Wit’ch War: The Banned and the Banished: Book #3

With only the crash of waves for company, Elena stood by thecliff's edge and stared out across the blue seas. At the horizon, the sunwas just dawning, crowning the distant islands of the Archipelago withrosy halos of mist. Closer to the coast, a single-masted fishing trawlerfought the tide to ply its trade among the many isles and reefs. Over itssails, gulls and terns argued while hunting the same generous waters.Nearer still, at the base of the steep bluff, the rocky shore was alreadyoccupied by the lounging bodies of camping sea lions. The scolding barksof mothers to their pups and the occasional huffing roar of a territorialbull echoed up to her.Sighing, Elena turned her back on the sight. Since the seadragons of themer'ai had left fifteen days ago, the routines of the coastline werealready returning to normal. Such was the resiliency of nature.As if to remind her further of the natural world's strength, a stiffmorning breeze tugged at her hair, blowing it into her eyes. Irritated,she pushed back the waving strands with gloved fingers and attempted totrap the stray locks behind her ears, but the winds fought her efforts. Ithad been over two moons since Er'ril had last cropped her hair, and thelength had grown to be a nuisance–too short to fix with ribbons and pins,yet too long to easily manage, especially with her hair beginning to showits curl again. Still, she kept her complaints to herself, fearing Er'rilmight take the shears to her once again.She frowned at the thought. She was tired of looking like a boy.Though she had readily accepted the necessity of the disguise whiletraveling the lands of Alasea, out here in the lonely wilds of theBlisterberry bluffs, there were no eyes to spy upon her and no need tocontinue the ruse as Er'ril's son–or so she kept telling herself. Yet shewas not so sure her guardian held these same assumptions.As a caution, Elena had gone to wearing caps and hats when around Er'ril,hoping he wouldn't notice the growing length of her locks or the fadingblack dye that had camouflaged her hair. The deep fire of her naturalcolor was finally beginning to reappear at the roots.She pulled out her cap from her belt and corralled her hair under itbefore hiking back up the coastal trail to the cottage. Why the appearanceof her hair should matter so much to her she could not put into words. Itwas not mere vanity, though she could not deny that a pinch of pride didplay a small role in her subterfuge with Er'ril. She was a young woman,after all, and why wouldn't she balk at appearing as a boy?But there was more to it than that. And the true reason was marching downthe path toward her with a deep frown. Dressed in a wool sweater againstthe morning's chill, her brother wore his fiery red hair pulled back fromhis face with a black leather strap. Reminded of her family by Joach'spresence, Elena was ashamed to hide her own heritage under dyes anylonger. It was like denying her own parents.As Joach closed the distance between them, Elena recognized the characterof the young man's exasperated grimace and his pained green eyes. She hadseen it often enough on her father's face."Aunt My has been looking all over for you," he said as greeting."My lessons!" Elena darted forward, closing the distance with her brother."I'd almost forgotten.""Almost?" he teased as she joined him.She scowled at her brother but could not argue against his accusation. Infact, she had completely forgotten about this morning's lesson. It was tobe her last instruction on the art of swordplay before Aunt Mycelle leftfor Port Rawl to rendezvous with the other half of their party. Kral,Tol'chuk, Mogweed, and Meric were due to meet with Mycelle there in twodays' time. Elena wondered for the hundredth time how they had fared inShadowbrook. She prayed they were all well.As she and her brother marched back up the trail toward the cottage, Joachmumbled, "El, your head's always in the clouds."She turned in irritation, then saw her brother's quirked smile. Those werethe same words her father had used so often to scold Elena when time hadslipped away from her. She took her brother's hand in her own. Here wasall that was left of her family now.Joach squeezed her gloved hand, and they walked in silence through thefringe forest of wind-whipped cypress and pine. As Flint's cottageappeared on the bluffs ahead, Joach cleared his throat. "El, there'ssomething I've been meaning to ask you.""Hmm?""When you go to the island . . ." he started.Elena inwardly groaned. She did not want to think of the last leg of theirjourney to retrieve the Blood Diary from the island of A'loaGlen–especially given Joach's own accounting of the horrors that lay inwait."I'd like to go back with you. To the island."Elena stumbled a step. "You know that's not possible. You heard Er'ril'splan, Joach.""Yes, but a word from you–""No," she said. "There's no reason for you to go."With a touch on her arm, Joach pulled her to a stop. "El, I know you wantto keep me from further danger, but I have to go back."Shaking free of his hand, she stared him in the eye. "Why? Why do youthink you need to go? To protect me?""No, I'm no fool." Joach stared at his feet. He still would not meet hergaze. "But I had a dream," he whispered. "A dream that has repeated twiceover the past half moon since you arrived from the swamps."She stared at her brother. "You think it's one of your weavings?""I think so." He finally raised his eyes to hers, a slight blush on hischeeks. Joach had discovered he shared their family's heritage ofelemental magicks. His skill was dreamweaving, a lost art preserved byonly a select few of the Brotherhood. It was the ability to glimpsesnatches of future events in the dream plane. Brother Flint and BrotherMoris had been working with Joach on testing the level of his magick.Joach nodded toward the cottage ahead. "I haven't told anyone else.""Maybe it's just an ordinary dream," Elena offered. But the part of herthat was a wit'ch stirred with her brother's words. Magick. Even the meremention of it fired her blood. With both her fists fresh to the Rose, themagick all but sang in her heart. Swallowing hard, she closed her spiritagainst the call of the wit'ch. "What made you think it was a weaving?"Joach scrunched up his face. "I . . . I get this feeling when I'm in aweaving. It's like a thrill in my veins, like my very being is afire withan inner storm. I felt it during this dream."An inner storm, Elena thought. She knew that sensation when she touchedher own wild magick–a raging tempest trapped in her heart screaming withpent-up energy. She found her two hands wringing together with just theremembrance of past flows of raw magick. She forced her hands apart. "Tellme about your dream."Joach bit his lower lip, suddenly reluctant."Go on," Elena persisted.His voice lowered. "I saw you at the top of a tall spire in A'loa Glen. Ablack winged beast circled the parapets nearby–"