The Black Witch. Laurie ForestЧитать онлайн книгу.
movement beyond my aunt’s guard catches my eye—just a small glimpse in a dark alley beyond the plaza, beyond the road.
Another Icaral looks at me for a split second, then disappears from sight.
A strong hand grabs my arm. I jump in fright and whirl around to see Lukas shouting something at me. I close my eyes tight and jerk my head from side to side, desperate to pull myself together, to focus. I open my eyes as all the sound around me rushes back in with a roar, like a dam opened.
“There’s another one!” I cry to Lukas, pointing toward the alleyway.
Lukas pulls out his wand and aims it in that direction. A burst of blue-green lightning spears from his wand’s tip and explodes into the alley. It incinerates the walls of the buildings on either side with a crackling boom that sends a sharp pain through my ears.
Lukas yells to the guards as four other Mages run toward us, their wands drawn, their cloaks edged with rows of silver lines.
Lukas calls out orders, and all of the Mages run off in the direction of the alley.
“Are you hurt?” Lukas shouts at me as the heavens open up and the rain pours down, the water mixing with the blood of the Icarals, forming dark, violent puddles. I nod, and Lukas pulls me to my feet. He braces me with a strong arm around my waist, his other hand still gripping his blood-stained sword. I grip my throbbing wrist as he guides me across the plaza.
Lightning flashes around us as we quickly make our way toward the cathedral. Soldiers fan out over the plaza, and a small crowd of Gardnerians, including my aunt and Echo Flood, look out from the open cathedral doors with horrified faces.
Marcus Vogel stands amongst them, the calm eye of the hurricane.
And the bird, the white bird, sits above the doorway in a hollowed-out, sheltered crevice, as still as the artwork adorning the cathedral.
Watching me.
* * *
Lukas paces back and forth across the room like a caged animal, glancing over at me every so often, his jaw set tight, face ruddy, his brow furrowed with angry impatience. Like me, he’s soaked through with rain and blood, his sword sheathed and hanging at his side. His pacing is interrupted when one of my aunt’s guards comes in to speak with him, the two of them talking so low I can’t make out what they’re saying. Lukas’s hand is on his hip as he speaks to the man, both of them tense, the guard taking a subordinate stance as Lukas gives him a series of orders. The guard nods and leaves with a look of serious purpose.
I’m sitting on a wooden chair in Priest Vogel’s cathedral sanctuary, shivering uncontrollably, feeling dazed and frightened, surrounded by black-robed priests.
Vogel is looming over me, holding outstretched hands above my head, his eyes firmly closed as he intones a prayer in the Ancient Tongue. An image of dark Icaral wings and lifeless trees flashes behind my eyes and sends a vicious chill through me.
The priest to the left of Vogel swings a gold ball filled with incense from a long chain. Pungent smoke wafts from holes in the sphere, burning my nose, my stomach clenching with nausea.
Even though they’re closed, I can feel Vogel’s eyes.
Echo sits next to me and holds my hand tight.
“What’s he doing?” I ask, still in shock. This can’t be real. I’m trapped in a nightmare. None of this can be real.
“Shhh, Elloren,” she whispers kindly. She gives my hand a squeeze of solidarity. “You have looked into the eyes of an Icaral. To do this is to pollute your soul. Priest Vogel is exorcizing the stain.”
My wrist burns where the Icaral dug its claws into my flesh.
“I want my uncle,” I whimper, tears starting to fall. I feel lost among all these unfamiliar people, and frightened by the need for ritual purification.
And I’m scared of Vogel.
My aunt stands in the doorway with two more priests, old men with snow-white hair. They speak in hushed tones, their expressions grave.
I drop my face into my hands and begin to sob. My shivering gets worse as Priest Vogel drones on and on, rattling me with his remote chanting of prayers and the sense of his dark void swirling around me. I cry as the chanting falls away and the dark void subsides, only half aware of Lukas asking for a moment alone with me.
The room grows quiet.
“Elloren. Look at me.”
I jump at the sound of Lukas’s stern voice and the feel of his strong hand gripping my arm. I straighten and pull my tear-soaked hands from my eyes.
He’s down on one knee, his head level with mine, eyes full of fire. “Stop it.”
His harsh tone stuns me into astonished silence.
I choke back my tears as anger at his treatment wells up within me. Wasn’t he right there? Didn’t he see those...things? A dark fury takes root, replacing my fear with steel-cold anger.
“That’s better!” Lukas snarls as I glare at him with as much hatred as I can muster. “You are not weak!”
“How can you say that?” I spit out, wanting to strike him. “You’re wrong!”
“No, I’m not,” he vehemently counters, still gripping me. “I can sense power in you. You look exactly like your grandmother, and her blood runs through your veins. Your uncle has done you a grave disservice by not preparing you for something like this.”
“Don’t you dare speak against my uncle!” I cry. I try to jerk my arm away from him, but he holds on tight.
“No, Elloren, it needs to be said. He did this to you by leaving you unarmed and ignorant!”
An uncomfortable doubt rises in the back of my mind. I beat it back.
“You don’t know anything about my uncle,” I say firmly. “You’ve never even met him!”
“They were at your uncle’s house, Elloren.”
I stop trying to wrench away from him. “What do you mean?”
“The Icarals. Galen got a confession from one of them before he killed it. They escaped from the Valgard Sanitorium. One of them was an empath. He found out about you from a worker there—someone who knows your aunt. They were waiting for this, Elloren—for the next Black Witch to be found. They went straight to your uncle’s house, but you were gone. They found your uncle sleeping, and the empath read where you were from his thoughts by touching him. If your aunt hadn’t pulled you from there, you’d be dead right now.”
I stare at him, wide-eyed and frozen. No, this isn’t happening. This isn’t real. “I’m powerless. Why would those...things think that I’m the Black Witch?”
Lukas doesn’t answer. He just keeps his unwavering stare fixed on me.
I already know the answer, though. It’s my blood. Her blood—that’s what the creature sensed. And I look just like her.
“The third Icaral,” I finally say, my voice strangled. “Did they find it?”
Lukas takes a deep breath. “No.”
“And my uncle?” I ask, almost in a whisper.
“He’s fine,” he says, his voice losing its angry edge. “They weren’t after him, Elloren. They were after you.” Lukas’s hand loosens then falls away from my arm. “We’ve sent guards to your uncle’s house as a precaution.”
“But what about Rafe? And Trystan?”
“I’ve already sent guards to find them and escort them across Verpacia’s border, if they haven’t crossed already.”
“And once they’re across?”
His lips turn up at the edges. “You won’t have to worry