“I need a surface that will act like a hammer,” he says. “Not a Blacksmith’s hammer. Just a regular one.”
I’m not sure how he thinks he could use any part of the stretcher for hammering, but my eyes widen when he grips the metal at one side of it, which is currently wrapped around the pole. He appears to be trying to pull the onyx tusk free.
I hammered that metal into place, after commanding it to do my bidding. I’m certain that nothing could move it.
Erik’s biceps bulge and in the next second, the metal shrieks as it lifts upward, freeing the black tusk, which rolls out onto the floor.
Surprised, I watch as he retrieves the pole and carries it like a spear, its sharp end pointed upright as he heads toward the bedside table.
Using the tip of the pole, he knocks the pin onto the floor—again without coming into contact with it—and then he kneels beside it where it landed on the floor.
He raises the flat end of the pole above the pin, his muscles flexing. “Remember what you are.”
He isn’t speaking to me. Right now, that’s all I know for certain.
A moment later, he smacks the end of the pole down onto the pin.
The mangled ornament bounces beneath the hit, but that’s all.
Erik’s hands tighten around the pole and again, he rams it down. “Remember what you are!”
I’m not sure what he’s trying to achieve, but again, nothing about the pin looks any different. It isn’t even flattened.
I take a step away from the wall, but I don’t move any closer because now his jaw has clenched and I sense I should keep my distance.
He shifts his position from a crouch, taking a knee instead. He bows his head as he lifts the onyx pole above the pin, holding the tusk there for a long moment. “Remember who you are.”
A split second before he taps the pin with the end of the tusk, a charge fills the air, and the hairs on my arms suddenly stand on end. I imagine, for a moment, that there’s a burst of light down his arms, but it’s gone too soon to tell.
The onyx pole hits the pin.
A bright, melodictingpeels through the room as clear as a bell.
The energy swells and ripples outward.
Erik braces as it billows around him with such strength that he slides backward.
The ripple of power reaches me in the next instant, shoving me up against the wall before it seems to quickly retract and flow back to the pin. The silver metal slowly untwists, its surface smoothing out until it forms a solid band in the shape of a long rectangle.
The hairs on my arms continue to stand on end, the palpable energy spiraling around me. “It’s a medallion.”
“One of your grandmother’s tools. She disguised it as a pin so Malak wouldn’t destroy it.”
Erik hurries to the bedside table again, takes the empty cup resting there, and uses it to scoop the medallion up off the floor. The band is long enough that it extends beyond the cup’s lip.
As he approaches me, more slowly now, he asks, “Will you… please… give me your hand?”
“Why?” I ask, feeling wary, my left arm held close to my chest.
He tips the cup toward me. “You can cover the black medallion with this. It will help.”
I’m shaking my head. “I can’t use ordinary medallions.”
“You don’t need to use it or command it. Your grandmother designed it specifically for the purpose of diffusing Malak’s dark magic. All you have to do is reach for it, and it will fulfill its purpose all on its own.”
My brow furrows. “How do you know this?”
“Because your grandmother told Mother Solas, and Mother Solas told me.”
