Ascension Read online

  Since I can’t get out through the bars, I have to make this work. I have to pierce the grout with the weave before I can move the stones out of my way.

  But it’s not easy.

  It’s like taking a butter knife to concrete, and within five minutes, I’m becoming taxed from the effort.

  How am I supposed to move stones with my mind?

  I’ve become accustomed to using the weave during fights, but I’ve never used it in this way before, and I don’t know how to make it give me what I want.

  When I first arrived in Ironholde, it came as great surprise to the messengers that I had access to the weave. Typically, only messengers and gods can reach this great source of magic, and that’s why I still have access to it now.

  Because Kaius didn’t bother to bind my magic like he did for each of my messengers.

  He doesn’t know I have it.

  But it won’t do me any good if it can’t get me out of this cell.

  Determination burns through me at the thought. I stand and brush off my hands, which are dirty from the stone floors. I need more power. I need to force the stones apart.

  When I first began training with Echo after arriving in the afterworld, he taught me that moving as if I were “hunting” helped me access the power of the weave. It feels silly to pace around my small cell as if I’m out hunting in the woods near my village, but I disregard any embarrassment. No one can see me anyway.

  Keeping my mind focused on what I want to achieve, I stalk and spin on the balls of my feet, moving around the room. The weave seems to stick to my fingers, and I pick up my pace, dipping and swaying with my arms whirling through the air.

  The weave is so much stronger around me now than it ever was during those courtyard training sessions with Echo.

  The more I move, the more in tune I feel with the humming strands, the more the weave seems to connect to me. I lose sight of my body and the dingy room. The only thing I know is the weave, fully connected to me and flowing all around me like a river of pure energy.

  I hold on to that connection with everything I have—then I fling the strands at the stone wall.

  The weave is luminous in my grasp as the strands slip through the stone as if it’s completely intangible. A sharp crack echoes through the dungeon, and I freeze, terrified someone will have heard.

  Then a small square block of stone tugs loose from the wall and thuds to the floor.

  My heart is still thundering in my chest, but I don’t hear any footsteps running down the stairs. And although I didn’t even come close to creating a hole in the wall like I was attempting, I see the heavy piece of rock for the gift it is.

  Maybe I won’t have to use magic to get out of this cell after all.

  A grin spreads across my face as I bend over and heft the stone into my hand. It’s plenty big for the use I have for it.

  I lie against the back wall of my cell, positioning the stone block behind me in the right position for me to easily grab it, then turn on my side to face the door.

  I steady my breathing, trying to preserve my energy as I wait for the next guard to arrive. As they’ve been doing since I awoke, another guard comes through on patrol some time later like clockwork.

  Heavy footsteps move down the stairs and the wide corridor that leads past my cell. I lie in the shadows, anticipation curling across my skin as I wait for the messenger to appear outside my door.

  He strolls into view, and I make a choked, pained sound. This is a guard I’ve only seen a few times—not the fiend who entertained himself by attempting to frighten me and the madman in the cell next to mine.

  Lucky for me, this guard appears younger and less hardened than his counterpart.

  Maybe he’s got a scrap of pity left in him.

  “Please,” I say hoarsely, lifting a shaky hand toward the guard. “Something is wrong. Please help me.”

  He halts in his steps and comes closer to the bars. The key ring jangles against his hip. “What’s the matter?”

  “I-I don’t k-know,” I murmur, my hand falling to the stones behind me as my head rolls listlessly on the floor. “I think… I’m dying.”

  I can see the gears shifting in his mind. My messengers and I are Kaius’s prize. Everybody who works for the god is well aware of his arrogance, and his insane desire to see vengeance meted out. I can almost hear the guard think, If this woman dies on my watch, I’ll get the whip for it.

  I let my eyes flutter closed, and I moan, putting on the most convincing act I can. “Please…”

  The guard lets out a harassed sigh and reaches for his keys.

  I watch him through half-closed eyes, keeping my breathing high and ragged. Clutching the stone tightly between my fingers, hidden behind my back, I wait.

  The cell door creaks open ominously, and the man comes in, hooking the key ring back to his belt. He’s armed with a wicked looking dagger at his side, but he hasn’t drawn it, I notice.

  As he bends over me, I flutter my eyelashes as if I’m falling unconscious with fever.

  “Ah, farse,” he mutters, clucking his tongue.

  Just a little closer. A little closer.

  He reaches for me to check my pulse, and the second his fingertips brush my neck, I move.

  Lunging up, I heave the stone off the floor and into his temple, with a strand of the weave wrapped around it to lend force to the blow and make the strike even deadlier.

  The guard keels over, his eyes closed before he hits the floor with a sickening thud. Blood blossoms on the side of his skull, and the area of the blow looks as if I’ve caved it in. I didn’t trust that I would be strong enough to knock him out, which is why I used the weave to bolster my attack.

  But it looks like I’ve killed him.

  I have no time to stop and mourn that I took a life I had no right to take. This man never hurt me; in fact, he opened my cell door to help me.

  Still, he’s complicit in helping a god who uses fear and violence to keep his people oppressed. And unlike total extinguishment, Kaius can bring him back from this if he chooses.

  Now comes the difficult part—my disguise.

  I don’t know how long it will take me to rouse my men and get us out of here, and if I’m caught before I find them, I need a good reason to be roaming around the dungeon unattended.

  Using the weave to affect my surroundings is one thing. Using the weave to completely alter my appearance is quite another. I kneel beside the man and survey him, getting a good mental picture of his form and shape. Honestly, he reminds me of an older version of my brother, Nolan, though taller and more filled out.

  Oh, nish. Why did I think that?

  Comparing him to my brother was a terrible idea. Guilt floods me again, and I have to breathe through a tight knot in my throat before I continue with my magic.

  I recall the feeling of the weave all around me as I moved around the cell earlier. Then I grasp two handfuls of the powerful energy and tug them down, wrapping them individually around key points of my body. All the while, I keep my eyes closed and focused on the mental image of the guard.

  When I’m wrapped up entirely, with the weave humming ceaselessly against my skin, I hold my breath and open my eyes.

  For a second, I still see my own delicate hands and ragged dress.

  But then the image blurs a little. I blink, and when I open my eyes again, I see a guard’s uniform and hands that are most definitely not my own.

  It worked.

  Elation floods me, but I don’t have time to celebrate. Ripping the key ring from the guard’s belt, I hurry from the cell, locking the thick door behind me. If he did manage to survive that blow, he won’t be coming after me anytime soon.

  The madman looks up as I appear outside his cell door, and he shrinks back against the wall. I don’t know what I expected, but he’s big like Callum, with a haggard face that was probably once quite handsome and soft eyes.

  Pity twists my stomach. I dig the key into the lock on his cell and pull th
e door open, the bottom rungs scraping on the stone. “Come on. Hurry.”

  He shakes his head wildly, dark hair flopping. “No, no. The bad man and darkness.”

  I hesitate for a half second, then turn and walk away, leaving his door open to the corridor. I don’t have time to convince the poor man to leave his cell.

  All I can do is give him the means to escape if he wants to. I owe him that much, at least.

  The dungeon is much larger than I realized when we first stepped inside a few days ago. I race down the uneven stone floors, peering into the darkness of cell after cell, searching for Callum, Echo, or Paris. I didn’t think they were too far away, since I was able to hear the distant cries of them being tortured. But the hall stretches ahead of me, an endless dimly lit tunnel, and the farther I run, the more despair grips me.

  The guard’s absence will be noticed. At some point, he won’t check in after his rounds, and they’ll send someone else down to find out why.

  My heart seizes as I finally come across a cell with an occupant I recognize. Hands trembling, I shove the key in the lock and open the cell door, nearly falling over my own feet in my haste to reach Callum.

  He’s unconscious, his eyelids fluttering as if he’s dreaming.

  Where I was left in my cell unencumbered, Callum is shackled to the wall, his hands held aloft in the air over his back. I dig through the keys on the key ring, my heart pounding. I swear I can feel time ticking away.

  After what feels like an eternity, I find the right key and manage to release his bindings. His hands fall unceremoniously to the floor at his sides, and for a terrifying moment, I wonder if he’s dead already.

  If he is, Kaius would most certainly never bring him back.

  But then the broad-shouldered messengers surges up with a roar, his beaten, bloody face set in a furious snarl as he grabs me by the throat and slams me against the cell wall.

  Terror-struck, I cling to his thick wrist, my feet dangling over the floor as adrenaline floods my body like ice water.

  Nish. I’m such an idiot.

  I’m still wearing my disguise. As far as Callum knows, I’m the enemy. Judging by the murderous glint in his eye as he rears back to punch me, he’s planning on taking me out just like I took out the guard in my cell.

  I can’t speak around his big hand squeezing my throat. I gasp for air and try to say my name, but only a strangled cry emerges. So I let go of the weave instead, letting the spell that disguises me wash away.

  The magic of my illusion sparkles between us before it winks out of existence.

  Callum’s face twists in horror, and he releases his grip on my neck as if I’ve burned him. I land on my feet but lose my balance and teeter backward into the wall, catching myself with both hands.

  There are so many questions on his bruised and battered face, but recognition burns in his eyes. Without speaking a word, Callum grabs the front of my dress and hauls me into his arms, kissing me fiercely.

  We’re both beat up, covered in dirt and sweat and blood from our time in the dungeons.

  But I don’t care. His kiss is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.

  When we separate at last, he presses his forehead to mine, breathing hard.

  “How?” he rasps.

  “I can still access the weave. Kaius didn’t know to bind me.”

  Callum shoves both of his hands through my hair and angles my face up, looking down at me with a kind of awe. “Clever soul.” His battered face grows serious, and I can see his mind churning, planning. “We’re only bound by the dungeon. If we get out of here, my brothers and I will be able to access our magic as well. Echo and Paris?”

  “I found you first.”

  He kisses me again, hard and with the promise of more when we survive this. “Let’s go.”

  I nod and press away from the wall to hurry toward the cell door, keys at the ready to release Echo once we find him.

  But before I can make it through the door, a jolt of pain surges through the connection between me and Callum.

  I skid to a stop, turning back just in time to see him fall.

  3

  No!

  My heart leaps into my throat, and I reach for him, his name on my lips. But I’m too far away to catch him before he lands. He collapses to his knees, then keels over on to his side, his eyes closed.

  Heart pounding, I rush to kneel at his side, my hands hovering over his prone body. He’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling with halting inhalations, as if it hurts him to draw air into his lungs. Clearly, he wasn’t faking his near-unconsciousness when I arrived to release him. He had just enough strength left to attack me—in my guise as the guard—despite his injuries.

  But now he has nothing left.

  “Get… out.” He gasps the words between breaths. “Save… yourself. Run, Sage. Live.”

  “There is no life for me without you,” I say hotly, shoving against his chest to roll him onto his back. “Now shut up and let me heal you.”

  Learning how to heal using the weave hasn’t been at the top of my priorities list, but I’ve seen my men do it enough that I think I can piece it together. First, I need to heal his insides—because patching an exterior wound will do no good if he’s bleeding internally.

  I did incredible things as a healer alongside my mother in life.

  I can do those things again.

  Closing my eyes, I lean over him, letting my palms rest over his torso. A few deep breaths chase away the knot in my throat, and a few more deep breaths clear away my panic enough to allow me to connect with the weave.

  Gripping a tenuous strand, I wrap it around him loosely, keeping my eyes firmly closed so that I won’t lose my connection. Once the thread spirals down his entire body, I can open up the pathways between me and the magic and sense where his internal injuries are.

  I work quickly, pinpointing bruised organs, broken ribs, and even a punctured kidney. Tears spill down my cheeks as I work, because I can’t fathom the amount of pain he’s been in.

  When I’m sure his internal injuries are healed, I open my eyes to inspect his skin. I noticed a large gash in his chest through the ripped material of his tunic, and having listened to the whip crack over and over the last time the torturer visited the dungeon, I know his back is likely a mess of raw, mottled wounds.

  His eyes are open, watching me. He’s completely lucid, yet he hasn’t pushed me away. Considering how hard I had to fight him to put the poultice on his injuries in the woods after we first fled Ironholde, I’m stunned he’s just letting me heal him.

  I’m certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, so I simply reach for the weave and tackle the gash in his chest.

  He continues to watch me as I pinpoint and heal every injury on the front of his body. The emotion crawling between us through our bond is so intense I can hardly stand it, and more tears wet my cheeks as I thread the weave through the split in his cheek under his grass-green gaze.

  Then I roll him over to administer to his back, gasping at the extent of the devastation. His skin is nothing but raw meat, all exposed muscle and sinew, with dirt ground into the wounds.

  This healing takes longer, and every minute that ticks by is another minute in which we could be caught.

  Finally, I’ve done as much as I can, and I grip his elbows to help him sit up. “How do you feel?”

  He turns, catching both my hands between his, and he bows his head to kiss my knuckles. When our gazes meet as he lifts his head, I recognize reverence there—and maybe even something akin to love.

  “Better,” he says gruffly, releasing my hands. “Healed enough to get out of the dungeon. It’s plenty for now. We can’t afford to waste any more time.”

  I nod, because I know deep in my soul that he’s right. Already, I keep expecting to hear footsteps in the hall and the alarmed cry of whatever guard finds the possibly dead man in my cell.

  Echo is across the hall and only three cells down. He greets us on his
feet, bruised and battered but in no way as bad off as Callum was when I found him. He clings to the bars, watching me with dark eyes that glitter in the dim light, as my trembling hands work the lock on his cell. Then the door creaks open, and his arms are around me, his desperate lips finding mine.

  I let myself revel in it for just a moment, soaking up the feel of him in my embrace.

  Then I break the kiss reluctantly, resting my hands on his tunic. “Where are you hurt? Let me heal you.”

  “I’m fine.” He shakes his head, kissing the corner of my lips. “We need to find Paris quickly. He’s in bad shape. Don’t worry about me.”

  “He’s farther down the hall, I think. That way.” Callum points, and the three of us race in that direction.

  Paris lies on the floor of his cell, his head lolled to the side and his eyes closed. My gaze travels between him and the lock as I find the right key. He’s so pale, nearly bloodless, and his breaths are so shallow as to be nearly nonexistent.

  When the door finally swings open, I burst inside so fast I nearly stumble.

  Pain lances through me as I fall to my knees at his side and work quickly to find the worst of his wounds. Seeing him like this, so weak and fragile, tears me apart. A sob wracks my body, my vision blurring, and Echo presses close behind me, his fingers on my back in an effort to strengthen my resolve.

  Leaning into the comfort of his touch a little, I swipe away my tears and set to work.

  The weave reveals Paris’s internal injuries to me, and I realize his organs have already begun to shut down. His heartbeat is sluggish, and his body temperature is falling rapidly. Horrified, I focus the magic around a dead kidney and say a little prayer that I can fix it.

  To whom am I praying?

  Certainly not to Kaius.

  Nor to Zelus, the neglectful god who ruined my life and mistreated my people.

  Not even to Sierian, the raven-haired goddess who refused to help us fight Kaius.