her—eyeless faces with gnashing teeth.They circled her, some screaming, others weeping, all feeding the Void with their misery.
She pictured Master Jure’s steady hands as he had taught her binding.Her fingers trembled but built a circle in the air, one hand sweeping clockwise, the other countering.With the circles complete, she thrust her hands skyward, splaying her fingersopen.
Dark mist drifted from the pines like snowfall, and the dead stilled as it landed upon them.When she opened her eyes, they were watching—warily, hungrily, their empty gazes absorbing the faint light.
The whispers returned, dark and cold:We’ve been waiting… waiting foryou.
Waiting, waiting,some echoed, their voices like rustling leaves.
Death is our Master, and you hold His reins,one shade whispered, stepping to the front of the host.Behind him, the others groaned and growled like a restlesstide.
Ren’wyn raised her hands above her head, then swept them down like falling rain.The shadows of the Void shifted beneath her fingers as though she were plucking harp strings.Shades twitched and writhed as she focused on the essence of their individual shadows.
“I am Ren’wyn, daughter of dark mages,” she declared, her voice resonating through the clearing.“You will hear me.”
