Page 12 of Gift from the Source (Source of Elementra #5)

Caspian

You have not been looking, little Shadow God.

First of fucking all, I’m not a god. I may have a piece of that genetic puzzle running through my veins, but I am a Shadow Walker.

The best damned one in this realm.

Secondly, the infuriating creature’s words continue to blare through my mind like a fucking alarm. Who is he to say I haven’t been looking?

I’ve been looking for answers for years.

Years.

Not only since Willow arrived and everything started to fall into place, but for eighteen years.

I’ve been looking for answers for over half of my life.

Why did I get kidnapped?

Why did Silvia do what she did?

Who are the rebels?

How did Tillman command an entire force to kill themselves?

Why can’t my brother control his gift like the rest of us? Why does he feel like every death falls on his shoulders?

How did we have a brother that could shift into a dragon? Where did he come from?

Why have there been assassination attempts on my mother’s life? Has it always been what we called the rebels behind it?

Where did Uncle Orien go? Why did he die? Was he a spy? Who killed him?

What’s my Primary’s true gift?

Why does she have to almost become a martyr at every turn?

Who the fuck is the Summum-Master? And how do I kill him?

I could write a damn book with all the questions I’ve asked over the years. Some would have answers to them. Some are still as elusive as this tyrant trying to ruin our realm.

I’ve lost months’ worth of sleep, missed countless meals, lost myself to the darkness in pursuit of answers for my family.

I have looked.

My shadows swirl around me to calm my murderous rage. I’ve broken my rule once again and have entered my pocket dimension. Infecting it with my foul mood.

I need its solace, though. I need the comfort of silence.

The only being I can be mad at is the infuriatingly intelligent bird, but since he flew off with whatever magic flows through his blood, my Primary and brothers would’ve received the worst of my anger.

I refuse to do that to them.

They’ve been working just as hard as I have. All in different ways, but all equally important. Yet none of them are throwing an absolute fit, feeling like failures. I won’t allow my self-doubt to bleed all over them.

I do allow myself to greedily suck up the small vibrations in my chest from Willow’s bond, though. I pull on that sweet little feeling she’s trying to discreetly send me and force it to spread through every inch of my body until all I feel is her.

She’s trying to give me the space I need right now while also telling me she’s here for me. I appreciate it and devour it like the glutton I am for her.

My water flows through my fingers as I cast my shadows out to crawl the walls. Their freedom and exploration of my safe haven calm more of the erratic rambling in my mind and I release a deep breath .

They slither their way through the crevices of my books and I pull my water back through my skin. I want to enjoy the phantom touch of the leathers and parchments that I’ve read at least a dozen times each.

Some for an escape. Some for knowledge.

Regardless of their purpose, they’ve served me well.

“Bring it to me,” I command my gift as it circles my most treasured book.

My Book of Shadows.

The darkest of covers that adorns my shelves floats through the air on a cloud of black. As my hand grips the spine, the barest of smirks crosses my face.

Of all the pieces in this room, this one has brought me the greatest escape and the utmost knowledge.

Through the pages of information, I’ve scribbled my own discoveries, teachings, and feelings. It was my escape from my reality and the learning journey I needed to become one with my gift.

I haven’t opened it since I brought my Primary here.

Peeling the cover open, a whoosh slices through the silence. The envelope that hits the ground sends violent trembles through my body. My hands shake so profoundly, I drop my book on the floor and stare at the parchment as though it’s a deadly poison.

Why the fuck is that letter in my book?

Commanding my shadows to lift it off the floor, I scramble in my mind to recall how it was placed there. The day it appeared in my childhood room with Corentin and me, I sent it here through my shadows.

Never did I command them to place it in my favorite book.

It’s not that I’ve forgotten about it. I could never, but I’ve put its existence in the very back of my mind.

Finding out how he died was a piece of closure I believe we all needed. It settled a war inside of me just as much as it started another. The need to avenge his death is strong, and I have all intentions of seeing it through.

This letter, though…I have no clue what I’ll find in his words.

And honestly, I don’t believe I’m ready for a goodbye .

With shaky hands, I reach out and grasp the envelope. The crinkle of the parchment inside as I flip it over to run my finger across the sealed lip rings in my ears.

He said he let the truth of what he could spill out in this letter…

What if he left me answers? Answers that could help us.

Ones that could give me some fucking peace.

On my exhale, I release my hesitation and just do it. The cream-colored parchment looks brand new, preserved in time just for me. It feels like I’m holding the weight of the realm in my palms.

My breath gets lodged in my throat the second I see the first dot of ink. This is his real handwriting. He changed his penmanship in the birthday note he wrote for Willow to throw us all off.

Not with my letter. I’d notice his script anywhere.

Caspian, my boy.

Your paths have always been the most elusive for me. Any and every time I asked the sight to show me you, there were always too many possibilities to know which would come to fruition.

The word predictable is never one I’d used to describe you.

Except in this situation…

I don’t need the gift of sight to know you’re sitting in your pocket dimension, ignoring the room I designed just for you.

Unfortunately for you, nephew, what you’re looking for, you won’t find here.

You’re going to have to look there.

Not shadow in, pluck a book off the shelve, and go hide in my bedroom to read it. Nor will you be able to just tear it apart and find what you seek.

The answers you need will reveal themselves where it all started.

You just have to look, Cas.

Uncle Orien xoxo

My chest falls in heavy pants as I hop to my feet and glare at the letter in disbelief. Predictable. How dare he?

Except for the fact I’m doing exactly as he thought I’d be doing.

“You sneaky bastard… And that fucking bird,” I grit, gripping the letter in my hand an d shadowing out.

As I appear out of the cloud of darkness in the bedroom I’ve spent minimal time in since we entered the south wing, I look back down at the letter.

He knew I wouldn’t be receptive to finding comfort here. Not yet anyhow. He knew I’d need a push, but only when the time was right. If anyone had tried to force me to indulge in this room before I was ready, I’d have avoided it even longer.

You just have to look, Cas.

Laying the letter down on the side table, my eyes bounce around the room. I’ve seen it plenty, yes, but I usually do as my uncle called me out about. If I want a book, I shadow in, take it, then leave. When I shower in here, I shadow straight to the bathroom and straight out.

The longest I’ve allowed my gaze to linger was the first time I saw it. Now I take in every detail, large or small.

The walls, barely noticeable through the shelves that line them, are painted darker than the other bedrooms. There’re no windows, keeping my privacy my own, just how I like it. The cool breeze flowing through the air chills my skin. It’s even colder than I’d actually prefer it, but the bite is warmed by the low burning never-ending fireplace.

It provides the exact amount of comfort I want.

The bookshelves on all four walls are organized by genre. I know just by the titles on some of the spines. One of the walls is so full, you can’t see the wood back and I’m not sure how that plank is holding up the weight.

On the others, there’re trinkets that separate the books. They aren’t just for show, though. They have relevance to the books surrounding them.

I take my time exploring my room.

In my own way.

My fingers trace the spines, and my mind spits off quotes or facts that I know are inside the covers. Some of these writings, I could tell you the exact page you’d find the information on. I wipe off imaginary dust from the décor and shelves as I slowly glide around the square space.

It was all designed with my exact wants and needs in mind .

Although my heart races, I’m not as enthusiastic or bouncy as my Primary would be. I’m not as cheery or loud as the dragon. I’m not as observant as Corentin. And I’m not as calm and balanced as Tillman.

I’m a little of everything.

I’m excited, nervous, analytical, understanding, fascinated, and above all…appreciative.

The shitty way I treated my uncle in his remaining time with us didn’t deter him from creating something just for me. Not only that, but it’s perfect. It’s a sanctuary. It brings me almost as much peace as my own pocket dimension.

My roaming ceases when I reach the stone carving of the letter V placed center on the mantel above the fireplace. On either side of it are the books on the Vito family. Some have been written by scholars who don’t know fuck all anything about us. I find enjoyment reading those because they’re hilariously inaccurate.

The largest of the bunch is my favorite. It’s been passed down through our family, written by members who actually lived the accounts mentioned.

We don’t ask, but if I had to take a guess of my parents, it’s probably Neil who’s writing and keeping records of their rule. Everyone will, of course, add their own accounts and experiences, but typically, one person puts it all together. It’s not something we discuss, but once their rule is over and we take their place, the book is updated and passed on.

It’s a given I’ll be the one doing the recording when our unfortunate time comes.

I have a shit ton to say.

Grabbing the tome and plopping down on the oversized chair—that was obviously designed with my Primary’s and my comfort in mind—I flip the book open to a random page.

This version is simply a replica that’s made and supplied to the realm. The original sits in my parents’ study. Regardless, the words are the same in each of them.

Those who have disregard for the laws of the land must be held accountable. Swiftly and surely. If you lax your hand with punishment, your subordinates will pounce and feast on your downfall. A ruler’s job is to remind the people why and how they became rulers. Fear is not an unhealthy feeling to evoke in those below you.

Crazy, coldhearted bitch.

I don’t believe I’ll ever understand how such a cruel woman birthed the children she did. My mom, my aunt, Uncle Orien, all have or had such compassion.

I take that back.

I firmly believe our creator has a petty side to her. She knows good and well every parent’s dream, whether they admit it or not, is to mold their children into little versions of themselves. Sure, they want what’s best for them, but their best doesn’t always mean good. It’s the ‘best’ they see through their tinted sight.

Willow, Oakly, my mom, all were given shit for parents—at least the Primary’s father and grandfather—and look how they turned out. They each have gone against the grain since they were born and do right at every turn.

Elementra knew what she was doing when she created them.

Flipping the pages back, I enter the timeframe of my great-grandmother’s rule. She had a harsh hand as well, but not nearly as severe as Drudy did.

There will always be a power imbalance amongst the Elementrians. That is simply how we are created. Not everyone will be as strong as the next and that is the way it should be. Without diversity and levels of power, people will resort to killing and vying for a rule that is nonexistent because there will be nothing to set us apart. We’d live in a realm of nothing but chaos amongst the masses.

Controlled chaos can be a beautiful thing but not at the expense of innocent lives. Rules and law must be upheld that protect all levels of life.

Just because some are less powerful does not mean they are weak or unimportant. They have just as much role and purpose as any other.

It is how we choose to use our blessings from Elementra that will set us apart and give us the freedom we deserve.

See, my great-grandmother was much more …

Running my finger down the page, a faint tingle passes through my hand, silencing my thoughts. I turn the pages back to where I read Drudy’s piece and do the same thing, but the feeling is gone.

What the hell?

Repeatedly, I flip back and forth just to verify that I’m not imagining this.

I’m not.

Tossing the book on the attached ottoman, I shadow from the room and in seconds I pop out in my parents’ study. All five of them hop up as though they’re under attack as I make myself known.

“Caspian, you scared me. What’s wrong?” my mom asks as she places a hand to her chest.

My impulsive and immediate need to check this out really clouded my way of entrance. Thank fuck they were only working.

“Sorry. I’ll explain later if I can,” I grumble as I cross their office to their bookshelf.

The Vito line history book has always been in the same place. I could find it blindfolded if need be.

Snatching it off the mantel it’s presented on, I don’t have to open it to know something’s different. The feeling of a concealment spell is coated all over it.

“When is the last time one of you read or opened this?” I ask.

“Years, maybe. I don’t know. Guys?” my mom says, looking at each of my dads. All of them shake their heads, confirming one of my suspicions.

“Reveal.”

The spell falls away and I stare in confusion.

The biggest difference between the original book and the copies made for the realm is the writing inside. In the original, it’s handwritten. The other versions are mass produced by the palace Master Archivist in the neatest, most legible penmanship.

This is not the original.

“Primary. Confirm with the old man he was the one who produced the mass copies for the Vito line books after my grandmother’s rule.”

“The what?” she asks .

“Do as I ask, please. He can explain the rest,” I order softly. Sort of.

As I wait to hear her confirm what I already know, I flip through the pages just to see if the accounts are the same as I know them to be.

Unfortunately, they are. So I’m back to square one on why the original is gone.

“Cas,” Roye says, gaining my attention.

“I’ll explain what I figure out when I figure it out. All I know for now is this isn’t the original book,” I say, turning it around to show them the handwriting.

“Someone stole our book? Why?” my mom asks.

“To rewrite history.”

With that, I shadow back out of their office and return to my room.

Setting the book from their office down beside mine, I see zero differences. Both are copies made.

“He said yes. He was the one to produce them for Drudy’s Nexus.”

“But not my great-grandmother’s?”

“No. One of your great-grandfathers—”

“Served as the palace Master Archivist. I know. Everyone come to my room in the south wing,” I command, then backtrack. “Not everyone. Do not bring all those extra people here. The old man can be the exception.”

I refuse to have my space invaded by people I merely tolerate for my Primary and brothers’ benefit. Well, aside from her sister. I more than tolerate her now, I suppose.

While I wait for them, I glide my hand down the seam of my copy and try to get a better grasp on the tingle. It’s obviously an enchantment, but without being able to sense it better, I’m not going to be able to untangle it.

Flipping the pages forward, the sensation immediately grows weaker. So I slowly go backward.

Three pages ahead of my original spot, I find the strongest pull. Anything further in any direction, it weakens.

Calling my magic forth, I command it into the web.

Nothing .

Absolutely nothing happens, but my magic ricochets off the enchantment and back into me.

“Fucker,” I growl.

“That’s rude,” Draken snorts and I cast my eyes to my door.

“Not you—this time—this enchantment.”

“What’s going on?” Willow asks as she pushes through my brothers to reach me.

I jump into telling them all what’s been going on since I shadowed off in a fit from the mansion. Before I can even finish my story, the impatient-ass dragon snatches my book off the ottoman.

“Draken,” I warn.

“It’s a barrier spell mixed in with an enchantment. Like a double block, shadow man,” he says so nonchalantly I grit my teeth.

“Excuse me?”

“You gotta find your way around the barrier, then untangle the web. Duh.” He snorts.

I attempt to get up from my seat to punch him and his smile falls.

“Easy,” my Primary coos like I’m a child.

“Everyone out,” I bark.

“You just called us—”

“Well, now I want you all out,” I say, cutting Corentin off.

He huffs, but Tillman, the ever-fucking understanding, placing a hand on his and Draken’s shoulder, then steers them toward the door. A pair of warm lips kiss my temple, and I latch my hand onto her thigh.

“Not you.”

As my door shuts, I release a heavy, annoyed breath and Willow chuckles softly.

“Don’t get so upset with Draken. His senses are growing, and his communal knowledge is coming in rapidly. He doesn’t even notice it half the time,” she says.

“Doesn’t notice it or is ignoring it?”

“A little of both, I believe. I’ve never been one to get in the middle of any of your disagreements, but this time, I think you should look from a different perspective before you get so angry with him. He needs your help, not anger,” she says so gently, it immediately douses my ire.

As much as he drives me mad sometimes, I’d never hurt him purposely.

“Go on then, Primary.”

“I think these changes are scary for him. For most of his life, he’s felt beneath all of you despite none of you treating him differently for him having the ability to shift into a dragon. You were all raised with information at your fingertips. It’s foreign for him to know things that he can’t explain, especially like just now when he knows them before even you. Our communal knowledge comes freely. It isn’t something we have to search our memories for. So when something just comes to him, he doesn’t have a way to tell you how he knows it, he just does. It’s his new natural, normal.”

My chest pinches at the thought of him feeling beneath us. I’ve always said that the dragon is far smarter than he even believes and now, my words are coming true for everyone else to see. I may give him a hard time, but I’ve always seen the depth of my little brother. And if now it’s his turn to help and teach me, I’ll listen to him.

My mind drifts back to the moment when she was commanding her blood into the pocket dimension and Keeper’s language was floating through the air. Draken just knew what was being said.

“I’ll do better. I promise. You know, he told me he’d teach me the language of the Keep. It’d be his and my secret,” I say, chuckling at her mocking gasp.

“A secret without me? I don’t like it.” She laughs and I pull her into my lap. “Good thing Vince is teaching him how to…well, teach. Just keep your cool with him while he learns.”

She’s right when she said she usually stays out of our disagreements, but if she feels this need right now to defend him like this, then she’s truly worried.

“I will, Primary.”

“Good. Now a barrier spell and an enchantment. What’s the difference in a barrier compared to a ward or any other sort of concealment?” she asks, getting us back on track because she knows I’m itching to figure this out .

“It’s exactly what it’s called. A barrier spell is like an object placed in your way. You must maneuver around it without setting off the alarm, so to speak. After my kidnapping, my mother had placed detection and tracking spells on me. One of those was a barrier spell to know if I…”

My words fade out as my mind runs wild.

The barrier spell she placed was to set an alarm if I ventured too far into the forest I was kidnapped from. There was also one placed around the academy and the mansion. I felt suffocated until Uncle Orien and Gaster taught me how to use my shadows to evade it.

“He was truly a genius,” I whisper, moving Willow off my lap and sitting her beside me.

Picking the book back up, instead of my magic, I call my gift forward and lay my hand against the pages.