Chapter 18

  “You must remain calm and focused,” Vin said gently, her voice carrying a practiced serenity that barely masked the tension behind it. Her words floated through the quiet room, carried on the dim flicker of candlelight and the soft creak of wooden floorboards beneath us.

  She was kneeling beside me, her hand slowly reaching out to my forehead. I could feel the warmth of her palm even before it made contact—a healer’s touch, but in this case, the purpose was mental, not physical.

  Most mental spells required some kind of contact. The body, in its simplicity, craved anchors. The head was the preferred point—something about the symbolic connection to the mind, and the practical ease of reach. Hands to temples, to brows, to the crown. It was more ritual than rule, but it helped.

  “You’ve said that twenty times already,” I muttered under my breath, slightly annoyed but too tired to put any real bite into the complaint.

  Vin hesitated, blinking, then offered a sheepish smile. “Well… it is important,” she mumbled, her fingers brushing my skin.

  She didn’t want to argue. I could feel it in the hesitation of her voice. Part of her still saw me as the leader, even though I hadn’t really felt like one since the fight against the Ice Wraith. Lately, Simon had stepped up—confident, analytical, precise. And I’d faded into the background. Maybe I was just tired. Or maybe it was something deeper.

  As Vin’s palm finally rested against my forehead, I felt a strange, pulsing sensation—like a dull knock, tapping once… twice… then vanishing. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable, like pressure from the inside out. The sensation faded the moment she rose and stepped away.

  Then she turned to Maira, repeating the ritual with a similar care. Maira didn’t flinch, her expression one of controlled discipline, though I noticed her eyes flicker for a moment as the spell settled in.

  We were seated on the hard wooden floor of Markus’s cramped room, the four of us arranged in a loose semi-circle around the innkeeper. Simon had insisted this positioning would promote a more stable link—less interference, more control. Whether or not that was true, I didn’t argue. The floor was cold and unforgiving, but if this worked, it would be worth every splinter and cramp.

  Across from me, Simon was finishing his instructions to Markus. His voice was low and steady, his posture a model of meditative calm. “You must find the thread that binds you,” he said, tapping two fingers lightly over Markus’s heart. “The connection isn’t something physical. It’s part of your soul. You need to feel it. Reach inward. When you find it, follow it. Let your spirit guide you.”

  Markus looked unsure, but he nodded, his breath trembling. The word spirit had a weight to it, especially when uttered by mages. They never said mind or brain like common folk. No—spirit, essence, aether. It was always about making the invisible feel sacred. And somehow, that always made the impossible seem a little more real.

  Finally, all of us were seated. Markus joined us at the center, crossing his legs with a groan as he tried to settle his aging body. Simon eased down beside him, closing his eyes, palms open to the floor. Vin was at my right, Maira on my left. I adjusted my back against the wall and tried to ignore the creeping chill in the room.

  Just before the ritual began—before we truly crossed that unseen threshold into the minds of our enemies—I couldn’t keep my curiosity at bay. I leaned slightly toward Vin, trying to keep my voice calm, light.

  “Vin… where did you learn to link our thoughts together like this?”

  I shouldn't have asked. Not now. But it was too late.

  She hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I… usually only do this with animals,” she admitted quietly. “Like the horses in the stable. I’ve used it to communicate with them before.”

  I blinked. Once. Twice. A third time, just to be sure I’d heard her correctly.

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  Animals. Horses.

  Now, it was true—some druids and warlocks were known to establish mental links with beasts. Deer, cats, dogs, cows, even crows. But the minds of animals—if you could even call them that—weren’t like ours. They were simple, instinctual. They didn’t dwell on failure or fear or shame. They didn’t bury memories in layers of self-deceit. And above all, they didn’t resist.

  And now I’d volunteered to tether my mind to others through someone whose only experience came from chatting with horses.

  I inhaled deeply, trying to push away the rising panic in my chest. It would be fine. The worst that could happen was that the link wouldn’t hold… or it might collapse entirely.

  Apparently, Simon had come to the same conclusion. His gaze drifted to Vin, then to me, with a flicker of concern passing behind his otherwise calm expression. But he gave no voice to doubt—just closed his eyes, placed both hands gently on the floor, and spoke.

  “Markus,” he said, tone gentle but clear, “if you’re ready, I’d like you to attempt contact. Try to reach them.”

  The innkeeper took a shaky breath. He too closed his eyes, his large hands resting on his knees like he was about to meditate instead of plunge his consciousness into the jaws of his tormentors.

  “I’m ready,” he whispered.

  “Good. Then everyone—full focus.” Simon’s voice was firmer now. “Maira, your thoughts are drifting… too much about puppies.”

  Maira made a startled sound, her cheeks reddening as she sat up straighter. “What? How did you—” she paused, then frowned in realization. She closed her eyes tighter, lips pressed into a line as she cleared her mind.

  But that was when it happened.

  Wait.

  Why could I feel her thoughts go quiet?

  Not see them exactly—no words or images—but a presence, once cluttered, suddenly smooth and blank. Like silence after shouting.

  And then it hit me.

  Simon had known what she was thinking.

  Because we could hear each other now.

  The connection was already forming.

  A cold wave surged through me—not from the winter outside, but from within. What had moments ago felt like a spiritual gesture now wrapped tightly around my very mind. It wasn’t just thought-sharing—it was exposure.

  Were they hearing me right now? Could they see every memory?

  The argument with my brother ten years ago. The things I said. The secrets I kept locked behind polite smiles and confident commands. The doubts. The failures. The moments I wished I could forget.

  Were they seeing all of it?

  Panic clawed at my chest.

  Wait—shouldn’t I be able to hear their thoughts too?

  If this was truly a shared link…

  I tried. I focused. I let go.

  And suddenly—faint, fragile—something brushed against me.

  Not words, not yet. But echoes.

  Vin’s nervous excitement, like a fluttering bird.

  Simon’s intense calculation, like cogs grinding in a machine.

  Maira’s bubbling embarrassment, carefully suppressed.

  And Markus… a storm. Fear, guilt, longing. His mind felt fractured, like a mirror with too many cracks to count.

  I was inside the circle now.

  And for better or worse, they were inside me too.

  I felt the connection flicker, grow stronger—until suddenly Simon’s voice cut through the web of thoughts like a cold gust of wind. Calm, but firm. Commanding.

  “I ask all of you,” he said, “to leave the thoughts of the others alone. Our focus is Markus. Nothing else. Thank you.”

  There was no anger in his voice, just that quiet authority that couldn’t be argued with.

  Maira flinched visibly, her cheeks already red from embarrassment.

  Vin gave a small, sheepish nod, caught in the act.

  As for me… I kept my face still as stone. I didn’t want them to know I had been the first to intrude.

  Simon was right, of course. If this was going to work—if we were going to entrust our minds to one another in the face of true darkness—then trust was everything. I pushed the foreign thoughts from my awareness, shut every mental door I could find, and turned my full focus to Markus.

  It began.

  He furrowed his brow, his lips pressed into a thin line of discomfort. His hands, resting on his thighs, began to tremble slightly, knuckles whitening. Simon leaned forward, his voice low and soothing.

  “Breathe. You are safe. Just follow the thread. Let it lead you to them, but stay yourself.”

  But I could tell: this wasn’t fear that gripped Markus—it was effort. Like he was pushing through thick ice with his bare soul, one inch at a time. I could feel the tension coil inside him like a spring pulled too tight.

  Then, suddenly—he threw his head back.

  He gasped, eyes wide, as if he’d been underwater too long and finally surfaced. His chest heaved once. Twice.

  And then… his eyes lit up.

  An eerie, unnatural blue. Glowing, sharp, and hollow. Like no light came from behind them—only a reflection of something else.

  My instincts screamed. I moved my hand to the hilt of my sword in one smooth motion. Ice Wraith. He was turning.

  But just as quickly as the light had come, it faded. Markus lowered his head, exhaled, and steadied himself. The glow was gone. He looked—no, felt—like Markus again.

  And then…

  A voice.

  A deep, guttural voice, not spoken aloud, but pressed directly into our minds—so loud and sharp it nearly knocked the breath from me.

  “Who is there?”

  It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. Heavy. Echoing. As if it came from far below the earth, from frozen ruins untouched by sun or time.

  No one moved. No one breathed. The room, the circle, the fire in the hearth—everything stood still.

  The Crytomancers had answered.