Annon turned the weapon over in his hand. The stone grew bright again, almost frantic. There was something about the weave of the metal in the hilt and how it formed an ornamental fashion around the stone.
“Five thousands ducats, you say?” Annon murmured. That was a lot of money in Kenatos or anywhere in the world. The light flashed almost pleadingly.
Erasmus stamped his boot on a spot of ground, probably after having inspected it a dozen times, and then slowly settled into the earth, wrapping the cloak about him protectively. “Five thousand. Maybe more, depending on the power.”
Annon held the handle in the flat of his hand and stared at it hard.
Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
He fed the flame with his anger, letting it bubble up within him. He focused it on the weave of metal, letting the flames dance over the swirls. He gripped it tightly in his hands until the metal became warmer and warmer, but it did not burn him. Still he fed the flames, letting it burn into the metal, softening it.
“Annon,” Hettie warned, looking at his face.
He was in control of the power, but he noticed he had a smile on his face. It was a pleasurable feeling. He gritted his teeth and focused it more, focusing it on the band around the place where the stone was embedded. The metal began to hiss with smoke.
The hilt sizzled and the stone plopped to the ground, free from the metal encasing it. As soon as it touched the ground, it cracked with a loud snapping sound, and there was a blast of white-hot light.
The stone sang with joy.
Annon closed his eyes, flinching from the sudden explosion, but he heard it now as clearly as a song. A spirit voice.
Thank you! Many blessings on you, kind Master! Three centuries have I been trapped, but now I am free! Bless you, kind Master!
Annon opened his eyes, and he saw the spirit hovering in the air before him. It was as small as a butterfly, but instead of gossamer, its wings were crooked and spiny with thorns. Its tiny body was thick with thorns, like a desiccated rose branch. The creature bowed in homage to him, singing again in a tone so clear and beautiful it made his heart ache fiercely.
You set me free, kind Master. I am of the Briarlings. One of your companions is wounded by my hand. I shall heal him for you.
The spirit zipped over to Paedrin, who flinched and batted at it as it disappeared into the gash; he stiffened with surprise.
The cut was mended before their eyes.
Many tender thanks, kind Master! I go to Mirrowen at last. Farewell!
The light streaked through the woods and vanished.
“The cut is gone!” Hettie said, shocked.
Paedrin looked down and then at Annon. “Did you do that?”
Erasmus chuckled from beneath his cloak. “You have never seen Druidecht before, Bhikhu? I’m surprised.”
Paedrin explored his skin, pinching the flesh and examining it closely. He moved his arms around in circles, testing them for movement. “Amazing.”
“Even more amazing that he wasted five thousand ducats to heal you,” Erasmus said dryly. “Whoever owned that blade will want you dead.”
“He already does,” Paedrin quipped.
Annon stared at the warped, mangled metal in his hand. “I did not heal you,” he said softly, looking at the shattered object for what it was. A prison. A gloriously fancy one too. “There was a spirit trapped in the stone. I set it free. It chose to heal you because its power had wounded you.”
Paedrin’s eyebrows lowered. “A spirit? You mean the light?”
“You all saw it as light,” Annon answered, fingering his talisman. “Only I could see it for what it was. It was trying to speak to me from inside the stone, but I could not hear it. The nature of its imprisonment prevented it. But it could sense my thoughts and tried its best to communicate with me.”
In his mind, he thought about his uncle’s desk and the dozens of orbs there. It filled his mind with unspeakable anger to think about what beings might be trapped there. More than Briarlings. There were many species of spirits. Trapped. Imprisoned. Unable to speak. It angered him.
“Annon,” Hettie said warningly again, gripping his arm. His fingers were glowing.
“Thank you,” he muttered, trying to master himself. “I was remembering my visit to my uncle a few days ago. Things are not as they seem.”
Erasmus snorted.
Paedrin shot an annoyed look his way and then stood and pulled back on his robe, still stiff with blood. He wrapped his belt around it and adjusted it. “It would be wise, before we go any further, if we spoke more truthfully to each other about what is going on.”
Annon looked up at him. “There has been no attempt to deceive you, Paedrin.”
“Five thousands ducats, you say?” Annon murmured. That was a lot of money in Kenatos or anywhere in the world. The light flashed almost pleadingly.
Erasmus stamped his boot on a spot of ground, probably after having inspected it a dozen times, and then slowly settled into the earth, wrapping the cloak about him protectively. “Five thousand. Maybe more, depending on the power.”
Annon held the handle in the flat of his hand and stared at it hard.
Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas.
He fed the flame with his anger, letting it bubble up within him. He focused it on the weave of metal, letting the flames dance over the swirls. He gripped it tightly in his hands until the metal became warmer and warmer, but it did not burn him. Still he fed the flames, letting it burn into the metal, softening it.
“Annon,” Hettie warned, looking at his face.
He was in control of the power, but he noticed he had a smile on his face. It was a pleasurable feeling. He gritted his teeth and focused it more, focusing it on the band around the place where the stone was embedded. The metal began to hiss with smoke.
The hilt sizzled and the stone plopped to the ground, free from the metal encasing it. As soon as it touched the ground, it cracked with a loud snapping sound, and there was a blast of white-hot light.
The stone sang with joy.
Annon closed his eyes, flinching from the sudden explosion, but he heard it now as clearly as a song. A spirit voice.
Thank you! Many blessings on you, kind Master! Three centuries have I been trapped, but now I am free! Bless you, kind Master!
Annon opened his eyes, and he saw the spirit hovering in the air before him. It was as small as a butterfly, but instead of gossamer, its wings were crooked and spiny with thorns. Its tiny body was thick with thorns, like a desiccated rose branch. The creature bowed in homage to him, singing again in a tone so clear and beautiful it made his heart ache fiercely.
You set me free, kind Master. I am of the Briarlings. One of your companions is wounded by my hand. I shall heal him for you.
The spirit zipped over to Paedrin, who flinched and batted at it as it disappeared into the gash; he stiffened with surprise.
The cut was mended before their eyes.
Many tender thanks, kind Master! I go to Mirrowen at last. Farewell!
The light streaked through the woods and vanished.
“The cut is gone!” Hettie said, shocked.
Paedrin looked down and then at Annon. “Did you do that?”
Erasmus chuckled from beneath his cloak. “You have never seen Druidecht before, Bhikhu? I’m surprised.”
Paedrin explored his skin, pinching the flesh and examining it closely. He moved his arms around in circles, testing them for movement. “Amazing.”
“Even more amazing that he wasted five thousand ducats to heal you,” Erasmus said dryly. “Whoever owned that blade will want you dead.”
“He already does,” Paedrin quipped.
Annon stared at the warped, mangled metal in his hand. “I did not heal you,” he said softly, looking at the shattered object for what it was. A prison. A gloriously fancy one too. “There was a spirit trapped in the stone. I set it free. It chose to heal you because its power had wounded you.”
Paedrin’s eyebrows lowered. “A spirit? You mean the light?”
“You all saw it as light,” Annon answered, fingering his talisman. “Only I could see it for what it was. It was trying to speak to me from inside the stone, but I could not hear it. The nature of its imprisonment prevented it. But it could sense my thoughts and tried its best to communicate with me.”
In his mind, he thought about his uncle’s desk and the dozens of orbs there. It filled his mind with unspeakable anger to think about what beings might be trapped there. More than Briarlings. There were many species of spirits. Trapped. Imprisoned. Unable to speak. It angered him.
“Annon,” Hettie said warningly again, gripping his arm. His fingers were glowing.
“Thank you,” he muttered, trying to master himself. “I was remembering my visit to my uncle a few days ago. Things are not as they seem.”
Erasmus snorted.
Paedrin shot an annoyed look his way and then stood and pulled back on his robe, still stiff with blood. He wrapped his belt around it and adjusted it. “It would be wise, before we go any further, if we spoke more truthfully to each other about what is going on.”
Annon looked up at him. “There has been no attempt to deceive you, Paedrin.”
