The Consumption of Magic (Tales From Verania 3)

But still it burned.

Feng was… no longer alive. I could barely make him out through the flames. Or rather, what was left of him. But instead of charred flesh and blood spilled, it looked as if he’d turned to ash, remaining wholly intact. Whatever had happened to him had happened quickly.

Most everyone else in the room was as entranced as I was. Because even if they didn’t necessarily understand exactly what was happening, they at least had a beginning grasp of the extent of the magic being used. My own magic was wide and expansive, wild and untamed. The strength Morgan had, the sheer control over his magic, over whatever Dark fire had ignited from Feng’s powder, was almost beyond anything I’d seen before.

It was one thing to uncontrollably decimate a sea of sand mermaids after giving in to fear and anger. But this was specific. This was tight and neat and so far beyond anything I could do. This was what decades—even centuries—of experience brought forth. If I could even be half the wizard that Morgan was, I’d be doing just fine.

I didn’t know how hard it was. I remembered the way I’d felt after the sand mermaids and Myrin, my body depleted and sore from expending so much energy at once.

To have the concentration that Morgan was exhibiting was just—

Gods. Morgan was a hard-core motherfucker.

Randall moved first. He came to stand next to Morgan and placed a hand on his shoulder. Morgan’s hands were shaking, but the tremors lessened at Randall’s touch. And it hit me then, maybe more than it had ever before, just how much these two had been through, how much they must have meant to each other. I knew how I felt every time Morgan was near, like I was safe. Like I was home.

I wondered if it was the same for them. Morgan was my mentor. I would do anything for him.

Randall had been his mentor. If they were anything like Morgan and me, then I had severely underestimated Randall’s… well. Randall’s everything.

The fire burned brighter.

It began to thrash back and forth, and I thought there were the tiniest pulses of light against whatever walls that surrounded it, little ripples that echoed along the surface of the bubble. I thought I saw the brief outline of arcane symbols (triangles and stars and crescent moons that only appeared toward the back of Morgan’s Grimoire, a place he wouldn’t let me study for long, saying I wasn’t ready for such things), but they were gone before I could see them clearly.

And then Randall spoke in a tone I’d never heard before, soft and kind.

He said, “There is containment.”

Morgan sighed and hung his head.

Randall said, “And now there must be compression.”

“It’s bigger,” Morgan muttered. “Bigger than I thought it would be. This is… isn’t normal. It’s from him. It feels like him.”

As long as I lived, I hoped I never again had to see the look of utter devastation that crossed Randall’s face. It was brief, no more than a second or two, but it was there, because there was no doubt who Morgan was speaking about.

This thing, this fire, was from Myrin.

And if Myrin had sent it with Feng, if this whole thing had been a trap, then Myrin had meant for Morgan and Randall to get caught in it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Randall said. “Not now. Morgan. Compress.”

Morgan gritted his teeth, his fingers twitching into hooks, and the fire fought harder, like it knew what he was trying to do. I didn’t know what he was trying to do, not exactly, but the context was there.

Containment.

Compression.

Randall was helping him. I didn’t know how, but just being there, a hand on his shoulder, was helping. Maybe it would have been enough. Maybe they could have handled it on their own.

But they’d done that before. They’d handled Myrin on their own, and I was beginning to understand just how much that must have torn at their hearts and souls.

And I’d been the asshole, making things worse for them with my anger. With my disdain. Maybe they should have come for me sooner, given my parents the life they deserved from the start. And maybe I would never understand why they didn’t, why they left us to be as we were until that day in the alley.

And yet….

Some part of them had to have known it would be him. Myrin. The star dragon hadn’t been specific, not to Vadoma. And even though this dark man in shadows could have been any villain mired in ridiculous machinations, some part of them had to have known that Myrin would rise again. Even if they hadn’t said it out loud, even if they’d only thought it in the darkest parts of the night, lying awake and thinking what if, what if, what if. They had to have known.

Brother. Cornerstone.