Sovereign of the Seven Isles 7: Reishi Adept (10 page)

Phane sighed, shaking h
is head. “Perhaps someday you’ll understand the burden of power, but clearly not today.”

With a gesture
, he lifted Wren from her feet and deposited her in a chair. A few words stilled her tongue and bound her in place.

“Are you ready, Isabel?” he asked, not bothering to wait for her answer before beginning his spell.

Isabel shifted her feelings as she’d been taught, calling forth her love for Alexander and for life itself, holding it up as a bulwark against the coming onslaught. Phane cast his spell and her will detached from her body. Azugorath flooded in, claiming dominion, but Isabel was ready. She held up her love to the light within her—and the light responded in kind, shining forth and washing away the taint of the Wraith Queen before she could act.

Isabel staggered a bit when Azugorath fled from her mind, shrieking in fury.

“You lose again, Phane.”

“Yes, but I only have to win once.
You
have to win them all. And I’m nothing if not persistent. Beware of the shade,” Phane said, turning on his heel and vanishing in a step, as if he’d passed through some invisible doorway.

Isabel went to Wren and hugged her without a word.

“He’s not going to stop,” Wren said.

“Not until he’s dead,” Isabel replied. “We have to get you out of here.”

“But how? I can’t get this collar off, and even if I could, I’m sure Phane has sealed off the sewer grates.”

“We need help,” Lacy said.

“I know. I’m hoping Alexander will visit again soon. He can relay a message to Ayela and Wyatt.”

“That still doesn’t solve the problem of the collars,” Lacy said.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Isabel shot back, her frustration and fear getting the better of her. She reined in her emotions a moment later, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know,” Lacy said quietly.

***

Isabel hadn’t been sleeping well of late. The Wraith Queen often came to her in her dreams, pushing against her will, attempting to wrest control. Usually,
she was able to wake herself, disrupting Azugorath’s influence in the process, but this time was different.

T
he Wraith Queen did not appear in her true form. Instead she was clothed in the body of a young woman, and she was trying to kill Isabel rather than control her. Somewhere in the distance, Isabel’s rational mind knew that it didn’t make sense, but caught in the heat of the moment, in that distorted fugue state of the dream, she wasn’t listening to her rational mind. She was in a fight for her life and she meant to win.

For some reason, her magic didn’t work,
so she was fighting with her hands. She had the advantage and was on top of the demon, bludgeoning her, hitting her again and again, all the while wondering why she didn’t just cast her light-lance spell.

“Stop! Isabel, please stop,” Azugorath cried out, plaintively, desperately. A tremor of deep sadness in
the voice pierced the veil of her dream state, reaching her like a slap in the face. She hesitated, struggling against her rage and battle lust, that primal need to kill the enemy that one can only feel in the moment of a fight.

A blow struck her on the side of the head, knocking her off the en
emy and rekindling her bloodlust, blinding her to all else. She rolled to her feet, reaching for her sword, but it wasn’t there. Again, her rational mind attempted to intrude on the delusion of the dream. She was in a battle. She should have her sword.

Another person came into view, suddenly
, as if materializing from nothing. She slapped Isabel across the face, hard.

A moment later she was pulled back into the fog of the dream as if
she’d been yanked by a string tied to her back.

She
saw her enemy again, staggering to her feet. She lunged, hitting her in the midsection with her shoulder and taking her to the ground like a rag doll, landing on top of her and scrambling to gain position so she could rain blows down on her and end this struggle once and for all.

“I love you, Isabel,” Azugorath whimpered weakly. Her words were so out of context, so outside the realm of even dream logic that it stunned Isabel. Like a bucket of cold water, it snapped her awake in an instant.

She gasped in horror. She was straddling Wren, the young woman’s face beaten, bruised, and bloody. Her head lolled to one side as she slipped into unconsciousness.

“No, no, no,”
Isabel cried. “Oh, Dear Maker, no! What have I done?”

She rolled off of
Wren and knelt at her side, listening for her breath. It was faint and labored, but she was alive. Relief and rage surged into Isabel and she bolted to her feet, scanning the dark room in a glance. Even in the low light she could see Phane standing against the wall, smiling.

Without a
thought, she unleashed a light-lance at him. It burned hot and bright enough that he actually had to concentrate to deflect the deadly spell. She snatched up a chair and threw it at him as she closed the distance. She wasn’t thinking of anything other than his blood. The chair bounced harmlessly off his shield, but she followed it with a force-push, magic and will hurled at him with all the fury she could muster. It hit his shield hard, forcing him back a step, putting his back literally against the wall.

She lunged at him, both hands going for his th
roat, but he stopped her with his magic, effortlessly lifting her from the ground and holding her before him.

“I’ll kill you!” she screamed, casting another light-lance from a distance of only a few feet. It was diffused by his now
-fortified shield, creating a brilliant flash of light, leaving her dazzled and momentarily blinded when the room fell back into shadow.

He tossed her
to the floor. She hit hard, but scrambled to her feet, sending another light-lance at him, only to watch it fall harmlessly against his shield.

“Such rage,” he said, almost reverently. “If only you understood the power
of the darkness and fury together. Your potential is virtually limitless, and yet you refuse to embrace it … all for a meaningless child.”

Isabel’s anger faltered
at the thought of Wren, lying unconscious on the floor with Lacy at her side. Guilt flooded into her, seeming to fill every recess of her soul and psyche. It was crushing, all-consuming, and entirely bigger than she was.

In that moment
, she knew that Phane’s plan would work. If she killed Wren, she would be lost to the darkness. The guilt would be more than she could bear. The remorse she felt at having hurt her friend filled her to the point of overflowing, and still it came, relentless and overpowering. The sheer intensity of it dwarfed even the fear, pain, and despair of the trials. It was like nothing she had ever experienced … because she deserved it. She had failed to defend against the influence of the Wraith Queen; she had hurt her friend and for that she deserved to be condemned to the darkness.

As the guilt morphed into self-loathing and despair
, she heard the faint echo of laughter coming from deep within, emanating from Azugorath, both mocking and anticipatory. Isabel was giving her what she wanted.

She drew herself up and faced Phane. His little smile of triumph transform
ed into a slight frown. She sat down on the floor and closed her eyes, clearing her mind and thinking of Alexander. The guilt was still there, fresh and raw, but she gently, firmly brushed it aside. At first it felt like a betrayal, as if such an intense feeling deserved to be felt, even wallowed in. But she persisted. She didn’t call for the light, or ask it to come to her … instead she held up all the love she could muster in her heart to the light as if in offering, as if she was giving away the very best parts of herself without thought to consequence or reward.

The battle played out in her mind. Outwardly, she was calm
, serene even. But within, a contest raged. On one side was all of the hate and rage and malice that a queen of the netherworld could bring to bear. Azugorath railed against her, hurling images of Wren’s injuries at her, accosting her with visions of nearly beating her friend to death, mocking her as unworthy of the light.

On the other side, Isabel took it all, accepted everything the darkness threw at her and returned only love. She banished
every vestige of fear, anger, and guilt in favor of all-accepting love.

“What’s she doing?” a nearly frantic voice
asked. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Isabel ignored it. She’d found a place within herself that she didn’t know existed. Always before, she’d relied on her unique connection to the light and thoughts of Alexander to engender strong feelings of love within herself, but this was different. Somehow she had transcended that. She’d found a place of perfect stillness within herself that she instinctively knew had always been there, offering quiet guidance and unconditional love.

It was a place of pure light—yet it didn’t shine into her from the portal created by Sara’s birth. It didn’t come from without
—it came from within, from a spark at the very core of her being, a place of such calm, quiet, and ancient power that she could hardly believe she’d never felt it before.

She opened her eyes and saw Wraithkin Issa standing next to Phane.
Issa looked worried and he was bleeding from a wound that was freshly opened, though not fatally deep.

“Make her stop,” Issa said.

Past the calm in her heart, Isabel heard the Wraith Queen shrieking with rage and fear. Isabel smiled, settling into the place within that she’d never known before, the natural spark of the Maker’s light that she now knew resided within everyone.

“Mother can’t protect us when she does that,” Issa said.

Phane looked at him sharply, taking in Issa’s injury for the first time, then looking at Isabel with alarm.

“Stop it!” he commanded.

“No.”

“Mother says she has to choose, us or her.”

All of Phane’s smugness and triumph washed away, leaving only anger and a hint of fear. “Preserve the wraithkin,” he snapped. “I can always come back to her.”

Isabel felt like somethin
g broke, as if a thread snapped and the veil of darkness shrouding her access to the realm of light vanished. Deep within, she knew that Azugorath hadn’t released her completely, she still had a hook in her, but her influence had been greatly diminished.

“You lose again, Phane.”

Issa vanished, reappearing where he stood, all hint of injury gone in an instant.

“For now,”
Phane said, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Isabel scrambled to Wren’s side.

She was awake but weak, her face bloody and discolored, swollen and broken. She tried to speak but Isabel hushed her.

“I’m so sorry, Wren,” she said, gently and tenderly placing her hands on Wren’s face. With her eyes closed she drew on the light, now freely available to her
, pouring her love and the Maker’s healing light into her young friend. After several moments, she released her spell and Wren slipped into a deep sleep.

Isabel carefully picked her up and carried her to bed. She pulled up a chair and sat down, taking Wren’s hand.

“What just happened?” Lacy asked, sitting on the opposite side of the bed.

“Azugorath got to me in my dreams—made me do this. But I found a way to fight her, and I won
and that gave me some of my power back.”

“Enough
to kill Phane?” Lacy asked.

“Probably
not, but enough to heal Wren, and that’s enough for now.”

“You’re bleeding,” Lacy said.

Isabel hadn’t even noticed the blood drying on the side of her face. She vaguely remembered a blow to the head.

“Sorry,” Lacy said. “I threw a pitcher at you
when you were on top of Wren.”

Isabel smiled,
gently touching her wound. “Thank you,” she whispered.

***

Isabel woke, sore and stiff from sitting beside Wren all night. She’d fallen asleep hunched over with her head on the bed. Lacy was still sleeping in the chair on the other side of the bed. Wren opened her eyes. Her face was yellow and still slightly swollen but healing quickly.

She tried to speak but only managed a croak. Isabel gently offered her a sip of water.

After wetting her mouth, she took a deeper drink. “What happened?” she asked, her voice still weak and cracking.

“I’m so sorry, Wren,” Isabel said, bowing her head in shame. “I almost killed you.”

“No, you didn’t, Phane almost killed me. You wouldn’t do this to me.”

Isabel held up her hands, displaying her bruised and cut knuckles like a badge of shame. “My hands did this to you. I should have been stronger.”

“Don’t blame yourself. That’s what he wants.”

Lacy woke, blinking the sleep from her eyes and sitting forward with a look of surprise bordering on awe.