Dust of the Darkness (The Riven Realm Book 2) by Deck Matthews

Author:Deck Matthews [Matthews, Deck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Echo Enduring Media
Published: 2019-07-14T22:00:00+00:00

Shadows in the Moonlight

Night fell quickly over Jadenwood. Palawen Ty crouched on the roof of the storehouse, gazing at the moon as it cut its way across the starry sky, bathing the trees and fields in a wash of pale silver. Hers was the first shift as lookout. In the course of their planning, Tanner and the man called Carvesh had decided to have someone watching over the fields and pastures for the so-called shadowbeasts. Palawen had agreed, and been the first to volunteer.

Anything to escape the confines of those stone walls. She hated being trapped indoors, cut off from the air and the winds.

It was too much like being suffocated.

She sat and listened to the whispers on the breeze, reaching out to touch them with the fibres of her magic. The winds were quiet—quieter than she’d felt them ever since boarding Zephyr’s Song back in Barden. The wind rider had departed hours ago. Without Caleb to fill in for the dead rigger, it had almost to limped through the air as it bore its Jushyn captain and his clumsy galewright westward toward Antaskotia.

Belegmon’s a decent enough fellow, thought Palawen, but when it comes to the winds, he has all the subtlety of a bull in the rut. She much preferred the present tranquility over the screaming force of the gales that drove the wind rider.

Palawen watched the moon for several more minutes before sending a gentle current fluttering around the storehouse. She imbued it with some small fragment of her magic, using it to feel for any movement in the darkness. She thought she sensed something—a flitting shadow cutting through the night on quiet wings. For a moment, it seemed to turn toward her, as though it had somehow sensed the passing of her magic. Then it was gone, flapping away into the shadows.

Just a bird, she decided, squinting in an effort to see beyond the range of her limited night vision. It was a weakness she’d inherited from her father—her Iria father. She knew little of him beyond the fact that he’d been a sylph, a sprite of the air and the winds, who’d loved her mother for a season. Like all of his kind, his physical senses were weaker than those of most humans. Sprites lived and died by the power of their magic.

Unfortunately for me, I inherited most of his weakness, but only a fraction of his magic. It seemed an unbalanced trade. But such is the life of a feyling.

Alone, on the top of the storehouse, she wondered what it would be like to meet the sylph who’d sired her. She’d looked for him, of course. Over the course of her periodic interactions with the Iria, she’d always kept her eyes open, hoping to catch something of her own features reflected in a face. It was a dream and little more. I look too much like my mother. Besides, I don’t even know his name. But it doesn’t matter. Savan Pynne is all the father I’ve ever needed.

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