Her hand was at the water’s edge, fingers dipping below the surface and the rhythm of fire at the forefront of her mind. All she need do was think it and the lake would be no more.
Elora hesitated.
Taking a deep breath, she rocked back on her heels and stood, flicking the water from her finger tips.
Getting slapped by the lake was her own fault, her foolish actions and nothing better than she deserved. The anger was that other her, the Queen of Darkness that resided within her own mind waiting for a chance to release chaos. That realisation would have brought on another wave of anger if she let it.
A little further away within the forest she had once released her anger, allowing the darkness to creep into her heart. That had been before she travelled to Thea, before she had control over the whispers that enticed her to kill. Afterwards, when she had become her true self again she was surrounded in white ash, the surrounding trees reduced to smouldering black stumps.
She shuddered at the memory. If she couldn’t control her inner darkness, then only destruction would will-out and Bray wasn’t here to put an end to it. He had once made a promise that if she ever lost control and put others in danger he would kill her. He hadn’t liked it but had no choice.
Elora turned and made her way back to the inn, putting the lake behind her and vowing not to practice her elemental manipulation until Bray was with her.
Norgie was in the kitchen when she returned. Frying eggs and bacon, hash browns and mushrooms. She had had one of his breakfasts before when she was in London. She was unable to finish her plate then and doubted she would now.
Gurple was helping him. Stirring baked beans in a saucepan but the wood troll scuttled away when he saw her enter.
Norgie laughed, “I think you really put the frighteners up him last night. He’ll come round, don’t worry none,” he said in his broad Yorkshire accent. “Can you set the table?”
Elora began to collect plates and cutlery to set down on a table in the bar room. “Will Jaygen be joining us?” she asked, setting the silverware upon the highly polished oak.
“Not presently, no, he’s got jobs around the yard to do. Feed the animals, put the horses in the paddock, muck the stables out, collect eggs; that kind of thing. I’ve tried to get him to eat breakfast but the lad always rushes about his chores, comes in about mid-morning and shoves whatever I’ve made into his belly then goes back out.”
“Where to?”
Norgie shrugged. “Maybe the keep or the lake, I don’t know. He’s usually back for supper, looking tired and worn out though, so whatever he’s doing it’s keeping him busy.”
“You never thought to ask?” Elora didn’t mean for her words to sound as a rebuke but couldn’t call them back after they were said. Luckily the ex-marine didn’t react as if had taken it as such.
“Never, the lad likes his own company. I expect he’ll be back to himself once his mother returns.”
They ate breakfast, Gurple timidly joining them once Norgie plated out the sausages, which were his favourite. They washed the food down with mugs of tea as Elora talked about the journey she had taken through the Shadowlands with the small fellowship. Norgie didn’t interrupt, his concentration showing in his weathered face, as expressions turned from shock to pity, to awe and disbelief before returning to shock.
“That’s a hell of a journey,” he remarked as Gurple finally plucked up the courage to lean his head against the back of her hand. She stroked the fur behind his tall ears and he grinned, his huge tongue flopping loose from his widening mouth. It was good to have him back in her confidence.
After helping clean up the breakfast plates Elora strolled out to find Jaygen. She found him in the stables mucking out the old straw into a wheelbarrow, his clothes thick with the dust that floated about the building catching the morning sun. Sweat stuck strands of his hair to his brow. The boy seemed taller than she remembered, or was that because he was usually standing close to his father who dwarfed everybody?
“Morning,” she greeted him as she picked up another fork and began to help, the prongs scraping along the stone floor as she heaved the damp straw onto the wheelbarrow.
“Morning,” he grunted back as he pulled his shirt collar up, attempting to hide the scratch on his neck. Elora acted as though she hadn’t noticed - if he didn’t want her to know then she had no business interfering.
“Don’t need any help, I can manage this,” Jaygen said, sweeping an arm about the stables.
Elora stuck the fork into the straw, hands resting atop the shaft.
“I know. You’ve done a good job at looking after the animals, the farm, the land. Norgie told me that you’re out early and don’t finish until late.”
She rested her chin upon her hands as she gazed at the boy. He seemed less bashful around her than he did before she left for the Shadowlands. And it also seemed that he stood straighter, his shoulders appearing a little wider.
“It’s what my Da told me to do,” he said.
“Yep, but I’m here now and so I can help.”
Jaygen stared at her, hazel eyes accusing. “I thought you were the Shadojak. Shouldn’t you be out there, sorting the bulworgs, grumpkins and other nasties out?”
The words hit her like a thump to the gut. He was right, she was the Shadojak. She should be re-balancing the world, judging the Dark Army instead of remaining within the safety of Rams Keep while her father’s army spread across the continent. Then another realisation hit her.
“What do you know of the world outside the Keep? Have you gone beyond the fairy protection?” She knew he had from the guilty look he tried to mask by staring out of the barn door. “What’s out there? What’s happening?” she asked, desperate for something more concrete than the vague descriptions she’d had from Prince Dylap.
“Death, mainly, there are some survivors. Young children, the elderly and the crippled, left behind by the takwiches, deemed too weak to fight, too frail to supply the Dark Army.”
The hairs on Elora’s arms pricked up, a flash of anger pulsing through her body. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the shaft of the fork.
The wood splintered between her fingers as shadows weaved towards her from the corners of the building. Tendrils of blackness, curling in fine wisps as the darkness reached for her. She gritted her teeth and willed herself to calm down. Taking a deep breath, she ignored the voices whispering for her to kill, to destruct.
“How many survivors?” she asked when she regained control.
Jaygen shrugged. “I don’t know, around fifty about the local area. Maybe more, maybe less. I don’t get too close, there’s still a few bulworgs and the odd takwich roaming the towns and villages. They leave the weak and elderly alone, they’re not worth the effort, but I think they still search for anybody left who’s strong enough to fight.”
Elora left the fork sticking up from the straw as she crossed the stables, she paused at the door. “Can you help me saddle my horse? I’m going to town.”
Jaygen’s fork clattered to the floor.
“Yep, I’ll saddle mine too. I’m going with you.”
Elora was about to deny him that request, but reasoned that he knew where to find these people and would save her precious time.
“Fine. But if we bump into any nasties, stay out of my way.”
