“Would that really be so bad? A world without any magic at all? No wizards. No Seers. No more dreams or prophecies.”
“If I’m not a wizard,” Keegan said, holding up his stump, “then I’m nothing!”
“You’re not nothing, Keegan,” Scythe told him.
“Without magic,” he continued, “what do I have?”
For a second she didn’t answer. If Methodis were here, he’d know exactly what to say. He always did. But words weren’t her style. Instead, she grabbed Keegan by the neck and pulled him in close for a long, passionate kiss. After a second of stunned confusion, Keegan wrapped his arms around her and responded.
“Well?” she said when they finally broke it off. “What do you think? Are you ready to live in a world without magic after all?”
“I guess it has a few things to offer,” he said with a wide grin.
You have to go now, Cassandra told them. When the Legacy is restored and magic is no more, the portal to take you back to Callastan will cease to exist!
“How long do we have?”
I can feel the pull of the Burning Sea, calling me to become one with the Chaos. I must start my ritual now or I will cease to exist before it is done.
Scythe pulled at his hand and they broke into a run.
“She didn’t really answer my question,” Keegan panted as they raced from the beach toward the tall, burning figure and the shimmering blue circle on the ground at her feet.
Suddenly, Cassandra was bathed in bright white light that shot up in a beam toward the clouds. It rose until it disappeared somewhere high above. A second later the sky was filled with a million rays of light—red, yellow, green, and blue—shooting off in all directions.
Keegan slowed, dumbfounded by the spectacle above them. Scythe yanked hard enough to almost jerk him off his feet and he picked up his pace again. By the time they reached the spot where the Keystone had once stood, Cassandra had disappeared, engulfed by the blinding white beam rising up to the heavens.
“Hurry!” Scythe shouted, as he stopped to look in wonder yet again.
Together they crowded into the portal. Keegan closed his eyes and pictured them whisked away back to Callastan.
Nothing happened.
“Come on!” Scythe shouted. “What are you waiting for?”
“I’m trying!” he shouted. “Something’s wrong!
“Cassandra!” he called out. “What’s happening?”
When there was no response, he knew she was already gone, consumed by the ritual she had set in motion—a ritual that might just have trapped him and Scythe on an empty island on the farthest edge of the world.
“Look down,” Scythe gasped.
Below their feet the blue circle was flickering like a flame in the wind, phasing in and out of existence. Keegan watched as it vanished completely, then faded back in, growing steadily brighter.
“Hold on,” he said to Scythe, pulling her close. “This could get ugly.”
As the pulsing blue light reached maximum intensity Keegan closed his eyes and imagined Callastan, with Vaaler and the others all gathered together waiting for them.
Go now! he thought. The island suddenly vanished, and everything around them turned to black.
This time there was no sensation of flying across a living map of the world. Instead, it felt like they were falling straight down into a deep, dark hole. Keegan had no idea if this was how the return journey normally worked, or if something had gone wrong because of Cassandra’s ritual to restore the Legacy.
One way or another we’ll know soon enough.
He suddenly felt cold wind rushing over his face, and he caught the outline of tall buildings and high city walls rushing up toward them through the darkness.
It’s night, his bemused mind noticed even as they plummeted toward the sleeping city. The journey must have taken longer this time.
With horror he realized they weren’t slowing down. He reached out, trying to summon Chaos to slow their fall, but he felt absolutely nothing.
It’s done. The Legacy is restored. There is no magic left. It happened while we were going through the portal, interrupting the spell. And now we are going to die.
All of this—from feeling the wind on his face to the stark realization that they were plummeting to their doom—took less than a second for his mind to process. And then they hit the cold water of Callastan’s harbor, sending up a splash so high it crested above the city wall.
Still clinging to each other, they plunged far below the surface. Keegan panicked as the water closed in around him, clawing and clutching at Scythe and dragging them both down. Then he felt a hard smack on his jaw and he went limp.
A few seconds later he was gasping and flailing on the surface though he had no idea how he’d gotten there. A strong, wiry arm had wrapped itself under his chin in some kind of choke hold.
“Settle down or I’ll smack you again,” Scythe warned.
It took another second before he realized she was the one with her arm around his neck, holding his head above the water.
“Not much of a swimmer, are you?” she grumbled.
Thankfully, Scythe was a strong enough swimmer for the two of them, and she managed to keep them afloat on the dark waters.
—
Vaaler stared through the bedroom’s tiny window at the night sky, unable to sleep. Shalana lay in the bed, snoring softly despite her insistence that she preferred to sleep out under the stars rather than cooped up inside a building within the city.
What happened to you, Keegan? he wondered.
The Blood Moon no longer hung in the sky; hopefully, that was a good sign. For weeks it had shined its ghastly light down upon them, and the sky looked strange with an ordinary moon. But that was far from the strangest change in the night sky.
As part of his royal upbringing, Vaaler had learned to use navigational star charts. Like everything else he studied, he still remembered them in near-perfect detail. And as he stared upward, he realized there was a new constellation in the heavens. A brilliant cluster of four very large, very bright stars had appeared on the night sky’s western horizon.
Is that your doing, Keegan? Is that why magic has disappeared?
Jerrod had been one of the first to realize what had happened, the white veil that covered his eyes vanishing without any warning whatsoever. Vaaler had been standing beside him when it happened, both of them keeping vigil over the ritual grounds in the courtyard as they waited for Keegan and Scythe to return.
To his credit, the monk hadn’t panicked when his Sight vanished. Instead, he’d simply stated, “Chaos has been banished from the mortal world.”
Andar had confirmed his assessment a short while later; none of the Danaan wizards could feel its touch or summon it in any measure or form.
It was impossible to say for sure if the effect was localized to the area around Callastan or if it encompassed the entire world. But Vaaler suspected the latter.
For the most part, the city had reacted with curiosity and confusion rather than panic as realization spread. Most of the population were like Vaaler: completely blind to Chaos in all its forms. But there were enough magicians and hex witches working in the city—either independently or in the service of various nobles or gangs—for the news to spread quickly.
Despite having his extrasensory awareness stripped away, Jerrod had taken it as a good sign.
“If the Legacy fell, Chaos would grow stronger, not weaker,” he’d declared. “Keegan and Scythe must have succeeded in their mission.”
But at what price? Vaaler wondered. If magic had vanished, how would they return?
His musings were cut short by someone’s pounding hard on their door. Roused by the sound, Shalana sprang from the bed, grabbing her spear from where she had propped it against the wall in easy reach.
“They’re back!” Jerrod shouted from the other side of the door. “Keegan and Scythe! They’re here!”
Vaaler wrenched the door open, his he
art pounding with excitement.
“Are they hurt? Where are they?”
“They appear unharmed,” Jerrod assured him. “Though they are cold and wet. A patrol found them treading water near the docks.”
A thousand questions were racing through Vaaler’s head. What happened? How did they return without magic? Why were they in the harbor? But none of these things really mattered: His friends were alive!
Vaaler grabbed the monk in a bear hug, lifting him off his feet and spinning him around, laughing with unbridled joy.
VAALER SAT ATOP his horse, watching as Andar and the rest of the Danaan contingent left Callastan. Nearly half the army of the Free City soldiers marched with them, serving both as an escort and as couriers to deliver a message to Lord Bonchamps: After decades of distinguished service, Captain Jendarme was stepping down as leader of Cheville’s city guard.
That didn’t mean the old man would be retiring, however. At the official request of the nobles, and with the unofficial sanction of the gang bosses and crime lords, the legendary soldier had agreed to serve as temporary Governor of Callastan until the city’s ruling class had reestablished itself.
“Good luck to you,” Andar said, reaching up to shake the young man’s hand.
“And you,” Vaaler replied. “And Keegan and Scythe wanted me to thank you again on their behalf.”
Since being fished out of the Callastan harbor three days ago, both Keegan and Scythe had been fighting a nasty cold. Under Methodis’s overprotective care, they’d been put on a strict regimen of bed rest and liquids.
“We should all be thanking them,” Andar replied. “They saved us all and restored the Legacy.”
Vaaler couldn’t say for sure, but he thought he picked up a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Would that be so surprising? He’s the High Sorcerer. Of course on some level he’s going to resent losing his powers.
“Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Andar asked, but Vaaler simply shook his head.
“No matter how many times you ask, it will always be the same answer.”
Over the past few days the High Sorcerer had made numerous appeals to Vaaler, trying to convince him to accompany the delegation on their return to Ferlhame. All to no avail.
Vaaler knew there were still many among the Danaan who would brand him a traitor, but he didn’t decline out of fear for his safety. From what Andar had told him, the Queen and most of her advisers did not see him that way. But that didn’t mean they would welcome him with open arms.
And I’m not ready to see Rianna yet, he thought, watching the Danaan head out through the city gates.
As if reading his thoughts, Shalana asked, “Do you think you will ever forgive your mother?”
“I honestly can’t say,” he told her.
“The Danaan will have need of a strong leader,” she reminded him, “now that they can no longer rely on visions and mages to protect their kingdom. It will be a difficult adjustment for them.”
For all of us, Vaaler thought.
He had never considered himself to have any kind of magical ability. Despite the pedigree of his bloodline, Chaos did not flow in his veins. Yet with magic gone, he found his memory wasn’t quite what it used to be. It wasn’t that he’d forgotten everything he’d learned, but many of the details weren’t quite as sharp or as clear anymore.
I was born under the Blood Moon, he reasoned. Maybe I was touched by Chaos, after all. Maybe it enhanced my skills and abilities in ways too subtle to notice until it was gone.
That realization was daunting, but Vaaler knew there would be many others who had a far more difficult time adjusting to the new world than he. Magic and visions were ubiquitous in both the Southlands and the Danaan kingdom. To have such a common tool taken away was going to have many unforeseen consequences…not all of them desirable.
“You may not be ready to return to the North Forest yet,” Shalana noted, interrupting his train of thought, “but one day you will go back. It is your home.”
“Not anymore,” he assured her. “Once we’re done here in Callastan, I’m heading with you to the Frozen East.”
“What if I don’t want to go back right away?” Shalana asked. “What if I want to explore the Southlands?”
“It will be an interesting time,” Vaaler conceded, not quite sure if she was teasing him or not. “Maybe it’ll be worth sticking around to see how it all turns out.
“Just as long as we’re together,” he added, leaning over in his saddle to give her a quick peck on the cheek.
“I finally understand the purpose of that horse,” she said with a coy smile. “Now you don’t have to get on your tiptoes to kiss me.”
—
As he made the long walk from the kitchen to the bedrooms, Methodis was reminded why he hated treating patients in the mansions of the nobility. Every time he prepared a medicinal mixture—or even made a bowl of soup, like the ones he now carried—he had to traipse from the servants’ wing to the private chambers of the owner.
As temporary Governor, Jendarme had commandeered this particular residence for Keegan and Scythe to use while they remained in the city. Officially it still belonged to the original owner, but there were reports that his ship had sunk when he tried to flee Callastan during the Order’s attack. He and all his heirs were lost beneath the deep, dark waters.
Yet Methodis had heard a slightly different tale. There were rumors of the nobleman’s having an affair with the daughter of one of the local crime bosses that ended badly. Some claimed he disappeared to avoid the wrath of an angry father who also happened to employ several highly skilled assassins.
Of course, none of that had any effect on the health and welfare of the doctor’s current patients. He knocked with his foot against the door of their bedchamber, carefully balancing the tray of soup.
“Come in,” Scythe called out, her voice still stuffy and congested.
As usual, she was up and about, pacing around the room. She had never taken to bed rest well. Keegan, on the other hand, had made himself comfortable in the luxurious bed, wrapping himself in the down-filled comforter.
“I’m glad at least one of you is following doctor’s orders,” Methodis said, coming in and placing the soup down on the small, ornate table in the room’s breakfast nook.
“Any idea how much longer until we’re better?” Keegan asked, punctuating his question with a trio of wet sneezes.
“A few more days,” Methodis said. “If you rest up,” he added, glaring at Scythe.
“Too bad I’m not a wizard anymore,” he groused. “I could just snap my fingers and make this all go away.”
Methodis smiled, relieved the young man was able to joke about what he had lost.
He’s coming to grips with this. It won’t be easy, but he will find his way.
“It’s probably for the best,” Scythe chimed in. “You were always a bit careless with your spells. Probably turn this cold into a plague that would wipe out half the city.”
The young man laughed softly and shook his head.
They’re so comfortable around each other, Methodis thought.
He was glad that Scythe had taken his advice and finally opened herself up to the young man. It would help him in his recovery, and Methodis thought it was good for her, too.
Scythe was different since they’d returned. The change was subtle, but for someone who had raised her it was easy to see. She didn’t seem as confrontational or quick to anger, as if the fire that had always burned inside her had softened somewhat.
Privately, Vaaler had speculated to Methodis that with the Legacy restored, Chaos was no longer acting as a catalyst for her temper. A possibility, but one Methodis discounted.
He saw the way Scythe and Keegan looked at each other, and he recognized young love. Hang on to this one, my little Spirit, he thought.
Another knock came on the door, and Jerrod poked his head inside. It took a moment for Methodis to recognize him. With the white v
eil no longer covering his eyes, his features were so plain as to be almost generic.
“I came to say good-bye,” the former monk announced. “I’m leaving in a few hours.”
“I need to go check on my shop,” Methodis said, coming up with an excuse to give them some privacy. “I’ll be back later tonight.”
As a parting shot, he added, “Make sure you eat the soup!”
—
“He’s a good man,” Jerrod said, as Methodis slipped out the door. “You are lucky to have him back in your life.”
You have no idea, Scythe thought. Out loud, she answered, “There is no kinder or more caring soul in the Southlands.”
“I just wish his daughter took after him a little more,” Keegan said, earning a snarky glare from Scythe.
“You sure you don’t want to wait a little longer before leaving?” Scythe asked, turning her attention back to Jerrod. “Or, better yet, just forget about this crazy plan altogether?”
To Scythe’s dismay, Jerrod was determined to wander the Southlands, telling everyone the tale of the Children of Fire.
“Cassandra sacrificed herself to save us all,” Jerrod insisted. “People must be told of what she has done. She must be remembered and honored.”
“We wouldn’t be here now if it wasn’t for her,” Keegan agreed. “Everything we have—our lives, each other, the entire world—we owe to her. And keeping her name alive is the only thing we can do to repay her.”
“And there are others who sacrificed as well,” Jerrod added. “Their story must also be told.”
Scythe nodded, knowing exactly who he meant. Even though she’d finally given in to her feelings for Keegan, she still cared deeply for Norr. She always would. She wanted people to know about him and what he had done.
“Of course you’re right,” she admitted. “And I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just weird. Almost seems like you’re starting some new religion.”
“In a way, I am,” he answered. “The Order is gone, but people still need guidance. They still need a shining example to inspire them in their daily lives. What better example than Cassandra’s courage and selflessness?
“People have seen the new constellation in the sky,” Jerrod added. “Already they are calling the cluster the Children of Fire.”