What Once Was One (Book 2) (6 page)

After memorizing it, we backtracked and then took the left tunnel, heading to the garden. On our way, we investigated the practice room, the latrine, the storage room, and the spring, this time searching the roof of the caves. Thankfully, we didn’t find any more creatures.

There was one final room to go to—the garden. After that, I could seal up the doorway and we could finally scrounge for something to help us while we were in the Wastelands. That, along with the binding potion, was the purpose of coming here. Everything else was secondary, even laying Stradus to rest. And I still had to tell my friends about the soul-binding spell Krystal had given me.

But when I opened the door, I stopped, shocked. Every plant in the garden was dead.

CHAPTER 4

The exotic and wondrous plants Stradus had collected and cultivated over the years were no longer what they were. They had lost their color and life. Brown decay had set in, leaves withered and fallen, and the once soft ground was now cracked and brittle.

The garden had been Stradus’s pride and joy, as if it were his child. He used to spend countless hours and years in his garden—growing, cultivating, and tending to the plants with his delicate touch. I kicked the hard ground, remembering the times when I would listen to him talk about the foreign lands he had traveled to obtain the seeds and bulbs of these exotic plants.

I reached out and a brown, dried leaf crumpled under my touch. I needed to make a potion to construct a stronger web. How was I going to do so without the garden? Without Stradus, the whole mountain was falling apart.

“I thought you said this was one of the most beautiful places you had ever seen?” Demay asked.

I sighed and said, “It was. Once.”

“Can you do the spell or finish the potion without it?” Jastillian asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know. I can do a weaker version of the spell, but they’ll be able to break through if enough force is applied. The potion won’t work. All the ingredients have to be fresh.”

“I hear...whispering,” Demay said.

Jastillian growled. “They come.”

“Behast, stay here and guard Hellsfire,” Prastian said. “We’ll kill those in the tunnel and buy you time to make your potion.”

“I can fight,” Behast said, gripping his sword until his lime-green skin became even lighter.

“I know you can, but Hellsfire will need protection if a few manage to slip by.”

Behast nodded and stood by the door. The other three vanished from the garden and into the hall.

I hurried, rushing from plant to flower, pushing my hands through the withered plants to find one or two that weren’t completely dead. I dug up dried, dead roots. Most of the plants and flowers were so brittle, they disintegrated at my touch. I blew at the dust- sized plant particles in my hand, knowing it was useless to cook a potion with them.

I ran to the workbench, hoping that either Stradus or I had cut and left a few plants before we left. There were empty flasks, a grinding stone and pestle, but no plants. I slammed my hand on the bench, causing everything to jump, and said, “Gods damn it!” Of course, nothing would be out. Stradus wouldn’t have left a mess and he would have made a point for me not to either.

One of the leshii’s screeches broke through the door. I jerked up and stared at the doorway. Behast’s feet etched furrows into the ground as he strained to go with the others and fight with them.

“You think they’re all right?” I asked.

“Are you done yet?”

I snapped. “I can’t do it without
healthy
plants.”

“Whatever you need to do, you better hurry. From the sounds of things, they need our help.”

Behast was right. We—no—
I
needed to do something. I was a wizard. I had all this power at my hand, yet I couldn’t do anything. My inner fire flowed out of my hand, smothering it. Maybe it was best we grab what we could and leave now. We would have to come back with an army to clear out the White Mountain, and I would have to create the potion with ingredients elsewhere, if I could. Some of these plants were exceedingly rare. At one point, Stradus had known Sharald, the ruler of the elves. Maybe I could find the plants there.

I dashed to leave the room and help the others, but when I crossed the middle of the room, I stopped. Stradus’s voice echoed through my mind. I don’t know if it was memories or the orbs of magic, but it was clear as ice as sharp as a noble’s tongue. He had told me to bury his ashes here, right now, despite all that was happening. I was going to do so now. There might not be another chance.

I set the bag down and ran to grab a shovel. The ground broke apart as I thrust the shovel into it.

 
“We don’t have time for this,” Behast said.

“Yes, we do. I’m fulfilling a promise.” Our eyes met. “And I
always
keep my promises.”

Behast grunted and kept his eyes on the doorway. I dug, flinging dirt everywhere, not caring where it went or even if bits of dirt struck my face. If this was Stradus’s last wish, I was going to give it to him. When I finished, I took the urn and staff from the bag. I poured the ashes into the hole and then set the broken staff into it. I stared at the now clear globe on top of the staff. It used to swirl, filling with mana, when Stradus had it. The staff was carved into a snake and I once saw it come alive when Stradus fought Premier. It would move no longer. I heaped dry dirt into the hole before patting it down as best as I could.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I could have buried you in your wondrous garden instead of this dead place. One day I’ll use the knowledge you’ve given me and create my own garden in memory of you.” I smacked my hands free of the dirt and said to Behast, “Let’s go.”

I focused on calling my magic to rise to the surface, drawing in the incredible power I was sure I was going to need to fight the leshii. But the place wasn’t through with me yet. The earth bellowed as though a mob of leshii thundered down on us, demanding blood. But it wasn’t leshii.

It was the garden.

Dead plants trembled and swayed. The dirt underneath my feet shifted and heaved as the whole room began to shake. I thought the ceiling was going to cave in, but it held firm.

Wisps of green mana swirled from the hole I had dug. It spread into the ground, sealing and erasing the cracks in the earth. Turquoise mana moistened and softened the ground with its water-based magic.

The magic dispersed throughout the garden, penetrating and reviving everything it touched. The plants twisted and ripened. Stalks and branches rose to their former stature. The faded colors darkened and deepened until the room became alive with vibrant greens and browns. The flowers reawakened, blossoming so that they painted the room. Familiar pinks, purples, oranges and yellows stared back at me and said their hellos. Reds blinded my eyes.

The shaking ceased. I gazed around the room, open-mouthed, at the garden restored to its former beauty. The scent of fresh flowers and plants tickled my nose. How was Stradus able to perform such magic after his death, just from his ashes? I hadn’t known such a thing was possible. I realized then that life and death means more for a wizard—more than just the extended life Stradus had enjoyed. I bent down and grabbed a handful of dirt. I inhaled the scent of the fresh, soft soil, wishing I had Stradus’s guidance. There were questions and I needed answers. But his presence would always be in this one spot for all of time.

“By the gods,” Behast whispered, putting a hand to his mouth.

A leshii’s body crashed in front of the entrance, interrupting our gawking. Behast pulled his weapon free and started for the door, then stopped and looked back at me.

 
“Go,” I said, and motioned with my head. “Help the others. I’ll hurry and prepare the potion.”

Behast glanced to the open doorway. “I was told to stay here with you. If one of the creatures gets through, you may not have a chance to finish the potion.”

I smiled. “Then don’t let any of them through.”

Behast nodded and left.

I yanked the dagger from my waist and ran around the garden. I cut the flowers and tugged out the roots from the plants I needed. I took more than was necessary, but there wasn’t time to be delicate about it. I hated to waste materials, especially after what I had just seen and what Stradus had taught me, but my friends were out there fighting for their lives.

I brought everything to the workbench and tried to block out the sounds of battle—the grunting, shouting, screeching, dying. I shook my head free, trying not to remember when I fought in Alexandria.

 
I measured everything, then ground the ingredients with the pestle, hurrying to blend them all together. I dumped it all in a flask, poured in some water and heated it.

“Come on, come on,” I said, rubbing my hands together, watching it boil and listening to the sounds of battle outside the door. They came closer, then faded, then moved closer once more. I was tempted to use my power to make the flame burn brighter, but Stradus had taught me not to. If I was off, I would have to start over and waste even more precious time. I ignored the mess I had made on the bench, wanting to scatter the extra petals, leaves, and roots to the ground.

The ingredients melted into a greenish, oozing liquid. I inhaled the scent of the minty liquid and knew it was done. I poured it into a flask, taking care to not spill a drop. I used my robe as a barrier while I carried the still-hot flask in my left hand and sprinted out of the room.

I ran down the hallway. At the end of it was an open door. Dozens of leshii funneled out of it. My friends held the line, doing their best to stop the leshii advance. Jastillian, Prastian, and Behast met the creatures with their melee attacks. From behind those three, Demay shot his arrows, piercing any leshii that crawled on the ceiling or got too close to the others.

They fought well, but my friends couldn’t hold them off forever. Behast was injured and they had already been fighting for quite some time against an overwhelming force. Their movements slowed, and instead of giving inches of ground, they started to give chunks.

I conjured fire and wind magic. My body crackled with energy until an aura of fire surrounded me and the torches in the tunnel blazed hotter. A shield of air encompassed me, my hair and robes flapping as if I were in a storm.

“Everyone down!”

My friends dropped to the ground just as I released a torrent of wind and fire from my free hand. It funneled down the tunnel, burning and slashing at the leshii. They screeched in chorus as the skin peeled from their bodies. The sharp wind snapped at them like a wild animal, cutting and slashing.

I willed the spell to keep the burning wind from harming my friends. Yet it brushed against them, singeing their clothes. The fire pursued the leshii, heading through the open doorway and blazing deeper into the mountain.

I cut the fire off, gasping for air and feeling a trickle of blood drip down my nose. I wiped it away, along with the droplets of sweat hanging from my forehead. It was hard to create a spell that powerful and focus it to not burn the entire tunnel.

My friends rose. Demay brushed the soot from his tunic. Prastian soaked up the sweat from his forehead with his arm.

“Excellent job, lad,” Jastillian said, smothering the small fire in his beard. “We weren’t sure how long we could hold those blasted creatures.”

Demay laid his hand on the now scorched, blackened wall and yelped. He blew on his hand and shook it. “That fire was a bit close.”

“It’s not over,” Behast said. He closed his eyes and his ears twitched. “There are more coming.”

We ran to the open doorway and peered down. The main stairwell split into other passageways. The caverns and tunnels were like the rest of the White Mountain I was used to, but far bigger. The cuts of the stone were smooth, but looked like they hadn’t been maintained in centuries. A branching passageway’s entrance had collapsed, the pile of rocks blocking it off. There must have been an entire city within the mountain, spreading to gods know where. The dwarves must have built it before they turned into leshii. I had lived here for a few years, thinking that I was in no danger and that the White Mountain was a comfy home. It was far more than that.

The sounds of the leshii grew, flickers of shadows creeping out from those passageways. More shades joined until their piercing sound of shrieks thundered closer to us.

Prastian grabbed a torch and tossed it down. The torch tumbled against the steps until it finally hit the bottom. The shadows merged together, moving and swirling like a basket full of snakes. There must have been hundreds of them. The leshii hissed and shrieked at the light. After peering up at us, they charged.