Page 89 of An Archer's Redemption

“What’s wrong? Are you all right?” I asked.

Atikus spoke in awed tones. “For hundreds of years, I kept the secret of the Well. Velius and I spent countless hours guessing what the hallowed mountain might look like, how magic in the air might feel, at what wonders that were hidden and would never be revealed to anyone beyond its Keeper.” He sighed at the mention of his old friend. “When you returned from your first journey here, describing the cave with a boyish gleam in your eyes, I never dreamedIwould gaze at the majesty of the Well. You have helped me live a dream, son.”

Atikus stood on shaky legs and braced himself against my shoulder with one hand. His head turned slowly—so slowly—as he took in every crystal and crevice, every shade and shadow, with widened eyes.

I gripped the old man’s arm and watched as he surveyed the cavern.

“I was pretty stunned the first time, too. Look down.”

Atikus took a reflexive step back as azure mist curled upward beneath its glassy ceiling, winding toward Atikus’s feet. Once he realized it was harmless, he kneeled and placed a hand on the floor. The mist responded, hungrily racing to mirror his bony fingers and palm.

Atikus erupted in a childlike laugh that echoed off the crystalline walls.

“Oh, that’s not even the big show. Come over here,” I said, hooking the Mage under my elbow to help him stand. I walked him to the opening that was the Well of Magic, where mist wafted upward, unabated by stone or crystal or glass. It seemed to sense Atikus’s approach and greeted him, enveloping his entire body in glowing, writhing fog.

Tears of pure joy trailed down Atikus’s cheeks.

My heart soared.

I couldn’t wipe the goofy grin from my face, so I swatted rebellious curls out of my eyes—an old childhood tick.

“Declan, I am rarely speechless, but this—” Atikus choked on a happy sob that racked his chest.

I beamed at the small boy in Mages’ robes before me. “I know. I get chills every time I come in here, especially when the currents greet me.”

Atikus kneeled and extended a hand toward the opening, toward the gently rushing magic that flowed beneath.

I caught his hand and pulled it away. “Oh, no. That’s one thing you cannot do. Kelså says the currents will overwhelm and consume you.”

“Then how . . . how didyoutravel in them? How did you bring me here?”

“I honestly don’t know. It’s an Heir of Magic thing, I guess.” I shrugged. “The first time, I felt like I’d been dragged behind a horse for hours, then run over by a dozen carts. Though, I never felt any pain. Órla said I would always be safe in the currents.”

“Órla?” Atikus’s head snapped up. “Didn’t she—”

“Yes, she sacrificed herself, but her Spirit returned to the Well as it always does.” A confused look crossed Atikus’s face. “Atikus, she isn’t what we thought. Sheismagic’s essence. She cannot die. She will be reborn in a new form.”

“Sweet Spirits . . .”

“For now, she speaks through the currents. You couldn’t hear us talking?”

“I was more focused on staying in one piece than listening to you babbling into the void. Yours was the only voice I heard.”

I leaned closer. “Your eyes didn’t change like mine did. That’s odd.”

“I may be the most knowledgeable Mage alive, but I feel like a new acolyte around you—andall this.”

“Second most knowledgeable,” a warm voice said from behind.

Atikus wheeled around.

His eyes widened and smile broadened as Kelså strode toward us.

“Kelså?” The astonished Mage struggled forward on unsteady legs. “It has been decades—no,centuries. You have not aged a day!”

“And you still remember how to flatter a woman, you silver-tongued Mage.” Kelså reached us and wrapped her arms around her old friend, then peered over his shoulder and winked at me.

Then she noticed my eyes.

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