Chapter Nine IV

Chapter Nine IV

Elloren Guryev

Noilaan

Together, my Dryad’khin and I fan out through the city and the adjacent shielded lands, a group of us assembling in Voloi’s

war-battered Voling Plaza, where an expansive Wisteria Forest and gardens once stood, the Forest’s huge, central Wisteria

tree almost completely grayed. But it’s still standing, a trace of prismatic fall foliage color shining in the centers of

scattered leaves.

I can sense the Wisteria’s cry of relief, feel its embracing energy as we touch down beside it and join our Dryad’khin in

pressing our III-marked palms into the soil.

Saplings rise all around, our joint magic surging with each newly established grove.

Throughout the day and into the night, we manifest trees and channel their energy into the Vo River’s shielding, keeping the

Shadow storms at bay while my allies set up an extensive field hospital on the plaza’s rough ground, Dryad’khin of every background

streaming in to help.

Cabinets, storerooms, and what remains of cropland are gleaned to secure ingredients to fabricate Norfure tincture and locate

food to share with the refugees streaming into Voloi from the West.

The former Noi Vo Conclave has been disbanded, and a temporary new Noi Conclave formed under Sylvan’s and Vang Troi’s leadership.

And the Shadow Wand is newly encased in a stone box and kept under heavy Dryad’khin military guard, no trace of its power

detectable, its continued dormancy unnerving.

“What will happen to her?” Aislinn’s sister Liesbeth frantically presses Wrenfir as night descends. Pale and sickly, Liesbeth keeps fierce hold of her child’s hand as Erin struggles to pull in each breath. A number of my loved ones and allies are gathered with Liesbeth, Aislinn, and their sister, Auralie, beside Erin’s cot in a tent under the battered and grayed Wisteria tree, Jarod standing a discreet distance behind Aislinn.

My uncle Wrenfir cradles Erin’s back, and she wheezes, her eyes bugged out and locked on his in a silent, panicked plea for

breath as he gently murmurs to her and brings the vial of Norfure tincture he just finished concocting to her lips, coaxing

her to drink it.

Erin downs the medicine and goes frighteningly still, a shiver coursing through her. My own breath catches tight in my throat,

and the entire world seems to pause. Suddenly, the child lets out a series of rattling coughs then draws in a long, hard breath.

Shock blooms on Erin’s expression as well as Liesbeth’s, and a broad smile overtakes my uncle’s normally dour face.

Wrenfir gently lowers Erin to her pillow before turning to a frozen, wide-eyed Liesbeth and holding out another vial of Norfure

tincture to her. “She’ll sleep,” he assures Liesbeth, eyes brimming with compassion as he nods toward both Erin and the newly

medicated Mage baby who slumbers in a cradle beside her, small spots of pink returning to the baby’s cheeks, the little one’s

breathing growing less labored by the minute. “And then,” Wrenfir assures Liesbeth as she shakily accepts the vial, “she’ll

heal. And so will you.”

An emotional sound erupts from Liesbeth’s throat before she devolves into heaving sobs. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she weeps to Wrenfir again and again, teetering a bit, seeming on the verge of collapse.

Wrenfir rises and takes hold of her, gently coaxing her to take the medicine while assuring her that she’s very welcome. Liesbeth

downs the medicine, and Aislinn draws her into an embrace that she returns, murmuring through her tears, “I’m sorry, Linnie.

I’m so sorry . Can you ever forgive me, my sister?” Liesbeth turns and looks at Jarod. “Can any of you ever forgive me?”

“I can,” Jarod says, pain and compassion shining in his amber eyes.

Tears misting my gaze, I turn and look at the multitude of makeshift beds. Yvan sends an embracing line of fire through our bond, warming my every line and drawing my gaze to him where he’s working with Soleiya, Iris, and other Lasair to heal injuries and other maladies as the Norfure tincture begins to turn a portion of the Red Grippe tide. His mother glances up at me as Yvan sends a warmer rush of fire straight through me.

I smile at their tear-blurred forms, their gazes lit up, love burning bright in them.

Twilight descends, and I pause with Yvan, Wynter, and Ariel in the center of Voling Plaza, where a black opalescent statue

used to stand. The larger-than-life Icaral slaying the Black Witch has been reduced to rubble, but I catch a glimpse of a

disembodied face strikingly similar to my own lying next to the remnants of a broken Icaral wing.

“It’s time for something new there,” I say to Yvan as we survey the wreckage.

“It’s time for something new practically everywhere ,” Yvan agrees, the love blazing through our bond in full defiance of statues like the one that once stood here.

The Verdyllion tingles against my side, and I turn to Wynter, my heart kicking up into a fast, anticipatory rhythm as a vision

of the Verdyllion’s intent once more suffuses me. Breathless, I reach out and offer the Verdyllion to Wynter.

Wynter smiles as she takes it, her Wyvernfire aura rising, silver flame igniting in her eyes as her III-green aura brightens.

“Come, then,” Wynter says. “We need to gather the seven Bearers of the Verdyllion.”

Peak foliage arrives that night, and my light power surges as Yvan and I gather before the rubble of the Icaral and Black

Witch statue with my fellow Bearers and other allies with powerful light and amplification magic. Prismatic orbs that Mavrik

and Gwynnifer suspended in the air cast a rainbow of light over the gathered crowd of my family and fellow Dryad’khin.

Tension mounts in the air as Mavrik and Gwynn’s twinned power rises in a golden wave before they point their living branches

toward the destroyed statue, murmuring a spell in unison.

Bolts of prismatic light blast from their branches and collide with the rubble in an ear-splicing boom that rivals the Shadow storms above, blasting clear through to the living soil beneath, the Deathkin energy pulsing through

it staving off the Natural World’s Reckoning.

Yvan and I, along with the rest of my fellow Wand Bearers, step toward the soil.

Gripped in Wynter’s pale green hand, the Verdyllion pulses with every hue. “Are you ready, Dryad’khin?” Wynter asks, Ariel

standing protectively beside her.

We nod, peak foliage suffusing us all. Oaklyyn’s, Sylvan’s, Yulan’s, and Alder’s foliage-amplified auras are all so strong the magic tingles over my skin. Sage is practically glowing with violet power, and Mavrik and Gwynn’s gilded lines of magic have become visible, embracing us all with their twinned might. And Marina... her single lightline is surging, a portion of it channeling into the color-pulsing octopus wrapped around her shoulders, her ocean kindred bathed in a swirling, magicked ball of salt water. Just below her octopus, her silver sealskin is tied around her neck, and Gareth is caressing her fur-draped shoulder with a gentle hand.

I raise my own gentle hand to my abdomen, my Icaral-Dryad baby’s light power blazing through my color-drenched rootlines with

fiery Zhilaan might.

Yvan kisses the mating mark on my shoulder as he slides his arms around me from behind while Gwynn and Mavrik, Sage, Rivyr’el,

Marina, and I link our fingers around the Verdyllion in Wynter’s hand.

A shudder passes through me as our combined light magic floods my rootlines in a spangling rush at the same moment the surrounding

Dryad Fae cast a power-amplifying spell. A line of prismatic energy appears in the air, connecting our III marks, and our

joint power surges.

Following the vision the Verdyllion is sending to us all, we lower ourselves to the soil as one and thrust the Verdyllion’s

spiraling hilt straight into it.

Sun-strong prismatic rays blast from the Verdyllion. We release it and step back, retreating farther and farther as the Verdyllion’s

green form darkens to black and slim roots surrounded by verdant mist suddenly flow out from its lower half and weave into

the soil.

A frisson of awe shudders through Yvan’s and my joined fire as both the Verdyllion and its roots rapidly enlarge and morph

into an Ironwood sapling. The tree keeps enlarging, its branches rising as additional roots fan out through the plaza’s battered

stone. I can sense the Verdyllion’s roots burrowing under all of Voloi, then lower still, flowing out to support the Sublands

beneath us as they link to Erthia’s surviving web of roots, a portion of the root network leading all the way to the Zhilaan

Forest.

A heightened awe shimmers through my bond to Yvan as the Verdyllion expands into a III-size Ironwood Tree surrounded by verdant

mist, its canopy stretching all the way up to the shield’s cloud-high edge. Its leaves, colored in every hue of the rainbow,

rustle in the breeze, its canopy expanding to shelter a large portion of Voloi, its benevolent power joining with all of our

magic.

As IV roots itself to both us and the world.

A green pulse of IV’s energy blasts through the shielding above us and punches away a portion of the Shadow storms just above the Great Tree. Stars become visible overhead, and it feels like a miracle, my breath catching tight as the circle of stars begins to slowly expand, the sky opening up north and south along the shielding, and I realize IV’s power will eventually reach Tierney and Or’myr and Fyordin Lir.

Wynter steps toward the Great Tree as if she’s answering a summons. Reaching it, she places her palms to its trunk and inclines

her head down, her wings pulling in tight. The flow of her magic turns troubled, then chaotically alarmed, and Ariel rushes

toward it.

“What is it, Wynter?” Ariel demands, her invisible Wyvernfire crackling protectively hot around Wynter.

Wynter shivers and turns to Ariel as unnatural thunder cracks and the Shadow storms roll back over our shielding from the

West, blotting out the stars.

I stare at the churning, darkening sky, overcome, once again, by the sense of Level Five magery drawing Shadow power to the

East, the Shadow storms suddenly gaining might almost as fast as our Great Tree–amplified magic.

“It’s as Elloren sensed,” Wynter says. “There’s a remaining threat rising. A Mage here in the East... actively pulling

in Shadow might from the West. The Shadow Wand is still linked to his fastlines. And it’s channeling all of its remaining

power into him.”

Fear shudders through Wynter’s power, as I focus on the storms.

I stiffen as it all clicks into place—where I’ve sensed this power before.

“Damion Bane survived,” I call out, meeting Wynter’s widened gaze, then Aislinn’s, a horrified look tensing my Lupine sister’s

face. I turn back to Wynter. “Can you track him through IV?”

Wynter nods, the silver fire in her eyes intensifying. “I can. I know exactly where he is.”