Brightly Woven
Page 74
“There’s not a problem,” Dorwan told them. He leaned back in his seat, pulling out a small golden pocket watch and flipping open its cover with a small smile.
We were only halfway up the mountain path when a soldier rode up on horseback and told us to beware of snow ahead. There was no way for the carriages to fight through the icy covering that awaited us at the mountain’s summit, so the king improvised.
“That is the Sleven Mountain,” he told me. We were standing on the road, near where the horses and carriages had been left. The king pointed to a mountain, just across from us in the small range.
“If you can reduce that mountain to rubble, you will have proven yourself to be Salvala’s vessel.”
I turned my face away from him and walked forward, standing at the edge of the road. In the distance, I could make out the faint line of blue that was the Serpentine Channel, but mainly I saw the heavily forested and rocky slope of the mountain below my feet.
The wind increased, kicking up a smattering of snow. I drew the fur cloak around me tightly.
I closed my eyes again, feeling Dorwan’s presence beside me. “You heard the king, Sydelle.”
I turned around to face the others, not bothering to hide my disgust.
“Get this filth away from me,” I said.
“For what reason?” the king called.
“This man is a liar,” I said to the king, and the reaction was instantaneous. “He may be a wizard, but he is certainly no prophet. He found me in Provincia, saw the color of my hair, and decided to use both of us to his advantage.”
I relished the look of alarm that stole across Dorwan’s face when fifteen firearms and even more swords were turned in his direction.
“A lie,” Dorwan said, raising his arms slightly in surrender. “Your Majesty, I can prove her power.”
“Take him!” the king barked, waving the soldiers forward.
“They’ll kill us,” Dorwan said as the soldiers came closer. “They’ll kill us, you foolish little—”
He reached into his coat for the talisman waiting there, but even in my heavy robes I was faster. I shoved him as hard as I could; he stumbled back into the approaching soldiers, who pinned his arms behind him and forced him to the ground.
I was his curse now.
“Sydelle!” he snarled.
“Good-bye, Dorwan,” I said. “Good riddance.”
He saw my plan in my eyes: I would take down this mountain and everyone on it—the king, his men, but, most of all, Reuel Dorwan. And if I couldn’t escape the destruction, so be it. At least the war would be over before it had the chance to begin.
“Take the girl, too!” the king shouted. I heard, rather than saw, a few of the soldiers rush toward me. I held out a hand to stop them.
“Don’t touch me,” I said calmly.
I closed my eyes again, taking a deep breath as I searched for the magic that had once held so much fear for me. Magic is a tool, Pascal had said. Wizards open themselves up to it.
I focused not on my fear or my sorrow but on the world slowly spinning beneath my feet, on the anger I felt inside of me. I thought of those who had wanted to use me, who had thought I was a pawn in their games, and let myself feel every lick of disappointment and fury. This time, I knew how to control my powers. All along I had been feeling, and those feelings had driven the storms and quakes. Now, as the torrent of emotions passed through my heart and out into the world, I felt the familiar warmth of magic rise up with me.
I seized the connection. A thousand threads of light in every color appeared in my sight, rising from the ground. The warmth began to work its way through every vein and sinew in my body. A light breeze of cold air caressed my cheek, but I hardly felt it. Instead, I focused on the sound of it, strengthening it, pulling on it as if it were tangible. My fur cloak blew up and away with the force of the new wind, fluttering down the slope of the mountain.
A startled cry went up behind me as several of the horses spooked. I did not relent. I felt the spark of magic the moment my fingers brushed the ground, and a great shudder ran through it at my touch. I dug my fingers into the soil and pulled on it as hard as I could. The force of the ensuing quake rattled every bone in my body.
I heard the thunderous roar of the snow at the top of the mountain as it came barreling down toward us. The king’s soldiers scattered, trying to break the bucking horses free from the carriages.
“Your Majesty!” one of them shouted. “We must leave—”
The king did not acknowledge him. He held out his hand, palm up, with a reverential expression on his face. A light spray of snow fell down over us as the mass of it barreled through the line of trees above us, groaning and straining like a living beast.
In that moment my connection to the world snapped, and the only thing I was aware of was the voice in my head whispering urgently, Run, Sydelle.
I ripped the diadem and veil from my hair, leaving them for the snow to claim. The shuddering ground made it hard to climb over the jagged rocks and upturned trees. My long skirt gathered around my knees, the beautiful red fabric torn and dirtied as I cut through dead brush and rocks. All I could feel was the burning of my lungs and the beating of my heart. Nothing else touched me, not the cold against my bare skin nor the branches and rocks that cut my arms. Nothing.
I was running, but not fast enough.
The snow picked up momentum as it barreled toward me, forcing me in the direction of a cliff. I looked back and forth desperately for a way down that wasn’t as steep, but the cliff seemed to line the entire face of the mountain. From my position at its very edge, I could see the blue water of the channel over the line of trees.
We were only halfway up the mountain path when a soldier rode up on horseback and told us to beware of snow ahead. There was no way for the carriages to fight through the icy covering that awaited us at the mountain’s summit, so the king improvised.
“That is the Sleven Mountain,” he told me. We were standing on the road, near where the horses and carriages had been left. The king pointed to a mountain, just across from us in the small range.
“If you can reduce that mountain to rubble, you will have proven yourself to be Salvala’s vessel.”
I turned my face away from him and walked forward, standing at the edge of the road. In the distance, I could make out the faint line of blue that was the Serpentine Channel, but mainly I saw the heavily forested and rocky slope of the mountain below my feet.
The wind increased, kicking up a smattering of snow. I drew the fur cloak around me tightly.
I closed my eyes again, feeling Dorwan’s presence beside me. “You heard the king, Sydelle.”
I turned around to face the others, not bothering to hide my disgust.
“Get this filth away from me,” I said.
“For what reason?” the king called.
“This man is a liar,” I said to the king, and the reaction was instantaneous. “He may be a wizard, but he is certainly no prophet. He found me in Provincia, saw the color of my hair, and decided to use both of us to his advantage.”
I relished the look of alarm that stole across Dorwan’s face when fifteen firearms and even more swords were turned in his direction.
“A lie,” Dorwan said, raising his arms slightly in surrender. “Your Majesty, I can prove her power.”
“Take him!” the king barked, waving the soldiers forward.
“They’ll kill us,” Dorwan said as the soldiers came closer. “They’ll kill us, you foolish little—”
He reached into his coat for the talisman waiting there, but even in my heavy robes I was faster. I shoved him as hard as I could; he stumbled back into the approaching soldiers, who pinned his arms behind him and forced him to the ground.
I was his curse now.
“Sydelle!” he snarled.
“Good-bye, Dorwan,” I said. “Good riddance.”
He saw my plan in my eyes: I would take down this mountain and everyone on it—the king, his men, but, most of all, Reuel Dorwan. And if I couldn’t escape the destruction, so be it. At least the war would be over before it had the chance to begin.
“Take the girl, too!” the king shouted. I heard, rather than saw, a few of the soldiers rush toward me. I held out a hand to stop them.
“Don’t touch me,” I said calmly.
I closed my eyes again, taking a deep breath as I searched for the magic that had once held so much fear for me. Magic is a tool, Pascal had said. Wizards open themselves up to it.
I focused not on my fear or my sorrow but on the world slowly spinning beneath my feet, on the anger I felt inside of me. I thought of those who had wanted to use me, who had thought I was a pawn in their games, and let myself feel every lick of disappointment and fury. This time, I knew how to control my powers. All along I had been feeling, and those feelings had driven the storms and quakes. Now, as the torrent of emotions passed through my heart and out into the world, I felt the familiar warmth of magic rise up with me.
I seized the connection. A thousand threads of light in every color appeared in my sight, rising from the ground. The warmth began to work its way through every vein and sinew in my body. A light breeze of cold air caressed my cheek, but I hardly felt it. Instead, I focused on the sound of it, strengthening it, pulling on it as if it were tangible. My fur cloak blew up and away with the force of the new wind, fluttering down the slope of the mountain.
A startled cry went up behind me as several of the horses spooked. I did not relent. I felt the spark of magic the moment my fingers brushed the ground, and a great shudder ran through it at my touch. I dug my fingers into the soil and pulled on it as hard as I could. The force of the ensuing quake rattled every bone in my body.
I heard the thunderous roar of the snow at the top of the mountain as it came barreling down toward us. The king’s soldiers scattered, trying to break the bucking horses free from the carriages.
“Your Majesty!” one of them shouted. “We must leave—”
The king did not acknowledge him. He held out his hand, palm up, with a reverential expression on his face. A light spray of snow fell down over us as the mass of it barreled through the line of trees above us, groaning and straining like a living beast.
In that moment my connection to the world snapped, and the only thing I was aware of was the voice in my head whispering urgently, Run, Sydelle.
I ripped the diadem and veil from my hair, leaving them for the snow to claim. The shuddering ground made it hard to climb over the jagged rocks and upturned trees. My long skirt gathered around my knees, the beautiful red fabric torn and dirtied as I cut through dead brush and rocks. All I could feel was the burning of my lungs and the beating of my heart. Nothing else touched me, not the cold against my bare skin nor the branches and rocks that cut my arms. Nothing.
I was running, but not fast enough.
The snow picked up momentum as it barreled toward me, forcing me in the direction of a cliff. I looked back and forth desperately for a way down that wasn’t as steep, but the cliff seemed to line the entire face of the mountain. From my position at its very edge, I could see the blue water of the channel over the line of trees.
