"What's happening to her?"Roran asked, his voice barely recognizable to his own ears.
No one answered immediately.The gathered observers seemed as transfixed as he was, watching the impossible display of magic that emanated from Thalia's unconscious form.
Naj finally broke the silence."Storm magic currents flow through her," he confirmed, moving to stand beside Roran."But not only storm magic.Look."He gestured to the frost patterns."Cryomancy as well."
"And something else," added one of the healers, pointing to the flowering vines."I've never seen anything like it."
"It started about an hour ago," Celeste said quietly, her hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles showed white.The poised herbalist that Roran had met in Verdant Port seemed diminished somehow, worn thin by worry for her daughter."The frost came first, then the...plants."She stumbled over the word, as though it couldn't possibly encompass the phenomenon they were witnessing.
"Is she in pain?"Roran asked, dreading the answer.
Celeste shook her head."Her breathing is stronger.Her pulse more regular.Whatever this is, it doesn't seem to be harming her."
Roran reached out, hovering his hand above the dancing electricity between Thalia's fingers.He could feel the power there, familiar yet different—more focused, more controlled than his own storm magic had ever been.
"Three forms of magic," he murmured."Cryomancy, storm-calling, and….”
"Root-singing."
The voice came from behind them.Luna stood there, a heavy tome clutched against her chest.She crossed the room with quick, purposeful strides, her usual affectation of distraction entirely absent.
"The current-sensing ability Thalia has always had—it's called root-singing," she explained, moving to the side of the bed opposite Roran."An ancient magical discipline that was once practiced by Southern practitioners, particularly those who lived close to the earth.Herbalists.Healers."
"Like my family," Celeste whispered, realization dawning in her eyes."But I never..."
"The talent often skips generations," Luna said."Or remains dormant until awakened by necessity or exposure to other forms of magic."She placed the book on the edge of the bed, careful to avoid the spreading vines."I found references in the archives.Root-singers’ techniques have been lost to time, but the bloodline persists."
Roran stared at the electricity dancing between Thalia's fingers, then at the frost patterns, then at the delicate flowers blooming above her heart."You're saying all three forms of magic are manifesting through her?How is that possible?"
"Not through her," Luna corrected, her voice taking on the precise cadence she used when sharing particularly important information."Within her.The Founders' Price chamber was designed to channel the combined power of all three magical traditions.When Thalia activated it, she became a conduit for that power."Her expression grew solemn."It appears that the connection wasn't severed when she lost consciousness.It's still flowing through her."
CHAPTER NINE
Arman's axe bit deep into the pine's flesh when he first heard the screams.He jerked his head toward the village center, momentarily frozen with his hands still gripping the worn handle.The sound wasn't the playful shrieks of children or the occasional bark of orders from the foreman—this was raw terror, a sound that raised the hair on his neck and sent his heart hammering against his ribs.His breath plumed white in the bitter morning air as he wrenched his axe free, hesitating only long enough to grab his heavy fur cloak from where it hung on a nearby branch.Something was wrong.Terribly wrong.
The village of Timber Creek lay nestled in a valley between two imposing Northern peaks, a collection of sturdy log structures built by generations of lumberjacks who had carved their living from the ancient forests.Smoke rose from stone chimneys in thin gray columns against the snow-laden sky, a familiar sight that had always brought Arman comfort.Not today.Today those plumes wavered as though in a strong wind, though the air hung still and cold around him.
He ran, boots crunching through the fresh snow that had fallen overnight, leaving his axe and the half-cut tree behind.The screams multiplied, joined now by shouted orders and the frantic whinny of horses.As he crested the small rise that separated the cutting grounds from the village proper, Arman's steps faltered, his mind struggling to process what his eyes beheld.
The river that had faithfully served their village—providing water for their livestock, powering their sawmill, carrying their timber downstream to market—had transformed.No longer did clear water flow between its banks.Instead, a viscous black substance surged upward, spilling over the riverbanks in defiance of natural laws.It moved with purpose, with hunger, tendrils of darkness reaching out like questing fingers toward the nearest structures.
"Get to the meeting hall!"someone shouted, the voice nearly lost in the growing chaos."Bring only what you can carry!"
Arman's mind cleared, years of working in dangerous conditions having taught him to push fear aside when action was needed.He sprinted toward the nearest cabin, pounding on the door with his fist.An elderly couple lived here, the husband nearly blind, the wife slowed by years of hard Northern living.
"Jora!Talv!"he called, not waiting for an answer before shouldering the door open."We need to leave.Now."
Jora stood in the center of the single room, clutching a small bundle of belongings.Her weathered face was pale, blue eyes wide with an animal panic that struck Arman like a physical blow.Behind her, Talv fumbled to pull on his boots, gnarled fingers struggling with the laces.
"The black waters," she whispered."They've come inland.They've come for us."
Arman had heard the stories—who hadn't?Tales of coastal villages vanishing overnight, of strange shadows that rose from the depths to consume all they touched.But those had been distant troubles, concerns for the shore-dwellers and fishermen, not for those who lived among the great Northern pines, a full week's journey from the coast.
"I'll help you," he said, crossing to Talv and taking the boots from the old man's hands."Just the essentials.Whatever you can't leave behind."
"We heard the mill bell," Talv said, his clouded eyes staring at nothing."Jora saw the river rising black."
"Everyone's gathering at the meeting hall," Arman explained, efficiently tying Talv's boots."The loggers are bringing the wagons.We'll head for higher ground."
