Chapter Twenty-Six

Luka vibrated with the energy he drew in from the earth, nerves sparking as he anticipated Aethan’s move to violence. Rhys spoke with the sorcerer, though Luka couldn’t hear their words as his pulse rushed in his ears. He kept his focus on Aethan’s hand, the wicked knife he held. All of a sudden, the sorcerer’s wrist twitched.

Luka exhaled, energy bursting from him in a wave that engulfed both Calan and Aethan, capturing them in that instant before Aethan’s blade sliced through Calan’s jugular. Calan’s breath left him in a strangled sound, his eyes going wide. Aethan blinked, his only gesture of surprise, then he dropped his arm, the knife falling from his fingers as if his hand had gone numb.

“Well, well,” Aethan murmured. “This is interesting.” He rounded Calan and a few steps brought him up to Luka. He reached in a quick movement for Rhys beside them, and a startled look flashed across his face when he couldn’t touch him, as if there were a barrier between them. He tilted his head, taking in the others, who seemed frozen in place, and thrust out his hands.

Luka felt the push against the pocket of time he’d created as a thrum of pain throughout his body, but he swallowed his moan. He could do this. He had to and cursed the trickle of sweat alongside his eye that gave away his effort.

Aethan turned his attention back to Luka, standing with hands on hips. “This is something I’ve never encountered before. Are you drawing from the Well, Luka? Is that wise? Do you want to leave the world without hope?” His lip curled with derision when Luka didn’t respond, and ran a caressing finger along his cheek, played with the clasp of his robe. “You won’t answer? Could this”—he waved, encompassing the group—“be too much of a strain for you?”

Luka remained quiet, hoping to goad him to anger. Aethan was most dangerous when he was silent and focused. They stared at each other a moment, then Luka allowed a mocking smile on his face, to be rewarded with a flash of temper in Aethan’s dark eyes.

“Go home,” he urged, knowing it wouldn’t be that simple. He braced, willing the circle tighter, and it flowed over Calan and snapped around the two of them, leaving an ache he felt to his bones.

Aethan glanced over his shoulder at Calan, still kneeling, but looking at them with awe on his face, frozen with the others. He was slow to turn back to Luka, unable the hide the fear betrayed in the white about his lips, the tremble in the hands he folded behind his back. “What do we do now?” he asked hoarsely and coughed to clear his throat.

“Go home. Promise to leave us in peace, and I will let you go.”

“And if I stay and fight you?”

“You will lose.” Luka clamped his teeth together, hearing the tremor in his voice.

Too late. Aethan noticed it as well and triumph flashed in his eyes. He clasped Luka’s shoulders and leaned into him, bodies touching. “Well now, lovely. Let’s see what happens when I push.”

The energy around them vibrated as Aethan’s will clashed with his own. Pain sliced through Luka’s skull. A soft cry escaped him as wave after wave of agony struck him, Aethan shoving back against the ward. His concentration slipped, and he drew it in with great effort. Aethan’s body shook against him, his face whitening, sweat glistening on his pallid features. The sorcerer threw his head back and screamed, cracking the wall.

Luka moaned as his strength gave out. He could only hope Ravan was ready.

“Now!” he shouted and dropped the ward. Several things happened simultaneously. Rhys jumped into motion, shoving Aethan away from Luka, back into the mud.

“Run!” Ravan shouted at Calan. Without hesitation, Calan leaped at Lorin, who seemed dazed, and slammed a fist against his head and grabbed Tarian’s hand. They sprinted from the mire just as Ravan dropped to her knees and smacked her hands against the earth, calling forth the mud pit once again.

Luka watched, shivering, spent, unable to gather his thoughts, as Lorin and Aethan sank, though not as deep as before. Ravan’s strength must be failing. Rhys wrapped an arm around Luka’s waist and pulled him after the others racing back the way they’d come over the sulfur flat. But Luka quickly tired and soon had to pause, chest heaving. He motioned Ravan to continue with Calan and Tarian while he took a moment to catch his breath. Rhys looked over his shoulder and cursed and Luka turned to see what had caught his attention.

His heart turned cold with dread. Lorin had worked his way over to Aethan’s side and stood with his hand on his shoulder, head bent. Aethan had his hands cupped in front of him. He obviously took energy from Lorin, a flame growing in his palms, brightening. Their gaze clashed across the flame and the hate smoldering in those dark eyes made Luka flinch. He’d never wanted this to happen. How had they become such bitter enemies, when all Luka wanted was to live a quiet life in his cottage? Have time for the animals, raise a few herbs. Make love with Rhys.

With a sudden flick of his hands, Aethan threw the fire from him, and Luka watched in horror as it splashed across the yellow layer of sulfur. The mineral instantly bubbled, melting into a deep blue liquid that spread at a rapid pace, flames rising from the surface.

“Go! The air is poisonous,” he urged Rhys, pushing him back. He heard Rhys’s retreating footsteps, but stayed a moment, captivated by the unearthly, glittering blue liquid flowing toward him, strangely beautiful. Fire danced across its surface and he was caught in a moment of wonder.

Rhys’s shouted warning woke him. He saw Aethan and Lorin crawling out from the far side of the mud flat. Aethan rose to his feet on solid ground and swirled toward him, flinging out his arms. Wind swept across the bubbling mud, lifting the slick water on the surface. It rained down on the burning sulfur and fumes rose in the air, noxious, deadly.

Luka turned and sprinted up the narrow path, knowing it was already too late. The wind struck his back, engulfing him in heat and the stench of sulfur. The thick air choked his throat, searing its way to his lungs. He shut his burning eyes, flinging up an arm to protect his face from the sting of acid rain.

He stumbled a few more steps, but the hiss of a geyser warned him he’d left the path and he stopped, uncertain what to do, the fumes he’d breathed disorienting him. It seemed an age before the crunch of boots pounded up to him and a hand gripped his arm.

“Don’t open your eyes. Come with me.” Not Rhys. Tarian sounded panicked, afraid for him, and Luka went with him without protest as Tarian led him by the arm, Tarian sure-footed on the wet grass. In a moment another, joined them, and Rhys’s arm once again slid around his waist. Rhys’s breathing sounded labored and Luka prayed the killing air had dissipated before reaching him. Merciful earth, what had he done?

The nightmare terrain muttered and rumbled around them, the hiss and steam from its various caldrons and pools a soft caress against his wounded face. His foot caught on the rough ground and Rhys murmured in sympathy, his arm tightening.

“A little further, darling,” Rhys urged, and Luka set his lips against the pain wracking his body, his chest on fire. A broken cry left his raw throat when they finally stopped, and Rhys eased him to the ground.

There was a flurry of movement around them, then Ravan’s practical tones took over, though there was no mistaking the love and concern underlying her words. “Keep your eyes closed, Papa,” she said as she knelt beside him, touching his shoulder. “The exposed skin on your face and hands is burned. We will have to wait to see the extent of the internal damage.”

Her voice broke and Luka reached for her hand as she drew a shuddering breath. He was still unable to speak, his throat in agony as if he’d swallowed broken glass. The taste of blood filled his mouth, though that could be from the sores on his lips. But he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, awaiting her instructions. He felt strangely detached, thoughts muddled, unable to focus. Panicked, though he fought that down.

He became aware of someone sobbing quietly beside him and reached out, catching Tarian’s sleeve, and made what he hoped was a reassuring sound.

“Tarian saved your life,” Ravan told him, then choked on a caught breath, well knowing she might be wrong.

“I’ll go for the horses,” Rhys offered, clearly distressed.

“They won’t come into the swale,” Ravan cautioned, near tears.

A gruff voice broke in, impatient, determined, “Then I will carry him. Tarian, get up. Gather the packs.” Calan’s sturdy presence hovered over him, an arm going around his back, another under his legs. “Permit me,” he muttered, and without waiting for Luka’s answer, lifted him with a grunt of effort.

The stink of sour mud filled Luka’s senses as he stifled a moan against Calan’s rough coat. Pain hit him with each step they took, and he swooned, welcoming the gray fog of semi-consciousness. Time spiraled out in hazy moments, the gurgle of a nearby pool, the hurt of being shifted in Calan’s arms.

He couldn’t suppress the small cries that escaped him as they started up the steep slope of the swale. Calan’s boots slipped several times on the ash, jolting his already aching body. Tears streamed from his burning eyes, inflaming the delicate lids. A terrible thought came to him, making his sluggish heart thump. Was he too damaged to heal? Would he leave Rhys unprotected, vulnerable to Aethan’s dark whims?

Hurting in mind as well as body, he was only vaguely aware when they reached the top of the swale and Calan’s steps hurt him less. They stopped and he was lowered into Rhys waiting arms, pulled against his chest. He clutched feebly at him while Rhys murmured loving words in his ear, rocking gently. Luka’s heart swelled with longing, wanting more time with him. He’d only just found him again!

He didn’t know how much time passed while he breathed in his lover’s scent, pushing off the black hole waiting on the edge of his mind to drag him away from all he loved. It felt like decades or an indrawn breath, then Rhys shifted and laid him on the ground. He whimpered in distress, reaching blindly for him. Sweet lips touched his, calming his panic.

The sting of water and a soft cloth on his face roused him from a crowding darkness.

“Keep your eyes closed, love,” a voice of music and magic whispered in his ear. His thoughts scattered. Who?

“It’s me.”

The tinkle of laughter made him smile. “Loralyn,” he croaked, and winced at the agony tormenting his throat.

“Don’t speak, sweet witch. Rest now.”

Fingers, light as butterfly wings, fluttered against his face, chest, hands, while a song of pure joy and sunshine wound through his head. He floated while his body healed, grounded by Rhys’s hand on his shoulder. He hoped with all his heart to kiss him again. He wished… No. He’d done enough damage with a wish. He would will himself better.

An eternity passed while he dreamed of summer days, a child holding his Mother’s hand while they walked sunlit paths through the forest. The splash of sunlight in a dark pool of a rippling creek. Squirrels chittering overhead. The scent of pine and leaves underfoot.

A meadow at dawn, mist on the grass, and a brief, stolen moment as a stag in dazzling sunlight, stared at them from the edge of the towering trees across the meadow. Luka’s heart leaped and thrilled as Mother squeezed his hand, and he knew without words that his father’s spirit was with them, and that Luka was loved.

Luka sucked in a breath, the pain wrapping his chest easing with each heartbeat. He became aware of hands cupping his face as he came back to consciousness. Soft lips brushed his, not Rhys’s, and he frowned, and felt his skin pull tight.

A bright laugh teased a smile from him. “Open your eyes, sweet one.”

Luka slowly parted his eyelids, blinking at the sudden light. Tears formed, but no longer burned, and he looked at the lovely face bending over him. “Loralyn,” he whispered, and swallowed, throat dry. Concern touched him at the exhaustion in her face. What had she done? He struggled to sit up, and an arm went around his waist, supporting him.

“Luka,” Rhys murmured, voice choked with tears. Luka tilted his head and Rhys’s concerned face filled his sight. Rhys gave him a tremulous smile, eyes glittering. “Here.” He held a water flask to Luka’s lips, allowing him a sip before pulling it away. “A little at a time, sweet witch,” he warned, and trickled more into his parched mouth.

The cold water eased his throat. Rhys pulled Luka back onto his shoulder, and Luka heard the pounding of his heart as he nestled against him. His gaze fell on his own hands, red and raw, with open sores scabbing over. He imagined his face looked the same and ducked his chin. Tired, shaky, it took effort not to fall into sleep.

“Loralyn, are you well?” he asked when he caught the fae’s trembling breath. He blinked her into focus and her full lips lifted in a wan smile. She pushed her brilliant hair off her face with a shaky hand. Luka struggled up in sudden fear, remembering her warning of death earlier, and gripped Rhys’s hand against a wave of dizziness.

“What have you done?” he demanded when the black spots cleared from his eyes.

Loralyn lifted her slim shoulders in a shrug, but there was a frailty about her that hadn’t been there before. Luka sent a panicked glance at the others sitting around them. Calan and Tarian tended the fire while Ravan hurriedly joined them, kneeling at the fae’s side. She picked up Loralyn’s hand. “You’re cold,” she said worriedly and removed her cloak, draping it around her shoulders.

Luka shivered, filled with foreboding. For a fae to be cold was unnatural. Something was desperately wrong with her. He took her hands in his. They were icy to the touch. He exchanged a troubled glance with Ravan, who took Loralyn into her arms while Luka kissed her palms.

“What can we do?” he begged, staring at her in disbelief. The fae was already fading, her brightness dimming as he watched. “Anything.”

Loralyn’s smile squeezed his heart. “Everything has been done, sweet witch. You are to get well and finish your task.”

“And you? Loralyn, why would you do this?” His sudden tears fell on their clasped hands. Nothing made sense.

“Because we once loved, my heart. Luka, do not be sad. Do not blame yourself. I chose this, giving my life energy so you can be healed. A small payment for the terrible hurt I once caused you.”

Luka snorted despite himself. “Don’t pretend you regret leaving me, Loralyn. But I would not have chosen this for you. Why, when it was my own foolishness that put me in harm’s way?” He never should have let the sulfur fire startle him into hesitation.

Familiar mischief sprang on her sweet face. “You know me too well, my witch. But I did love you, once upon a time. A moth to your flame. I stayed as long as I could. But the forest called…” She sighed. “I promised to watch over you. I would not fail in my task.” She dropped her gaze, ashamed. “Not like I did with Calan. I thought him safe, and I left and gave him no further thought. Aethan must have come afterwards.”

“Yet Mother would never have wanted you to give your life for mine,” Luka chided gently, heartbroken. “I would never ask it.”

Loralyn tried to lift a hand, but dropped it, strength failing. “This was my choice, Luka. Do not grieve! It is but this shell that passes. My spirit will live on, in my beloved woods. Walk under the trees this spring and you will hear me in the flutter of leaves in a sweet breeze.”

She tilted her head to meet Ravan’s gaze. “I’m sorry, daughter. I should have come to you sooner.” A small shrug and laugh. “Time does not pass for fae as it does for others. It seems a mere blink of the eye since I cradled you as an infant. But know I’ve always held you in my heart.” A shiver ran down her slim frame, and she gave a soft gasp and sank into Ravan’s waiting arms.

Luka felt her spirit flit away as a tug on his heart. A sob broke from Ravan and he scrambled up, wrapping his arms around both her and Loralyn, grief making it hard to breathe. He welcomed the pain of his aching body, matching the agony of his broken heart.

Long moments passed before Rhys put a hand on his shoulder. Luka sighed and sat back on his heels, blinking his stinging eyes, Rhys a solid presence behind him. “I wonder if it had been her own death she’d foreseen, yet come anyway.” His voice trailed off, then he gathered his thoughts. “We shouldn’t stay here with Aethan so close.”

Rhys made a sound of regret and sorrow. “I know, my heart. What would you have us do?”

Luka held Ravan’s gaze, and she inclined her head, deferring to him. He tongued the sores on his lips, deep in thought. “She would like to be buried in the forest, I think,” he said at last. “A shallow grave, to become one with her beloved trees.” Weariness fell on him. He removed his cloak, laying it over his lost love. It was hard to believe her fierce heart had left them for whatever awaited her beyond this life.

He made an effort to stand and Rhys helped him up, keeping an arm patiently around him until the world stopped spinning. Luka drew in a breath, his chest still painful, but he would heal in time. He sighed and bent to pick up Loralyn, but then Calan was at his side. “Permit me.”

In pain, heartsore, Luka didn’t argue. “Thank you,” he murmured when Calan lifted her up in his strong arms.

“She weighs nothing,” Calan said in awe, looking at the still lovely woman whose head rested on his shoulder. Tears welled in Luka’s eyes.

“Come, Luka, show us where,” Rhys said gently.

Luka hesitated while Ravan wiped her eyes on her sleeve. She gave him a pleading look. “I would like to stay here with Tarian, Papa. In my mind, I still see Loralyn singing while she danced in the sunlight. I wouldn’t want to see her put in the ground.”

“Nor would I,” Luka confessed. Tarian came up to Ravan, sadness on his face, but he nodded at Luka’s questioning look, a promise to care for her while they were gone. “We will be back shortly.” He slipped his arm through Rhys’s, and with a nod to Calan, headed into the trees, his chest tightening with grief as the forest with its heady scent of pine and rich earth closed in around them.