Page 41 of Immortal Origins (Chronicles of the Immortal Trials #1)

A mbrose and Akadian rushed towards the direction of the scream, closing the distance between the barn and the farmhouse in just moments.

Marybeth was being dragged from the house by two men cloaked in crimson. She clawed at them but one lifted his hand and vines shot from the ground and wrapped around her hands, binding them together.

The Brotherhood . Ambrose’s rage seared her skin as it mixed with her magick.

Artie was already on the grass being restrained by two disciples who had him wrapped in similar vines that sprouted from the soil and secured him firmly to the ground.

As much as he struggled to reach his wife, it was no use as the thorned ropes tightened their grip with each of his movements.

The baby had been stolen from Marybeth by another crimson-hooded mage.

One final man stood among them, slender as though made of only skin and bone, his pale face stood brighter than the moon in the dark of night, cloaked in long robes the color of the blood he spilled.

The same tattooed mage that ordered the execution of the girl in the town.

Raia. Her name was Raia. Ambrose reminded herself. She wouldn’t forget her name.

The tattooed man had his back turned to them as he spoke to Artie. “Give us the Unclassified and we’ll be on our way. We know you’re harboring one, so if you’d just hand her over, everything will be fine and your family can go free.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Artie cried as he stared desperately at his infant daughter in the arms of a dangerous stranger.

“They were seen speaking to your daughter at the tavern,” the tattooed man sighed, bending at the waist so his face was even with Artie’s. He feigned kindness that unnaturally twisted his face. “This really will be easier if you cooperate.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about!” Marybeth gasped between sobs as another disciple dragged her two youngest boys from their home. Her charge sliced through the air, but without her hands, her magick was rendered useless. “Please! Let our children go, they’re innocent .”

At this, the tattooed mage shook his head. “See, now that’s where you’re wrong. We’ve made it a crime to be an Unclassified or to aid one. If you fail to bring her to me, then you’re all criminals and we’ll have to deem what action is necessary. Age simply put, does not matter.”

Artie thrashed against the binds that held him. “I swear we don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The tattooed mage clasped his hands calmly behind his back.

“Shame you won’t cooperate. We don’t want to harm you, both of you are such an important part of this community.

Without you, we would surely lose mages of admirable strength.

It’s a power we would grieve.” He smiled through yellow teeth that pierced the night.

“But if it can’t be helped, it can’t be helped. This is your last chance.”

“We don’t have who you’re looking for!” Artie sobbed as his wife was thrown at his side and encased in vines from head to toe.

The tattooed man cocked his head. “Pity.” He raised a pale hand to the sky and as he brought it down. It was as though the very sky dripped its darkness down onto them, shadows wrapping around the young boys as they screamed.

Akadian stepped forward, a charge radiating off of him so strongly it shocked Ambrose’s skin. “What is going on here?”

The mage, who Ambrose could only assume was the deacon, given his tattoos and the lack of them on his disciples, spun around to face them.

He clapped his marked hands together. “Ah! Your Highness, finally. Thank you for bringing the Unclassified to me.” His yellowed grin turned on Ambrose as he stared at her through eyes as black as his shadows.

Ambrose took a step closer to Akadian, preparing for a fight.

Akadian glared down at the deacon with all the authority of a prince. “What are you doing to these people?”

The deacon glanced at the family who shivered in their restraints.

“Of course! Apologies, Your Highness, I can explain.” The deacon spoke with respect but Ambrose had a feeling Akadian wasn’t the one with the authority in this situation.

“My sources told me of a woman who entered the town today who has yet to be classified with an Element though she is…” He turned to one of his disciples.

“Twenty-three,” the robed figure told him.

“Twenty-three!” The deacon feigned surprise, sucking on his teeth. “Well, I’m sure you agree, Your Highness, that someone of that age with no classification yet… Well, it’s an abomination to the gods and a mockery of their gifts to us. And here you are with the very individual we’re looking for.”

Ambrose’s heart plummeted to her stomach. She was the Unclassified.

“This mage— ” Akadian stepped closer to her. “Is under my care. She is a Trial Champion and protected by Divine Law. You will not touch her.”

The deacon pretended to ponder the prince’s words.

“Yes… While that may be true, to have an Unclassified Trial Champion? It’s even more of an abomination.

What message would we be sending the gods if we allowed this to continue?

It would be a mockery of the trials if she were permitted to enter.

” The deacon shook his pale head and reached a hand to Ambrose.

“No, that simply won’t do. Please hand her over. ”

Akadian tensed beside her as though every muscle was ready to pounce. He could give the deacon a direct order, but it didn’t seem as though he was taking orders from the royals and found his own twisted vigilante rules somewhere else.

Ambrose didn’t notice that the rest of their party had joined them, all of them frantically looking at the scene as no one dared to move.

“Leave them alone,” she said through gritted teeth as she stepped in front of Akadian and faced the deacon.

No matter what, she had to get that baby away from the disciple’s hands.

Somehow, she had to save all of them, but she wasn’t sure she knew how.

She didn’t care as the fury inside of her surged and for once her focus was razor sharp.

Rather than nearly crippling her, her channels roared when she called them.

She hadn’t learned to counter Shadow Magick yet, but now seemed as good of a time as any.

The vines snaking their way around Marybeth and Artie tightened and their whimpers were suffocated as the thorn appendages encased them both completely.

“Ahhhh, but there must be some punishment.” The deacon made a ‘tsk, tsk’ sound as he paced the couple.

“The Order of the Brotherly Divine doesn’t take kindly to deceit.

We gave them plenty of chances to bring you to us and they refused.

What would it look like if I let them go without proper consequences? ”

Blood pounding in her ears, Ambrose stepped towards the deacon. “I said, let them go.”

The deacon stared at her for a moment and tilted his head back as he laughed. “You? And what does an Unclassified plan to do?” The deacon spat at her feet. “Your existence is an abomination.”

“Are you itching that badly to see what my magick really can do?” She crouched down, channels flowing so strong she was surprised when they made her more focused instead of dizzy. As though she could see everything around her with perfect detail.

“You have no Magick.”

“Let them go or you’re going to find out just how wrong you are.” Ambrose took another step towards him, the hairs on her skin dancing with the current inside her.

“I don’t think so.” The deacon’s black, soulless eyes narrowed.

“We have laws in this town. Order. Structure. Without it, what we do wouldn’t be possible and the gods would never return.

We cannot encourage disobedience or lies, both of which they are guilty of.

Their punishment is what I deem it to be, I will not take orders from you . ”

Ambrose unleashed a small amount of the power coursing through her veins and the energy invaded the air around them all, filling them with an electric hum. Two of the disciples shared worried glances between themselves.

“This is your last chance,” she warned.

“As I said, I don’t take orders from you.” He turned a ghostly face to one of his disciples. “Burn it.”

In a flash, flames as high as the house itself devoured the crop fields, incinerating everything they touched as they reached towards the home.

“No!” Ambrose called the force that rushed inside of her as she swept her arm, extinguishing half the flames with a forceful gush of wind. Gods be damned, it wasn’t enough, she cursed.

The deacon glared at her as the singed field smoked. “That’s not possible!”

Felius sprang into action, pulling his battle axe from behind him as he crouched and carefully began cutting away at the vines that held Artie and Marybeth as Oryon and Eurus brandished their swords and faced the disciples.

Podara started running buckets of water from the well to the fire in futile attempts at quelling the hungry flames.

All while Danthan stayed back in case he could be of help.

Ambrose took another step towards the deacon, every nerve in her body honed into destroying the mage.

“I’ll show you exactly what’s possible.” Calling the fury inside her, she raised a hand and beat the air with it, sending a blast of wind at the deacon that threw him back several feet, though he managed to stay standing.

She could fix that.

“That’s not possible!” the deacon screeched, enraged. “You have no Magick. By decree of the king himself! There cannot be a mistake, you can’t do that!” He threw his shadows at her, but she was ready.