Moya coaxed herself back to the here and now, counting her breaths and feeling her feet on the soil. How had things gotten so bad? All of Moya’s distrust of Ahn melted in an instant—the instant where she realized he was just as hurt as she had been.
“We can’t stay here,” Moya said, looking meaningfully toward where the small army of Awakened had spawned.
“As always, you’re right,” Ahn replied, but his voice was empty, his expression flat. He was in shock. And why wouldn’t he be? Moya was too, but years of training had taught her how to soldier on.
“I think this is a record for Ahran bad luck,” she joked weakly. “Just one day full of monsters, poison, nemeses from beyond the grave, river stallions…”
Ahn blinked, then, after a heavy pause, smiled. A soft chuckle, low in his chest, gave way to hysterical laughter. Laughter so consuming that tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, that he panted for breath. Moya joined him. She didn’t even try to mute her patented donkey-bray laugh, her chortles echoing through the clearing, bouncing off the tree trunks to volley back at her even bigger and donkier than before.
“Source. What is wrong with us?” Ahn gasped, finally catching his breath.
“Hysteria after trauma. Needing more dinner and fewer monsters,” Moya wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye. She took a moment to steady herself, drawing in great, lung-filling breaths.
“So now it’s off to the horrifyingly corrupted leytemple, Mage Frost?” she asked, mock officious.
“With all due haste, Moya Anders,” Ahn shot back without skipping a beat.
She beamed at him, then gently nudged him with her elbow. “We’ll find the cause of this. It will be just terrible news, but we will make sense of this all. Somehow.”
“We will,” Ahn said, all traces of levity gone from his voice. He reached out, grasping both of Moya’s hands in his for an instant. Ahn paused, eyes fixed on Moya, his voice low. “Whatever comes next, promise you’ll stand by me.”
“I promise I’ll be there for you.” Moya smiled softly, heat flooding her cheeks.
He dropped her hands, turned, and struck out onto the path as if nothing had happened, leaving Moya even more breathless and confused than before. The moments ticked along as they made their way to the temple, sunlight creeping further down the tree line until just a corona of orange and gold suffused the horizon.
“I can finally see the temple,” Ahn said from where they had oriented themselves before walking into more danger. He glanced at Moya, gauging her reaction.
“It looks so peaceful,” Moya whispered, lifting her gaze to the white-domed roof where it rose above the spring-green canopy. “Strange, when I know what might wait for us. Do we just go on in?”
“Yes, but slowly. I’ll take a moment, scout the area for signs of leymagic, and check for corruption. Let me know if you see anything amiss yourself.” He turned back to the tangled path before them.
Dusk shadows blanketed the treetops, the scents of night-blooming moon flowers soft in the air. She couldn’t believe something evil could hide in such a serene place. Moya watched as Ahn closed his eyes, lifting his hands toward the sky. He spoke to her, face upturned.
“I’m sending my inner vision outward, searching for dark magic. There was a badness in the air before both attacks today. But here, well…” his voice faded away.
Moya watched and listened, taking in the heavy-sweet scent of flowers, the rich warm smell of late-spring turf. She examined the ground, walking twice over the path from the forest trail proper to the edge of the temple grounds.
“I see nothing to make me think much is happening here,” Moya said, confused. “Some deer tracks, birds-nests. If anything, it looks to be the sleepiest place I’ve ever seen.”
Ahn opened his eyes again and nodded, brow creased in thought. “I didn’t find a single trace of magic. Not even the leymagic that’s supposed to flow through the temple grounds. It’s entirely neutral. Entirely clean.”
“That is strange, considering we’re here to cleanse corruption. Should we go inside and take a look?” Moya asked, surveying him carefully.
“I’m healed up enough, so yes. Lead on, my guardian,” he added with a flourish.
Moya’s eyes widened in surprise, then she turned on her heel. “At least we can watch out for each other.”
They crossed through the vine-covered gates with careful steps, walking for a time in the breath-held twilight, eyes adjusting to the growing darkness. Something about this place made her want to be silent—quiet as if she were in a Mageguild library, or some deeply holy place.
“At least nature thrives here. I tended the plants the last time I visited.” Ahn smiled, just a little. “Clearly, they’ve progressed since then.”
“They’re beautiful,” Moya said and followed him as he paced the traditional, spiral-patterned path through the temple grounds, hands outstretched to brush over frilled peonies or amethyst bunches of hanging wisteria. A whirl of pale pink and white shimmered above where Ahndras stood, the wind carrying petals to rest softly on his head.
It was beautiful. He was beautiful.
Moya shook her head, dismissing such thoughts. It was difficult to reconcile the flower-strewn man walking ahead of her with the electric-eyed, levitating mage volleying dark aethermagic into a mass of undead, reducing them to less than ash.
How could anyone hold such contradictions?
“The library is over here,” Ahn said, pointing toward the westernmost building of the temple complex. Most leytemples boasted a library of magical tomes, gardens full of flowers and herbs used in restoratives, and a modest living complex where a leymage and their guardian could comfortably settle during yearly cleansing duties. This temple was no exception. Its pinkish-white stone was soothing to the eye, its paths well-maintained save for the normal overgrowth that happened between visits.
Ahn wandered toward the library entrance, gesturing to Moya to follow. Once inside, Moya felt a heavy sleepiness push against her, as cool as the dusk-blue sky framed by the arched temple windows. Ahn walked through the room, engaging the magelamps with whispered command words. Moya gazed up as light flooded the library. Three stories of books towered above her, their spines a rainbow of color and gold gilding.
“I’ve always loved this library,” Ahn said, placing one hand on the side of a ladder used to reach the top shelves of this floor.
“I can see why.” Moya followed as he directed her through a door she’d not noticed before.
She ducked under the low lintel into a dark, muffled storeroom. There were sturdy shelves lined with potion bottles, piles of bandages, canned foodstuffs, tins of water and leywater, and other necessities. Every temple had provisions, and Moya was pleased to note this one was well-stocked, with only a few bare shelves.
“I’ll pack away a few of these to take to the living quarters,” Moya said, reaching for water and preserved meals.
Ahn had already moved on to another part of the temple. He’d left a different door from where they’d entered propped open, magelight slanting through. Moya crammed fresh health potions and two rolls of bandages next to the food and water in her pack, then stood, heart thundering, hand hovering over a jar she’d been about to pick up. The bare shelf was dusty except where items had been removed, and recently from how clean the dustless spaces were. She shouldered her bag and crept backwards out of the storage area, towards where Ahn had gone. What she found knocked the breath from her chest and kicked her stomach right down to her boots.
Ahn knelt on a cushion at the central font, bathed in the glow of a single magelamp suspended on a sconce above him. His hair caught the light, so it shone like the Source’s own favor, hands hovering just above the water, wreathed in shimmering aether. And behind him—
“Do not touch the water.” A familiar voice slid into the silence. Ahn froze in place, head turned to see a young woman standing behind him.
“Seshka,” Moya growled, the one word dropping heavily into the silence.
“Moya Anders,” she said. “Ahndras Frost. Come. We have little time.”
Lizzie Sinclaire 