He does a double take, his lips tugging into a grin. “That’s good news, right?”
I sigh. “Yes, but…”
“But?”
“It felt like I had dredged it up from the underworld itself. I was trying to call Phantom, but I never connected to my anchor. My power responded, but it was slow to access and chaotic, more of a burst of power than an exacting spell. Ironically, I think Aurora gave me a clue to what I’m still missing.”
He shoots me a look of concern. “What did you see?”
“Do foxes exist on Tenebris?”
Damien frowns. “No. Not like on Earth.”
“Phantom was a dead fox whom my ancestors animated. Aurora showed me his body dying. What if when Thanesia released my ancestors, she couldn’t return Phantom to me because that animal doesn’t exist here. Maybe I need to find a new anchor on this plane, and until I do, I have to call up my ancestors all the way from the Darklands.”
“It makes sense, little dragon. So, what must you do to find a new anchor?”
I frown. “That’s just the thing. Last time, my ancestors chose for me. Unfortunately, I think I’m going to have to wait until they find a body they feel is worth inhabiting.”
49
Matters of the Heart
DAMIEN
Well past moonset, when the last silver light disappears like water through cracked earth, the rabble beasts begin to chuff and scratch at the dirt. They need to be rested and fed. I’ve pushed them too far today. I remember a place nearby where my fellow umbrae and I would take shelter during the war. A place with few trees for elves to hide in.
I lead the way to the unnamed field beside the small lake and, after removing the saddles and saddlebags, set the beasts loose to hunt. Soon, they are filling their bellies with vespers they catch in the tall grasses and are quenching their thirst in the cool, still waters.
We make camp in the nook under a mesa of dark stone nearby.
“Do you think you can manage a cloaking spell?” I ask her.
Eloise digs in her bundle for her parents’ grimoire. “It’s been so long since I’ve been able to use my magic, I don’t know. Without an anchor like Phantom, I’m not sure.”
She sits cross-legged on a stone and opens the book in her lap. I start a small fire and heat up some food we brought from Dimhollow. About thirty minutes later, she closes the book, stands, and, grunting with effort, summons a silver strand from the night air.
“This is going to take a while,” she says, her voice strained. She weaves another thread together with the first. “Entertain me while I work.”
“I’m no good at singing,” I admit.
She snorts. “Tell me what you felt and saw in the passageway out of the mountain. Is it the same for everyone?”
“I’m not sure. You’re the only other person I know who’s been through it.”
She smiles at me over her shoulder. “Then let’s compare notes.”
“First, I felt pressure, crushing pressure, until I wasn’t sure I could draw my next breath.”
“Same,” she says, tying off a third strand. She’s building a web around us, anchored by the mesa.
“Then spiders. Swarms of them.”
“Same.”
I hesitate. “The next part was difficult for me. It was something I could see.”
She looks at me briefly before returning to her work. “It was at this point when I saw Phantom disintegrate into a pile of maggots. Hard for me as well. But I’m guessing you didn’t see the same thing.”
