Soul of Flame (Imdalind Series #4)(59)

Trpaslíks don’t use guns. Magical people do not use guns.

I tensed as I looked into the nervous apprehension on the Trpaslík guard’s face. He was miles away from us, with no reason to face battle, and yet he was nervous.

The other Trpaslíks that were in the camp sat around a small fire. They were laughing, excited for the battle, for the bloodshed. Something was still off; their backs were stiff, the laughter forced, their eyes continually darting toward that same tent.

My heart beat quicker as I looked back toward the tent, my need to know what was behind the burlap swallowing me. I sped my magic toward the tent, my body and magic weakening the closer I got until the image of the tent began to dim. I pushed through it, ignoring the burn in my chest until my vision faded to black, a sharp pain exploding inside my skull as my head made contact with the cold stones of the floor.

“Joclyn!” I heard everyone exclaim at my collapse, different levels of worry all moving together into one confusing sound that expanded the pressure in my head.

“Is she okay?” Wyn asked from somewhere far away, the alarm in her voice drifting down to where I lay on the floor.

I felt the heat of Ilyan’s hands against my ankle as he tried to hide the touch, his worry so paramount I found myself crying from his emotions alone. Ilyan’s magic flooded into me as I writhed in pain on the floor, while flashes of the Trpaslíks’ fear ignited in the black of my eyes, the panic in their faces alerting me to something much more dangerous.

They were scared of a weapon they meant to use against us.

“You can’t go that way!” I shouted the words through my labored breathing, my panic making it impossible for me to control my decibel level.

“Joclyn?” Ilyan asked, his worry smothering his regality for the moment.

I pushed my way off the floor in a desperate attempt to reach the table. Everyone around me moved away as if I had caught fire. Ilyan reached out to me in an attempt to keep me down, but I only broke through his hold, my fingers clawing at the smooth wood in an effort to warn them.

“Joclyn, what it is?” Ilyan asked, his voice strong as he moved behind me, his unquenchable need to hold me consuming.

I said nothing; I only clung to the side of the table as I stretched my hand over the ink that had returned to the surface of the map. My fingers were shaking as I reached toward the empty space on the map, my heart still thundering at the oppressiveness of the tent.

Something is here, I sent into Ilyan’s mind, my voice quivering inside of him. “Something bad.”

“Do you know what it is?” he asked, the fear he held for me turning into something deeper, something that scared me.

I can’t see; something is blocking me… I can’t get too close.

“What is going on, Ilyan?” Thom asked in irritation from behind us. Ilyan paid him no mind as he leaned down to me, his hand a brief, forbidden touch before it was gone.

“If you use my magic, can you show me?” he whispered, his face moving closer in an attempt to keep his words hidden, something that I wasn’t sure had worked. I was sure Ryland had heard and understood my failure, my weakness.

I tensed at the thought of using Ilyan’s magic, of needing help, of being as weak as Ryland had told me, as Edmund had made me. Just like Atlas.

Except Atlas wasn’t weak, only a fool; and I wasn’t Atlas. Not anymore.

My eyes darted to Thom at the thought, his eyes hooded as he tried desperately to keep his emotions hidden. Even through the tough-guy look, I could still see his worry for me, for what was happening.

I pushed aside my pride and held onto Ilyan’s hand, knowing I would need it for what was coming.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes as I leaned against the table, pulling Ilyan’s magic into me as I stretched the combined power away from us.

The murmurings of confusion hummed through the kitchen, the sound distancing as I pulled my mind away. I could hear Ilyan try to explain what was going on, but his voice was tinny and hollow, the sound lost over the sound of the birds that filled the trees around me. Everyone else was too far away now.

I was too far away.

I could still feel the warmth of Ilyan’s hand around mine as my consciousness sped through the trees and over the camps until it reached the tense encampment that surrounded the burlap tent. Until I felt the magic that was dead in the air.

The air was stagnated with oppression, but I did not feel the same weakness as I had before. Ilyan’s magic strengthened as he supported me, looking through my eyes, moving forward with me. The guard shook a bit as we approached, obviously affected by the same magic that was smothering us. His fingers were white as they held the gun, his grip so tight I was afraid the thing might snap in half.

I tried not to let the guard’s fear fuel my own as I watched the flap of the tent snap in the wind as if it, too, feared what it was hiding. My heart rattled in my chest as my magic moved through the stiff fabric, bringing us face to face with a terror we hadn’t expected.

“Vil?s,” Ilyan yelled, the echo of his voice sounding clear in my ears before the distant murmuring took over, everyone’s questions sounding like angry waves in my ears.

I looked around the tent through my mind’s eye, my heartbeat speeding up as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

Everyone had spoken of Vil?s as fun-loving sprites, magical creatures who helped man and were gentle and kind. I had seen that idea mirrored back to me in Ryland’s drawing in the T?uha, in the sights I had seen. I had expected winged creatures no taller than the length of my arm with odd, sphinx-like faces and brightly colored skin. However, these creatures looked nothing like what I had seen; these beasts were terrifying.