14. Irina

Chapter 14

Irina

I hovered above the Eye and watched the Triad fret over the sagging form of their resident Mage. Atikus had defeated my efforts to excise his soul just as Danai had. I wasn’t used to others having more power or strength.

In my first life, I was one of only eleven humans alive with a connection to magic. It wasn’t until the others had turned against me that I had accepted my birthright as a Mage and turned my eye toward conquest.

I wasn’t used to having my magic rebuffed, not by creatures like Atikus Dani and his pathetic two-power Gift. What was happening to me, to the world, that I would struggle with such a simple task?

Despite my failure, the battle for Atikus’s spirit had not exhausted me. I was fairly certain my ethereal form could not feel exhaustion or pain, yet something felt different. It felt as if the shimmering form of my likeness now struggled to hold itself together.

Had the fight weakened me?

I thought back to my battle with Danai and realized that failure, too, had affected my spirit’s strength.

Had it diminished me enough for Atikus to have the upper hand in our struggle?

There was so much about life beyond living I did not yet understand. I had never cared about what happened in death—until I actually died.

So, what do I know?

A spirit could be contained. The Spell of Return that allowed me to be restored had contained me in that appalling black monolith.

When I was alive, Danai had taught me about the power to interact with spirits and the need to draw a summoning circle lest they be set free to wreak havoc. And here I was, the perfect example of that havoc-wreaking spirit, set free by the breaking of the circle in the Mages’ tower.

Even if weakened, I am free.

But . . . could a free spirit expire? Could one be weakened beyond the point of its ability to interact with the living world?

A spike of terror shot through me. What would I become if that happened? Would I be consigned to wander a land and watch a people I could never touch? Would I become some ghostly voyeur who could never again cross the threshold of life? That scared me more than anything.

I needed a host more than I had thought. Within the body of Isabel, I was able to rejuvenate my strength, become brighter and sharper, more in focus. My spirit never diminished or lost coherence. I was alive . . . as alive as death would allow.

Where could I learn even more?

When I inhabited Atikus, I had touched every part of him, including his memories. Surely, there was something in that vast mental library to help me understand myself better.

I focused on the point within my spirit that had brushed against the Mage’s mind and was rewarded with a replicate of his every understanding. At first, I saw only a smattering of recollections; but the more I delved, the harder I focused, I realized all of the Mage’s memories had transferred to me.

I had not simply inhabited his mind. I had stolen the greater part of its value.

Excitement thrummed through me as I devoured the ancient man’s knowledge. Every Gift imaginable—some I never imagined—was cataloged neatly, enumerated and defined, allowing my already immense understand of magic to deepen and grow. Gifts of Healing and Warfare, Farming and Horticulture, Travel and . . . every other Gift known to exist.

It was overwhelming and exhilarating.

So much knowledge.

And then I saw it.

If I could still draw breath, I would have drunk more deeply of life’s kiss than any ever had.

There, lodged in the memories of the man, was an image of the most beautiful place I had ever seen. At first, his memory was of a small village on an island, an idyllic setting that appeared to be little more than the fond memory of a random stop in his travels, but there was something important about this place.

I dove deeper, and memory became a vision.

I climbed a mountain.

The path at my feet flared with an odd magical glow as I took each step. I felt the island’s ever-present breeze.

I passed a simple shack, somehow knowing it was unimportant and would not impede my journey, yet understanding that it served some vital purpose. It had . . . a presence.

The mouth of a cavern gaped before me. The dim light cast by torches bearing ever-present magical flame greeted me as I stepped inside. Rough-hewn rock turned smooth and translucent, vibrant with color and light.

The tunnel opened into a massive cavern, and I froze, awestruck.

If my eyes were dazzled by the colors and light of the walkway, my senses were now overwhelmed by the tapestry of shimmering power before me. I looked down and saw a flow—no, a current—in perpetual motion beneath a glasslike surface. As I strode forward, mist swelled up from that river and reached toward my feet, as if yearning for my embrace.

Crystals encasing the walls and ceiling glowed and twinkled with a dizzying kaleidoscope of hues.

As stunning as the cavern was to my eyes, it was the intense sensation of power emanating from across the room that consumed my heart and soul.

I ascended the steps and stilled.

The mist was gentle, even playful before.

Now it raged out of the opening and engulfed me.

The hairs on my arms and neck tingled, and I arched my head backward and laughed at the ecstasy of magic’s touch.

Thirsty for more, I stretched out my hand.

The mist swirled between my fingers and parted as I neared its source below. My skin breached the surface of the river, and swells of magic tore into me. It felt like trying to hold a raging beast. Only when I relaxed and allowed the power to flow through me did its anger and fear abate.

In that moment, I knew true power.

This was nothing like the pathetic imitation of mortal power I had sought a millennium before. It was nothing like my quest for vengeance.

It was the power to destroy and the power to create.

It was the will of the gods.

It could make one a god—or goddess.

I grinned at that.

Then another memory slammed into me from the Mage’s mind.

A woman with rich, dark skin and deep brown eyes stared up through scrying water. My vision was as clear as if she stood before me. The woman’s smile was warm, her eyes sincere. Behind her, crystalline walls shimmered, though only a portion of the cavern’s majesty was in view.

The woman’s intoxicating voice resounded throughout the chamber. “. . . must help me. Atikus, you and Velius are the only ones alive with knowledge of the Well’s location—and of the Spell of Sundering now guiding its flow. For the safety of magic itself, no other can know of this place. The people of Rea Utu have stood vigil for thousands of years and remain to guard our secret, yet even they do not fully understand what it is the Keeper keeps. Only you and Velius.”

In that moment, I knew this was where I had lost my power.

Where they’d stolen it.

This was where my supposed brothers and sisters had ripped true magic from my grasp and given Gifts to the mundane people across the land.

And this was where I would seize my power once again.