To Scale the Emerald Mountain (The Willowbane Saga #1)

13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T he house is eerily quiet as early morning summer sun streams through the windows.

Finding the kitchen empty, I grab a plump honey crisp apple, slice it, and put the pieces in a bowl. Deciding to take my light breakfast outside, I snag a small glass jar of peanut butter on my way out.

Locane isn’t outside either when I make it to the front lawn. The sun is already shining bright, and the heat of the day is setting in. The humidity of the air at the base of the mountain wraps around me like thick tar, and my clothes immediately stick to my skin.

“Ugh,” I groan to myself in the uncomfortable heat as I sit on a bench in front of a large, gnarled magnolia tree. The thick lower branches dip, the glossy leaves barely grazing the ground. Inhaling deeply, I take in the lemony floral scent from the white blooms. Something about the aroma makes me calm and gives me a sense of home.

As I finish eating and close my eyes, the echo of a memory barely comes to me.

“Yes, eyes closed. Focus on your breathing, in and out. Clear your mind.”

I’m twelve, and I do just that as I dig my fingers into the dirt. After a few quiet moments of focus, the new spool of golden thread thrumming in my belly loosens. I release it, sending a pulse of power through my bloodstream; a shock of energy splinters through me pleasantly.

Pressure builds and builds in infinitesimal fractions of a second that are like my own personal eternity. Just when I think I might burst from the mounting build, needle-sharp ends of those threads break through my fingertips.

My eyes pop open when golden wisps break free in the earth around my hands, growing in energy. A shimmering pulse of electricity is just visible beneath the surface of the ground.

“Magnificent.” A distorted voice drips with pride while Nana claps.

My eyes open again, still sitting under the magnolia tree.

A slow smile creeps across my face. I leap to my feet and start to explore the grounds of the house for the first time, searching for a quiet corner to practice using my second gift. Locane has mentioned thinking I can do more than even I am aware of. He mentioned me having power that no one else does.

Is this electricity what he meant?

I’m flabbergasted at how I’ve not noticed that there are two spools of power resting within me, my Sight right next to a buzzing electricity. It thrums with vibrating energy, begging to be let loose.

Locane told me yesterday that the wards are in a circumference around the property, equaling roughly four acres in every direction, save for the front of the house. He told me that I will meet a barrier if I reach them. Seeing as how there’s almost certainly a King trying to find me, I have no interest in leaving the wards currently.

Wandering around for a bit, I find a stone bridge covered in moss that crosses over a glittering pond, the surface littered with lily pads. The bridge ends at the entrance of a rose garden of every color running wild.

Before long, I find an ideal spot. It’s a small clearing of wildflowers and long grass. At the edge of the clearing there’s a broken tree, only small splinters of rotting wood still connected. I take stock of the other vegetation around, hating the thought of killing a beautiful old tree. After a quick scan, I find there are only smaller common pines, maples, and oaks around.

Perfect.

My fingers hastily peel off my shoes while I sit. After removing my thin socks, I wiggle my toes, digging them deeper into the grass, reveling in the freedom blooming in my being. My energy seems to spike instantaneously with my bare skin connected to the earth, and after this latest precious memory, I know exactly why.

The very earth both feeds my magic and acts as a conduit for my electric currents that strike like lightning from below. I dig my hands in to match the feel of my toes and throw my head back, eyes closed.

My chestnut hair tickles my lower back as blazing warmth gathers on my flesh. The sun bakes my face, charging my reserves that I hadn’t even realized were there. I breathe through my sundrenched haze, drinking in the honeyed air of summer. My power courses through me, joyous and alive—happy that my mind has woken up to its existence .

Fighting with my staff came back to me so quickly and naturally, with very little thought. I can’t help but think that this magic might too.

Shivering in anticipation, my skin pebbles in goose flesh despite the warmth of the day. On another deep lungful, I wonder how I have complained about this heat.

I was made to bask in the sun.

At this moment, I’m so charged and alive and strong. My heart beats free and proud as I soak in this strange and unexpected euphoria that has come from simply tuning in with nature and being myself. I sit unmoving for a long while, my mind eventually clearing with little thought or effort.

Has it been mere minutes, or has it been hours? The concept of time slows—the echoing tick of a clock stilling in the wind.

Digging my hands deeper in the dirt, it makes its way under my fingernails and I relish in the compacted sting. A clear image of the dead and broken tree comes to my mind. I hold the mental image as I loosen my internal threads, pulling on the golden spool in my belly right next to the identical one that holds the power of my Sight.

How have I not noticed that they’ve been there all along?

A breathy moan escapes my throat at the pleasant warmth that flows through me, liquid sunlight streaming through my body. Electricity surges with golden fire, burning and building as it eagerly seeks to escape, to find the target that I will for it to destroy.

All these sensations are there and gone in an impossible second that stretches the confines of time. Just when I think I will implode from the delectable pressure, those visceral threads find their escape into the dirt they seek to travel through.

I open my eyes to find ethereal veins of glittering electricity racing under the ground, like watching glass crack and the light of another world fighting to leak through. Shimmering, white-gold webs fade slowly from me, and there is barely a trickle that reaches the stump.

As it does, a crack rings around me and a small beam of my light bursts through the center of the dead tree. A faint trail of smoke is left in its wake as the tree stump breaks in half. A breeze sends that smoke in my direction, and I get a faint, earthy whiff mixed with something dark and floral.

The silence in the aftermath is almost deafening when I leap to my feet, panting with exhilaration. My body shakes with unbound excitement. Wild and untethered joy swallows me fully as I internally celebrate this victory.

I was right, it came back to me as easily as my fighting techniques.

Slow clapping echoes behind me.

My happiness is dashed away instantly, like I’m being doused with a bucket of ice water laced with crippling uncertainty.

“Magnificent.” The word is whispered on an impassioned breath as I turn to Locane.

Much the same as that far off, distorted voice from my memory.

“I…” I start off, unsure of what I even intended to say.

A twinge of guilt starts to creep its way up my spine, making my throat thick. I stuff it down before it has a chance to fully develop.

“Actually, I owe you no explanations. I have done nothing wrong,” I say airily and am proud of the resolve buried in my nonchalant tone. Collecting my shoes and socks, not bothering to put them back on, I walk away swinging my arms with each step. Locane is in front of me in a blink and holds out a hand to halt me.

He scowls at me. “I wasn’t going to scold you like a child.”

I chuckle. “Oh, really? You do call me a child often.” I step around him and continue, suddenly ravenous after the exertion of energy. My mind is building a large sandwich with all the fixings that I spotted in the icebox this morning.

Unsurprisingly, Locane keeps in step beside me. “I don’t know why you think I would react negatively. I’ve been very forthcoming about wanting you to reach your full potential. And I complimented that stunning display of magic. That is an unheard-of gift. I meant it when I called it magnificent.”

“Oh, I’m sure. And I know you meant it the first time you said it was magnificent, too.”

“The first time?” he asks, confused. “When was the first time?”

Locane’s usual air of impatience is making itself known, and I smile internally at how easily I chafe him.

“Come on, Locane. I’m sure you remember. I can’t be certain, but I’m inclined to believe it was the first time you saw a display of that rare magic.” I pat his cheek twice, in an obviously patronizing way, and it has the desired effect.

He purposely riles me up to get what he wants out of me. Well, two can play that game. And I plan to start playing whatever this game is.

Locane grabs my arm, turning me to face him. The new pallor of his complexion is stark in the bright sunlight. His cheeks have turned a mottled red, and I smile sweetly at him. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you talking about?” he grits out.

“It was me, you, and Nana. I zapped a tree stump. It was a very similar scenario to today. Nana clapped, you said it was magnificent. If I can remember, I’m sure you can.” My gaze narrows at him in accusation.

The light in his eyes shifts, and I’m shocked to see undiluted fear. He grabs my arm tighter; the discoloration of his cheeks splotches more, spreading into a patchwork of crimson.

“You saw me in this memory?” Locane inquires softly, his pupils dilating a fraction.

My confidence in the exchange melts away to intrusive unease. “Well, no. I didn’t see you. It was someone standing behind me with an odd sounding voice saying ‘magnificent’ just like you did. There was the same familiarity I get from you.”

The tension and fear in Locane’s eyes is gone as quickly as it appeared. He’s less unsettled; his expression morphs back to irritation. “That could be anyone. Why would you think it was me?”

My throat bobs once while I swallow my unease, determined to let him know the gravity of how little I believe we have only recently met.

“Because even though the voice was distorted, it sounded like you. It felt like you. And that’s not the only time I’ve remembered something that felt like you. You are familiar, I know it,“ I shake my head. “But something about it is off. Please, tell me what happened.” I look at him pleadingly and then add with a breathy laugh, “Your reaction to the idea of me having a memory of you is very telling.”

His face falls so slightly I nearly don’t notice it. I can almost taste the guilt that has overcome him. It’s Locane’s turn for an anxious swallow, and I can see his mind working, trying to find words that he doesn’t want to say.

“Tell me what happened.” My voice is gentle and coated in desperation.

Locane closes his eyes and begins to turn away from me. He rubs the spot between his thick dark brows before turning back. The emotions painted so clearly on his face a moment ago are gone, and he’s back to an expressionless mask.

“These truths will be demanded sooner than I’d like. But not today.” He exhales audibly through his nose. “Not today,” he repeats before he continues walking, leaving me rooted to the spot with disappointment.

He nearly told me. I could see it .

I follow him, on the cusp of letting a recognizable fire win, but in the few strides that it takes me to catch up to him, that anger ebbs as quickly as it had flowed. All these emotions have been rampant, unpredictable, and uncontrollable, like a toddler living in an adult’s body. I’m determined to school these the same as my magic.

“I’ll drop it, for now,” I tell him—surprising myself—as I catch up to him. Locane gives me a soft expression, conveying something akin to gratitude, but not quite. He hands me a water skin, and I take a long pull.

“You were wrong, by the way,” I tell him with satisfaction.

“What was I wrong about, Ellya?”

“About Nana holding me back. She was training me to master my electric currents, not suppress it. She wanted the best for me. She does. She is alive, right?” I’ve been meaning to ask him if he knows of her well-being since he told me he knew her at all. But he has such a way of distracting me from asking questions that deserve to be answered.

“Yes. She is alive. I won’t speak any more about what I believe her intentions were with you and your gifts. You will draw your own conclusions in time.”

The implications of Locane’s statement make my gut clench. “What does that mean?”

“It doesn’t matter right now. My intention is not to keep things from you, but to inform you without overwhelming you. You have had two panic attacks in a very short time, with very little information.”

We’ve made it back to the magnolia tree, and I sit down on the bench, holding my hand out expectantly for the water skin. He hands it to me as I say, “I don’t expect you to elaborate, but this tree feels as familiar as you.”

“Well, at least your current expectations will meet your reality.”

He sits next to me and props a foot on one knee. He has his long dark hair pulled back, making his cheekbones more prominent.

“Tell me, Ellya. When do your visions come to you?” Locane asks me unexpectedly.

The question takes me by surprise. “I don’t really know. They are very random.”

“And how do you know when they take place? For instance, how do you know if they are past, present, or future?” His dark eyes are void of any sparkle, but showing signs of that maniacal glint he’s had a few times.

“I don’t,” I admit sadly.

The simple statement sets him off. He sneers at me, disdain dripping from his tone when he says, “Of course, you don’t.”

Locane pulls the tie out of his hair and runs his fingers through it before securing it again.

“Would that not be a priority in mastering that sort of gift?” Locane spits at me condescendingly. “Is that not a very important aspect of that gift? Knowing not only what you’re Seeing, but when?”

“Yes, I would think so.” My words come out quiet, ashamed. “I told you, from what has come back to me, I struggled to get a grasp on the visions. And they would sometimes wipe me out for days.”

I’m again overcome with the sudden need to explain myself and why I’m not better prepared. The all-encompassing happiness I was only just experiencing is gone completely, being stolen away by the blanket of self-doubt that covers and steals so easily.

“Your Nana didn’t teach you anything about deciphering any of this?”

The sneer Locane gives me holds such blame and disappointment, and my throat grows thick. It becomes hard for me to swallow.

“I don’t know. The only memory I have of her working with me on my Sight was when I was sixteen. I don’t know what’s happened in the years since. But I’m sure something has. I’m sure she helped me learn something about it. I just… I don’t know what.” I try to explain, doing nothing to abate the dissatisfied glaze in his eyes or my guilt that comes with it.

So much for schooling my emotions.

Locane exhales and turns away from me, his expression back to neutral boredom. “I suppose that’s something that we shall work on together, that I will prioritize for you. I don’t have any experience with your gift myself, but we will find a way. Follow me.”

Locane is moving before I’ve had time to fully register his change in demeanor. He is impossible to keep up with, but the way my own emotions have been so up and down, am I any better?

He brings me back to the front porch of the house and tells me to sit. I obey and wait on the steps while he goes inside.

I stare vacantly at the hydrangeas next to me, seeing but not fully taking in the blues, yellows, pinks, and whites of the different miniscule blooms. Numbing exhaustion that I’m growing so accustomed to is weighing my mind when Locane returns. He’s brought a large plush pillow, a jar of lemon water, and a canvas bag filled with what I can only hope is food.

My hopes are fulfilled when he sits down next to me, throws the pillow in the grass, and unwraps a block of butcher’s paper to reveal a fat sandwich, stacked with all the fixings I was dreaming about. He looks at me knowingly while he hands me half, and I offer a weak thank you.

“Eat, rest for a minute. Then we will get to work on you trying to pull a vision forth,” he states. When I lift the sandwich to take a bite, he narrows his eyes at my dirt crusted hands. “Perhaps you’d like to go clean up first?”

I glance down at my dirt caked fingers and then stuff my mouth, “No, thanks,” I say through the mouthful of food as Locane’s lip curls with utter disgust. Staring at him unblinking, I wipe the back of my mouth—no doubt leaving a trail of dirt and rendering the motion useless.

Locane lets out a frustrated breath but chooses not to retort. He wants me to try to summon a vision, and we both know I will need strength for that. We finish our lunch in silence, and he downs half the jar of water and hands the rest to me.

Peering at him timidly, I say, “I fear you will be disappointed in this next endeavor. I don’t think I can control my visions. Not like I do my other magic. I don’t remember a single time that I’ve had any real control over them.”

I can think of a few where I had none at all, but I choose not to tell him that.

“You will learn.” His flat tone does nothing to comfort my apprehension.

Locane gets up and shakes off the crumbs from his tan trousers, rolls up the sleeves of a loose white shirt, showing off the dark muscles of his arms. The color doesn’t match the paleness of his face that still hasn’t regained its color. There’s a slight tremor in his pinky finger when he drops his hands back to his sides .

“Are you alright?” My brows knit in concern as I cock my head to the side, taking him in. The dark shine of his hair is missing some luster now, even under the bright rays of the sun.

“I’m fine.”

Locane walks down the steps and grabs the plush pillow he had thrown on the ground, obviously trying to brush me off. I follow him off the porch, crossing my arms and stare him down, doubt clouding my eyes.

“I figured you would have recovered more from the exertion of magic by now. You still look quite sickly.”

“I guess it took more out of me than I initially thought. Again, I’m fine.” He rolls his shoulders, eyes closed, and shakes his head. His eyes snap back open, and he motions his chin towards the pillow on the ground. “Sit.” The command is simple and direct.

As I sit, I tell him, “With all your worry of me getting things dirty, I’m shocked you have sacrificed a precious pillow for me to sit on the ground.” I chuckle, remembering how he stopped me from sitting on this exact pillow because I was—in his words—filthy.

“You have an affinity for drawing energy from the earth. And you’re fond of that pillow. I want you to be comfortable.”

The thoughtfulness takes me by surprise. Offering thanks, I settle back on the pillow that he’s placed in a sunny spot of the yard. The warm hazy rays beat down on the bare skin of my arms and shoulders; warmth and brightness radiate within me. I close my eyes and smile.

“Are you comfortable?” Locane asks from just behind me. I give a quiet hum of approval. “Good. Do your breathing exercises that you did before. That helped you really become in tune with yourself and helped you channel, yes? ”

Of course, he had followed me without my noticing and had watched me the whole time I experimented with my newly discovered electricity.

“Yes. They help. Nana taught me that. Helps me to clear my mind,” I explain.

“Good. Do that.” Locane’s voice is soft but holds a hint of excitement.

Crossing my legs, I roll my neck from side to side. My shoulders push back, fixing my posture as I place my palms to rest on my knees. My eyes are closed, and I’m doing my best to remember my breathing exercises and clear my mind.

But my senses are too keenly aware of the very intense man somewhere behind me—and the high expectations he has for me.

That thought then snowballs into the ramifications if I don’t master this particular gift. What will happen if my incompetence allows the gems to fall in the hands of less desirable people? What could it mean for me, or for the world as a whole? My breathing becomes uneven; a tight grip in my belly chokes the life of those delicate golden threads before I even have a chance to pull them free.

My eyes pop open, irritation overriding my brief anxiety. I turn my head back to Locane. “You need to leave.” I face forward again, not waiting for a response.

“What?” He sounds legitimately surprised. “Why?”

“Because you make me uncomfortable. Your presence… It’s too heavy. I can’t focus. I’ll never be able to do this with you standing over my shoulder. All I can think about is your inevitable disappointment. Go away.” I turn my head over my shoulder to him. “Seeing is my most vital gift in my role for these gods’ gems, right? ”

My irritation mounts watching him not moving. I just want him to go away. The familiarity we have, it’s broken for whatever reason, and Locane consistently brings me just the opposite of peace. This is much too intimate of a moment for me to want him present.

“Yes. Absolutely vital, Ellya. Exactly why I should stay. Help you. Guide you.” Locane walks a semicircle around me until he is standing directly in front of me. He crouches down on one knee, putting dark eyes nearly level with mine. “You clearly need it.”

“Not from you, I don’t,” I chime, trying to choke down the anger threatening to bubble over. “Go away now, or I swear on the fucking Mother and all the gods, I’m not doing this. I’d much rather go take a nap anyway.”

He snarls in my face, and I back away, propping myself with my palms on the grass behind me. I laugh despite the hint of fear he’s brought forth.

Locane tries to school his face into a more neutral expression. “In case I haven’t made it perfectly clear, this is very important, Ellya. This is not a game. And time is of the essence.”

“With all the talk about boards being set, or whatever it was, it sure sounds like a game. A twisted one. Tell me, what happens if someone else finds these gems? What happens if you find these gems, Locane?”

“When we find these gems,“ he emphasizes, “We will reinvigorate things back to their former thriving glory. You don’t want to know what could happen if someone else gets to them first.” He looks at me with conviction but backs up a few inches, his demeanor becoming less offensive.

“Will taking the magic of these gems not have a major effect on the magic of the world? ”

“No. The gems have been in place for thousands of years. Their magic has effectively been in the circle of life for many generations and is fully established,” he answers.

“And what else could the essence of all of these gods combined accomplish?” I stare him down, daring him with my eyes to avoid the question, to try to deflect. But to my surprise he doesn’t.

“Anything you want.”

“That’s a little too vague. Specifically, what do you think we could do with that kind of power? God power.”

Saying the words out loud gives me a tight, constricting weight of foreboding in my chest. God power. Power never seen in any mortal. To give life? Create? Destroy? Bring vitality, prosperity, fire, death, destruction?

Although those of us with particularly strong magic can live very long lives, many centuries even, we are still mortal in the end. We live out a natural life span, and most can easily be killed.

Would the power of multiple gods be enough to create an immortal?

I have considered the responsibility of having god power ever since the first night at this house when Locane told me about the gems. Then, I could honestly say that I didn’t want it. The weight and responsibility of something that could be used for the greatest goods or the most terrible evils. As I’ve rediscovered my gifts and felt the power that comes with them, I’ve begun to wonder what all that newfound power would be like.

He offers me a confusing expression of mixed awe and disgust. “God power. You put that together on your own?”

I scoff. “I don’t know how you’d think I wouldn’t. You told me yourself, just didn’t use those exact words. And word of advice, Locane, continuously hinting that a woman is stupid is not a good way to encourage her to do what you want.” I stare daggers at him while his full lips purse into a thin line.

“Fine. I will go wait inside while you pretend that you are confident enough in yourself to accomplish anything on your own. I’ll check on you in an hour, and if you’ve had no luck, I will be with you for the next session to try to help you.”

Locane leans back on the balls of his feet before pushing to a stand. He looks down at me and spits out, “Good luck.” His words drip with sarcasm and doubt.

I push back my anger and instead let it fuel my resolve to master this on my own.