Spell Fade (20 page)

“Shhh,” she whispered through her pursed lips. She slid her hands into his and gave him a gentle tug. Dartan rose without hesitation, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to follow her. The laughing smile returned, touching her eyes, and followed with a small giggle, but the pull didn’t lessen and Dartan continued to obey.

She turned, walking in front of him now, guiding him towards a set of stairs at the back of the room. Dartan’s eyes now fixed on her hair that spilled across her shoulders, and swished side to side with her movement. How would it feel to run his fingers through it, he wondered. His eyes drifted further and he found himself wishing her cloak didn’t hide something else he would like to watch swish.

The folds of her cloak swung back and forth, and he tried to imagine her body underneath, but was finding it hard to concentrate. Since when had she started wearing a scarlet red cloak? That wouldn’t be very practical in the woods. One side of it suddenly flipped up and ran across his hand. Silk? That would be even more useless.

How could he have possibly not noticed this before? He didn’t ponder the question for long, distracted by her cloak again. Flashes of red passed in front of his face as her cloak rippled and rubbed against his cheeks, kissing each side of his face. It slid across his eyes, causing him to close them for a moment, and suddenly he felt a small pressure on his chest.

His eyes opened and everything was clouded in red, which might have been disturbing, but the feeling of silk told him it must be Aliet’s cloak. When did it become thin enough to see through? And why was he lying down now?

The red silk slid smoothly from his face, revealing Aliet above him. The pressure on his chest was her, one leg on either side of him. She was draped in folds of the fabric, and nothing else. The silk both caressed and outlined her feminine curves, leaving very little to Dartan’s now very active imagination. At the same time, it threatened to loose itself from her body, pulled by a breeze Dartan couldn’t feel.

His eyes pawed across her body, devouring every line and curve, until suddenly he remembered himself. What was going on? This was Aliet, but neither of them were acting like themselves. He looked back at her face and found that same playful smile. Her eyes, however, said much more.

Do you like what you see,
he heard them ask with one arched eyebrow. His mouth opened and closed silently, so she rolled back on her hips, pressing further against him, looking for her answer elsewhere. Satisfied with what she found, she leaned back up and took his hand into her own.

Her hand felt much like the silk that now rubbed and teased nearly every spot of exposed skin. He had only a moment to savor the smooth warmth before he felt her pulling his hand up towards her body. Her eyes peered deeply into his own, she straightened her back and began guiding his hand up her thigh, towards her silk covered stomach. His breathing grew heavy as she pushed his hand up to her breasts, which rose and fell with her own even breath.

The slow crawl up her chest seemed to take a lifetime, but now there was only a thin scrap of silk separating his hand from her warm, firm breast. Her slow heartbeat pulsed through his palm while his own rapid beat pounded at the end of his fingertips. She pressed his hand harder against her chest, then curled his fingers, catching the silk in his forming fist. Her smile grew wide as she then began to pull his hand away, trailing with it the fabric from her body. It slipped slowly at first, then gained momentum and rapidly fell, exposing more of her bare flesh, until –

“Ahem!” It seemed to be right in his ear, and his entire body jerked involuntarily. His eyes closed and when they opened he was standing. He held a now empty hand raised over his head and was face to face with Alain.

“What?” Dartan began, then followed with, “How?” before being interrupted by Alain.

“I hope I haven’t interrupted an important dream.”

“Of course you have!” Dartan blurted out. He waved his arms behind him, towards where he assumed Aliet was. “Can’t you see her? Wait.” He turned his head to the side. “Did you say ‘dream’?”

“Yes, I did,” Alain affirmed. He then added, with raised eyebrows, “Did you say ‘her’?”

Dartan lowered his head and turned around. In front of him was Aliet, kneeling on a bed, draped in red silk, frozen in place.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I did.” He stared silently at the scene, still able to feel her body against his, her hand covering his own. A dream. He shook his head. Of course it was a dream. Alain moved beside him, also admiring the dream image, and Dartan felt a new sense of embarrassment.

“It’s quite impressive,” Alain said.

“What?” Dartan was confused and horrified at the same time.

“The dream,” Alain clarified with a nod in the direction they were both looking. “I can’t see it.” Dartan simply stared at him, still not comprehending. “Entering into another’s dreams takes very little magic. Being asleep, the dreamer is in a relaxed and unguarded state, which allows the wizard to not only observe, but also interact.”

“But you can’t see her, um, my dream?” Dartan asked haltingly, noticing Aliet’s hand still poised over her breast, waded ball of silk hovering under it. Another second and the image would have revealed much more.

“Not at all,” Alain said. “Which is something I’ve never encountered.” He looked back at Dartan. “Before you realized I was here, I couldn’t even see you. I could sense you were near, but everything around me was just blank.” He leaned in closer, peering into Dartan’s eyes. “If we had the time, I would have liked to teach you how to enter dreams and have you enter mine.”

Time. The word broke through the sort of dream state in which his mind had remained. Suddenly he realized Alain was here, and there were several things on his list that needed to be addressed, none of which were discussing his dreams. He turned his back on the vision of Aliet, attempting to keep his mind from slipping again. Now, where to start? What are spell stones, how can the Queen be my mother, who is my father, where are you sending us – all rolling around, trying to form a prioritized line for exit. What made it out first was an unexpected, “Where have you been?”

“Now, we certainly don’t have time to discuss that,” Alain answered with a hint of irritation. “Be assured that I have been preparing for your ascension to the throne, as well as checking in on your progress.” Checking in? What exactly did that mean? It sounded an awful lot like spying. Alain continued, “It has come to my attention that I may have neglected to tell you some things.”

“Really?” Dartan asked with mock surprise.

“Yes, well, these are the sorts of things that happen when a good portion of your mental faculties are focused on projecting yourself leagues away,” Alain mumbled. Dartan remained silent, but held the look of surprise. “Let me assure you,” Alain said, “it takes a great deal more concentration than starting fires or tossing rocks around.” Dartan lowered his head, ashamed. Alain had admitted his error and was trying to amend it, while all he could do is try to make him feel worse. “Now, if you are quite finished mocking me?” Dartan nodded, somehow feeling even worse than being scolded by Mother. “Then we have a lot to discuss, and I don’t know how much time we have.” The new moon was getting close, but Dartan didn’t think that was what Alain meant.

“Barson was right to be surprised that I had not taught you anything about spell stones,” Alain began. Dartan’s first thought was that from now on he would need to be more careful about what he said during what he assumed were private conversations. He then remembered spell stones should be at the top of the list anyway.

“He said having yours would be the most important thing for everyone, should anything happen to you.”

Alain nodded his head slowly. “He was right about that as well.” Dartan was finally seeing Alain clearly for the first time since his dream was … interrupted. What he saw made him nervous. He appeared to have aged at least another decade, and, even worse, he looked exhausted. There was a slight hunch in his back, his shoulders slumped forward, and he appeared to be leaning on a staff Dartan had originally assumed to be just for looks. Perhaps sensing he was being observed, Alain straightened himself with only the slightest pang of discomfort.

“You, of all people,” Alain said, “should know just how important a spell stone is.” Dartan didn’t follow. “You witnessed first-hand what happens when a wizard dies without properly passing his stone on to another.” His village.

“How can that happen?” No, that wasn’t the right question. “What do they do?”

“All the magic you have cast so far has been immediate effect with limited duration.” Dartan nodded, uncertainly. Alain took a small pause, then tried again. “You set something on fire, and it burns itself out. You toss a rock, which flies until succumbing to gravity. You blow leaves around, and then they come to rest.” Dartan nodded again. Understood. Alain continued, “This type of magic requires concentration and focus only until the desired result is achieved – the rock flies off, the item catches fire – and then requires nothing more of the wizard.”

He paused, but Dartan quickly motioned for him to continue. “There are other types which are more permanent, as long as the caster can maintain concentration. That’s where these,” he held out his hand, and a small, milky white crystal appeared in his palm, “can come in handy.”

Dartan took a tentative step forward, unsure of exactly what to expect from the spear-like rock. “That’s a spell stone?” he asked.

“More specifically,” Alain said, “it’s my stone.” Dartan looked up from the sparkling stone and met Alain’s eyes. “And,” the wizard continued, “one day soon, it will be your stone.”

It was even harder for him to accept than being the bastard son of a virgin queen, which was something else he couldn’t forget to ask about. “What,” he began, then took a breath and started again. “How can you give it to me when I don’t even know how it works?”

“That’s easy,” Alain shrugged. “No one really knows how they work.” Dartan felt his jaw drop, but Alain only responded with a faint smile. “How they work is not nearly as important as what they do.”

“And that would be?”

“They allow you to make your spells permanent, without keeping your focus on it.” Dartan opened his mouth, but Alain interrupted. “Remember, how is not important.” Dartan snapped his mouth shut and nodded his head. “Transferring a spell to the stone is as easy as a thought, and it will be the last thought you will have to give to that spell.”

“And all wizards have one?”

Alain shook his head. “At one time, that might have been true, but beginning with the dragon uprising, their numbers have dwindled. The stones are not rare, but they are uncommon. The hardest part is finding them, and dragons were always the best at it.” It brought a memory to his mind, and he paused as it played out. “In fact, I believe they may have actually eaten some of them.” He uttered a single, quiet laugh, shook the memory from his head, and continued. “Most of the ones still around today have passed through another’s hands.”

“What makes yours so important?” Dartan asked, his eyes still glued to Alain’s outstretched hand. Alain looked down at it himself, twisting his hand to admire the stone. He then closed his fingers around it and waited for Dartan to meet his eyes.

“After I banished the dragons from this land, the spells I used to restore the scorched, empty, and dead land they left behind were stored in my stone.” Dartan’s eyes widened and he swallowed hard.

“So, without you, everything would just … ”

“I don’t even pretend to know what would happen, but I do know I would rather not take a chance.” Dartan nodded his agreement. The wizard was answering the questions on his list, but it was only leading to more questions. Where was the stone? Why hadn’t he already passed it on to someone? Was he really the one who should be made responsible for such power?
Could
he have that much power? Again, it was just more than he could believe. Alain seemed to sense Dartan’s self-doubt.

“You know,” he drew close to Dartan, sharing a secret. “The peculiar thing about spell stones is that their possession must pass to a wizard as powerful, or more, than their current owner.”

“And yours is to pass to me?” Alain simply nodded in answer. “So, that means I’m as powerful … ”

“Or more so.”

Dartan almost laughed aloud. “How exactly do you become more powerful than ‘The Great Wizard’?” Dartan wasn’t sure, but he thought there was a flash of red on Alain’s cheeks. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“I’m sure the people will be able to come up with something as impressive for you.”

“The people?”

“You don’t think I gave myself that atrociously self-praising moniker, do you?” Dartan merely shrugged. “No, it’s the people who feel the need to title their leaders. Much like your mother, I simply accepted mine.”

“My mother?” Dartan had wondered how he might get around to asking about her, and now that it had presented itself, he jumped on it.

“Yes, ‘The Immortal Virgin Queen’, which while accurate, always seemed a bit unimaginative.”

“Barson was right about that too,” Dartan said to himself. Then, to Alain, “Queen Elainya was my mother?”

“Indeed,” Alain answered with raised eyebrows. “Did I forget to mention that as well?”

“Indeed,” Dartan grumbled.

“Well, I’m certain I told you that you are the heir to the throne,” Alain countered.

“Yes, I remember that,” Dartan agreed. “But that didn’t lead me to the conclusion of being the son of a queen referred to as ‘The Virgin Queen’.”

“I can see where that might be confusing.”

“It’s more than just confusing, it should be impossible,” Dartan pushed. “How exactly can a vir-,” he stopped mid-sentence, realization dawned on his face. “It’s my fault. I’m the reason she died.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alain dismissed the thought. “Your birth was merely a side effect of what killed the Queen. If you want to blame someone, blame your father.”

“Did you know my father?” Dartan asked it before he considered whether or not he really wanted to know. His mother had died, giving her no choice but to leave him. His father, however, was another story. His father had abandoned him. He no longer bore the man any ill will, but wondered if that was because he had never known anything about him.