The Banned and the Banished #01 - Wit'ch Fire by James Clemens

Author:James Clemens [Clemens, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780345417060
Amazon: 0345417062
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 1998-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

The lantern rocked in Uncle Bol’s hand, casting shadows to and fro. He and Er’ril stood stunned for a frozen heartbeat.

Suddenly a new light burst forth into the room. It came from the mirror in front of Elena. Her eyes, drawn by the light, saw a sight she never expected to see again, her aunt Fila! The old woman was draped in waves of light, and stars winked behind her. The starry view reminded Elena of something she had seen before.

But before Elena could ponder this, Aunt Fila spoke, a panicked look blooming across her aunt’s face.

“Run!” She pointed a ghostly hand toward the single dark corridor leading out from the chamber and deeper into die ruins. “Flee! Now! Leave the cottage and escape to the woods!” With his pillow covering his ears, exhaustion finally consumed Rockingham, and he fell into a fitful slumber. He dreamed he stood on the edge of a cliff above a dark, choppy surf. As he watched the white-tipped waves crash on black rocks below, he somehow knew he dreamed. Clouds and rain blotted the horizon as a storm brewed far out to sea. As is often the case in dreams, the time of day was unclear; the quality of light was such that a change felt imminent. But whether the light was due to wax brighter as in early morning or to wane into darkness, he was unsure. The only thing he knew for certain was that he recognized this place. He had stood here before. He remembered the salt in his nose and the breeze on his face. The Dev’unberry bluff, on the coast of his island home!

A smile appeared on his face. It had been many years since he had returned to the Archipelago. Even this nighttime fantasy was a welcome visit. He soaked the air deep into his chest, and if he squinted… yes, he could just make out the Isle of Maunsk in the distance, nearly swallowed by roiling clouds.

Suddenly, as he viewed the neighboring island, a feeling of dread clutched his heart. He glanced quickly behind him as if expecting some creature of nightmare to be pouncing toward him, but the rolling green hills stood empty.

What was this fluttering of his heart? This was his home. What should he fear? He stared at the view off the cliffs. The sweep of ocean, wind, and rain seemed strangely familiar, more than just a memory of home. This very picture—the distant island disappearing into cloud, the crash of angry water at his feet, the sting of spray on his cheek—not only had he stood here before, but he had stood at this exact moment before. But when?

He tried to organize his thoughts, but a rising panic rattled him. He had a sudden urge to ran. But before he could act on this thought, his feet began to move on their own, not carrying him away to safety, but toward the edge of the cliff! As in many dreams, he could not stop.

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