Page 69 of Fate Promised
Fergal cackled. “Aye, I deserved that. You’re right. Maybe I’m wrong about what the bowl wants.”
“Morana used it. Could she have put a curse on it?” Juri asked.
There was a long moment as Fergal and Koschei studied the bowl, both still rubbing their hands. “Doubtful. Morana was an enchanter. In school, they divided education in magic by hierarchy. An enchanter wouldn’t have known advanced magic.”
Juri growled. “Yet she taught Hoyt spells and fed him power.”
Fergal shrugged. “Power, yes. But how would she learn—”
“She gave Hoyt advanced spells like the hex he put on my Alpha.”
That made Fergal pause. “You’re right. The Morana I taught with back in Herskala Academy isn’t the same Morana you knew. It’s hard for me to alter my thinking.”
Triska gaped. “You knew her?”
He nodded. “Yes, she was a teacher for many years. I noticed she took a certain notice of some students. Students like Hoyt.” He waved a hand at Triska. “And like your friend Hazel. I wasn’t at the school any longer when Hazel was there, but she fits the type Morana would have gone after. Those rejected, but still with power. And angry.” He sighed. “I should have tried harder to understand the extra training she was doing with them. And why.”
Triska sucked in a breath. “I can have a go.” She reached for the bowl.
“No!” Juri grabbed her hand right before she touched the marble. But Juri’s hand made contact, his palm brushing against the rim.
The bowl burst into black flame, and it reached a single flickering tendril up toward Juri, licking over his arm. He jolted, and his eyes turned red.
Everyone stared at him as he stared at the bowl. Nothing else happened, only the flame whispering over his skin, but not singeing him.
Triska gasped. “What is it doing? Juri, are you all right?”
He didn’t answer. The room grew warm, the scent of sulfur clouding around them. Magic coating everyone. Everything.
Her gaze drifted to the window. To the rolling sea stretched beyond. The room seemed to pulse like the air had a heartbeat. Pushing her forward. Seducing her onward. Come. It’s time to join the waves.
Triska crumpled forward, the urge like a kick to her gut. She caught herself on the table, propping herself up with one hand. She needed the cool water to wash over her. To lap against her skin and make her feel buoyant and happy as she twirled amid the seaweed.
“Triska,” Juri whispered. And with one wrench, he twisted his hand away from the bowl. The flame went out with a whoosh, and he wrapped his arm around her. He was hot—he always ran warm, but this was much hotter than usual.
Triska peered up at him. “What happened? What did the bowl do to you?”
“The bowl … spoke to me. I know what it wants me to give to use it.” His eyes faded back to gold. “And I won’t.”
Koschei snorted. “The vulk have no magic. What could it want?”
Triska’s gaze lowered to his chest. He had magic. Their rune.
Juri ignored him. “We’ll find another way. Don’t use the marble bowl.” And he turned and left.
28
Juri’s ear twitched as the birds nearby squawked at his approach, their calls similar to a baby wailing the word ‘cheery.’ With feathers of brilliant blue and red, the birds fluttering in Koschei’s gardens resembled the parrots of southern Ulterra, but were turkey-sized and far fiercer than any birds he’d encountered there. When he’d stalked one, thinking to have it for dinner, the other birds in the flock dive-bombed him, using their entire body to slam into him. So far, he’d yet to sneak up on any of them, despite their lumbering ability to fly, but he hadn’t tried hard. After all, it wasn’t every day a bird used its body as a weapon.
He wasn’t Kyril, and he found birds kind of interesting. Besides, food was plentiful.
The air was more brackish today, with the breeze stronger off the ocean. Brimstone coated every inhale, shrouding Peklo to make sure no one ever forgot they lived in the underworld. However, depending on where he walked, he’d learned the strength of it changed. Near the beach, the salt of the ocean bled through. In the strange forest with its twisty trees spaced apart as if wanting to accommodate monsters walking beneath their limbs, the rich sap from the trees, with a more familiar pine scent, wove through.
He walked with Koschei while Triska meandered ahead, picking some of the yellow fruit from the palms. “What about looping in the north? Could we get to the junction at the Shaking Mountain there?” he asked. “Would the paths there be easier?” Another week had passed, with Koschei and Fergal having no success with the bowl, and he’d had no luck finding other ways up to Ulterra. Going to the only junction he knew about might be the only way. If he had to defeat an ala so they could use her junction to get to Ulterra, he would.
Except if that way worked, Zann would have used it during his hundred years roaming Peklo. He ran his hand over his ears. Why hadn’t he ever asked Zann about it?
“You’d still have to circle down the mountain range. There is only one trail in and out of the ring of mountains containing the Shaking Mountain, and it’s in the south.”