Page 43 of An Archer's Redemption

The river’s light pulsed, and a wave of force swelled beneath me, lifting me above the surface. Without warning, the river surged upward and spat me onto cold, dry stone.

I leaned up on my elbows and stared back. The moment I was expelled from its currents, the surface had calmed, returning to a steady, almost placid flow.

I looked down, expecting to see liquid dripping from my clothes, but was stunned to find myself dry.

Of course you’re dry, you idiot; it’s amagicalriver, not a watery one.

In contrast to the crystalline beauty of the Well’s chamber, the cavern where I now lay was little more than a hole gouged out of the mountain. The only light in the tiny chamber came from the river’s flow and the mist reaching up to tease my skin.

Reminding myself of Órla’s urging, I rose.

The trek along the winding path back to the Mages’ complex was covered in pristine snow. I drew in crisp air and smiled. Despite the desperation in my mission, the thought of seeing my brother and adopted family of Mages—andespeciallyAyden—put a spring in my step.

In no time, I found myself standing at the base of the ruined Mages’ tower.

I frowned up at the once-majestic symbol of magic, now barely a half tower surrounded by a rubble of massive, broken stones. I was here when the tower fell and had seen it many times since, but returning home to its decrepit state was still sobering.

“I come out here to think sometimes.”

I nearly fell over at the voice that spoke from around the tower’s base. A head covered in a blond mess of hair peeked around.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” The boy stepped before me and took a long look, his eyes growing wider by the second. “You’re . . . you’re . . . Declan!”

Now it was my turn to chuckle as I righted myself. “Glad to see I made an impression last time I was here. And who are you, Mage-Apprentice?”

The boy’s eyes widened further, and he stumbled back several steps. Fear, like the dark clouds of a rising storm, spread across his face a moment before he bolted away.

“Wait! Wha . . .”

I watched the boy’s oversized blue robe flutter away.

“Not the triumphant return I expected,” I muttered.

As I approached the Mages’ quarters, other apprentices moved to meet me, excited to greet the man bearing the golden Phoenix on his chest. Yet, as they met my gaze, their expressions morphed from curiosity into obvious fear. Quicker than when the dinner bell rang, the courtyard cleared, leaving me standing at the entrance to the Mages’ quarters alone and befuddled.

The door opened, and Mage Fergus bowled into me, knocking me off the steps.

“Watch yourself, young man!” Fergus bellowed without looking up to see who he’d knocked down.

“I would if you’d stop trying to knock me off my feet.” I grinned as Fergus looked up.

“My boy!” the Mage exclaimed, gripping my arms with both hands, pulling me into a bear hug. “Welcome home, son.”

When Fergus stepped back from his embrace, the Mage’s smile fell, and his eyes widened. “Declan, what happened to your eyes?”

“My eyes? What do you mean? Nothing that I know of.” I reached to press fingers to my eyes, but there was no pain there.

Fergus scrunched his nose and leaned forward to examine my pupils. “Declan, I think we need to go inside so you can see for yourself.”

The old Mage waddled back through the doorway and led me into a sitting room where a large mirror leaned against one wall. A fire in the hearth snapped in greeting and warmth.

I turned toward the mirror and froze.

“I—Ferg—what . . . ?”

The whites of my eyes now blazed with the intensity of the noon sun, and swirled with a light bearing the same swirling azure of the Well’s mist. As I leaned toward the mirror, mist curled out of the corners of each eye. I blinked a few times, but the swirling, blazing brilliance remained.

Fergus fell into a large chair by the hearth and poured himself a glass of brown liquor, downing it in one gulp, then refilling the glass.

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