Devon Monk - Magic on the Storm

• Название: Magic on the Storm
• Автор: Devon Monk
• Жанр: Фэнтези
• Год: 2010

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I pushed my left hand into my pocket and pulled out the crystal. Deep fuchsia, the crystal was hot, glyphs carved inside it fluctuating with the magic I carried. I didn’t know how the crystal was going to help.

Direct the magic into it; use it to Ground. It is organic, unlike the disks, Dad said. It can act as a Grounder.

Okay, so all I had to do was recast the Grounding spell onto the crystal. One crystal to handle what me and a hundred disks were barely managing?

It’ll explode, I said.

It will hold long enough, Dad said.

Long enough?

For the storm to pass.

Maybe that was his idea of success. As a matter of fact, it probably was. I didn’t know what his stake in this was, except Violet’s safety.

Put the crystal on the disks, he said.

And that made sense. The excess magic in the crystal would bleed off into the disks, and they could help carry the load of wild magic.

But the Grounding spell wrapped me in concrete. It took everything I had to bend my knees and hold my hand out over the pile of disks. I opened my fingers, tipped my palm. The crystal fell, tumbling down and down. It struck the disks and a sweet, harmonic tone echoed back from the rain.

And then the world exploded.

My hands flew up without thought. Well, without my thought. Dad took over and cast a hell of a Shield spell. That kept me from burning to the bone. But it did not keep me from being thrown back ten feet, and landing flat on my back.

Someone above me, in the light, shadows, rain, wild magic, held a hand down for me.

“Move!” It was Victor, my teacher, Zayvion’s teacher. He grabbed my hand and rocketed me onto my feet.

All the training I’d done on the mats came into play. I found my balance and footing in the wet and confusion, and got out of the way fast. Victor had pulled me to one side of the battlefield.

I hurt-my skin stung from the magic burns, or, for all I knew, from lightning strikes. But even with all hell coming down, I did not draw Zay’s blade and go in swinging.

I didn’t know whom we were fighting, other than Greyson and Chase, and I didn’t know why. Everyone was throwing magic and weapons around. This had gone from a fight against the storm to a fight against one another.

“Stay out of the way.” Victor turned and ran into the fray.

I wasn’t going to do anything until I knew my hands, my body, were my own. I shook my hands, making sure my dad was not using them. It creeped me the hell out when he did that.

You’re welcome, his sardonic voice said in the middle of my head.

Shut up. And leave my body alone.

This isn’t your battle, he said. There is so much more you were meant for. So much more you and I could do to make this right. Death isn’t the end, nor life the beginning.

Save it for the encore, I thought. I am a part of this. My friends are in there.

You do not know who your true friends are.

I ignored him because, really? Busy trying to figure out how to lend a hand here, and the last time I’d let him tell me who my friends were, I was six. I set a Disbursement, headache, and traced a glyph for Sight. The entire field opened up like I’d just flipped the switch on a floodlight.

The scene was gruesome.

Several things were happening at once. On the compass points of the field, four people had backed off, and now stood with their hands above their heads and forward, feet spread for balance, in some kind of weird yoga pose that was actually sustaining the flow of magic into the shield. The Georgia sisters were three of them-I could tell because they each stood with one hand on their staff, and one extended skyward-and I think Carl, the brother twin, was the other. They were wet, shaking, and chanting, though I couldn’t hear their words, and held their focus and concentration with grim robotic determination.

Inside that circle that reached to a domed height maybe six stories above us, at least as high as the trees, was magic. Wild magic pounded in the sky beyond the bubble and fluttered around the bubble like a bee to nectar.

I didn’t know what it looked like on the outside, but I could guess. I guessed that it looked like a storm, a regular thunderstorm. Even the best magic users wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to tap into the wild magic to cast spells like Sight. So all they’d see was multicolored lightning rolling across the sky in vaguely glyphlike shapes. There were probably strikes in other parts of the town, caught by the Beckstrom Storm Rods, but the flow of magic here would be mostly invisible. Magic is so fast, it cannot be seen by the naked eye. And with plain old ordinary lightning blasting through the sky, I doubted anyone even knew what was going down behind the dome of Illusion in St. Johns.

So long as the four magic users held their concentration and kept the dome intact, this would never hit the news.

Inside the circle was a battlefield. Mostly, it looked like the magic users had chosen two sides. The one against Chase and Greyson and the one for them. With this many people fighting for Chase and Greyson, it was no wonder Greyson had escaped.

And with this many people on their side, I considered them against me, and responsible for Zayvion’s lying unconscious. I knew which side I belonged on. The side with Maeve, Victor, Hayden, Sedra, Dane, Shame, and Terric.

Chase and Greyson worked together, Liddy standing close by them, and not doing anything to stop them.

Over and over Chase called up gates for Greyson to leap through. He tore into magic users, pinning them, and drinking the magic out of them. He was mostly man now, wearing pants and no shirt, but still a wild thing, all muscle and pale skin, his hair long, his eyes more human than they had been, but still filled with an animal’s intelligence. No, the intelligence of a killer.

He attacked La, the other twin. She swung her scythe and magic so hard, it should have cut his arm off. But it didn’t even nick him. He shoved hands into her chest like he was digging for bones. He tipped his head back, the disk pulsing silver green at his throat, and howled over her screams as he sucked the magic out of her. Her twin, Carl, holding the east side of the dome, yelled out too, but the dome did not waver. He endured.

Big Hayden was having nothing of it. He wore the bomber jacket, but the shotgun and broadsword were no longer over his shoulder.

He fired the rifle at Greyson. Missed his head by an inch. Greyson ducked and rolled, using the unconscious La as a shield. Hayden swung his sword, and a sound wave pushed against my skin as if a hundred voices were calling out in a chant, a prayer, a force. There was magic in that sword-I don’t know what kind, but it was old. It wrapped around Greyson, dug into his muscles as he ran, slowing him and leaving lines of blood behind. Then there was a gate, and Greyson was through it.

Hayden was hot on his heels. Before the gate closed, Greyson grabbed a handful of it-of the magic Chase used to create the gate-and threw it like a hand grenade at Hayden.

Hayden sheathed his rifle, and caught most of the magic with his hand, diffusing the magic so that it froze into a cloud of shattered glass that fell and burned the grass at his feet.

Magic should not do what Greyson and Chase were doing with it. They were using so much magic, they should be unconscious by now. Someone had to be bearing the price of their magic use, but I didn’t know who it was, although it could be the other magic users on their side acting as Proxy.

Or maybe more magic users somewhere else in the city were standing Proxy. How far did this break in the Authority run? Were they fighting in Salem? In Eugene? Was there an uprising in Washington? California? Or was this just a local war?

I glanced at Chase. Stop her to stop Greyson. The flaw of that plan was that Greyson had now drunk enough Life magic, light magic, to transmute back into the form of a man. Which meant he had hands, and could cast magic as well as any of us. But I knew he wouldn’t stay a man for long. Not without a constant intake of magic.

Chase worked the southern end of the fight. Liddy had shifted to stand behind her, one hand on her shoulder, the other drawing spells. Liddy whispered and traced glyphs, pouring magic into Chase, providing her with the magic to give to Greyson.

Liddy was a bad guy. Great. How was I going to get past the teacher of Death magic to get to Chase?

We don’t need the Closer, Dad said in my head. All we need is the beast, to take back what is mine.

Wrong, I said. We get the Closer, we get the beast. They’re Soul Complements. They’re one. And she’s going to be easier to take down.

I glanced around for Jingo Jingo. He might be a freak, but he was good at what he did.

Jingo Jingo was in a deadlock with Maeve. Jingo’s Death magic absorbed the Blood magic Maeve threw at him, sucked it down like a well with no end. He strolled toward her, almost as easy as a Sunday walk, nodding as if he understood why she was fighting him, and maybe would regret killing her. I think I heard him humming a song, an old gospel about babies and the devil and bones. Maeve wove spells with blood and blade, not about to back down.

Sedra, nearby, was locked in a cage work of magic like nothing I’d ever seen. It had to be technology, something my dad would have built.

Maybe it wasn’t just the disks the Authority had broken into the lab for. Maybe they’d come in and demanded that cage too.

That wasn’t in the lab, Dad said. I developed it years ago. It was taken from me years ago.

Like something out of Victorian clockwork, the cage was a collection of gears and glyphs and metal twisted into the shape of holding spells. It hinged in every section, as if it could be shaped into any spell, and shaped around any person.

Holy shit. It was a physical carrier of magic, like the disks, but specific to single spells.

This was part of what my dad had been working on. Not just the conduits of magic that could fuel the city. Not just the disks that worked as batteries. But a metal or some other compound that could be shaped into a spell and become that spell until the day the magic died.

Using this would permanently change the world.

The cage was constricting, pressing in on Sedra’s clothes and moving closer. It was going to crush her to death.

What the hell kind of tech were you making? I thought at my dad.

Do not vilify that which you do not know. All great things can be used for war or peace.

The cage had Sedra frozen completely. She didn’t so much as move a hand or speak a word.

Dane, her bodyguard, was doing what he could to hold a slowing spell around her. It kept the cage from collapsing in on her, but he couldn’t do anything else.

Shame and Terric fought back-to-back, moving as if they could read each other’s minds. It was not just Greyson and Chase and Jingo Jingo and Liddy causing problems. Mike wore the glowing glyph gloves and threw lightning around like it was rice at a wedding. Shame and Terric were counteracting his constant barrage.

La was down. So was Romero. Hayden had finally pinned Greyson back against the wall of magic where Chase couldn’t get to him. Greyson was no slouch. He cast magic, light and dark, Life and Death, at the big man. He forced Hayden to spend so much effort blocking, Grounding, or containing magic, he was not making any headway against Greyson.

If it hadn’t been real, if it hadn’t been my friends’ lives on the line, this scene might be beautiful for the amazing skill. Greyson was liquid silver and shadow dancing with the saber he’d found, Chase, his pale, blood-lipped lover, feeding him the power to fight.

Hayden, a mountain of power and precision, took blows that would cripple a lesser man. Dane wove incredible, complicated lacework spells to keep Sedra from being crushed, while Jingo Jingo supped on Maeve’s Blood magic like a man with a hunger that had no end.

Maeve’s spells painted quick, sensual strokes of Blood magic that wrapped deadly vines around Jingo’s soul. Shame and Terric, brothers, Complements, warriors, blades, ax, magic, shouted curses and synchronized death.

It was Jingo who broke the stalemate between the two factions.

He stopped strolling toward Maeve, stopped singing.

He put one hand over his heart and shook his head. I didn’t know if it was an apology or a salute. But when he lifted his hand, there was blood on his palm. And a disk.

He lifted his hand from his heart and pointed the disk at Maeve.

He twisted the spell she had anchored into him, and sent it back on her. Mixed with his blood. Mixed with Death magic. Mixed with the magic in the disk. All the souls of the ghostly children who clung to him were set free.

They screamed through the air, rabid, feral, tearing into Maeve like a mob of crows. They covered her, clawing, biting, and lifted her off the ground.

Jingo slashed the disk downward. The ghosts dropped Maeve to the ground, but clung to her with tiny hands and hungry mouths.

Maeve yelled. Pain. Agony. She could not move to break the spell. Could not free herself of the children’s souls. And those souls were drinking her dry.

Shame saw it. Terric saw it. Hayden saw it.

And so did I.

Shame ran for her.

So did Hayden.

Greyson ran too. To Chase. To the gate she opened for him. Closed for him. Then opened again. Behind Maeve.

Greyson leaped out of the gate and was on Maeve. He drank down the magic around her, lapped up the children’s souls and all the magic they contained.

Hayden and Shame yelled out. They were almost there. Almost close enough.

Greyson stood, faced Jingo Jingo. And disgorged the children’s magic, and more-all the magic he had taken from all the people he’d been fighting-straight at Jingo Jingo.

For a second my heart soared. Maybe Chase had told Greyson that Jingo was a freak. Maybe they were on the good guys’ side. Our side.

But Jingo Jingo took that magic, all of it, into the disk in his hand, mixed with his blood, and every discipline and expression of magic. His eyes were wide, desperate, as if this one thing, this last thing, was his only chance. He pointed the disk at the pile of disks and the crystal in the center of the field.

He chanted a spell that made my ears hurt.

Light seared through the air-a hot talon carving a hole through space. Light burst out of the opening, swirled with metallic colors reflected on my arm. A gate between life and death opened.

More than opened, the gate had been made real. Solid. It was made of iron and stone and glass. And magic.

I glimpsed a figure standing in the gate, ghostly thin. A fair-haired boy with eyes as blue as summer. Cody Miller. The Hand who had pulled magic through my bones, the boy who was still alive, and currently living with my friend Nola on her farm in Burns. The boy who had eyes too much like Sedra’s eyes. Too much like the eyes of Mikhail, the dead leader of the Authority.