The Wiccan Diaries: Neophyte Adept Part 52

We had come across a path, in the woods, and were riding it, Ballard with his compa.s.s in one hand, and his map in the other. Something about the total lack of anythingit made you want to get there; we spoke very little. Stromovka was everywhere. The place of trees.

Stillall day I couldn't stop thinking about the grey wolf; for some reason, now that I knew what it was, I couldn't tell Ballard, who continued to be on edge. I couldn't think why?

Our motorcycles zipped up and down the hills, following the trail. Somebody had been here. I supposed it was like Faith, and that eventually we would all get to wherever we were headed. Small comfort, given there was no ending in sight.

"I can't take it anymore!" said Ballard. He swatted at his head. "Seeing things. I'm tired of it! And the trees!"

For fourteen hours, we alternately rode and walked the forest floor. The last chugs of the Gambalunga sputtered and died. The gas was gone. In Ballard's motorcycle as well.

He crumpled, and then picked himself up. We put our heads down, walking our bikes two more hours, silently in the dark.

"I'm spent. I can't go anymore," he said.

A fire was kindled; we ate our frugal supper. Night, rich and thick, clotted our eyesight. The taste of beans was little more than a reprieve from starvation, there in Stromovka. We began finally to despair.

"I'm dying," said Ballard. "It's over."

When, suddenly, my eyes popped open. The tingling in my fingertips was backlike premonition. I held a trinity of stars in my fingertips, one for each digit. The last thing I had seen was the moonlit grey wolf, which seemed to rush out at me, from my dreams, before fading away. But now my eyes were wide open, and there was something else out there.

"Ballard... Ballard... Ballard..." I repeated in the dark. I felt myself calling to him three times. It was like I was all alone.

I looked at the flickering flames of the fire, the tongues of which had been allowed to fade during the night. The sky was a dull leaden color, like lead in pencil. When I realized: sky! We were on the edge of an opening. "Ballard!" I shouted. n.o.body answered. At least not who I thought would answer...

He appeared. He appeared so suddenly and silently, at first I didn't recognize him. His eyes were like electronic diamonds, shining from the darklike a snake uncoiling itself, preparing to strike. He slithered from the trees.

My Mark was blinding me with its sterling light. Is that what this is? I thought... A warning sign?

The hunter stood at the edge of the forest, sniffing as the grey wolf had done; instead of protecting me, however, the intent of the hunter could not be denied. He had come there to kill me. Ballard as well. Ballard.... I thought.

"Your friend, where is he?" he said. His voice hissed and rasped like it hadn't been used in a long time.

I looked and saw his mark. He showed it off brazenly to me. Tribal, like twisting thorns. No Virtue was ever shaped like that. What was he?

"I-I don't know where he is," I said. "He's gone. He left." I gulped, appreciating the truth of my words.

I couldn't keep the note of hysteria out of my voice; I was all alone. Still, there was no reason Ballard should die with me. If I was going to depart this life, it would be just me going. But where was Ballard, and what was he doing?

"His motorcycle is still here," said the hunter shrewdly. He threw his neck back and sniffed the air; I could hear the powerful inhalations of breath. "I cannot descry his scent. I have been tracking you four dayssince Italy, when you foolishly crossed from the protection of Rome, all the way to metime enough to lock him down. My Master will be most pleased." He smiled maliciously. The glint in his eye was nothing next to his teeth: sharp points which sparkled in the gloom.

I saw his beautiful, angelic face, before it turned menacing. Tentatively, I tried reading his mind.

"That does not work on me, she-witch," he hissed, his voice metallic. "I am Grigori. The last of my kindas... are... you..."

"W-What do you want?" I said. "Why are you trying to hurt me?"

"Trying?" He shook his head. "As if you could stop me," he said.

"You said we were alike. I thought Witch- and Wizard-Shifters couldn't be," I said.

"There hasn't been one in over a hundred years, I admit. Surely you have heard of Rhea Silva. She was a powerful witch, before I killed her."

He stepped into the small clearing. "Nowabout us..." he said.

I could just see a sickle of the moon, overhead.

"Why are you after me? Why can I see you in my dreams? If you're not dead, then why were those two gravediggers trying to bury you?" I said.

Must keep him talking.

"My master told me you were special," he said. "At leastpotentially..."

"What does that even mean?"

"Halsey, get away from him."

Ballard was backhe stepped under the tree. I was still in my sleeping bag. I managed to get out of it, while he stepped between us. Even though Ballard had undergone a growth spurt, he was nowhere near the size of the Grigori, who was seven feet tall and bristling with rage.

"Things have changed, Rayven," said Ballard. "Tell your master, he had his chance. It's over now."

"He has magic, Ballard. Be careful," I said.

I put my boots on while they talked. Next, I fetched my walking stick. At least I had a weapon.

The hunter shifted his footing.

I knew from premonition what came next, but it seemed impossible. His eyes were on me; I knew that look; I had seen it before. What had Ballard called him? Rayven? Why were he and Marek so interested in me? Who was I? I'm n.o.body, I thought.

As if on cue, the aether in my arm began throbbing painfully. It wanted to fight.

"You may not fear me," said Ballard, talking fast, "but you are in danger."

Rayven smiled, showing his teeth. I heard shouting in the distance. Voices drawing near. Ballard looked at the hunter. "Last chance," he said.

It happened.

The hunter crept forward in a stalking motion, the fingers of his forehand like clawspointing them at me. "The witch is mine," he said.

"Don't worry, Halls," Ballard said to me. I stood motionless, unable to prevent it from happening.

A spell erupted, hitting the tree trunk next to me, which exploded. "Vargr noctum...."

The hunter was reloading. He pointed his Wiccan Mark at Ballard.

Ballard howled. There was a sound like lightning. The ground exploded. It rocked me where I stood.

Ballard was no longer there. He had been replaced by a huge, husky, electric-white werewolf.

Ballard bared his fangs and shot at the hunter, who fired his mark. The ma.s.sive animal dodged the ineffectual magic, latching his teeth onto Rayven.

I heard a quick succession of lightning strikesone, two, three... there in the distance, the voices drawing closer.

Rayven stumbled backwards, woundedhis eyes briefly flashing my way. Anger and disappointment were etched on his face. "So be it," he said.

He pointed his mark at me.

I heard the words, without understanding them.

It happened in slow-motion.

A huge womp as the spectrum-visible flash of light erupted my way.

The spell connected with Ballard squarely in his chest. He had thrown himself between us. Ballard fell in a heap.

The Hunter backed away, pointing his finger at me. "Remembr," he said. A trail of ribbon-like tendrils left his fingertips and crawled through the airconnecting with me. "Soon," he said. I had a momentary impossible fantasy. No. It couldn't be....

Rayven turned and was gone.

All thoughts turned to Ballard. I raced to him, there at the edge of the forest. There was a huge, sickly-looking gash down his left side. His pristine white fur matted in blood. His muzzle had been cut.

I put my hands on him, completely powerless to prevent what was happening. He was covered in blood. I heard howls behind me. I could feel others arriving.

Ballard breathed in and out. Something in his eyes. I felt somehow connected to him, as if either he or his wolf were trying to communicate with me. It was like a poorly-tuned radio station, or current pa.s.sing through a faulty electrical switch, in out, in out. I heard him say my name.

"Halsey?" he whispered to me...

Only, the Ballard Wolf had still not shifted back; I was talking to his Animal.

Chapter 8 The Hollow.

Magic was in Ballard's wound. A curse. I could see it spreading through his limbs. Hadn't I known what was out there, and I hadn't said anything. By not including Ballard, I had allowed this to happen. If my parents were here they would be so ashamed.

"Patience!" said a voice behind me.

I turned and Asher was stepping into the clearing. He was wearing his spotted leather pants and matching indigo vest. A symbol dangled on a chain from his neck. It looked like a fang with a swirl inside of it.

"Dobry den, Halsey Rookmaaker," he said to me.

"Please! You have to help him!" I said. I didn't have time to fathom how Asher could be here. "I'm... not Adept! I don't know what to do!" I said.

He bent his head over Ballard, tying his dreadlocks behind him with a purple rubber band, and began feeling at the fringes of Ballard's wound, probing with his fingertips.

The ground was rumbling with more cyanthropes. I could hear them changing into dogs. Someone was barking orders. I kept hearing the word koruna, I later learned was Czech for crown. Then I remembered, Asher was one of the Celeres, bodyguard to the Magister Equitum himself. The Werewolf King. Is this where they lived? The Stromovka must be their home rangeCentral Bohemia, the region surrounding Prague.

As if in answer, I heard more explosions; one of the men transformed right in front of me, but I was still too dazed to really notice.

"He needs a doctor," Asher said. "That foul! Do you know what he did? Never mind.... There is not much time."

The light in Ballard's eyes was fading fast.

"I cannot stop the bleeding," said Asher. "It is... too late..."

It was everywhere, in the mud, all over us. Tears began streaking down my face.

Ballard, you can't leave me. You can't... I didn't know what to do.

A storm was raging through me, a reckless stormif I didn't do somethingsomething soon....

"I will give you some time," said Asher.

"That's it? You can't just quit," I said, indignant, but Asher repeated his line: "It is... too late, Halsey Rookmaaker."

The werewolves were running through the Stromovka, searching for Rayven, who would not be caughtI realized that now. Rayven had a plan for meto kill me, if he could. Some other voice had kicked in. Some other me. First things first, I needed to stop the bleeding. The only way how was to cauterize the wound.

I looked at the Spellcaster's Mark running down the length of my arm, and thought, fire?

Stormr hamrinum could do it quickly, but it could also get quickly out of hand. The fire spell consumed everything in its path. Could intent and forcefulness change its intensity? At least if I messed up, Ballard's pain would be short-lived.

My fingertips sparked. As if, either they knew what to do, or Mistress Genevieve's recklessness was taking hold of me. I put my hands on his wound, the blood seeping from between my fingers, and as carefully as I could, said the magic words.

Warmth spread from my fingertips. Magic warmth. Where my hand moved, I could feel the bleeding begin to let up; the magical energy was draining from me, however. Could I die, if it got too low? It made me lightheaded; yet giddy, because the tissue around Ballard's wound was knitting itself of its own accord. Then I remembered: Magic healing. Werewolves had accelerated recuperative properties. Good thing too. Silly Ballard. He had just jumped devil-may-care in front of Rayvento protect me.

Asher looked on, wide-eyed.

"I didn't know you could actually do magic," he said.

Neither did I. I could see Ballard breathing again; it was ragged at first, and he was going to have a scar, but still.... I broke the connection, wiping the sweat off my brow, smearing Ballard's blood on my forehead.

"He is not ready to 'give up his ghost,' then," said Asher. "Perhaps you are the One."

Asher looked at me with penetrating fire-opal eyessomehow warmth and respect mingling there.... Two of his men appeared who updated him on the search for Rayven.

"He is gonethe trace is muddledwe picked up that other scent as wellwhoever they are, they're crafty."

Asher nodded. He directed them to take up Ballard's body. "We will follow behind. Laurinaitis, if you could, please take some of your men and set the perimeter. Perhaps one or both will show themselves tonight, and wander into our traps."

Asher grabbed Ballard's motorcycle and I followed after him.

As we walked, I brought him up to speed on everything that had happened in the last few days, including the grey wolf.