“She needs all of her strength now. There is not much of it left.”
Then Dyna understood. Lady Samira’s Essence was not replenishing. It happened in old age. Unfortunately, they cannot survive without it. Essence was not only the energy source of all magic itself it was also the enchanted life force for mages and sorceresses.
“Well, the sun isn’t up quite yet. Rest a bit more.” Grandmother Leyla stood. “Autumn has arrived and we have much work to do in the garden before the frost sets in.”
“Yes, Grandmother.”
She shuffled out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Dyna settled down on her bed again, eyeing the cabinet lining the wall above her desk. Organized within the many squared drawers were several glass jars containing a variety of dried herbs, extracts, and powders. A small replica of the apothecary in the main room of the cottage.
For years, she studied all the ancient tomes of medicine that belonged to her father to fill in his place as Herb Master. She read all the magic books in his study, hoping to find the casting spell he used to send the demon back through the Netherworld Gate.
She never found it.
Even if she had, the books contained spells far beyond her ability. But magic lived in her blood, as it had in the many generations before her.
Dyna reached under her pillow, finding a familiar rectangular shape, and pulled it out. The journal was hefty. Its cover was made of smooth black leather, and the corners were cracked with age. Two gold clasps kept it locked tight. The journal was one of many others stacked inside an old wooden chest beneath her desk.
A current of the journal’s old magic that hummed through her in welcome. Her palms glowed a faint green with the awakening of her Essence.
She traced the heraldic sigil embossed on the cover: a crescent moon with a swirl of vines. It was the sigil of House Astron, one of the oldest mage families who hailed from the Magos Empire.
And the journal contained the answer she needed—a way to obliterate the Shadow.
Dyna checked to make sure Lyra still slept before waving a hand over the cover. The green light emitting from her palm grew brighter. The enchanted journal recognized her as kin, and the golden clasps unlocked. She opened the cover and the yellow pages crinkled in her fingers as she turned them, admiring the faded, elegant penmanship and sketches of plants and ancient relics.
A single blank page emerged in the middle of the journal. It had taken her months to realize it was blank on purpose, and a few months more to decipher the phrase needed to unveil the secret hidden there.
She brought the journal close to her lips and whispered, “Tellūs, lūnam, sōlis.”
Her hands flared with a brilliant green, triggering the embedded spell on the page, and fine gold dust whirled across the surface. It radiated with a swirl of purple magic and a hint of green from her own. Black ink appeared in the center and snaked outward in calligraphic strokes, twisting and curving as it formed a beautiful, detailed map of a continent in the shape of a stout chalice—the country of Urn.
She would need to cross its entire width to get what she needed, and the journey would take many moons. A little over a year remained before the Shadow returned. One meager year to find the weapon to vanquish it.
Dyna slipped out of the bed, wincing when her feet landed on the icy floor. She moved to the window layered in frost and peered out. Her home sat on a knoll overlooking the valley below. A light fog hovered over the sleepy village, smoke swirling out of chimneys. Beyond it glimmered a lake, the rolling hills spotted with sheep and grazing cows. North Star was peaceful and beautiful.
But it was no longer safe.
Dyna looked down at her little sister. She would make the council listen to her.
One way or another.
Chapter 2
Dynalya
Morning sunlight shone bright over the valley. Its idle warmth brushed Dyna’s cold cheeks as she took the dirt road into the village. Her thoughts were in knots trying to prepare a speech to present before the council. The plan of facing Lady Samira filled her mind with the last image of her father’s smile, stained by the crimson trails dripping down his face.
Dyna squeezed her eyes shut against the memory. She focused on Grandmother Leyla’s voice giving Lyra a lesson on commonly found plants and their uses.
“It’s important you learn this, Lyra. You will become a Healer’s Apprentice in the coming spring, and you must have the basics committed to memory. Every plant has a purpose, be it—”
“Sustenance, remedy or toxin,” Lyra recited in a flat tone. “Yes, I know, Gran.”
“Oh, do you? And pray tell what is the name of this plant?”
Dyna glanced over her shoulder at where they had stopped. Among the colorful carpet of flowers growing on the edge of the path, Grandmother pointed to a weed with broad hairy leaves.
Lyra scrunched her lip as she studied it. “Foxglove?”
Grandmother crossed her arms, and Lyra squirmed under her disapproval.
“Comfrey,” Dyna whispered to her, winking.
“It’s comfrey!”
Grandmother Leyla gave them a stern frown. “Learn their differences, Lyra, or you will have grave results should you mistake the two. Foxglove is poisonous.”
Lyra winced. “Oh.”
“She’s learning,” Dyna murmured. “It took me some time to learn the difference, Grandmother.”
Grandmother Leyla arched a brow and Dyna smiled sheepishly. “Comfrey is medicinal. Do you know its use?”
Her little sister dithered on the answer. Dyna caught her eye and subtly rubbed the scar on her elbow. She had earned it three seasons ago when she fell on a sharp rock and cut her elbow straight to the bone.
“Skin and bone repair,” Lyra replied with a victorious smile as she bounced on her toes, her cloak and dress flaring. Dyna stifled a giggle.
“Yes, it is also known as knitbone, which makes it easier to remember.” Grandmother Leyla pointed to another tall spindly plant with dark purple petals. “And this one?”
“That one is easy,” Lyra piped up. “It’s wolfsbane. Very poisonous.”
“But it can also treat fevers if you’re careful,” Dyna said with a frown. “It shouldn’t be left out here to cause trouble.”
Seeing it reminded her she needed more wolfsbane extract for Zev. She prayed he managed well until they could meet again.
She pulled the poisonous plant from its roots and wrapped it in a cloth taken from the pocket of her olive cloak. A gentle whoosh of energy settled over her as its magic worked to keep her warm despite the brisk breeze. The cloak was old; the fabric frayed and faded, but the runes embroidered onto the ornamental hem maintained their power even after two centuries.
She brushed a finger over the rune with an inverted triangle. The last time her father had worn the cloak, he pointed to each rune, testing how many she and Thane had memorized.
The squelch of wagon wheels in the mud and the bustle of people drew her attention back to the road. More villagers had joined them, and the crowd only grew as they passed an intersection splitting from the north and south of the village.
Farmer Wendell marched down the road with his family, his face set in a stern glower. The large and burly man towered over his petite wife, Fleur. Her feet moved swiftly beneath her muddled brown dress to keep up with his long stride as she carried their baby daughter in her arms. Their eldest child, Wren, playfully tugged on Lyra’s braid. She snatched his cap, and they ran off together into the fields alongside the path, laughing and chasing each other.