Magistaire Chronicles: Shadows of the Past

Chapter 10

Elies winced and rose to his feet, the snow caking his skin melting away when he cast his spell.

Repellum, he breathed. His throat had grown raw with how many times he'd uttered that foul word.

Flames slithered down his wrists, and he held out his hands, his heart racing when Ilta readied her weapon.

"Steel yourself," Yarrow reminded him.

Elies rolled his eyes. How many times was he going to say that? He tensed his muscles, veins bulging from his arms, face, and neck. "Please work," he said aloud.

Ilta fired away, a ball of yarn bursting from her barrel and into Elies' chest. His flames dispersed, and he fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"Get up, Elies," Yarrow said. "Time is of the utmost essence."

Elies gasped for breath, sweat trickling down his face and arms, bruises checkering his freckled skin. He hardly smacked his lips before Yarrow swung his staff, the young man casting his spell in turn. The butt of the stick smashed into his chin, sparks spewing into the air when he staggered onto the snow.

"Not satisfactory." Yarrow shook his head. "Again."

Elies squeezed his eyes shut. His head throbbed, and blurred flecks obscured his vision. Rising from the snow, he raised his arms only for another ball of yarn to send him to the ground again.

Yarrow tapped his staff. "Do you want to stop your brother or not?"

Elies lifted his head, planting his hands and knees on the ground. "What kind of dumbass question is that?" He snapped.

"Calm yourself, then," Yarrow said.

"I'm bloody calm for a man on his last leg!"

Yarrow shook his head. "You've flinched with each of the girl's shots, not to mention mine. While faint, even the slightest movements will dispel the hex. Fight fire with fire. Not fear."

"That won't work for him."

The trio turned and eyed the rustling brush, Yarrow's old hag himself appearing from the tree line. She turned up her nose and flipped her loose, gray curls over her shoulder, making Elies glower. Undoubtedly, she and Ilta would've got along well if she wasn't so gross to look at.

"You've done your part, my dear," Yarrow said.

"Save it!" Ashencrane's scowl deepened. "I've been following you around long enough to see you still need my help."

"Who's the wizard here?" Yarrow asked.

"Being a wizard doesn't make you a scholar," Ashencrane huffed. "I almost forgot you were a terrible teacher." She eyed Ilta. "The same goes for the demoness over there."

A smile tugged at Ilta's lips, making Elies cock an eyebrow. He turned away from her and to Hazelmere's grandmother, making sure he didn't look into her dark eyes.

"Does this mean you're here to save me?" Elies asked. He clapped his hands together. "Please tell me you know how to speed this up!"

"Stupid question," Ashencrane said. She looked Yarrow up and down. "You're far too soft. If anything, this boy isn't afraid enough—how can you expect him to learn to handle himself if he isn't afraid to die?"

Elies held up his hands. "Wait, there are many ways!" He protested.

Yarrow nodded in agreement. "I won't have his blood on my hands."

"I'm aware of that," Ashencrane said. She stepped aside, giving way to the bulbous beast behind her. "That's why it will stain mine instead."

Yarrow choked the life from his staff while Elies took a step back, craning his neck as the round-faced creature stomped closer. Its striped fur was checkered black with char marks while froth poured from its gaping mouth. Its pupils shrank as it turned its head, its eyes meeting their own before it stood on its hind legs and bellowed.