Empire Island, Exile the First

Chapter 14

The agony exploded out of my chest until I fell to my knees in the dirt, pounding the ground with my fists as hot tears of rage poured down my face. I couldn't scream like I wanted, I couldn't call attention to myself but I stayed on my knees until my tears dried and I could cry no more. It eased to a dull throbbing pain, pulsing like a toothache throughout my entire body, but at least I could breathe.

I staggered to my feet, my face feeling numb while the rest of me felt too much, and turned back to look at the cave wall. I held my phone light over my head and traveled along the rough rock surface, taking in details that I hadn't noticed before.

The blood was dried on Phoenix's portrait, but it was still bright red, even in the thicker clotted patches. The girl beside her had darker bloody lines, but it was still a rust red.

As I moved along the portraits, the painted blood darkened and eventually turned to black. I didn't know how long it took for blood to turn from rust to black, but it seemed the older they were, the less power they emitted.

Which would explain their need for so many girls. Whatever they were doing here in the cave, they were running on all systems and with the well source failing to produce more than a dull glow, they needed power sources from somewhere.

I walked to the well source and looked inside, and what I saw was worse than I had expected.

Normally the well would have had water up to a couple inches below the natural wall lining the hole and building up about a foot above the cave floor.

Any other time I'd been inside this sacred cave next to such a vital source of magic, power, and connection to Otherworld, magic had oozed out of it like the wax warming inside a lava lamp. Bubbling over and falling along the sides of the well for us to dip our hands in and replenish our internal reserves.

At this moment in time, the well was dry and there was one thin strip of dull blue algae-like magic pulsing slowly up the inside edge of the well. It did what it was supposed to, seeking the surface and spreading into our work, but there wasn't anything left to buoy it up and out.

My stomach clenched and my back felt icy cold under the greasy sheen of sweat I had gathering there. My borrowed clothes felt too tight and everything about the day felt wrong. Off somehow, as if somebody had moved the panes of glass to the side and the images no longer lined up.

I crouched and bent next to the well source and placed my hand down the smooth inside wall towards the dying magic. It flared when it sensed me there, one of the guardians of its place, moving towards my outstretched fingers.

Upon connection, both of us visibly reacted. I took a deep breath and felt the magic wind through my flesh and veins to that deep center at the heart of anyone with the gift.

The magic swelled double its size and pulsed, throbbing and using the last of its energy to expand around my hand and enter my body.

I carried the last of it. The final drops of magic from the well source that had sustained this part of the world since time immemorial.

And I felt fantastic.

I knew it was bad, that carrying it around like this inside of me was risky and potentially well-ending if something happened to me.

But fuck, it felt so fucking good. It felt like that high I'd been chasing every time I plunged a needle into my arm, drank a bottle of gin, or fucked a stranger in the dark hallway of some punk club in Vancouver.

It felt risky, it felt dangerous, it felt like a bad idea.

And my god, it felt like the heavens had opened up and poured their sweet creation straight into my guts, driving my heart a thousand miles an hour and making my pulse throb like an oversized engine.