My own Godstone sings in greeting. A finger of glowing fog creeps from the river, slithers across the damp ground like a searching tentacle, glides over my knee and up to the Godstone, where it presses gently.
There is an audible click, like pieces of a puzzle coming together. The energy inside me flares joyously, and suddenly I feel connected to the whole world as the zafira feeds me life and energy through the siphon of my Godstone. My head swims, my limbs tingle, and I’m a little bit delighted, a little bit horrified.
“Oh, it loves you, yes, it does,” murmurs Leaf. “Have you fed the earth a bit of your blood already, then?”
“I . . . yes. On the way down. I found a sacrament rose bush, and prayed for . . .” Power. I prayed for power. And here I am, connected to the source of all magic, but I feel no closer to my goal than before. My body buzzes with energy, certainly, like I could do anything. I could heal a thousand people. Bring down a hurricane. But can I take that power with me to help me rule a kingdom? Or does it only work here, in this cavern?
Storm is gazing at the walls, his mouth agape. “It’s a grave,” he says. “A catacomb of animagi.”
“Oh, yes,” Leaf says. “They used to come here to die. Or if they died too soon, they would have their bodies brought here. But only their stones remain. No one has come here to die in a very long time. Until now!” He claps, showing his rotting teeth.
Fear shoots through me. I jump to my feet, eyeing the opening to the stairway, wondering if Storm and I could outrun him if he turned on us. But no, I won’t run. I can’t. “We came to learn about the zafira,” I say firmly. “Not to die.”
“Oh, no one minds being dead!” he assures us. “But some people mind being alive. Like me. I’ve lived far too long.” He rattles his chains, which now lie coiled like a snake at his feet. The opposite end drops over the lip of the riverbank, into the vast blueness. “One of you will take my place as the zafira’s gatekeeper, its living sacrifice. God is so kind; he gave me two to choose from!”
The wonder on Storm’s face cedes to misgiving.
“One of you, if you survive, will leave here a true sorcerer,” Leaf explains, “having made the pilgrimage and tasted of the zafira. And oh, she is fickle. It’s fun to guess if someone will live or die. I only get it right some of the time. But the other . . .” He dances a joyful jig, blood oozing around his swollen ankles. “The other must stay so that I can sleep. Oh, I am so tired. Let’s begin, shall we?” He lifts his arms above his head and mutters something unintelligible. A stream of light rises from the river of fog and rushes to the space between his hands, where it grows, coalesces, begins to spin.
I gasp with recognition. I know what this is, for I’ve done it myself, when I destroyed the animagi with my Godstone amulet. He is drawing the power to himself, storing it up, readying it to explode into a wave of energy.
Panic builds in my throat. I have to do something. But what? The force he gathers brightens. It illuminates the whole cavern, showing a roof gnarled with the roots of trees from the valley above.
Storm sprints for the doorway.
“Trying to get away, little mouse?” says Leaf. A tendril of blue fire whips from the river, shoots toward Storm, wraps his torso like a snake, and yanks him to the ground. He lands hard on his back, where he gasps like a beached fish, the wind knocked out of him.
Think, Elisa! I have channeled this power before. I’ve won a war with it. I’ve healed people. I pushed the Aracely, somehow, through a massive hurricane. I can do this.
I close my eyes, place my fingertips to the Godstone, and imagine the zafira’s power pouring into me.
It does, like a flood, like a hurricane, until I’m spinning with it, mad with it. My hair lifts from the nape of my neck, and my fingers tingle with power that feels so natural, so easy. The earth beneath me disappears.
I open my eyes to discover that I float several inches above the ground and the zafira’s soothing flame has wrapped around me like a lover’s arms. But what to do with all this power?
“Interesting,” Leaf says as his ball of blue fire begins to shoot white sparks. “You may be a worthy opponent, with your living stone.” And from his spinning sun, he sends a bolt of blue fire spearing toward me.
I imagine Hector’s forearm shield, the way it sheltered me when arrows flew down the hallway of my palace. A shimmering barrier materializes out of thin air before me, and the bolt of fire bounces harmlessly against it. So easy! The power, drawn directly from its source. Exactly what I’ve been looking for. Exactly what I need.