Rebel Spring (Falling Kingdoms 2)

“Look.”

They were less than a mile from the village. Before them was a small clearing, barren of any vegetation at all. It was surrounded by dry bushes and leafless trees. An old woman, one Lysandra recognized as Talia, the eldest in their village, stood in the middle of the clearing. The carcass of a red fox lay in front of her. The woman had drained the blood from the animal into a wooden cup. With this blood, she drew symbols on the parched, cracked earth with the tip of her finger.

Lysandra had never seen anything like it in her life. “What’s Talia doing? What’s she drawing?”

“Four symbols,” Gregor said, his voice hushed. “Do you know what they are?”

“No, what?”

“The symbols are of the elements: fire, air, water, and earth.” He pointed to each in turn, a triangle, a spiral, two stacked wavy lines, and a circle within a circle. His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “I had no idea. Our village elder . . . she’s a witch. An Oldling.”

“Wait. You’re saying that old, simple-minded Talia’s a . . . witch?” She waited for him to start grinning and tell her he was just joking. But he was serious—deadly serious.

Gregor’s brows drew together. “I had my suspicions, but this is the proof. She’s kept her secret well over all the years. You know what can happen to witches.”

In the neighboring kingdom of Limeros they were burned. Hanged. Beheaded. Witches were considered evil, even here in Paelsia. Bad luck. A curse upon this land making it wither away and die. In Limeros, many believed that such witches were what had cursed that land to turn to ice.

Lysandra remembered Talia’s unusual reaction when she’d learned the chief had been murdered by King Gaius. She’d nodded once, grimly, brushed off her dusty skirts, and said four words:

“And so it begins.”

Everyone thought the old woman was mad so they paid no attention to her ramblings, but for some reason those words had resonated with Lysandra and sent a chill down her spine.

“So what begins?” She’d caught the old woman’s arm. “What do you mean?”

Talia had turned her pale, watery eyes on Lysandra. “The end, my dear girl. The end begins.”

It took a moment for Lysandra to speak again to Gregor, her heart pounding loud in her ears. “What do you mean by Oldling?”

“It’s one who worships the elements. It’s an old religion— older than anything except elementia itself. And by the looks of this,” he nodded toward the clearing, “Talia is working blood magic tonight.”

A shiver went down Lysandra’s spine. Blood magic.

She’d heard of such things before, but had never seen any proof until now. Gregor had always been more of a believer than she in that which was unseen and rarely spoken about—magic, witches, legends. Lysandra barely listened to the storytellers, interested more in tangible facts that whimsical tales. Now, she wished she’d paid more attention

“For what purpose?” she asked.

Just then, Talia’s eyes shot directly at the two of them, hawklike, picking them out in the dying light of dusk.

“It’s too late,” she said loud enough for them to hear her. “I can’t summon enough magic to protect us, only to see the shadows of what is to come. I’m powerless to stop them.”

“Talia!” Lysandra’s voice was uncertain as she called out to the woman. “What are you doing? Come away from there, it’s not right.”

“You must do something for me, Lysandra Barbas.”

Lysandra glanced at Gregor, puzzled, before looking back at Talia. “What do you want me to do?”

Talia held her blood covered hands out to either side of her, her eyes growing wider and wider as if she saw something horrifying all around her. Something truly evil. “Run!”

At that moment, a huge flaming arrow arched through the air and hit Talia directly in the center of her chest. She staggered backward and fell to the ground, her clothes catching fire quicker than Lysandra could comprehend.

Lysandra gripped Gregor’s arm. “She’s dead!”

He craned his head urgently to look back in the direction the arrow had come from, then yanked Lysandra to the side to avoid another arrow aimed directly at them that instead sliced into a tree trunk. “I was afraid of this.”

“Afraid of what?” Lysandra spotted a figure fifty paces away, armed with a crossbow. “He killed her! Gregor—he killed her! Who is he?”

The figure had spotted then and had begun to give chase. Gregor swore loudly and took hold of her wrist. “Come on, we need to hurry!”