Wilde's Fire (Darkness Falls #1) (19 page)

He laughs as the daemons surround me and Arland.

Mirain and Bowen both lay, slain, on the bloodstained earth next to us. We know our own time is up. Arland stops fighting and lowers his sword.

He picks me up at the waist. “I love you.”

We kiss goodbye, but in this goodbye, there is no doubt I’m in love with him.

Anger flashes in Brad’s eyes. He lunges forward, holding a black, iron sword, and strikes Arland through the heart. Brad laughs as my protector falls to the ground.

“No,” I scream, throwing myself over Arland. “How could you? You were my friend. I trusted you!”

I don’t attempt to fight off the attacking daemons; I sit and wait for them to kill me, so I can join Arland. There is no pain in this death, only peace, knowing I am going to die with the one I love the most.

A coscartha rushes forward, then thrusts its claw through my chest.

From over their heads, my spirit watches the daemons and Brad dance around my lifeless body, but it fights back. As they begin ripping me limb from limb, a bright yellow light escapes from my insides, blasting the daemons and Brad into nothing, and lighting the world.

“No,” I scream, startling all the horses, except Mirain.

She reaches her head through the gate to rub her cold nose on my neck.

Arland takes my hand and helps me to my feet, concern written all over his face. “What happened?”

“A v-vision of us b-both dying.” Tears fill my eyes; the muscles in my throat constrict. “T-this time it was B-Brad who killed you, and daemons killed me. When I died, l-light filled the world.”

He kneels until we’re eye level, holding me with his gaze. “Have you had waking dreams before?”

“Y-yes. The first time was a couple days before we arrived here.”

He wraps his powerful arms around me, trying to make me feel better, but the tears continue to flow. “We are not going to die.”

Returning his embrace, I rest my head against his chest. For a few minutes, we stay encased in each other’s arms, and he calms me with “shh’s.” The warmth of Arland, his kind whispered words, his familiar hold—they almost make me feel as though we
are
safe.

I cannot handle these erratic visions anymore. Before, they were just realistic nightmares about someone I didn’t know, but now that Arland is alive, warm, and standing here with me, they’ve turned unbearable. The addition of Brad makes them even more painful.

I have to get him home.

“Would you like to go back inside, while I finish up the stalls?” Arland asks, taking a step back, rubbing the side of my arms.

I wipe the tears with my shirtsleeve. “No, I’ll be okay. I’d like to spend some time getting to know Mirain.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he says, and he leaves me alone.

The sounds of Arland’s shovel hitting the earth echo through the stables. I grab the brush and hold it out to Mirain. She doesn’t move away from me, or show any fear, so I open the gate and walk right in. Although she’s already a model of perfection, I run the brush through her coat, mane, then tail.

“Will you let me sit on you, Mirain?” I ask when I’m finished, keeping my voice tender and bracing myself on a wallboard of her stall.

Mirain moves closer to me—as though understanding my intentions—and allows me to climb onto her back. I take the ends of her mane in my hands, and explain when I ride her, that I’ll hold her here. Her head bobs.

I laugh.

My legs drape down Mirain’s sides. We’re a perfect fit. I praise her, rubbing from her neck down to her haunches, then I practice walking her. She has not shown uncertainty with anything I’ve requested her to do.

“You are such a good girl.”

Arland stands outside her stall, his eyes wide. “It is as though she was made for you alone. Horses really seem to trust you. I have a feeling if I tried that, she would have had me flat on my back by now.”

I grab one of her ears and rub it. “You wouldn’t hurt anyone, would you, girl?”

Mirain takes two steps forward then nudges Arland in the shoulder with her nose. Now I know she comprehends my words. I slide from her back, then Arland and I both curry her.

I figure while we’re standing here alone, it’s now or never for my questions. I don’t know how I’ve been able to hold back on them for as long as I have. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Arland says, looking from Mirain’s face to mine.

“If we are not
completely
human … what are we?”

“I was waiting for you to ask that question last night.” He laughs. “We are human. As you can see, we do not look any different from the people of the world you were raised in. However, we are capable of using much more of our brain’s abilities than the people you know.”

My mouth hangs open.

“Allow me to finish.” Arland puts up his hand. “Long ago, our worlds were open to each other. Our kind would frequently pass through the portal to your mad world. We learned a great deal from those humans, although we could not teach them anything in return. Our magical powers were invisible to them; their minds would interpret our actions as something daemonic. They accused us of great misdeeds, usually caused by their own kind. Mobs of men and woman began searching us out, and also killing anyone who might have associated with us. They burned innocent people at stakes, hanged them from nooses; or if we were not caught, we were forced into hiding. After watching people killed, merely because of our presence, our Leaders decided to close the portals forever.”

“So … we are witches?” I ask with caution.

“No. Not witches, although the witches of that world may be descendants of our kind. Long ago, Kate, the human world called us by another name, but one we did not give ourselves: Álfar.” Arland says the word as if it’s offensive.

“What does that mean?” I hope not to sound ignorant, but I don’t remember learning about anything called
Álfar
in history.

Arland grits his teeth. “Elf.”

Imagining Santa and The North Pole, I laugh. “No way. Elves have pointed ears and are short people who make presents at Christmas time,” I tease, but I can tell by Arland’s scowl, he does
not
find this funny.

“Many people died because of narrow-minded humans. They could not see the magic and confused the willingness of our people to help them with a daemonic plaguing.”

I think about the Salem Witch trials and realize just how cruel people can be when they’re scared.

“So I’m an elf?” It’s really hard to keep myself from laughing right now.

He shakes his head. “No. You are a Draíochta. You will find no one here calls themselves an Álfar; it refers to a tragic time in our history, and it is not a name we had given to ourselves.”

The term
Elf
must be extremely offensive, if Arland is not even willing to say it in English.

“If the Leaders closed the portals forever, does that mean my dad broke the law?”

Arland’s face softens, and he returns to rubbing Mirain, watching me from the corner of his eyes. “Multiple laws. They also banned those who were familiar with the old magic—the force used to operate the portals—from conjuring it to go to
any
other world.”

“What would have happened if he’d been caught?” I ask, picturing my mom and dad sneaking off into the night, an infant bundled under their arms.

“Laws of that magnitude have rarely been broken in Encardia. I am positive an example would have been made out of your father, because of his status.”

“What was his status?”

“He was a Leader of Encardia. A powerful one. Many people loved your father; a few hated him. Those who envied him would have seen him severely punished for breaking
any
law.”

“And my mom? Would an example have been made of her?”

He nods. “She was also a Leader.”

“If we get to her, should she stay away from here?”

“No, not now. I cannot see her being punished for protecting hope. If your parents had not done what they were told, we would be doomed.”

An image of my mother in shackles, bound to some dirt wall in the ground, fills my head. I shake the thought. “If I’m magical, then why don’t I know any magic?”

Arland smiles. “The magic is in you somewhere. We just need to help you figure out how to use it.”

“So far I’ve been unable to replicate regular magic. How am I supposed to save everyone with the forbidden magic no one knows how to use?”

“I do not know,” he says, with an air of exasperation.

“And Darkness? Where did it come from?” I’m disappointed he doesn’t know more about me.

“For many years after the portals were closed, everything appeared peaceful. As time wore on, and those who knew the old magic died, it began to sleep, too. Old magic upheld barriers of protection that kept us safe from the evil of other worlds—only those with pure hearts could pass through portals. When magic slept, the barriers came down, allowing Darkness to enter.”

Mirain snorts.

I pat her shoulder. “How many other worlds are there?”

“There were nine, including The Heavens.”

“
Were
?”

“One disappeared long ago. A few Draíochtans passed through the portal to Elysia, but found themselves floating in a black abyss. Everything was gone. They were lucky to return.”

“Do you think Darkness attacked there?”

“We are unsure of what happened.”

“Who commands Darkness?”

“We do not know that, either. No one has come forth as a leader. We only fight off the daemons when they attack, or when a scout has found a hiding place,” he says, sounding as frustrated as I am.

“Or when stragglers get too close?”

Arland nods.

“So you don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to save everyone from?” My voice is filled with irritation.

“No.” He narrows his eyes; Arland’s probably worried I’m so frustrated I’ll storm off.

“Who is Perth?” I ask, trying to get off the subject of me.

Arland’s eyelids constrict into slits; his jaw hardens. “Tomorrow, I will tell you about Perth. We should head back downstairs. If we are going to the clearing in the morning, we need rest.”

His sudden mood change has me wishing I never asked. “Okay.”

Taking deep breaths, I calm myself. I don’t want to press Arland with questions now, not on the eve of riding out to potentially traveling home for help. Arland and Lann have both shared the same reaction to Perth. I’m afraid the tension runs so deep, if I keep asking about him, I will upset Arland.

He holds out his arm for me; I happily hook mine through his.

“I have to go now, Mirain, I’ll be back soon.”

She whinnies when we’re out of her sight.

“The poor girl is in love with you already,” Arland says, lightening the mood.

“She’s very sweet.” I try to smile, but the tense muscles in my face probably make it look more like a grimace.

rland and I leave the stables and join the dinner crowd. Having both missed lunch today, we don’t let food remain on our plates long. When we’re ready for second helpings, Marcus and Anna rush over to our table, then ask to sit.

“Of course.” I’m glad the children don’t look at me the way some of the adults do.

Arland takes our plates to be refilled, while the children gush over the details of today’s training session. They explain how some of their friends, who missed it, were jealous each of them was able to fight with me.