Page 17 of The Dark Mage

D ay-old deer was cold and slimy, but hunger proved more powerful than disgust. Ren’wyn choked it down over breakfast, grateful for Fael’s hunting skills. His practicality made her appreciate her own strengths—adding foraged plants to their meals was a small but satisfying contribu tion.

They traveled slowly through the woods, covering a bit more distance each day as Ren’wyn healed.

Her emotional recovery was slower, and sadness suppressed her usual friendly demeanor.

She wanted to wallow. She missed Esrin, and every hollow and dark shadow seemed to hold the faces of the soldiers she had killed.

They weren’t true shades—just memories—but their haunting presence felt the same.

Through it all, Fael remained steady. His ease with silence slowly shifted the oppressive quiet into something more bearable.

Companionable. Occasional small jokes lightened the atmosphere.

He kept up a stream of questions about medicinal plants, never offended when she drew back into herself.

Without even realizing it, Ren’wyn began to enjoy their daily rhythms—wildflowers in the shade, Fael pointing out animals in the distance, stories shared over simple m eals.

By the end of the week, her ankle only ached after long walks.

She let Fael teach her the beginning of the Passage.

He was patient and didn’t laugh when her ankle buckled from the strain of unfamiliar movements.

He checked her carefully and, satisfied that she was alright, finished the exercises while she took over coo king.

Their routine settled—early mornings, quick washes in the stream, simple meals, and restless sleep on uneven ground.

Some mornings, Fael hunted. He rationed their supplies with military precision.

Ren’wyn admired his methodical calculation as he stretched their food to last until they reached Terr epin.

At night, they shared memories—childhood stories and favorite lessons.

Ren’wyn taught Fael how to identify new plants and prepare simple remedies for pain and fever.

His sharp memory made him a quick learner, and he asked thoughtful questions, identifying groups of plants as they walked.

In the evenings, Fael moved through his sword forms while Ren’wyn wove shadows, summoned frozen wind, and whispered to the dead.

But the nightmares never left.

Some nights, her mother begged for mercy while Ren’wyn watched herself strip Lyr’ren of life. Other nights, Esrin shunned her in front of his family, dragging the soldiers’ corpses out into the light for all to see. His blank stare broke her heart over and over.

“Ren ’wyn.”

Fael’s voice woke her each time. His calm hands grounded her until her breathing steadied. He offered her the water skin and spoke in soft tones of sunny days—boating with his mother, riding Cloud through meadows. He never demanded she speak. He simply stayed, steady and st rong.

More than once, she woke to find her blanket tucked tightly around her, with no memory of falling as leep.

As they ventured deeper, the undergrowth thinned, and the air grew heavy.

The shadows deepened, darker than twilight even at noon.

Ren’wyn didn’t need to reach for her power to know the Void was restless—the whispers began without warning.

Glimpses of shades flickered at the edge of her vision, their cold presences brushing against her aware ness.

When a branch cracked behind them, Fael nearly jumped out of his skin, drawing his sword to face the unseen e nemy.

Ren’wyn didn’t know whether to laugh or worry. Steel wouldn’t protect him from the Void.

The whispers grew louder, an unintelligible wind of language around them. Fael remained alert, stance at the ready, breathing slow and deep, but gold flecks in his eyes shimmered as his power stirred beneath his skin.

At lunch, he sat unnaturally still, his knuckles white as he squeezed the water skin. His eyes scanned the trees continuo usly.

“You hear it too,” Ren’wyn said, breaking the sil ence.

Fael turned, producing a wrinkled apple from his pack while still watching for danger. “Yes. I can hear someone—or something—whispering. Is it the dead?”

Ren’wyn chewed her dry, tasteless biscuit before nodding. “I t is.”

She considered how best to explain it as she accepted the apple. “Shades are the restless dead—souls with unfinished plans or unfulfilled dreams. Usually, their whispers are only audible to dark mages. For them to be this loud… there must be many, and they must be rest less.”

Fael suppressed a shiver. Ren’wyn felt the sudden urge to comfort him and slid a little cl oser.

“I’ve helped settle so many shades since my power woke,” Ren’wyn said softly. “With my Masters, I learned how to pacify violent, wild shades. But some spirits... some can never be settled. They’ll wander aimlessly forever, lost in their unachieved h opes.”

Fael’s hazel eyes remained guarded as he considered her words.

She smiled warmly, hoping to ease his anxiety.

Death was complicated and dark, and most people had no experience with it except to fear it.

Sensing his tension, she interlaced their fingers and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, letting her settled confidence soothe the burning magic he held tightly at the r eady.

By late afternoon, they reached a stark divide where low evergreens gave way to towering pines.

The ground lay barren except for pale, luminescent plants poking through the fallen needles.

Ren’wyn recognized the blooms as ghost pipes—rare, parasitic flowers that fed on tree roots.

Prized for their potency against poisons, they were notoriously difficult to find and harvest. She marveled at their fragile forms, but Fael’s arm shot out, holding her back.

“We have to go in, Fael,” she murm ured.

He was trembling, rage and fear radiating from him in waves. He felt it too: something twisted dwelled here. The whispering had stopped but hadn’t faded; the voices waited, invisible eyes watching them from the sha dows.

Fael’s jaw clenched. “We shouldn’t. Something’s wrong in t here.”

The glade was oppressive, yes, but also alluring.

Silent anticipation filled the air, and Ren’wyn swore she heard her name whispered from the pines high above.

Fael’s power flared, rage and bloodlust palpable.

She reached out, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder, grounding him as he had done for her after her nightmares.

When he turned to her, fire smoldered in his eyes.

His rough fingertips traced her brow, as though reassuring himself she was real.

She covered his hand with her own, but the silent pull of the glade was too st rong.

She released Fael and stepped into the clea ring.

The canopy of pine branches interlaced so tightly above that it dulled the afternoon light. The air thickened around her, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a re lief.

It would be so easy to lie down, just for a mo ment.

Her eyelids drooped, and her body sa gged.

“Ren’wyn!” Fael’s voice sliced through the haze like a b lade.

Her eyes snapped open as his magic hit her like a wall of heat. Fire seared through her bones, encircling and flooding her. The ancient spell dissolved beneath the force of his p ower.

She met his gaze—feet planted wide, arm outstretched, short sword angled defensively across his body as his magic poured into the clearing, wrapping around her like molten a rmor.

Her own power stirred, answering the call, and she dove into the Void.

Hundreds of shades erupted within the clearing on a frozen wind.

Their wild shrieking assaulted her senses, but Ren’wyn forced herself to dominate the Void.

Death clawed at her, trying to pull her free from her body.

Only once before—during Master Jure’s battlefield training—had she faced such wild fury in death.

Circling a few feet away, the shades reached bleached, bony hands toward her, but they stopped short, their fingers grazing a barrier of red energy—Fael’s sh ield.

The thought of what might have happened without him struck her like a punch, but fear wouldn’t master her. This was her realm. Fael’s shield made her untouch able.

Out of practice , she scolded herself. I’ll get us both killed with my weak ness .

She breathed deeply, closed her eyes, and let her second sight bloom. The shades sharpened before her—eyeless faces with gnashing teeth. They circled her, some screaming, others weeping, all feeding the Void with their mi sery.

She pictured Master Jure’s steady hands as he had taught her binding. Her fingers trembled but built a circle in the air, one hand sweeping clockwise, the other countering. With the circles complete, she thrust her hands skyward, splaying her fingers open.

Dark mist drifted from the pines like snowfall, and the dead stilled as it landed upon them. When she opened her eyes, they were watching—warily, hungrily, their empty gazes absorbing the faint l ight.

The whispers returned, dark and cold: We’ve been waiting… waiting for you.

Waiting, waiting, some echoed, their voices like rustling le aves.

Death is our Master, and you hold His reins, one shade whispered, stepping to the front of the host. Behind him, the others groaned and growled like a restless tide.

Ren’wyn raised her hands above her head, then swept them down like falling rain. The shadows of the Void shifted beneath her fingers as though she were plucking harp strings. Shades twitched and writhed as she focused on the essence of their individual sha dows.

“I am Ren’wyn, daughter of dark mages,” she declared, her voice resonating through the clearing. “You will hea r me.”

The loose ends of shadows snagged on her fingertips, and she pulled. Groans of pain and rage rose sharply from the shades before dissolving into silence. Fael’s shield held strong, and the Void swirled around her feet like a restless sea.