The Scribe by LizAnn Carson

Author:LizAnn Carson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: magic, interplanetary, spells, alternate reality, supernatural powers, alien invasion
Publisher: Elizabeth Carson
Published: 2017-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

As well that Arwen sent her packing, Quinn reflected as she put one foot ahead of the other and wished the day would end. The journey into the depths of the Aura had left her useless for anything else. Her mind barely functioned, she jumped at the slightest noise, and her sleep... when did she sleep? The memories still haunted her. Perhaps they always would.

The walk had been therapeutic, just as Arwen predicted. She’d had time to clear her mind, gain perspective on the terrible scenes she had witnessed, and consider the problem of Borgonne and trade through the hills.

And Kiril. That kiss, when it felt as if they were trying to consume each other. And his words: Did I ever ask you to? Hadn’t he wanted to be cleansed of that malevolent energy that poisoned him? Or did he simply hate to be indebted? Her journey through the templates had triggered the whole encounter – his unexpected comfort, however foolhardy, then his near fury at her for doing it in the first place. She didn’t understand any of it, or her own reaction to him.

She’d never even thanked him for being there to hold her when she emerged a traumatized mess.

She should have thanked him.

The trek to Colgate took fifteen days, but she had taken the track through Hallan, accompanying Willow and Joss, and spent two nights there before striking out on the trail west to intersect with the main north-south road out of Stanstead. Quinn seldom left the Motherhouse, with or without Scribes’ business to see to, and the ventures into the hills to meet Bryar, then Willow, had been more than sufficient to alert her that she still didn’t much enjoy it. At least nothing reminded her of the nightmare.

She arrived on the outskirts of Colgate dusty, footsore, and hot. As luck, if you could call it that, would have it, the first person she encountered was her brother Ifram. He saw her coming and stopped on the track, holding a rope tied to... what? The animal stood well above her brother’s height, and he wasn’t a short man.

Animal or no, meeting Ifram with no parents or neighbors as buffers, and she considerably the worse for wear, wouldn’t be her first choice. It did remind her, however, how close she was to home, so before closing the distance between them she made sure her brown Scribe’s sash lay smooth and prominent across her tunic.

“Sister,” he said formally as she approached.

“Is it safe?” she asked. “What is it?”

“Usually, and a horse. The parents will be glad to see you.”

But not Ifram, apparently. The issue of whether she had caused the death of his first child might never be laid to rest between them. The old anger flashed at the injustice of it, even if the event did lead to her entering the Motherhouse.

Over twenty-five years now. Ifram’s sons were grown, his daughter had partnered and was herself a mother.

“You’ve changed little,” she said to smooth over the awkwardness.

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