Wilde's Army (19 page)

Magic stirs through the air, rippling through the smoke as golden light lifts into the sky. I inhale a deep breath. My lungs no longer burn, and my eyes no longer fill with tears.

“Will it hold, sir?” Ogilvie asks, reaching out to touch the protective layer as it swirls around everyone.

“It will hold as long as Katriona remains strong. She has already used more magic over the last two days than she should have, but if we assist her,” Arland pauses then smiles at me, “we should be able to get far away from here.”

I’m happy the magic is responding, but am well aware the dangers we will face if it fails. “Everyone needs to stay connected. We should hold hands and move single file. Arland, I am not sure if you and I should stay at the back or in the front or where—”

He rubs his thumbs over my fingers, soothing away my indecisiveness. “Katriona and I will lead the way. Everyone take the hand of the person next to you. Do not let go. Repeat the spell while we move; doing so should aid Katriona’s efforts greatly.”

Each soldier grabs hands with the person in front of them, increasing the power of the magic, and adding an unexpected weight to my shoulders no person should have to endure. Thoughts not belonging to me flood my mind, inundating my brain with chatter I cannot understand. Shaking my head, I block out the thoughts of the soldiers, their concerns and fears, and focus on what motivates me: love.

Flanna holds my right hand. Cadman takes Arland’s left then leads us forward—I’m sure as a way of protection. Cadman’s loyalty to Arland runs deep. Flames spread from the four of us to the others in a domino effect. This scene is so familiar, yet so unsettling—I pray it doesn’t end as badly as the last time when Brad was killed.

“Is everyone ready?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at a line of powerful Draíochtans.

Not a single protest comes from behind me.

“Let’s go, then.”

We start forward, through the original barrier, outside the protection created by regular magic. Nothing jumps out or shows sign of an attack, and I don’t waste time looking. Instead, I repeat the words Arland taught me. “Cheilt an maireachtáil leis an dúlra.”

Over and over I whisper the unfamiliar language and watch as more sprites join in the balloon of golden beings encircling us.

Arland, Flanna, Cadman, and everyone else recite the spell, glancing in all directions. Apprehension flows through our connection. I sense the overall unease of the soldiers who’ve just learned of my powers, sense the disbelief they have of their bodies covered in flames. Something rifles through me from their responses, satisfaction maybe, making me feel a lot more confident everyone will make it to Willow Falls … to safety.

The forest remains still except for our movements, and we continue on without disturbance. To our right the river flows at a rapid pace. Water rushing over rocks creates a peaceful soundtrack for our long hike. Twigs snap under our feet. Tree canopies thicken over our heads. The fire is long behind us, the smoke faint.

No one speaks, but from the shared connection, I know the silence is out of fear. I should be focused on getting these people to safety, but all
I
can think of are daemons feeding on the horses. I’m not sure if Dughbal has any interest in them, but Mirain is no normal animal. She’s a gift from Griandor; she must have powers Dughbal desires.

“What is bothering you, Katriona?” Arland asks, stepping over the trunk of a fallen pine.

I trip over a branch from the same tree and yelp, but keep hold of Arland’s and Flanna’s hand.

“Having trouble with your feet,
Katriona
?” she asks, spitting my name at me with a hurtful amount of sarcasm.

I look into her scowling blue eyes. Is Flanna mad at me about Lann? Does she think Mom should’ve helped him rather than me? Part of me thinks she should have helped him. I have an ability to conjure magic and heal myself. He didn’t. Or maybe Flanna’s upset because I’m going to pretend to be with Perth? No matter how innocent he is, she blames him for this debacle we’re in. Whatever her problem, she doesn’t seem to have patience for the lies.

Arland laughs. “Did I frighten you?”

I look away from Flanna’s angry face and soak in Arland’s voice, his laughter, his warm touch on my hand—things that calm and soothe me. I already know how much I’m going to miss him. “Yes. I was lost in thought and … .”

“You are worried for Mirain?”

“Amongst other things,” I say. How did he know? “Why?”

“Your thoughts are loud.”

My hands tense. “What?”

“Your thoughts seem to fill my head when the magic is in use and we are connected; it began during our last battle with the daemons. Most are scattered, or I am only picking up bits and pieces, but I can almost feel you in my brain.”

“I could hear all of your thoughts during that battle, but I thought only I could—”

“Why did you not say anything?” he demands.

I shrug. “Because I don’t want to hear everyone’s thoughts.”

Arland cocks his head to the side. “But it is such an amazing gift.”

“Right now, I know almost everyone behind us has lost faith this is going to work. They are all afraid they will be picked off by a daemon first. Flanna can’t believe we’re talking at all. Cadman wishes we’d shut-up before Darkness finds us. My mom, I can’t hear anything she’s thinking. Perth, well he finds humor in my outburst toward you.” Turning, I scowl over my shoulder. I cannot see Perth, but I’d love for him to get a good look at my face.

Arland leans down to my ear. “I am not upset with you; I am just at a loss how you could keep quiet about something like this. We share thoughts. Do you not find it amazing?”

His question startles me more than when he spoke. There are so many things I’ve found amazing here in Encardia but have never had time to consider—I’m surprised this comes as a shock to him. Magic, magic
I’m
creating, protects us. This alone amazes me, but on top of that, someone I’ve dreamed of for over six years is holding my hand, swears his life to protect me, and is willing to risk that life to marry me. My sense of purpose is stronger than I’ve ever experienced, and even in the darkest of times, I’m happy.

He squeezes my fingers. “Your thoughts are clear to me now, too. I forget how many new experiences you have had here, Katriona, but being connected to your thoughts while invoking the magic is something I never dreamed possible. The thought of losing this connection when magic is not in use and when we are no longer near one another at Willow Falls saddens me.”

His sadness evaporates the free space in my mind, nearly crippling my ability to walk another step toward our destination.

Arland laughs again. “I rather enjoy this connection. Hearing how you feel straight from your thoughts is almost more endearing than hearing words from your mouth.”

While I have nothing to hide from him, I’m not sure
I
like Arland being able to hear my thoughts.

“Why not?” The smile on his face tells me he’s the
only
one enjoying this. “You do not have to share—”

“Is there not a spell or something the two of you should be reciting? Does everyone else have to do it for you while you talk about your
love lives
?” Flanna says soaked with her usual level of sarcasm, except this time, I sense the pain in her words … in her thoughts. Every fiber of her being cries out for Lann, to be held, to be loved.

“
Can you hear me
?” The question passes through my mind in a perfect match of Arland’s deep, resonating voice.

“
I can
,” I think.

He squeezes my fingers between his. “
She will overcome her grief Kate She just needs time
”

“
And you? Are you grieving
?” I focus on the spell and repeat the words aloud, adding more magic to our protective layer.

“
Do you believe I should let my friend’s death affect me the way it has Flanna? We are Leaders for a reason; if we cannot be strong, we do not need to be in these positions
.”

“
But, Arland, we are only human—”

“
No, we are not merely human. We are Draíochtans—and Flanna has Leader in her blood. She will overcome this
.”

His dismissal of her grief makes me want to scream. In almost every dream I had of him, he died. In all those dreams, I reacted. Most I threw myself over his dead body, others
my
body tore itself apart, and some I allowed daemons to kill me. If Flanna loved Lann the way she described, or anywhere near the way I do Arland, her grief must be overwhelming every part of her heart.

“
I am not dismissing her grief. If Leaders fall apart, what will keep the others from doing the same
?” Uncertainty rolls from Arland and into our connected hands, into my thoughts,
my
heart.
“And, Kate, if I am killed, I want you to be stronger than what you saw in your visions. You must go on living
.”

He’s always told me he won’t die. He’s always been so certain when saying so. Does he not know? Is he not aware of his future? What if his father hasn’t told him, or worse, what if he has and Arland has been lying to me, hoping the future could change?

“
I have not lied to you. Please, do not fear my death, but do not think it cannot happen. It would be foolish
.”

“Cheilt an maireachtáil leis an dúlra,” I say, closing my mind to thoughts, to emotions, to memories of Arland dying. I concentrate every ounce of strength I have into the words, into the meaning of them. The negativity I feel will not cause me to fail these people—I will not fail Arland. He will survive …
we
will survive.

Blue flames shoot from my center, arcing and creating an additional barrier around the soldiers. Their gasps do little to distract me from my purpose, but their sudden excitement that I am the one who can end this war is exhilarating.

Arland turns his face away from me, returning his attention to the path before us—or lack thereof. “Cheilt an maireachtáil leis an dúlra.”

“Cheilt an maireachtáil leis an dúlra,” I say again.

The more often I repeat the line, the more often everyone else does. I do not falter; there is no weakness, no exhaustion—just drive. The trail remains narrow and full of obstacles. Boulders and fallen trees, mud and large pools of water—these things slow us down, but we push forward for hours.

The light from our bodies reveals death all over the forest. Decaying small gray rabbits lie on the ground. Dry and brittle plants crunch under our shoes.

The smell of rot puts the smoke to shame.

My gift, the open patch of sky, from Griandor is already missed by everyone. When the soldiers are not watching out for daemons or obstacles standing in our way, they look up, look for a present or a sign, but we have moved well past the stars and well past the bright blue piece of heaven. We have a long way to go before we’ll see it again, of that I’m sure.

Seven hours we’ve trudged through the dense, dead forest. Our pace has slowed to a near halt. The children drag their feet. Everyone’s backs are hunched. Grunts and moans come from many soldiers behind us, but their thoughts are so tired and focused on food and water—even my body is racked with cramps—I cannot possibly make out who the complaints originate from.

“
Do you need to stop
?” Arland sends the question to my head, but his words carry little doubt.

“
Even if I didn’t, they need to
.” I tip my head back toward the others.

“
Would you like to tell them we are going to stop, or shall I
?”

“
You can
.”

Arland tugs on Cadman’s arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Hold up for a moment while I speak with the others. We need to rest, but I need you to continue reciting the spell.”

Cadman moves his lips, but no sound makes it to my ears.

“May I have your attention?” The authority in Arland’s stature, in his straight back, alert eyes, and strong face, commands their attention well before his voice does—people always watch him.

“We are going to stop for the night. Many of you are hungry, tired, weak”—he glances at Flanna—”grieving. We need to move to slightly higher ground, away from the river. Are there any willing to volunteer to set traps and hunt for food while the rest of us move uphill?”

“I will, sir,” Gavin says from the back of the line.

“Snares are a specialty of mine; I will also help.” Ogilvie smiles. My blue flames reflect in his teeth, reminding me of someone standing under a black light.

Arland raises his eyebrow then shakes his head.

I forgot he can hear my thoughts; he’s never heard of the lamps that make everything look bright blue, not black.

“Should we drop from the line, sir?” Ogilvie asks, looking at me.

Turning my attention to Arland, I see the question in his eyes before he speaks.

“Katriona?”

My energy wanes. While maintaining my grip on Flanna, I bring the back of my hand to my mouth just as a yawn escapes me. “I cannot protect them if they are not within the circle of sprites around us, and if they break the line, it needs to be reconnected.”
I think
.

“Make sure the line is closed as soon as they step away,” Arland says.

Ogilvie and Gavin nod, and I hold my breath as they break the line. Tristan reaches for the hand of the old Healer, Keagan. The burden of the connection on my shoulders does not lessen. The circle around us does not break.

We are safe
.

“Are you sure?” Arland asks.

“Yes.”

He looks ahead and nudges Cadman to move forward. “Follow closely. If anyone has difficulties making it up the hill, please do not break the line. Ask, and we will stop. Do you all understand?”

Without giving anyone time to say otherwise, we start up the hill, up the slippery slope of decayed leaves and dry forest floor. My thighs burn. My calves scream at me to stop. Holding hands makes keeping my balance difficult, and many times Arland and Flanna are my only support when I lose my footing.

“We are almost there,” he says.