Mother of the Bond by E. C. Greaves

Author:E. C. Greaves [Greaves, E. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: New
ISBN: 9780473653491
Amazon: B0BFNQRC5J
Goodreads: 62697488
Publisher: DieselPunk Creative
Published: 2022-10-14T07:00:00+00:00

v.

As with all of our Magick, the dream came easy to us. But as with all of our Magick, it really was wild and primal and uncontrollable. And probably because we really didn’t have a plan.

Like Xytar, we were no alchemists. We had no idea how much of the priests’ desiccated herbs we should have burned, nor how much of the bitter black liquor we should have drunk. So we burnt almost all of their herbs, and drank almost all of their liquor.

At least we left Sprite with Adder, much to her surprise, so that we wouldn’t risk melting the pup again. But it didn’t stop my worrying. Now, I worried that I might melt. Or that I might somehow fall backwards through the ground.

It felt an awful lot like that was actually happening, and if it weren’t for Mazgar’s incessant giggling, to begin with, I would have been overcome with panic.

Soon enough though, I was wracked with laughter too, and the pair of us simply sprawled about on the rug-covered floor of the hazy tent in hysterics.

Eventually, after either no time at all, or at least several moons, I realised that I was no longer in the tent.

Mazgar was still very much with me, but she had taken on a rather colourful glow, and seemed to sparkle and shimmer as she moved through the infinite void we now floated in.

“Is this it?” she asked.

“I think so,” I replied.

“So is it like last time? Where we just focus on where we want to go?”

“I guess so,” I told her.

And I really was just guessing. I had no clue what we were doing.

I thought about Phobos, just to see what would happen. But nothing did. Instead, I found myself wondering whether we should have taken Sprite with us after all. It really wasn’t so bad, and he would have liked the way Mazgar was pulsing with vibrant rainbow hues.

But then I thought about what Anra would say. Even as I tried my best to focus on Phobos, on speaking to the Pixie, I kept imagining a deeply disappointed Anra.

I could picture him with that stern and stony face he pulled whenever I annoyed him, looking a lot like his father did. I imagined that he would pull that exact face when I told him about Thrinax too.

I was used to those dark looks, and not just from Anra, but Karthak too.

I pictured her, floating in the void before me. Not blackened and sick with the beaconstone, but how she had looked before. How she had looked at me whenever I did something foolish. Something like what I was doing presently.

“You cut off my head,” she said to me.

“You told me to,” I reminded her.

“And if I told you to cast yourself from atop a cliff, would you?”

“You did. And we escaped the Blackfort that way,” I reminded her again.

“That we did. But had Threydon not chosen war. Had he chosen instead, the bonds of forgiveness, would we ever have needed to?” she asked.

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