Spellweaver

  Tamara Grantham

  THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  NO part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Spellweaver

  Copyright ©2015 Tamara Grantham

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-63422-161-0

  Cover Design by: Marya Heiman

  Typography by: Courtney Nuckels

  Editing by: Chelsea Brimer

  ~Smashwords Edition~

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  “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

  ~Albert Einstein

  For Melian

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’m cursed with bad luck. There were no spells or evil fairy godmothers involved in said curse, and although I know plenty of people with magical powers who had motive and opportunity, I’m certain they never placed a jinx on me. Yet my life always seems to follow one principle—if things can go wrong, they will. Murphy’s Law.

  But I have one thing working in my favor.

  Kull, my Viking warrior sidekick, somehow negates my bad fortune. I call it his dumb luck. Whenever things go wrong, he makes them right. I have no explanation for this.

  ***

  I sat with the Wult scouts in the pixie land swamps. The bonfire popped sparks of red and orange as a slow-moving, moldy-smelling breeze gusted past. We’d been tracking Kull’s sister, Heidel, for two weeks. Several times I’d debated turning back, but Kull made me stay. I had no other reason to keep traveling with the Wults.

  “There’s no blood in it,” Brodnik said, his hand fisted around a drumstick. “How can we eat flesh that’s burnt this way?” He pointed the charred drumstick at me. “She’s overcooked it.”

  “Take it easy,” I replied. “I’m a doctor, not a chef.” Star Trek references went right over their heads, so using them gave me endless amounts of amusement.

  “You’ve ruined the whole meal.”

  Kull stiffened. “Hold your tongue, Brodnik. I won’t allow you to speak to her that way.”

  “But we’ve been tracking all day. We need nourishment, and she’s spoiled the only game we were able to catch in these gods-forsaken swamps.”

  “I said hold your tongue.”

  Brodnik grumbled something, and then attempted to rip a piece of flesh from the bone with no luck.

  I secretly took joy in watching Kull defend me.

  “I think it tastes delicious,” Rolf said, a smile spreading across his boyish face. The firelight illuminated the patches of hair growing on his upper lip and chin.

  “You would say that,” Brodnik replied. “This meat’s as edible as that fuzz on your face you call a beard.”

  Rolf squared his shoulders. “It is a beard.”

  Brodnik laughed.

  “It is!”

  “I’ve got more hair growing on my backside than you’ve got on your face, boy.”

  Rolf leapt to his feet. “That’s not true.”

  “No? Would you like me to prove it?”

  Kull sat on the log beside me and gave me a quick smile as the two continued to argue. “Aren’t you glad you came?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.” I attempted to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

  “Be honest.”

  “Honestly? I would’ve left thirteen and a half days ago if not for you.”

  He gave me a sly grin. “Then I am pleased you decided to stay.”

  The argument finally died down when Brodnik revealed his backside and Rolf conceded without a fight. I had to agree with Rolf. I’d spent four years of my life in medical school, and we’d certainly studied some strange abnormalities—Brodnik’s backside was a prime specimen of hypertrichosis, or excessive hairiness anywhere on the human body. Including backsides.

  It felt strange being here with these people and so far from home, although most times, I wasn’t sure where home was. I’d been raised by dragons in Faythander, though my mother was human and my father an elf. At the age of twelve, I’d moved in with my mom, but I’d never bonded with her. When I’d finished medical school, I’d spent a year in Boston and then found an apartment on Galveston Island. I’d lived there ever since. I managed to eke out a living by counseling people who’d traveled to this world—Faythander—and had returned to Earth with no memory of it. I’d never felt completely at home on Earth, though after spending two weeks with the Wults, I couldn’t wait to get back.

  “You’re quiet,” Kull said.

  “Sorry.” I attempted a smile. “I’m just tired.” Eyeing my meat, the flesh blackened and tasting of charcoal, I added, “And hungry.”

  “It’s not your fault. Cissikins are infamous for being lean. We’ll find better game after we leave these lands.” He stared around the swamp as chirps and hoots of strange, unfamiliar creatures echoed off the inky pools of water surrounding us.

  The pixies had warned us of this place. Not even they traveled here. These were the badlands. Many unlucky travelers had died here, which is why I only came here with Kull as my companion and good luck charm.

  I eyed him. Was he more?

  Kull’s face revealed no emotion as he gazed at the campfire flames, though I knew he was worried about his sister. Two weeks ago, he’d also admitted his love for me, though he hadn’t mentioned it since then. I didn’t push the subject—we both needed to work out our feelings—and psychologically speaking, the emotional impact of losing his sister would have been difficult for him to sort through. Best to wait it out.

  I’d also never admitted my feelings to him.

  I wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but I did have a boyfriend back home—one that I needed to break up with before I confessed my emotions to Kull. Deep inside, I knew that I did love him. When I contemplated how much I wanted to care for him, grow old with him, and spend the rest of forever with him, the thought scared me a little. I’d never felt t
hat way about anyone.

  My thoughts were interrupted by shouting. I followed the source of the sounds and was surprised to see Mochazon, a pixie warrior I’d met not long ago, flying toward us. He was easily seven feet tall, although if not for his height and his shock of cotton-white hair, I doubted I would have spotted him—his black scales and scanty clothing provided excellent camouflage in the dark swamp. In his arms, he carried the body of a pixie woman whom I recognized immediately. Uli.

  Uli had become my guide to help me find the Everblossom, and soon, I’d learned that she was more than that—she was the speaker for the tree.

  Her appearance had given me no clue that she was the sacred speaker for the tree. She wore rags, her hair was wild and disheveled, and I wasn’t sure if she’d ever had a bath. But she’d become my friend. To see her now, lying in the arms of Mochazon, alarmed me.

  Gasping, I stepped back as he hovered over the clearing. The Wult guards clamored beneath him. As the pixie landed, the guards intercepted him in true Wult fashion, with raised swords and spears.

  Brodnik grabbed Mochazon’s arm as I approached them, so I decided to intervene before someone lost a limb.

  “He isn’t a threat to us. You may release him.”

  “Release him? He’s an intruder!”

  “Brodnik,” Kull said from behind me, “release him.”

  The Wults weren’t in the habit of questioning their leader, but since I’d arrived, it seemed attitudes had changed. Brodnik cast a wary glance at the pixie man before releasing him, then he tromped back to his post, leaving Kull and me alone with Mochazon and Uli.

  The pixie woman gave me a weak smile as she reached for me. Gasping shallow breaths, she took my hands in hers. Her dark, scale-covered skin was scorching hot and pulsing with a white-hot magic that made me flinch and pull away from her.

  “Uli,” I said, “what’s the matter?”

  “She has been afflicted with a strange malady,” Mochazon replied.

  “It is the tree,” she said.

  “The tree?” I asked. To my knowledge, the tree was the only object left from the world’s creation that still contained pure magic. Weeks earlier, my quest to defeat the Dreamthief had taken me to the pixie lands, where I’d sought it out.

  The Everblossom existed in the caverns beneath the Ever Root, a tree that had once been taller than Fan’twar’s mountains, but now all that remained was a collection of petrified roots, which the pixies now called home.

  “Something is wrong,” Uli said. “It is calling for me. The tree is in danger. We must go there.” She gasped, and only then did I notice her eyes were glossed over with a milky sheen.

  “Now?” I asked, glancing at the dark swamp surrounding us. One of our Wult guards had been wounded and nearly killed while traveling at night. Since then, we’d decided to only journey during daylight hours.

  Uli’s eyes glowed brighter. She screamed, her back arching and magic throbbing beneath her skin as her voice echoed through the swamp, making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  “It is the Everblossom,” Mochazon said. “Because she is the speaker for the tree, it is transferring its magic into her.”

  “Transferring its magic? What would cause it to do that?”

  “There is only one reason why the tree would do this. It senses its own destruction.”

  A knot formed in my stomach. “Its destruction?”

  “Yes,” Mochazon explained. “Only certain vessels have the ability to carry its magic. It has given its magic to her for now, but if left inside, it will kill her. The tree must be in grave danger for it to purge its magic and transfer it to Uli.”

  Uli tried to speak, but her voice was so weak I had to kneel beside her to hear her.

  “Without the tree,” Uli whispered, “magic in Faythander will be no more. The poisoning of our world has begun. All magical life… will soon perish.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  We moved Uli to a cot as she continued to writhe. I brought her a water flask and held it to her lips, though she pushed it away. Mochazon and Kull hovered over me as I tended to my friend. Touching her forehead, I could tell the magic was swelling inside her with such a powerful force that I feared it might tear her body apart.

  “Uli,” I said, “how can I help you? What can I do?”

  “No,” she moaned. “No, no, no.”

  Mochazon knelt beside me. “She has been asking for you since this malady started. She seemed to think you would know what to do.”

  “Me?”

  He nodded.

  “But I don’t know what’s causing it or why the tree would be in danger—I have no idea what to do or how to stop it.”

  “Long ago,” Mochazon said, “there was another who was named as the tree’s speaker and protector. The tree became endangered, so it transferred its magic into the speaker, thus ensuring the magic’s safety. Eventually, my people were able to save the tree, and the magic fused with the tree once again.”

  “And you believe the same thing is happening to Uli?”

  “It is possible.”

  “But what is wrong with the tree? I saw it not long ago, and it seemed fine. Has anything changed since then?”

  Kull knelt beside us. “Geth,” he said. “We have been tracking him deeper into the pixie swamps. I couldn’t understand why he would choose to travel into this cursed place. It made no sense. Why didn’t he travel to his home in the goblin lands? And if he wished to hide, why did he choose this place? There are more secluded, less hostile places in Faythander, particularly in the goblin lands.”

  I looked up at Kull. “What are you thinking?”

  “He may be traveling to the Everblossom.”

  My stomach sank. “But, why?”

  Mochazon’s expression grew grim. “The Everblossom is the most powerful and potent source of magic in all Faythander. Perhaps he wishes to take the magic for himself.”

  “Perhaps,” I answered, “but he would be unwise to do so. He can’t simply take the magic. The tree must give it to him, and I doubt the tree would ever willingly give it to someone like Geth.”

  “Then he may be trying to destroy the magic,” Mochazon said.

  “Surely not,” I answered. “If he destroyed it, then all Faythander would suffer—himself included.”

  “Still,” Kull said, “our trail leads us deeper into the pixie swamps, and I know of nothing else in this place that he would seek out except for the tree.”

  “Then we must travel to the tree,” I said.

  Kull nodded.

  Uli groaned. Her breathing became unsteady as the magic increased in intensity, glowing in a white halo around her skin. I reached for her, but Mochazon grabbed my wrist.

  “No, you must not touch her. The magic has grown too strong. Only pixie magic can absorb her energy. I will carry her through the swamps until we reach the tree.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”

  “Yes. Because I possess pixie magic, it will counterbalance Uli’s. But we must hurry. I do not know how long my powers can repel the tree’s energy.”

  “Do you know where to find the tree?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said. “There is a very old trail that my people have not used for many generations. It is fraught with danger, but we must travel it now, for it is the only way those who have not mastered flight can travel. First, we must traverse the cliffs, and then we must cross the ancient bridge. From there, we will enter the tunnels that will lead to the Everblossom.”

  He turned to Kull. “Gather your men. We must leave now.”

  Kull’s warriors cast suspicious glances at the pixies. Kull had always been well liked by his people, though his status had been waning since he’d met me and refused to marry the elven princess. In the Wults’ eyes, I saw their distrust, as if they were testing Kull to see if he would demand they follow the pixie.

  “Pack up,” Kull said to his men. “We leave now.”

  “But we’ve barely finished our dinn
er… or rather, our extremely scanty snack,” Brodnik said.

  “I said pack up,” Kull repeated with steel in his voice, quieting all other complaints. The men stood and began packing their things. Although no one voiced a complaint, I saw the hesitancy in their movements. Whatever resentment they had for Kull grew deeper.

  I felt partially responsible for the men’s attitudes. I knew I shouldn’t have felt that way—Kull had made his own choices. Yet, if I’d never been in the picture, things would have turned out much differently. I pushed my guilt aside and instead focused on finding my mirror case, a coil of rope, sleeping blankets, and my water flask. I arranged the items in my bag and then looked for a quiet spot to wait as the others packed up.

  A group of gnarled trees grew along the edge of the encampment, and I made my way toward them. My boots sank into the spongy ground, masking the sounds of my footsteps as I found a suitable tree. As I stood under its branches, I kept my eyes on the water surrounding the small island where we’d prepared to camp. It lapped at the edge of the land, its surface rippling now and again as insects or fae-flies darted across the surface. The haunting song of a bog-beast echoed through the swamp. It was a deep, throaty sound, similar to the call of a coyote—a primal noise that conjured images of loneliness and fear.

  Warm hands encircled my waist. I turned, surprised, to find Kull standing behind me. My tension disappeared with his nearness. We’d not had a second alone since we’d started this expedition, which was why my mind wandered to other places.

  Weeks ago, I’d traveled to Kull’s home—Danegeld, the Wult fortress. While there, I’d found him in his library, which had surprised me. Kull had never struck me as the cultured type. But since then, I’d learned there was more to Kull than his appearance suggested. While he was tall, ruggedly well built, and usually wore fur or breastplates; he also had a fondness for literature, which was an odd trait to find in a Viking warrior.

  I still remembered the way the smell of the wood smoke in the library fireplace had mingled with the scent of well-worn books. I had felt happy in his fortress; its sprawling mountain views and rich wooded forests had given me a sense of comfort and peace. I’d felt at home there, and there weren’t many places that made me feel that way.