Page 43

A jarring, frigid shock crashed through her bones.

Brilliant white flashed behind her eyes.

Her hand suctioned to the ore’s slick surface, rendering her fingers numb in an instant.

The loss of feeling creeped down her fingers, spreading into her palm.

She endeavored to pull breath into her lungs but couldn’t.

Visions assaulted her mind. The stone pushed in, crushing.

There wasn’t enough air. It was going to devour her whole.

She flinched, recoiling from the block, hissing.

Her hand stung, bitterly cold and heavy…

like death. She tried to curl her fingers into a fist but could not.

She cradled it, a millstone of dead weight, in her other, striving for warmth, but the wound was deep.

Clamoring to her feet, she blew hot air onto it. She glanced down at the appendage, eyes widening on her blanched palm. Panting, she cried out over the rain for Skye.

“Dare not touch the stone with a bare hand!”

The male rushed to her side, pulling her injured hand into his own, to glean a better look.

“Tis something that has never happened before.”

Heather’s breath caught. Before she could stop him, Skye placed a glowing green palm atop hers. His magick spread warmth over it, returning the feeling. She breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

She was shielded from the surface by her flimsy slippers alone.

If she had wings, she’d certainly be hovering above to avoid any contact.

It was as if the slab had sapped life out of her.

What would have happened if she had been unable to pull free?

She needed off this rock. She strode over to the edge.

At pixie size, it was a cliff’s face. She surveyed the far-flung swirling waters below, seeing it swirl and drain into each piercing beam of light.

Anticipating Heather’s desire, Skye plucked her from the rock, swiftly conveying her beyond the waters to ash covered soil. Before his feet could touch the ground, he jolted away from it, launching into the sky.

“There is no song in this bit of earth,” said Skye. “It’s been blood let. Like the felled stone, it will draw the life of anything in contact with it.”

From his arms, Heather peered below.

It wasn’t ash after all. Skye flew higher. All around them, the terrain was charred as far as the eye could see.

“I fear the spirits’ need for these resurrected stones runs deeper.” Heather’s voice trembled. “Do you think you can shrink the monoliths, allowing us to raise them?”

“It shall take far greater magick than mine alone to fix all five. Unaided, perhaps I could maneuver one.”

“I wish the air spirit parted with a tad more information,” she lamented. Dying gardens may be the least of their worries, with the entire continent facing a watery grave.

“Mayhap my families’ trove of books can prove helpful,” remarked Skye.

Skye wasn’t the only one seeking knowledge from his family’s collection of tomes.

Aster was the painting of a legendary fairy princess brought to life.

She was seated at the center of an oblong, ornately carved wooden table, with stacks of books stretched out before her, in neat piles.

The warm glow of enchanted candles littered across its length, creating an island of light separate from the towering, shadowed library shelves at her back.

Clad in a gossamer gown of gold and silver, she was a candle’s flame.

Her white tresses practically shimmered ethereal in the luster as she was crouched over the wide expanse of a blue leather tome, fully captivated by the knowledge the book held within.

With a voluminous paned sleeved hand, she delicately traced the words on the vellum page before her.

Tarragon loomed over Aster’s right shoulder, peering down at the inscription.

“I’m not sure the romantic tales ye favor will assist us with the rains,” groused Tarragon. A tendril of snow white magick, faint as a wraith knocked his ornate livery chain askew.

Aster’s lips twitched.

Nose wrinkling, Tarragon flicked his hand. Cornflower blue light emerged, enveloping the jeweled collar, repositioning it straight. His blue and black butterfly wings shimmered iridescent in the candlelight.

“Those romantic tales would do your icy heart plenty good.” Aster replied without lifting her eyes from the tome. “It might actually have the audacity to beat again,” she remarked dryly.

“Ye won’t catch me playing the lovesick fool, in my reading material or in life,” said Tarragon.

Aster huffed under her breath. “Tarragon, it’s the largest trees that fall the hardest. I eagerly anticipate seeing ye make a spectacle of yourself over your future heart mate. Anyhow, this book is the history of Atlantis. Not a drop of romantic intrigue to be found,” replied Aster.

The pixies’ gaze lifted to Heather and Skye on their approach. Water droplets dripped from Heather’s hair onto the stone floor. Aster’s eyes widened. Tarragon frowned disapprovingly at their disheveled appearance.

“What in spirit’s name happened to the two of ye?” asked Aster, lowering her book to the tabletop. Skye waved a hand and his magick swirled around Heather in a whip of green haze, drying her instantly from head to toe.

“We made the acquaintance of a Spirit of the realms,” revealed Heather.

Astonishment lined Tarragon and Aster’s faces.

The quiet was disturbed as Rhoden clamored into the main aisle, emerging from a series of bookcases. A feathered hat floated aloft before him.

“Ye rascals, I haven’t the time for this!” Giggles and chirps sounded from beneath the cap. Aster smothered a laugh.

“Call off yer hounds, Aster.” Rhoden fluttered forward, snatching the headwear in a firm grip, revealing a group of hobs.

With a startled cry, they dispersed, scattering to hide among the shelved shadowed spines.

Rhoden tugged his hat over his golden head, collapsing into the seat beside Aster, muttering to himself.

Rhoden’s plumed cap was a handsome addition to his blue velvet ensemble- a stark contrast to the yellow feathered accessory haunting Heather.

Instinctively, her hand went to her stomach.

Skye pulled out a chair for her across from Aster and Rhoden and settled into the neighboring one.

“What was it like?” asked Aster.

Heather drew a deep breath, her hands had yet to cease trembling. “Terrifying.”

“The Spirit demands we restore the Standing Stones of Sarsen,” said Skye.

“The Standing Stones?” Aster asked as she set the book of ancient histories down. The princess rose from her seat, gliding over to a bookshelf, her billowing skirts a puff of smoke behind her.

“What do they have to do with any of this? Rhoden questioned.

Aster skimmed the titles. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for, pull it from the shelf and return to the table.

“King Willem toppled them, clearing the way for his road. The rains commenced about that time,” said Heather.

“We journeyed to Sarsen as well. Something very odd is transpiring,” said Skye.

Aster shuffled through the books’ pages. “Odd?”

“There are beams of light streaming from the earth. And the rain is collecting, making it plain the Divine rather flood the source than allow whatever it is to emerge.”

“Given Atlantis’ history… they’re surely capable.” replied Aster, tone somber.

Tarragon stroked his chin. “What form of lights?”

Skye ran a hand through his hair roughly, “Lumen. Beacons brighter than starlight, than the flower moon and stars combined. There are five streams… one for each toppled stone. Heather fell onto one of the monoliths,” he paused, swallowing thickly, “When skin collided with stone, her life essence was siphoned from her hand. I was able to mend it with magic. The rain was woeful, but I suspect it is an offshoot of a greater threat. The Stones are sapping life force from anything in their path. Sarsen is nothing but lifeless, blackened earth. And the blight is spreading.”

Aster paused over a page, eyes darting across it. “This is strange, this passage references Sarsen as an entity, not a place.”

Heather gasped. “Him. The spirit spoke of a ‘him.’ Someone whom they feared and refused to bow to.” She moistened her cracked lips. “They couldn’t have meant the mortal king.”

Aster read aloud, “At the dawn of time, before humanity was formed from gault, before the world had yet to be fashioned by the elements, creation was dominated by the forefathers of the Divine, three colossuses.

Between their iron fists, they held dominion over existence.

The realm was a bleak province, before the three invoked Ignus, Verdure, Aquae, Aeris and Lumen. And the five caretakers of each, Divine Spirits to govern the elements of the world.

Eons passed. The age of early Man dawned.

The elements felt pity for the feeble beings.

Aeris breathed air into their lungs. Ignis looked down on the earth, sympathizing with their plight, enlightening them how to light fire.

Terra roamed the lands, instructing man, woman and child with the means to tend the soil. Revealing which foods were edible.

But the Three grew apathetic to their creations, and sought to wipe the earth, determined to begin anew. The Divine destined to be among those smote. For without the world, the elements held no purpose.

Refusing to go quietly into the abyss of chaos, the Divine Spirits waged war with the elder of the Ancients- Sarsen.

For ages, they battled. Until the elements assembled against the giant, blasting him with ice, wind and rain, weakening the elder god.

With a great quake, Terra split and devoured him whole.

He clung to survival, and as the earth sealed him to his doom, his hand outstretched to the heavens- his fingers the only remaining mark of his existence.”

Rhoden interrupted, asking, “The stones are the bones of a deceased, overthrown god?” The male rubbed his forehead.

Aster read on, spearing the male with a look of annoyance for the interjection, “Terra rallied the heat from its heart and melted the flesh from his bones. The heavenly Spirits battered his appendages with wind, hail and rain. Ages of decay unfolded in a heartbeat. And henceforth, Sarsen has become synonymous with Stone.”

Disquiet settled over the chamber.

Heather massaged the hand that had collided with the bones of a god. She tried to push away the frigid cold. The sense of impending doom that the rock was going to crush her. Had there been some sort of memory in the stone?

How would they restore the Stones if they couldn’t touch them?