Eternal Magic Page 13

  “Or, maybe we’ll have found the White Dragon by then,” said Ursula.

  Neither Bael nor Ursula’s grandfather looked exactly convinced, but they didn’t argue either.

  Chapter 22

  Ursula’s grandfather managed to convince Bael to swear on Nyxobas’s void that he wouldn’t hurt Ursula, and only then would he release them. After they made their way down to the bottom of the tower, Ursula collected her dagger from the gravel path. The mist had thickened, and a chill rippled over Ursula’s skin, even through her shawl.

  Her grandfather disappeared into the fog, returning a few minutes later in a carriage. He stepped out, opening the door for Bael and Ursula. “This should get you where you need to go. My ancestral home is in Saint Meratz. Can you find your way there?”

  Bael nodded. “Certainly.”

  “When you arrive, tell the owner of the Three Pigs that you’re guests of mine. They’ll lead you to my chalet. I’ll send a pigeon to him, so he should be expecting you.”

  Bael climbed onto the front seat, collecting the reins to drive the carriage.

  Ursula’s grandfather looked at her, his blue eyes bright in the darkness. “Ursula,” he started to say. “I’m so glad you’re alive. When all this is over, I hope we can find each other again.”

  A strange, empty sort of guilt pierced her chest. She didn’t remember him at all. “Of course. You called me Ursula Anne Thurlow, but I don’t know your name.”

  He smiled. “My name is Frank, but as a girl you always called me Papa.”

  She cocked her head. “I’ll be back soon, Frank.” She couldn’t bring herself to call this stranger Papa. “And then I want to hear everything about my life before I escaped to London.”

  With a dull ache in her chest, she climbed up onto the front carriage seat with Bael. The void seemed to blossom within her, a gnawing emptiness. When she’d cut off her memories, she’d severed an important part of herself, and now she missed it like a phantom limb. She peered at Frank waving goodbye, and Bael led them down the gravel path into the mist.

  “You don’t remember him at all?” asked Bael.

  Ursula shook her head. “No. And it’s like I’m missing something. Like I’m not complete.”

  Bael’s gaze slid to her. “You’ll remember, Ursula, if you want to.”

  As the carriage picked up speed, they raced through the darkness, bumping over stones and pits in the road, and Ursula stared at the sky. A faint glow had spread across the horizon, the rising sun tinged the clouds with pink, and a dusty rose color stained the rocky landscape. They were moving away from the city, over rolling hills dotted with trees. She shivered in the cold, and Bael shifted a wool blanket over her legs. Ursula pulled it up tight, but she found herself leaning against Bael for warmth anyway.

  “Not much farther,” said Bael softely.

  Amber sunlight illuminated an alpine forest of pines and firs. To the east, the landscape fell off steeply into a deep valley. Snow dusted the tops of the trees, sparkling brightly as they caught the first rays of the sun. At the far end of the valley, a small town nestled into the hillside. Inhaling the cold mountain air, Ursula could smell the faint wood smoke from their chimneys. A significant improvement on the corpse wagon they’d taken to get here.

  Bael pointed at the village. “That’s Saint Meratz.”

  “Oh,” said Ursula. “It’s beautiful.”

  A huge peak towered above them. It rose into the sky like a massive pyramid, its slopes a mix of white snow and sheer cliffs of stone. Snow blew off the summit in a high-altitude wind, puffing into the air.

  “That’s Mount Acidale?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Bael. “You used to be able to see it from Calidore Castle, but in recent years, coal fires have left the city shrouded in smoke and smog.”

  The road curved, and they raced into the aspen forest toward Saint Meratz.

  By the time they arrived, the sun had fully risen. Bael steered the horses toward a brown, three-story building with a peaked roof and curling white eaves.

  A boy ran to the horses as they stopped, and Bael handed him the reins. A sign above the building’s doors read Three Pigs.

  Ursula stepped down from the carriage, then followed Bael through a creaking door into a small, crooked-walled tavern.

  Three Pigs was a quiet place—or, more likely, sunrise wasn’t its most popular time of day. A pair of older men sat at a table playing backgammon.

  An elderly bartender nodded to them as they approached, cleaning a pint glass with a cloth. “You must be the friends of Frank’s?”

  “Yes,” said Ursula. “He said you could direct us to his chalet.”

  “Certainly,” said the bartender. “My boy Callum will show you the way.”

  Ursula turned, jumping a little to find that a young boy had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

  A smattering of freckles covered his nose, and he blinked at Ursula. “Are you Frank’s guests?”

  “Yes,” said Ursula. “And you’re Callum, I take it.”

  The boy nodded, turning to lead them out of the tavern. Outside, in the milky sunlight, Callum led them down the road and onto a path that turned up the hillside. As they hiked, Callum kept up a steady stream of chatter.

  “Frank’s pigeon is named Jack,” he said very seriously, but to no one in particular. A little farther on, he pointed to a picturesque stream. “That’s Giggling Brook.”

  “It’s beautiful,” said Ursula.

  Callum glared at her. “A girl drowned in one of its pools last year.” His tone suggested she should have known.

  Ursula shuddered. Weird kid. The path led them back into the forest, and the scent of pine invigorated Ursula.

  Callum grinned. “There are bears in the forest, but they hardly ever eat people.”

  Bael spoke quietly. “Have you ever seen a bear?”

  Callum shook his head. “No, but my grandad has. He says they’re as big as a horse.”

  “Callum, do you know anything about the White Dragon?” asked Bael.

  Callum stopped, and his eyes grew wide, his face paling. “No one’s seen the dragon in a hundred years.” He hissed the last word, sounding eerily like an old woman.

  “Do you think it’s still out there?” asked Ursula.

  Callum slowly nodded. “At night sometimes…” He shivered as if remembering something terrible. “I can hear screaming. Monsters come when it’s dark out.” Without another word, he turned and ran back toward town.

  “Well, that was unnerving,” said Ursula.

  Bael shrugged. “People are afraid of dragons.”

  Ursula’s footsteps crunched along the path, until the forest ended abruptly and they stepped out onto an alpine meadow. At the far end stood a picturesque chalet, its roof gabled with large decorative moldings. But it wasn’t the beauty of the building that made Ursula fall to her knees.

  In the meadow before her, the morning sun illuminated hundreds of flowers of gold and blue and pink—just like the wildflowers of her dreams. Corncockles, anemones, daisies and chickory… Smudges of periwinkle and honeyed hues.

  Just like the wildflowers she’d painted on the walls of almost every place she’d lived.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning, Ursula stood shivering on a small balcony. She’d slept late, the mountain air having a soporific effect. Her shoulder had now completely healed. On the mountainsides, a thin dusting of snow coated the trees. Frost glinted on the stems and petals of the wildflowers, and she realized she was lucky to have seen them at all.

  In addition to the wildflowers, the chalet had sparked its own set of memories. Inside, she found black-and-white pictures on the walls. A man who looked like her grandfather, a pretty woman, and a little girl. There were no labels on the photos, but Ursula had known at once that the woman was her mother, and that the girl was her. A dull memory had flashed in her mind—a ginger-haired woman teaching her to fight with a sword.

  But that wasn’t all. I
n a room in the back, she found a rack with a collection of weapons: swords, daggers, and spears. When she picked up one of the blades, she’d recognized its familiar weight. These were the weapons her mother had taught her with.

  Yet so much remained missing. She still couldn’t remember any specific details from her childhood beyond the vague glimmers of training sessions. Bael had pointed out that there were no pictures of anyone who might be her father.

  Bael joined her on the balcony and handed her a steaming mug of tea. “Did you sleep all right?”

  “I did.” She’d been tucked under a thick down comforter, and it had kept her warm even as the night brought with it a frigid chill. But not as warm as when Bael had slept next to her. She’d woken to find herself curled around his muscled body, her legs embarrassingly wrapped around one of his.

  “I slept pretty well,” he said, adding, “I’ve made breakfast.”

  She crossed back into the chalet, greeted by the rich scent of bacon, and her stomach rumbled.

  Bael grinned. “I made a visit to town this morning for supplies. No bat meat this time, I promise.” He’d laid out two plates of eggs and bacon. A steaming pot of tea sat on a trivet in the center of the table.

  Ursula sat down, her mouth watering, then dug into the food with a quiet ferocity. “This is delicious. Thanks for cooking.”

  He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I was unable to make breakfast properly. In the Shadow Realm, servants wait on the lords. And in ancient Byblos, men never cooked. I went through at least a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon before I went outside to find someone to cook for me.” He nodded at a young man who sat in the corner of the room.

  Ursula jumped. She hadn’t even noticed him, but now that she looked at him, she saw fear etched across his pale features. Bael, apparently, scared the shit out of him—enough that he had agreed to come into the chalet to cook for them.

  “C-can I go now?” the young man stammered, his voice plaintive.

  Bael nodded curtly. “You may leave. Thank you for your assistance.”

  The young man rose on shaking legs and tripped over them to get out of the chalet.

  Ursula held up a hand, stifling a laugh. “You’re ten thousand years old, and you never learned to cook eggs?”

  Bael’s dark eyebrows rose up. “I was busy being a warrior of legendary strength.”

  “Mmm. That does sound time consuming. Quite a lot of demands on your warrior time.”

  “And I never needed to learn to cook. There was always someone to do it for me.”

  Ursula suppressed a smile, imagining Bael’s perplexed face as he tried to scramble eggs that morning. Defeated by the unrelenting heat of a frying pan. “I can teach you how to cook someday, if you want to learn.”

  “It does seem a useful skill.”

  Ursula stifled another laugh. In ten thousand years, this had only just occurred to him.

  A few hours later, Ursula and Bael were hiking up the slopes of Mount Acidale. Ursula’s lungs burned in her chest, and her legs felt like they were loaded down with lead weights. She didn’t know the exact altitude, but the air was definitely thinner. Fatigue burned through her muscles. Not that she was about to admit this to Bael.

  Now they hiked through an aspen grove. The trees had lost their leaves, leaving only trunks of pale bark. To Ursula, if felt like they were walking through a forest of bones.

  “How are you doing?” Bael’s eyes skimmed up and down her body.

  “I’m fine,” Ursula lied, as she tried to hide her heaving chest.

  They reached a ridge line, and from here, Ursula could see the roof of the chalet. It looked so small from here, like a toy. In the distance, thick clouds hid the city of Mount Acidale.

  Directly above them was Mount Acidale itself. It looked like a peak from the Swiss Alps, with great snowy fields, jutting cliff faces, and massive cornices of ice. Ursula didn’t want to admit it, but she could see now why Bael had said finding the White Dragon—if she did exist—would be an impossible task.

  Bael handed her a canteen, and she took a swig of ice-cold water. They’d now left the aspen forest behind and started up the edge of the ridge. A cold wind blew down from the mountain, but the exercise kept Ursula’s body warm. As she acclimated to the thin mountain air, she moved at a comfortable pace alongside Bael.

  “What did you think of Frank?” she asked.

  “He seemed interesting.”

  There was something about his response that raised Ursula’s hackles. “Interesting? That’s all?”

  Bael didn’t respond.

  “He loaned us his carriage, and is letting us stay in his chalet.”

  Bael stopped hiking and turned to face her. “He’s one of Emerazel’s.” Venom laced his voice.

  Ursula stared at him in disbelief. “I’m one of Emerazel’s.”

  “I trust you,” said Bael. “I don’t trust him.”

  He turned, picking up the pace now, and Ursula had to push herself to keep up with him. Her lungs began to burn in her chest again as they reached another ridge. Apparently, Bael hadn’t quite overcome his rage toward Emerazel’s hounds. But given that the fire goddess had forced him to murder his wife, she supposed a bit of unresolved anger was understandable.

  A broad snowfield spread out below the ridge. She peered up the mountain slopes. High above them, an enormous cornice of snow curved over them on the ridge, glinting in the light. Without stopping, Bael began to make his way onto the ridge.

  Ursula chased after him. Even with the hiking boots, her feet slipped in the snow.

  “Bael—stop!” she called after him, gasping for breath.

  Bael slowed, then turned to face her. His eyes looked as cold as the snow. “I fought your grandfather in the Battle of Mount Acidale.”

  She wasn’t getting his point. “Right. So?”

  “Did you see his arm? I was the one that severed it. I almost killed him.”

  “It was a battle,” said Ursula, starting toward him.

  Shadows slid through Bael’s eyes. “You don’t understand. We’re locked on different sides of a war that has been raging since before I was born. Since the seven gods first fell to earth. Emerazel forced me to kill my wife. You’re mortal, too, and eventually, she will force me to kill you too. She still loathes me for choosing Nyxobas over her, and when she’s finished with you, she will try to use me to slaughter you.” He paused as his eyes faded back to their usual slate gray. “I love you, Ursula, but I can’t protect you. You aren’t safe with me.”

  Ursula gasped at his confession, her chest warming and heart racing at the same time. She started toward him, but a loud crack stopped her in her path.

  When she looked up, her heart paused. A monstrous piece of cornice had cracked off and was barreling toward them.

  Chapter 24

  “Avalanche!” shouted Bael. He sprinted toward her.

  She turned to run, knowing they’d never make it in time. As the cornice bounded toward them, it broke into smaller pieces of ice, setting off more floods of snow. Bael caught her about the waist and plowed forward, tumbling off the ridge, but it was too late.

  The avalanche hit with the roar of a jet engine. They tumbled down the slope amid blocks of ice the size of small houses. Bael tried to hold on to her, but a massive piece of ice smashed into him, and he spun away. Ursula tumbled through the snow, which pulled at her legs like frozen quicksand. Somewhere in the back of her brain, she remembered that to survive an avalanche, you were supposed to swim on top of the snow. She swung her arms and kicked with her legs, scrambling to keep her head above the surface.

  “Bael!” she shouted, her voice drowning in the roar of the churning snow. Through the sea of white, she glimpsed a grove of pine trees hurtling toward her at breakneck speed. Panic ripped through her mind as she approached the trunks—and slammed directly into one. Tree bark pressed into her face, and snow from the avalanche piled up and over her. In an instant, the sun disappeared, and she was plunged into
a frigid darkness.

  She struggled against the snow, but it packed in tighter and tighter, entombing her in a frozen embrace. Oddly enough, despite her terror, there was something strangely peaceful about the soft sound of sliding snow and the scent of pine needles.

  Although snow was packed into the back of her jacket and up her pant legs, she felt no pain beyond an icy trickle down her spine as it melted. She wiggled her toes and fingers. She didn’t appear to be hurt at all. She took a breath, but the snow didn’t allow her to expand her lungs much.

  I’m not going to die like this.

  She tried to move her arms and legs, but she found them frozen in place, like she’d been dropped in cement that had instantly solidified.

  A stiff pine branch pressed into her cheek, its needles sharp as pins. She tried to move her head out of the way, but only succeeded in driving it into her mouth.

  Okay. I’m going to become one of Callum’s unnerving stories.

  Ursula forced herself to relax as she tried to focus. I need to think of a plan. But her mind wasn’t quite working properly, and her fingers and toes were starting to grow numb. She gritted her teeth as another icy trickle of water dripped down her back. It was then that the first inklings of an idea came to her.

  Slowly, she began to channel Emerazel’s fire, the heat warming her veins. Her toes and fingers burned as the fire thawed them. She summoned the flames along her arms and into the snow itself. Steam misted past her face until she was able to move her arms. Slowly, she brought them forward until she was able to grab onto some of the tree branches. Then she did the same thing with her legs.

  As the snow melted, it dripped along her back and down her thighs in icy rivulets. She forced herself not to flinch. Eventually, she was able to move both feet close to the tree.

  “This is going to suck,” she muttered to herself as she channeled fire into her head and shoulders.

  Icy water poured over her, dripping between her breasts. She ignored it, pulling hard on the tree branch with her arms. Her body moved up a few inches. She waited for snow to fill in under her feet, then repeated the procedure. It took her ages, but eventually she was able to inch her way up the side of the tree.