Alora: The Maladorn Scroll (Alora 3)

She was back in her father’s lair, wrists and ankles chained to a platform. Weakened, but not enough to escape through death, Kaevin lay chained beside her, sharing every moment of torture, feeling her pain in every nerve fiber. A smoking iron floated in the air above her face before plunging to sear her arm. Pain. Agony. Both arms felt as if they’d been filleted. Again. And again. An evil taste flowed in the back of her throat, stimulating her gag reflex and tossing her stomach about like a hurricane. Her ears rang with the assault of an eerie disembodied wail.

I can’t take any more. Please, God. Please.

The pain was gone.

Nothingness.

~4~

A loud gurgle erupted from Arista’s stomach, reminding her that breakfast was long overdue.

“No time for that,” she scolded, fighting against her tangled mass of blond hair while setting a quiver of arrows over her shoulder. Quickly twisting the unruly tresses into a messy braid, she vowed to rise early the next day, with enough time to wash and comb her hair, forcing it into submission. But for now, she barely had time to make her escape before her parents returned for midday meal.

Her father had promised her one more opportunity to prove her hunting and trapping skills sufficient to provide meat for the family in her brother’s absence. If they discovered she’d overslept, yet again, she knew what her punishment would be. Helping with the household chores. All of which she despised with every bone in her body.

She always preferred to be outdoors, whether she faced the biting cold of winter or the sweltering heat of summer. It was a waste of time for her to learn inside tasks, anyway. She was gifted in weapons, and her gift would be wasted in any future path save that of a warrior.

Lifting a corner of greased parchment to peer out the window, Arista groaned as she confirmed the sun’s position, high in the sky. It’s really not my fault I’m late. I hardly slept at all last night.

In fact, she’d hardly slept in several moons. She tried to tell herself her restlessness was due to the fact she missed her brother. Jireo had remained in Montana since Alora and Kaevin’s narrow escape from Vindrake’s clutches. The council had determined the soulmate couple must be kept out of Vindrake’s reach until Alora was completely healed. And since Jireo and Kaevin had discovered that a defender-bond oath, spoken as children, had indeed been effectual, her brother also gained permission to remain in the other realm.

Bright! Why didn’t I think of something like that? I’m stuck here with Mother and Father, while the others have all the fun.

But Jireo’s absence wasn’t the reason for her insomnia. She knew the true cause. Her gaze flitted to the sleeping platform, suddenly afraid her treasure might be discovered—that the hiding place wasn’t secure. As she’d done every morning since bringing the scroll to her home, Arista checked her bedding, assuring all the corners were tucked in, neat and tidy, so no one would be tempted to probe beneath the straw mattress and find the loose board over the secret cavity housing the pilfered scroll. The extra security measures were unwarranted in light of her ability to hide any item with her gresses gift. None could discover the scroll unless he or she likewise possessed the gift, a rarity in Tenavae. Yet she still obsessed, worrying over the scroll.

How many times had she taken the parchment out and gazed on the beautiful, ornate lettering? Traced the swoops and curves of ink across the page with her fingertips, as if she could read the strange words by feel, revealing its mysteries? Without gifting in language, she could never read the scroll. But she’d postponed showing her treasure to the leaders of Stone Clan who, knowing it came from Vindrake’s personal chest, would believe it to be evil and destroy it without hesitation.

Satisfied with the scroll’s safety, Arista turned to go. But something by the window drew her attention.

That looks like... “A portal?”

Arista closed her eyes tight and opened them again. But the portal was still there, right where it hadn’t been only a few breaths earlier.

“Where did you come from?” she mumbled.

Taking a few hesitant steps, she reached out to touch the door, which appeared to hover a few hands above the floor. The wood felt solid to her fingers, as she knew it would. Her hand closed around the simple wooden handle, and the door swung soundlessly open, revealing a wide hallway.

“I wonder where it goes?”

A shiver of remembered terror rippled down her back. The last time she’d gone through a portal into the heart of Vindrake’s lair—intending to seal the portal and transport to safety—the results had been disastrous, despite the careful planning of the entire council. She wasn’t about to investigate this portal on her own.

She let out a sigh, unstrapping her quiver and stacking it in the corner with her bow. So much for a quick hunting trip. But surely finding the portal will distract Father, and he’ll forget I was supposed to provide meat for dinner tonight.

Picturing the astonishment on the faces of the Stone Clan leaders when she

revealed the existence of the new portal, her annoyance disappeared. In fact, she fairly danced out of her home, impatient to speak with Graely, who would probably wish her to make a formal announcement to the entire council. He’d done the same with Kaevin when he first discovered Alora’s existence.

Isn’t this portal just as important? Finally, I’ll receive the recognition I deserve. Morvaen will allow me to begin my formal training as a warrior now, rather than forcing me to wait until I have the required seventeen years.

The soft leather of her shoes crunched on the gravel as she hurried down the path toward the center of town where Darielle’s home was located. Arista’s family resided inside the walls of Laegenshire, trading space for greater security. Larger farms dotted the nearby countryside, providing the majority of grain for the citizens, while townsfolk only had room to grow a few vegetables. She didn’t mind the diminutive size of their garden, since she hated weeding almost as much as she hated cooking and cleaning.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” called a deep voice, edged with a tinkle of merriment, as if he were about to tell the funniest of witticisms. She knew the owner of the voice well, without setting eyes on him. After all, their first meeting had been in total darkness, hiding in Vindrake’s lair. “Looks like you forgot to comb your hair.”

As the brawny man fell in stride beside her, Arista schooled her features to appear more stern than she felt, always striving to keep the upper hand. “I’ve more important things to do than mess with my hair, Alleraen. I’m going to see someone on the clan council.”

“The council? Before noon-day meal?” His bushy brows arched high over his clear blue eyes.

Only a few moons ago, that azure color would have struck fear in her heart, a sure sign of a Water Clansman, controlled by Vindrake’s bloodbond. But the owner of these blue eyes was no more evil than she was. As Vindrake’s brother, Alleraen shared his blood, but not his bloodbond, a refusal that had earned Alleraen years of captivity in a cavern dungeon.