“It’s past midnight. Excuse me if my brain isn’t working,” Young-Will says. He rubs his eyes and groans. “Gods, if my parents wake up and find us gone, they’re going to murder me. And then you. And then your mum will murder them both, so I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I told you,” Young-Bastion snaps. “I overheard them.”
He stops surveying the tree to dig a screwed-up ball of yellowed paper out of his coat pocket. He chucks it at Young-Will, who catches it with ease and flattens out the creases. I tug my Will closer so I can glance at the page. It seems like a botanical illustration of an oak alongside a few unusual runes, perhaps a spell written in an ancient language. Card would know.
“Okay, so what? Oak trees have been used in rituals for thousands of years. What makes you think it’ll suddenly grant you all your worldly wishes? You’ve never been able to do even the easiest of spells and I’m too tired for this,” Young-Will complains.
Young-Bastion plants his feet, a glimmer of the swordsmith yet to come.
“Mum’s friend told her. Some blond lady. She said that she’d been searching for years and this could be the answer. She said that if I tried this spell, I couldfinallyuse magic. They didn’t know I was outside. I snuck in after and ripped this page out of the book they were looking at.”
“Oh, so not only are you trusting the word of a strange woman, you’re also vandalizing books. Sounds great. Truly the makings of an honorable king.”
“Shut it. It’ll work. I know it will. Why are you being so grouchy? Are you still pissed that I beat you at cards earlier?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you woke me up and dragged me out to the middle of the forest? It could have something to do with that.”
Young-Will angles his head, and it’s such a familiar move that I press back a smile. I want to tell my Will that he’s so cute when he’s sulking like this, but he’s frowning at his past self, barely blinking.
I squeeze his hand.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice soft. It doesn’t feel right to break the silence of the forest, this deeply held breath.
“I should have stopped him,” Will mutters next to me. “I should have convinced him not to.”
I look back at the boys.
“Can you read it? The spell?” Young-Bash asks.
“Duh.”
“Teach it to me.”
“It says to repeat this incantation three times, then place your palm on the bark. If you feel a pull in your chest, it means you’ve created a magical connection to the gods within the tree that will allow you to siphon away some of the magic. Damn…siphonis such a strong word. Are you sure this is legit? Normal spells don’t mess around with the gods. Maybe I should check with my professor first…”
“Will, stop moaning. You’re supposed to be excited for me. We could go to classes at the Library together!”
“I’ll be excited when I’m back in bed, asleep.”
Despite his words, Young-Will sighs and ushers Young-Bash closer.
The Will beside me can’t watch. He turns his head aside. “This is how the oak tree died,” he says. “This is how the north was blighted. It’s our fault, Fliss.”
The memory shudders like the flickering of a candle and when it settles into place once more, both boys stand in front of the tree, sharing the paper. The boys chant together like a funeral march, and as the seconds tick by, gleams of magical light gather in the heart of the tree. The blades of grass in the clearing start to shrivel. Twitch.Like they’re suffocating. Like they’re in agony. And there’s something on Young-Will’s face I’ve never seen before—pure, abject terror.
“Bash, wait. Stop, it doesn’t feel right,” Young-Will warns. The glow of magic begins to fade when Young-Will stops the incantation, but Young-Bastion pushes his friend away in desperation.
And places one hand on the bark.
The memory of that moment hangs in suspense. The unused magic shimmers, waiting to be told where to go. If performed correctly, that power should be entering the person making contact with the tree. But I know Bash. This didn’t work. This didn’t grant him any magic. Instead, his sudden interaction with the tree redirects the magic like a flock of birds fleeing from a predator.
Young-Bash gasps, horrified.
For the smallest of moments, I catch a spark of green around his wrists like the locked chains of a prisoner.
Then the clearing explodes.
I flinch and lean into my Will, screwing my eyes shut until the blast of light fades. Both boys have been flung back. Young-Bash crawls over and shakes Young-Will, who writhes and punches the air like he’s being attacked by invisible spirits.
