The Last Enchanter (31 page)

Bryn glanced down, dejected.

“But then again,” Marcus continued, “there is really too much work for one person to manage. Wouldn't you agree, Arla?”

“Yes, I do, Master Marcus,” Arla replied.

“And the journey we're taking is really much too dangerous for
children
.” Marcus playfully ruffled the little boy's hair. Bryn glanced up, a definite look of pleasure and pride in his face.

As Bryn talked excitedly about his plans with Lael and Arla, Kaië stepped forward. “Marcus, I want to thank you for coming back for me. I am deeply grateful.”

Kaië leaned forward and kissed Marcus on the cheek. She held her lips there a little longer than Marcus expected, and he wondered if maybe there wasn't a little regret about his leaving.

Kaië took Bryn by the hand then and offered to get him some cookies at the tavern. After waving Marcus a cheerful goodbye, Bryn followed her down the hill into town.

Lael left her mother's steadying embrace and with some effort came to Marcus. He held out his hands to her, and she took them to support her weak legs.

“You've been a lot of trouble, Marcus Frye,” she said, laughing a little, “but I can't say I regret coming to Dokur with you. I do owe you an apology, though.”

“An apology? For what?”

“I said some mean things about Kaië. She's been very kind to me these past few days, and, well, it would be wrong of me to wish anything but good for both of you.”

Marcus peered curiously at Lael. “I don't understand.”

“I know how you feel about her,” Lael added. “I hope that when you return from your journey, the two of you will have a very happy life.”

“You want me and Kaië to be happy—together.”

“Yes,” said Lael, bristling. “Do you doubt me, Marcus? It wouldn't surprise me one bit, though. You've always been such a selfish, stubborn—”

“Lael, stop,” said Marcus. He shook his head, trying not to laugh. “I do care about someone that way, but it isn't Kaië.”

Marcus took Lael's hand in his and turned it so that her fingers lay open. He then removed his gryphon pendant from around his neck and laid it in her palm.

“We've had our differences,” he continued, “but I hope we can put them behind us. I'll be gone a long time. I don't know what challenges I may face or what might happen to me, but if I know you're here, waiting—”

Lael did not wait for him to finish. She wrapped her arms around Marcus's neck and pressed her lips against his. They stood that way for at least as long as Kaië had kissed him, maybe longer. When they parted, he felt the heat rising in his cheeks, and he saw the glimmer of tears on Lael's.

From the bow of the ship, Jayson and Rylan called to Marcus. The crew had already drawn up the anchor and were ready to set sail. Marcus hurried up the gangplank. Joining his father at the bow, he waved goodbye to those he cared for most. He hoped they would be safe in his absence. He hoped, too, that not much time would pass before he would see them again. In the meantime, he had to trust in the gods to watch over them and to guide him in this new and most important quest: to find Lady Ivanore and, should it be the will of the gods, to bring her safely home.

Coming soon

THE SEER OF THE GUILDE

Book III of The Celestine Chronicles

Prologue

T
he girl tried to keep up, but her bare feet burned from the cold, and the air bit into her lungs like icy daggers. She might have stopped running had her mother not held onto her hand so tightly.

The tree root wasn't large, but it seemed to reach up from the ground to trip her. The girl's foot caught on it, and she stumbled forward into a mess of soppy leaves. Her mother did not let go when she fell but tried to pull her back to her feet.

“Please, Orissa. We must keep going,” the woman said, gasping for breath. The girl tried to stand, only to collapse again.

“My ankle hurts, Mamae,” she whimpered.

Her mother shot sharp glances over both her shoulders, her eyes wide and alert. Her normally golden hair was gray with earth and studded with bits of dried grass. Her arms and face were crisscrossed with red scratches from the shrubs through which they had crawled. Both their dresses had torn. Surrounding them on all sides were thin, white-barked trees, their leaves cast off weeks ago. Even in the moonlight, the girl could see through the naked branches nearly all the way back to the castle.

“They'll have found us missing by now,” said her mother. She scanned the spaces between the trees, her eyes darting from one to the next.

“Mamae,” said Orissa, rubbing her swelling ankle, “why are we leaving? It is cold out here. I want my bed.”

“I told you before,” her mother said with endless patience, “I've waited a long time for a chance like this. With Arik gone—”

“Uncle Arik? But he promised he'd come home, Mamae. He promised.”

All of a sudden, the sky above them lit up like a bonfire. A brilliant ball of blue flame arched above the trees like a cannonball. Orissa's mother instantly curled her body over the girl, shielding her. Orissa, wanting to see this strange light, peeked beneath her mother's arm. The blue flame came down several yards away from them, crashing through the tree branches. The terrible sound of breaking wood tore through the air, followed by a loud explosion. Orissa clasped her hands over her ears, but just when she thought the noise was over, another fireball
landed even closer. Bits of splintered wood and dirt pelted them, and Orissa smelled the pungent odor of smoke.

Her mother pulled Orissa up by her elbows. “Run, Orissa!” she shouted over a third explosion. “We've got to run!”

But Orissa couldn't run. She couldn't even stand. So her mother swung her up into her arms with a grunt. Orissa could see now that some of the trees were burning. She smelled the damp wood as the blue flames consumed them. Not ordinary flames, she realized. Magical ones.

Orissa clung to her mother as she ran on. She could hear her mother's rasping breath as her lungs sucked in air and pushed it out again through her lips in intermittent, white puffs. She could feel, too, her mother's heart thumping in her chest. Orissa was eight years old, and Mamae hadn't carried her in years.

Then, in the distance, Orissa heard the horses. Their hooves struck the ground even faster than the beat of her mother's heart. There were shouts, too, of soldiers calling to each other through the trees, and the voices were getting louder.

Orissa glanced over her mother's shoulder and thought she saw movement not far away. Yes, there it was! A flash of steel near the burning trees.

Another burst of fire exploded right in front of them. Orissa's mother twisted away from the flames, her back taking the brunt of the assault. She clenched her teeth, and Orissa saw the pain in her face, though she did not cry out. Arms shaking, her mother set Orissa down. She
frantically scanned the area. As she turned away, Orissa saw that the ends of her mother's hair were singed and the fabric along her shoulders had burned away, exposing raw, oozing flesh.

“Mamae,” Orissa said, but her mother quickly held a finger to her lips. A second later, they were on their knees, scooping away loose soil from beneath a large, moss covered boulder. Orissa followed her mother into the narrow crevice. There was just enough room for both of them.

“Shhh,” whispered her mother. “We mustn't speak until the soldiers have gone. All right?”

Orissa nodded.

As the horses neared, she felt her mother's arms tighten around her. Her mother breathed heavily into her hair. Orissa's nose wrinkled at the smell of her mother's sweat and blood. From her vantage point beneath the stone, she saw the legs of a horse approach. A soldier slid off its back and walked around the stone, pausing to listen. Orissa held her breath. So did her mother. Finally, the soldier climbed back onto his horse and galloped away.

Orissa let the air out of her lungs. Behind her, her mother did the same. She felt a light pressure on the back of her skull, her mother's kiss.

Suddenly, from the top of the stone, a man's face swung into view. Orissa screamed. The man reached into their hiding place and, grabbing one of her flailing arms, yanked at her roughly. Her mother wrapped her arms around her body, holding her back, but the man pulled so hard, Orissa wished her mother would let her go before
they tore her in two. Finally, the man grabbed Orissa's other arm and pulled her into the open. Her mother scrambled out after her.

The soldier gripped Orissa's arms so tightly they hurt. No one held onto her mother, but tears left streaks down her dirty cheeks. Another man dismounted his horse and strode up to them. He was old, with pale, wrinkled skin. He wore a red robe with a wide, yellow sash, and on his face was a satisfied sneer. He traced Orissa's face with one bony finger.

“Yes,” he said. “I definitely see the resemblance.”

“Don't you touch her!” shouted Orissa's mother.

The man in the red robe flicked his finger, and a rope of blue fire lashed out, striking her on the chest.

“Mamae!” Orissa shouted. She tried to run to her mother, but the soldiers held her back. Her mother fell to her knees, her body trembling from pain. She would have collapsed completely, but two more soldiers grasped her arms, holding her upright.

The red-robed man clucked his tongue like a disapproving parent. “When will you ever learn?” he said, shaking his head. “There is nowhere you can hide from me, Ivanore. Nowhere at all.”

Acknowledgements

It is hard to know where to begin, so many people had a hand in getting
The Last Enchanter
on its feet. First, I need to thank those who read various drafts and provided valuable input: my daughter Carissa, my son Marc, my sister-in-law Dorine White, Teak and Tina Bolina, and Jane Zimmerman. Thanks also to the team at Tanglewood—Peggy Tierney, Rebecca Grose, Erin Blacketer, Lisa Rojany Buccieri, and Lauren Wohl—and to Tristan Elwell for his unbelievably gorgeous cover art.

Second, I need to thank my husband, Gonzalo, for his inexhaustible support and encouragement. I honestly could not have done everything I've done the past couple of years without him. Thank you to my parents, Ray and Cyndi White, and my in-laws, Chalo and Gina Reyes, who, in my frequent absences, entertain my kids, drive
them wherever they need to go, and prepare meals. And an extra big thanks to Stuart, Brennah, and Jarett—the best fans any mom could ever hope to have.

Next, thank you to everyone who read
The Rock of Ivanore
and asked for the sequel, including friends, family, kids, parents, teachers, librarians, fellow authors, and booksellers. Without you, Book Two would never have happened.

Thanks to The Society of Children's Books Writers and Illustrators for providing such amazing support to me and to thousands of authors worldwide. To the Apocalypsies (you know who you are!)—2012 was the best year ever! And to Joelle Biegel at Barnes & Noble: you are amazing!

Finally, I would be ungrateful if I didn't give thanks to God for the opportunity he's given me to live my dream and to encourage kids everywhere to live theirs, too.

Author Bio

Laurisa White Reyes spent many years writing for newspapers and magazines before mustering enough courage to pursue her dream of writing novels. Aside from her obsession with books, she also loves musical theater and fantasizes about singing on Broadway (one dream she does not intend to pursue). She lives in Southern California with her husband, five children, four birds, three lizards, two fish and one dog.

Please visit her website
www.laurisawhitereyes.com
and her blog
www.1000wrongs.blogspot.com
.