Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) (16 page)

“How long did it take for everyone’s eyes to adjust?” I ask, ready to abandon the failing light.

“Mine took a month, but I refused to use artificial light after the sun was taken from us. Other people’s eyes took longer. The sooner you accept it, the easier it is to overcome,” he says, glancing at the lantern.

I lift the lantern to my face, open the small glass window in the wooden frame, then blow out the candle.

“Are you sure you want to do that? Your eyes will not adjust that fast.”

“The sooner I accept it, the easier it is to overcome, right?”

He nods.

“I’m accepting it, then … so where are we going?”

Arland points to his left and leads us off the worn footpath between the base and the training facility.

We enter an area overrun with thick underbrush, snapping and echoing around us. I check over my shoulder, but cannot see more than a couple feet around me.

He puts his finger over his lips and has me walk behind him. If Arland wants us to be quiet, there’s something out here that can hear us. My stomach twists and knots around; my mouth waters. I’m sure the stew I had for dinner is going to come back up.

“We are here,” he says.

“Where?”

“We have been monitoring a growing population of daemons in the area, waiting for the right moment to attack.” Arland stops and sits on the ground, pulling a bow and arrows from a quiver strapped to his back.

“Now is not the right moment, is it?” I ask, ready to retreat.

“No. We are here to kill daemons that break off from the rest of the group or get anywhere near us.”

“You brought me out here to watch you kill stragglers?” I plop onto the soggy ground next to him.

“More or less,” he says, shrugging. “And to show you the differences between the daemons—assuming you can see.”

“I can’t see much of anything.”

“I believe I have something that will help with your vision.” He closes his fingers into a fist and reopens them, revealing a tiny blue flame in the palm of his hand.

“Arland … .” I grab his hand and watch the flame dance. I reach out to touch it—like a child swiping her finger over a candle—laughing as the soft heat caresses me. “How did you do this?”

He gently pulls free, then transplants the fire to the tip of an arrow. “Squeeze your hand into a fist and whisper,
Solas
.”

“Like it’s that easy,” I say, with as much sarcasm as I can.

Arland creates another flame. “When you have been practicing as long as I have, it
is
that easy. Try thinking of what you want to happen.”

I want Brad to be healed. I want to see my family.

Crossing my legs over each other, I hold up my left palm. “Is this old magic?”

“No, old magic is more powerful than this.”

“What does it do?”

“Stories have been passed down through generations of how everyone could command fire, and fire would listen. But we know little. It has been so long since it has been practiced.”

Arland notches his arrow and pulls back. “Go ahead, try it while I take care of this stray daemon.”

My muscles tense. I desert the plan to create fire and grip Arland’s thigh. He looks down at my misplaced hand and grins.

“I am sorry,” I say, moving it.

“Do not be sorry,” Arland says, deep and seductive.

Pulling the arrow, he squints his eye, then lets go. The burning wood shoots through the air, creating a trail of blue in its path. Spinning and whistling, the weapon suddenly stops and ignites something into flames. Faint grunting sounds make their way back to us. Whatever he hit appears to be a hundred feet below. We’re sitting on a ledge high above the daemons, and it’s so dark, I didn’t even realize.

“Why didn’t you tell me we were so far away from them?”

“Did you believe I would put you in harm’s way?” he asks, imprisoning me with his smile.

“I-I … I guess I did—you did tell me to bring my sword.” Afraid to meet his eyes, I trace lines in my palm with my fingertip. “So what was that you hit?”

“A tairb. They are fast, smart daemons.”

“Won’t the others realize one has been killed and look for—?”

Arland creates another flame, then lets an arrow fly through the air. “From the information we have gathered, they do only what they are told.”

“And the coscarthas?”

“They
all
do what they are told.”

“And whoever leads the daemons doesn’t care that you kill them?”

He looks down at me, all playfulness wiped from his face. “I am sure whoever leads them does not
care
about anything.”

“Why don’t you kill all of them right now?”

“My men have watched and followed these daemons for weeks, trying to discover where their orders come from. If we kill them all, our chances of obtaining information will diminish. We kill only the ones who get too close to our perimeter.”

He repeats his assault on the creatures, one right after the other. Every now and then, blue streaks the sky from other areas, aiding the effort to kill the daemons below. Watching how easy it is for Arland to end their lives, and how the beasts don’t retaliate, makes me feel somewhat safer.

“I am going to miss the next one on purpose. Pay close attention.”

Arland released three consecutive arrows, then points to the ground, where a small deer grazes.

“I think you
really
missed.” I laugh.

“No, that is a Shifter,” he says, his tone serious.

“A what?”

“Shifters were the worst kind of daemons, until we discovered them. They would turn into cattle or chickens, wait until we brought them into our stables, then shift into their real forms and kill everyone.” He grits his teeth. “But we are aware of them now. Any stray animal causes a great deal of concern.”

“Do they ever turn into anything other than animals?”

He shakes his head.

“Are there other types down there?”

“There are other daemons, but none visible tonight. Would you like to try that spell now?”

No
, but I promised I would try to discover what makes me Light, and I’m doing this for my friend. Closing my eyes, I focus on Brad, home, and magic, then make a fist. “Solas,” I whisper.

Nothing happens.

“Try again,” Arland says, his voice low, deflated.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know magic. I don’t know spells, and I certainly don’t know how to kill anything.” My hands tremble. My face burns. The Seers got the prophecy wrong. I am not the Light. I’m not even sure I’m from this world. Looking around, I try to remember how we got here, so I can run back.

Arland’s smile fades. Standing, he looks me over, then glances toward the daemons below.

“We should return inside. There is nothing remaining out here for you to see. If my men find any hounds or serpents, they will inform me, and we can make another trip.” He offers me his hand.

“I’m a disappointment, aren’t I?” I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants and allow him to help me up.

Keeping his hold on me, Arland tugs me back the way we came. “You are not a disappointment. I can imagine many people in your position running far away from this, but here you are. You are doing incredibly well. Have faith in yourself; discovering magic may take time.”

“Time Brad doesn’t have—time this
world
doesn’t have.”

“There will be time,” he says, leading me away from the ledge. “There must be time.”

On our way back to base, Arland remains quiet. We travel through the underbrush, twigs breaking under our feet. He turns his head turns toward every sound and movement in the forest, but Arland never tenses up the way I do.

Reaching the door in the ground, he bends to open it. I enter first, walking halfway down the stairwell. Sliding the bar and locks, he follows me, then heads down the corridor toward communications.

“I will meet you in your room.”

I nod. Making my way through the kitchen and dining area, my spirit feels empty. How am I supposed to learn old magic, when no one knows how to use it? How can I help this world, when I cannot create a simple spark in my hand? How will I save Brad? See Mom? Brit?

Pushing through the door, I remove the useless sword from my holster, then lean it back against the wall. I change into my nightgown, then crawl into bed.

Arland enters the room, breathing heavily. Picking up the chair, he returns it to its spot along the wall, then stands beside me.

“If I am next to you, maybe the dreams will not appear as real,” Arland says, undressing. He lifts the covers on the bed, then lies on the spot next to me.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I ask, my heart racing, chest tight.

He drapes his arm over me, providing extra comfort.

“I would not offer if I were not okay with this.” Arland was hesitant earlier, but somewhere between seeing my reaction to the dream and taking me out to kill the daemons, he must have found resolve.

The thought crosses my mind about how this would look to Brad, if he woke up and found me in here with another man, but it’s not like we’re dating. Unfortunately, I think Arland is joining me only because he feels bad about the dreams I’ve had of him dying. But already, with my sworn protector next to me, the isolation is going away.

We face each other, bodies pressed together. I close my eyes and force myself to drift back to sleep—before he changes his mind.

he morning comes. I’m refreshed for the first time in years. Arland’s arms are wrapped around me. I snuggle into him closer, breathing in the warmth of his body. I enjoy his touch; it’s familiar and welcome.

“You are awake,” he says, voice smooth and confident. Arland doesn’t speak with even a hint of the nervousness I’m experiencing.

“Barely,” I tease.

“No more dreams?”

“None at all. Did you speak to your dad about my dreams?” Sudden curiosity about what they mean hits me like a ton of bricks. I cannot believe the question didn’t occur to me when we were talking last night.

Dreams have been such a major part of my life for so long I cannot think of the last time I slept without having a single glimpse of one. Well, other than the two days I was drugged, but those don’t count. Last night started out rough, but I wonder if having Arland next to me worked like he believed it would, or if the dreams decided to stop for the night. Whatever the case, I’m glad to have gotten some decent rest.

“He does not have an answer. He said your mother should know. All the more reason for us to get to her.” Arland brings my hope of knowledge crashing right back down. His arms unclasp the hold he has on me, leaving me in the bed by myself, so he can dress. He slides his long muscular legs into his pants—every bit of him is perfection.

“You should get dressed, too. We have a full day of training and stable duty,” he says, without looking at me.

I scramble out of bed, tripping over my boots and almost falling on my face.

“Are you okay?” Arland asks, sliding his hand around my arm and helping me up.

Nodding, I grab my clothes, then jump on one leg while trying to shove the other in pants. “Stable duty? How come you didn’t tell me last night?”

Arland gives a hearty laugh. “I came up with the idea this morning. You know, you might be the only person here who finds the stables exciting. You are not afraid of hard work, are you?” A tinge of doubt peppers his question.