Last of the Temple Line Read online

  Well aware of some of the other male's thoughts, Dalaric raised a brow in Aegwin's direction. "I expect news upon our return," he stated, dismissing the green dragon. Dalaric watched Aegwin’s smile deepen. The irrepressible male winked at Emersyn then whistled the entire time he sauntered out of line of sight into the deeper part of the woods to transform into his dragon form. There was no faster way to travel than with the wings of an Akkadian's true form.

  Emersyn kneeled once more and slowly unwrapped the bundle she had carried to the Falls in her lap.

  A whisper of power brushed Dalaric’s skin when he crouched next to Emersyn to better view what she was doing. The leather-bound volume he had noted on the shelf that belonged to her was revealed. He had seen a grimoire before. He had never taken much time to study them, however.

  Emersyn placed two hands upon the single cracked gem that graced the cover. She met his eyes and stated, "I was supposed to stay in Gilvern. My responsibility would have been to serve those around me and, one day, find a partner as kind and wonderful as my father had been so that our children could carry on what little legacy of my parents I have left. Now I find I have been cursed or blessed depending on how you look at it."

  Dalaric tilted his head in her direction, his gaze sharp with interest.

  Emersyn bit her lip. "I am not just a witch but a human too. What this means for me is an end to everything I once valued in life." Emersyn rubbed her arms. "I can use the gift of mana to save lives and I will. I could not save Will, but I can save your son. In exchange," she added, "I would ask your help in finding others who I can help. To train me so that I can manage the Rite for as many as I can before falling.”

  Dalaric frowned. "You will not die. The witches who had performed the Rite lived far longer than a normal human or other witch. A few of the first temple witches lived for hundreds of years. They were sustained by the pure mana mixing with the Ki until they refused the Rite and the Ki faded."

  She gave a sad smile. "Regardless, I still wish help to find those who need their Rite so that I am not forced to trek over the lands by myself. I am well aware that I could also fall prey to someone who would not prove so accommodating as you have.”

  "It will be done,” he vowed, though he had already made a silent promise to protect her and see her duty through. “Do you have other terms?" he asked, curious to see what she valued in exchange for what she thought was the entirety of her life given to Akkadians for a duty to their younglings.

  "May I have my sisters there when I help Caelwin, please? It will be the first Rite for me, and I would find comfort in their support. If it is possible, that is all I want. I do not know what it means for you. Or if it will be safe for them, though, so I leave it to your judgment."

  Taken aback, Dalaric was quiet for a moment while he considered her pinched features. He had expected her to demand a form of payment. He was prepared to offer her almost anything she desired. Even the most noble of Akkadian females would have demanded his protection and a promise of wealth to see to their comfort before placing their lives in his hands. She asked for the comfort of her female clan. He brushed a knuckle over the softness of her cheek. "I give my word on the life of my son that, so long as they do not endanger you or my clan, your sisters will always be welcomed within the palace, Emersyn.”

  She bowed her head in thanks. Dalaric's eyes softened on the crown of her head. A human jewel. How extraordinary. Had he not already decided to shelter her beneath his wings he would have been moved to it then. The gentle scent of her quiet happiness filled his nose and he breathed it in greedily.

  Emersyn continued to clutch the book in her hand. He gestured to the grimoire. "This is important to you?" he asked. It was imperative to learn all he could about the female he desired for his Sydae-Va. His Ki mate. Just because she had agreed to help his son did not mean she would prove amenable to his suit.

  Emersyn took a deep, cleansing breath. "As much as anything ever can be," she responded. “I keep my grimoire close to me in times of upset. It carries a piece of my parents and gives me strength.” Memories surfaced. Her heart clenched with both love and sadness.

  “Tell me about them,” he commanded.

  Emersyn’s startled eyes flew up to meet his.

  “I wish to know you, Emersyn. To understand the one who would save my son,” he explained with a half-truth.

  She brushed her hand across a small symbol in the corner of the book. A triangle within a circle within a hexagon. Her mother had loved the clean lines of geometric figures. She peeked at Lord Dalaric through her lashes and then bit her lip. Not even Sarah knew her full story. Her time with her parents had been too fresh, the pain too new, to be shared with her sister while tending her mother. Instead, the blonde-haired prankster had distracted Emersyn from the burden of carrying for a crippled and mute mother with light-hearted banter and daydreams. Once older and in Gilvern, both Sarah and Jaela struggled with their own hurts and Emersyn had not wanted to burden them further with hers.

  The words began to flow. A story that needed to be told.

  Beginnings

  “Humans are an odd collection of traditions and changing morals. Their short lives see each generation much changed from the last.”

  -The Travel Journals of Hofei-

  "Momma, why can't Papa watch? He asked me if he could be invited."

  Her mother patted her head. "Do not worry, Emersyn. Your father knew better than to even ask. This is a matter for witches. He cannot be here anymore than I can attend his meetings with Wulfram."

  Emersyn looked at the cured leather that sat on the table next to the pages of vellum. She looked back up at her mother. The door to their cottage opened.

  "Gabriel!" her mother cried out. "You are not to be here!"

  "Sariah, I am well aware that my presence is not wanted," her father replied. Blue tunic wet from the misting rain; he stomped his boots next to the door to drop any mud from them before walking over to Sariah. He planted a kiss on her pursed lips. "And, after some thought, I understand. You are right, my love. I cannot break my oaths to Wulfram yet and have not told you all I know though I feel the Council to be in the wrong. I should not expect you to abandon witch creed."

  "Then what are you doing here?" Sariah asked tartly.

  "I may not know of your particular means of creating a grimoire," he answered, "but there were other witches who were not as circumspect. The Library has cataloged their weavings. I brought this for our little girl. I am not a witch, but this is my daughter's thirteenth birthday, too. I would give of myself to her book so that she will always have a piece of me. Will you allow it?"

  Sariah sighed but nodded. He kneeled in front of Emersyn. "My little cricket has grown. I am proud of you. You are a wonderful witch, just like your mother. Full of secrets and mana and love. Here," he said as he pulled a small package out of the pouch at his side. "I had to travel back to Wulfram to find this in the Library. I was not sure I would make it in time."

  Emersyn smiled widely and threw her arms around her father's neck. "Thank you, Papa!"

  Gabriel laughed. "Is it not customary to look at the gift before giving thanks?"

  Emersyn giggled and pulled back to take the wrapped package from her father. She carefully removed the paper. A small wooden box no larger than the palm of her hand was revealed. She looked up at her parents before opening it. Six little teeth and a spent mana gem sat within.

  Confused, she looked up.

  Sariah kneeled next to her daughter to take the box. "Gabriel?"

  "From the beginning of my time at Wulfram, I lived in books and scrolls," he told his wife. He ran a hand through curly hair that was streaked with gray.

  "When I first read of the witch spells that had been dark and awful, they became my nightmares. I was terrified of what would become of me if a dark witch were to curse me. If I cut my hair, I burned it. If I was hurt, the bandages were burned too, so that the blood could not be harvested. When I began to lose my first
teeth, I did not know how to protect them from being used. I kept them in a small box and hid them in Wulfram's library. The gem is the very first that sat upon my staff," he explained while pointing to the staff made of oak which he had leaned against the cottage wall next to the door. "It does not have any power left to it, but it was mine." He shrugged. "I just wanted to keep it, I suppose."

  Emersyn sniffed back tears. "You are afraid of witches?"

  Gabriel laughed. "Of course not, Cricket! I learned that just as there are bad witches there are good. Just as not all sages are good," he added with a look at his wife. "I married your mother, didn't I?"

  "Thank you," Emersyn said. She hugged him again. He smelled of smoke fire and rain.

  "We will make use of them, Gabriel. You honor our daughter by trusting her with your precious gift." Sariah looked at the box again. She smiled up at her husband and wrapped her arms around his neck. "And for myself, thank you for the gift of understanding."

  He kissed her on the forehead. "How could I not? You have always forgiven my many absences and the secrecy around my duties, have you not? I understand your desire to teach her all that you had to learn and so quickly! I also respect the sanctity of your grimoire. I will content myself with being a part of it for our daughter, even if I do not know how it will be used."

  "Where will you go now?" Sariah asked her husband. He moved away to reclaim his staff after dropping a kiss on Emersyn's head and smiled down at his daughter.

  "There is word from a nearby village. There have been people there missing for many days. They believe it might be the work of an Akkadian. I am not so sure. Lucern has said he will meet me there. I will be back for our little cricket's birthday supper."

  Sariah nodded. "Go with love," she said.

  "One last hug before I go," he begged of his daughter.

  Emersyn jumped into his arms and squeezed him as tight as her arms would allow. "I love you, Papa," she said.

  "And I, you. Take care of your mother," he ordered with a pinch to her nose. "Enjoy your first true weaving."

  Emersyn nodded and watched her father leave before turning to her mother.

  Sariah motioned her to return to the table once Gabriel was gone. She picked up the dagger which lay on the wooden surface. "Turn around, Emersyn."

  Emersyn complied and grimaced as her mother sliced her long braid off. Once the braid was removed, she turned back to the table so that she could see everything being done.

  "Watch me," Sariah ordered, "so that you may remember the process for your own daughter." She pulled the braid apart. Nimble fingers picked up a needle and threaded it with her daughter's hair. The process slow but steady, she stitched the vellum together. Once she had the pages of the book, she put it to the side.

  "Of the wood you chose in the forest," she told her daughter while touching the two square, flat pieces of willow bark Emersyn had selected on their walk the other day to gather supplies, "we will bind the book. Willow is sacred, Emersyn. Choosing it means you seek the answers to life, itself. And that you did not kill the tree but chose the bark says much about you. Many witches choose strong wood because they fear their grimoire will not last the years without it. But the simplest truth is that once the weaving is complete, your grimoire will only ever be as strong as your mana."

  Emersyn nodded. She touched the bark. She had loved how it felt. And she did not want to kill a tree. They were the people of the forest. The large piece had come off easily in her hand once she prayed to the spirit of the tree to ask permission to use a part of it in her most important work. Of that she had gained the front and back support of her grimoire.

  "Now," her mother continued, "we will protect the wood with the skin of the otter we cleaned and cured. Do you remember why it took so long?"

  Emersyn nodded. "I had to meditate and call the one to me who would sacrifice themselves to aid in my spell." She well remembered the moment the otter had shown itself to her. She had begun to despair. Her mother had left her in the woods, alone, for a month worth of days to meditate and send out her prayers to see who would answer. As the sun began to set on the thirtieth day, she had been ready to cry. Her greatest fear that none would find her worthy was true! Her birthday approached. If she did not have a skin, she would not be able to create her grimoire.

  A large otter had come to her, then. As its head broke through the brush and walked up to her she had felt a great sadness come upon her. There were many white hairs mixed with the brown in its fur. She laid her head in Emersyn's lap and was still. The dagger in Emersyn's hand fell to the dirt. She could not do it. Even though the otter offered herself to Emersyn and had lived a long life, she could not kill it.

  Emersyn pet the head of the otter, instead. She felt the life that yet remained in the animal. A small beat of the heart. It was one thing to eat the flesh of an animal to survive. Life for life. Balance. To kill for the sake of a book? She could not do it. She had decided to tell her mother she would rather take the hides offered in Kildair that had belonged to farm animals than to kill the wild spirit that had come to her when the otter grew still.

  The spirit which had sustained it glowed brightly before her eyes. The shell of its being grew heavy in her lap. The soul mana touched her. A thousand indistinct memories entered Emersyn's heart. Tears fell down her cheeks as the essence flew away.

  In that moment, Emersyn felt as if nothing else mattered but that single touch. She had been blessed. She knew it.

  She struggled to carry the body of the otter to her mother. Her mother's wise eyes had noted the lack of wounds upon the hide but had not commented.

  "With the skin of the otter, all that lays within will be protected by family and friends. Your purpose will be guided by your need to be a caregiver to those who touch your heart."

  Emersyn took a deep breath. She watched intently as her mother triple threaded the needle with the remaining hair and pierced the hide with its tip. The minutes flowed until her grimoire became a whole piece once her mother stitched the closed edge of vellum to the inside of the leather-bound cover. Sariah handed the book to her daughter.

  "This is the end of my task, Daughter. Now you must breathe life into your grimoire. Your father gave to you his teeth and a gem. You must decide if you want them to be contained within. If not," Sariah explained, "it is okay. He will understand. This is yours, Emersyn. Only you can decide what will be written in the pages."

  Emersyn looked at the box her mother had placed on the table beside the tools. She opened her empty grimoire. "Papa was worried he would be hurt by bad witches. I want to protect his secrets." She took the dagger and cut a small slit in the leather her mother had just sown. Into the hole she placed the teeth. They formed small lumps beneath the leather. She bit her lip as she struggled to sew the slit closed. Her mother watched with a smile.

  The gem, Emersyn picked up. The old stone was a garnet with a crack in the middle. Her mother had told her the stones could be reused unless damaged. The only way to crack an infused mana gem was a spell more powerful than the one that had created it. Her mother made all her father's mana gems, now. She wondered who had made this one. It had been the first protection her father had as a child. She closed her grimoire and touched the surface of the cover.

  Sensing what her daughter intended, Sariah walked to the mantle. She pulled down a small basket and drew a thin wire from it before replacing the wicker container. She fashioned a loop of the silver metal. "You may bind it with this," she told her daughter. Emersyn slowly wrapped the gem in the silver thread. Her mother used the needle to pierce the hide in two places. Into the otter skin the ends of the silver metal slid, then they pushed out the other hole. Emersyn pulled on the metal ends until the gem was flush with the cover and wrapped the ends around each other to secure it.

  "Mama, will you make your mark, too?"

  Sariah looked at her child. "What do you want me to draw?"

  Emersyn smiled. "Anything! I will love it all."

  Her
mother cocked her head to the side as she looked upon her daughter's grimoire. "This is a sacred trust, Daughter," she said as she picked up the dagger. She placed it in the hearth fire to heat the metal quickly. After the metal glowed red, she pulled it free by the hilt and quickly burned upon the grimoire's cover her personal symbol. "I will always be a part of you, Emersyn," she promised after the final line was drawn. "No matter what. Now, you will always have a part of us with you."

  Emersyn felt her heart swell. "Yes, Mama."

  "The final part of the weaving. You must write your name upon the book."

  Emersyn frowned in confusion. "I thought we had to say special words, Mama. All I have to do is write my name?"

  Sariah chuckled. "You have listened to your father's stories too many times, Emersyn. We are not sages who require words to focus the mana gifted to them by a gem. It is a living thing inside of us, Love." Sariah touched Emersyn's forehead and then the place over her heart. "It is in here that our mana lives. We may learn herb lore and the knowledge and purpose behind the properties of metals and the other infinite wonders in the world which all contain mana. We add it to our grimoire in the same way that it is stored in our memories. It matters, and so we mark it down. But the weaving of our mana is done with quiet purpose and few words."

  Sariah held her hand out. Emersyn placed her hand in her mother's. Sariah looked into her daughter's eyes as the dagger cut a small line down her forearm. She handed Emersyn a quill made of an owl's flight feather. "Think of what you are doing and why, Emersyn. Imagine your grimoire into being. A thing of many parts re-shaped into a single purpose. A repository of all that is you."

  Emersyn bit her lip. The pain had not been too bad. The scar would never heal but she would always draw blood from the same place to write in her grimoire. She carefully dipped the quill in the blood. She closed her eyes. Deep within her heart she felt the well of mana and smiled. She remembered when her mother had first told her she had inherited her witch blood. How proud her mother had been to know she would pass down to her the knowledge of ages. Upon the top portion of the cover, she spelled out her name.