Roshi shielded his eyes as blue lightning sparked into existence around Syra, bright and blinding as the sun. Seconds later, before anyone could react, the lightning winked out beneath a hollow in the ground that grew from where she’d stood. Roshi stepped away instinctively. Elkah did the same as she rose from her finalization of the Gifting process. The Warden boy was still waking from death, however, so he didn’t have the chance to escape the growing hole in the floor.

  Like the gaping maw of a large beast, the hole ate him up — as well as half the floorspace of the room. The lights from the overhead lanterns, the ones that hadn’t crashed to the ground from Syra’s outburst, failed to illuminate what lay beneath.

  The blood-stained sword slipped from Roshi’s limp fingers as he finally pieced together what had happened.

  Duri put out the fires with large bursts of wind as the rest stared at the newly-made hollow in the now-demolished residence.

  “What is that?” Moth asked, peering down the side, confused.

  “May I go after them?” Roshi asked Elkah through clenched teeth. He wasn’t as interested in what was down there. He just wanted to get Syra out as soon as possible.

  Elkah only frowned. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I’m a Medial Soulcaster—”

  “I won’t lift the restrictions I’ve placed on you, even if it could save your daughter.”

  Roshi couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He didn’t have the mind to snap at Elkah, but he couldn’t back down if Syra was in danger. “I will promise not to tamper with my Umbra. I’ll let you place restrictions on my Soulcasting again, immediately after I go down there and rescue my daughter!”

  “That is too great a risk for me to take. You are essential. The Redcloaks are essential. But Syra?”

  “Is it because you think she wanted to cast her lightning just now?” Roshi demanded. “She idolizes what you’ve done for this island. Everything she does is to become a Redcloak for you! Elkah, she was screaming in pain! This only happened because she hasn’t been taught how to control her ardor—”

  “Enough, Roshi,” Elkah said quietly. “It pains my heart to have to choose between the two of you. If it was no risk to save her, I would allow it in a heartbeat.”

  Roshi opened his mouth to speak, but a command from his Umbra held his tongue.

  Silence.

  His forehead heated up. His Umbra. Roshi sank to his knees at the edge of the hole, exhausted.

  Elkah sighed. Her eyes were wet, but whether from anguish or smoke? No, it didn’t matter. Her decision spoke louder.

  “It’s a shame the new boy fell in with her too,” Moth said. “Are they really dead for certain? What’s down there?”

  “Jeol and Duri know better than I,” Elkah said.

  Jeol looked up. There was an unusual tightness to his shoulders. “Did your mother ever tell you the story that if you misbehaved, greatwood tree roots would come alive and squeeze the disobedience from you?”

  Moth raised an eyebrow. “Color me surprised. A member of royalty knows a peasants’ fairy tale.”

  “It’s no mere fairy tale,” Jeol said. “A subterranean cave stretches across much of the western part of Oberon Island. It was named the Root Tunnels. My father once hired a team to investigate when it was first found.”

  “They never came back, I’m guessing?”

  “Neither did anyone in the second team, nor in the third. Then we decided it was best to leave it alone after all.”

  Roshi was almost without hope. But a seed of it sprouted at a sudden thought. “Unlike Syra, none of them were Soulcasters, were they?” he asked.

  Jeol nodded.

  “There are exits to the tunnels all around the forest,” Duri said, startling everyone. He rarely spoke unprompted. “It’s not impossible for Syra to find a way out.”

  Roshi took a deep breath, staring down into the yawning darkness. Because of Elkah, Syra had little understanding of Soulcasting. She didn’t even know a single Form. But what little she had could make the difference between life and death.

  ***

  Syra laid flat on some kind of slimy surface, surrounded by murky, stinking darkness on all sides except for a faint pinprick of blue light coming from Elkah’s house far, far above.

  Everything hurt.

  Nothing made sense.

  She felt a rush of emotions, remembering Da killing Firnix, remembering the scene she’d caused. The memories pained more than the lingering burns on her skin.

  Even though it’d only lasted the span of a few breaths, it felt like her burst of lightning had melted her muscles to porridge. Syra was motionless as minutes swam by, but no one came down from Elkah’s room. There were four Soulcasters up there. Duri could even fly. But none came to save her. Da certainly would’ve been down here by now. The only explanation for why he wasn’t had to be his Umbra. A childish part of Syra worried Elkah had decided Syra was better off dead. She’d just destroyed her house, after all.

  But, more likely, Elkah was only being overly cautious. She was always like that.

  As more time passed, Syra was able to twitch her body into some semblance of movement. If this was some kind of underground cave, she would just have to find the exit.

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  More time passed, and she was able to feel her limbs, and even get them to move. She sluggishly got to her feet, and decided on a random direction. She took one step forward.

  Her boot sank through thin air. Off balance, Syra pitched forward with a yelp and fell even further down. She landed right on top of something that gave out a pained grunt on impact. Syra bounced to the side, her boots tentatively testing the ground. Slimy and slightly curved. What was it?

  Syra felt around where she’d fallen. She wished she could make even a spark of lightning to use as a light source, but the agony shattered her focus.

  Her hands found something coarse and stiff. Syra connected that feeling to Firnix’s massive green-brown bag he carried on his back.

  He’d fallen too!

  ***

  Firnix woke up from death. He was cold, he was exhausted, his throat was dry, his head ached like it’d been split, and his body throbbed like it had been dragged over a carpet of pine needles.

  He blinked open weary eyes and saw nothing. It was pitch black. He almost thought he was stuck in a nightmare, but the cloyingly organic smell of must and mildew anchored him to reality.

  He passed a shaky hand over his chest. He couldn’t feel anything but skin. Elkah’s Gifting must’ve healed the fatal wound.

  He passed a shakier hand to his forehead. Uncomfortably hot.

  He’d been cursed with an Umbra.

  It was crushing to have succumbed to the Oberon natives. He’d barely gotten away, even after all of the planning with the verdant snakes. Yet again, Soulcasters overwhelmed his every effort. It was the same story no matter where he was: San Tora, Fraela, and now Oberon Island.

  Nearby rustling drew his attention back to the murky present.

  “Who’s there?” Firnix wheezed. He retched something wet and bitter.

  “Oh! You’re awake,” came Syra’s voice. She sounded as battered as he felt.

  He didn’t know whether to be relieved or not that he hadn’t fallen by himself.

  “Ah, venerable lady Syra.”

  “Strike me. Just call me Syra, please. I’ve not done anything venerable.”

  “Very we—” Firnix paused to cough. His chest rattled painfully. “Very well, Syra. I… Where am I? Are we alive?”

  “We’re both alive. But we’re somewhere far below Sylvanshade. I had an… an accident with my ardor. My lightning burned a hole in the floor. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to control my Soulcasting.”

  She didn’t have a grasp on her abilities? With a volatile element like lightning, Firnix was amazed she hadn’t died yet. It was normal for new Soulcasters to disfigure themselves — or worse — if they didn’t study theory well enough.

  “It’s too bad you fell in here with me,” she said, her voice gaining spirit. “I’m really sorry.”

  The apology hit him like a splash of icy water. No one ever apologized to him. Was this some game she was playing? Her behavior was too unpredictable

  “This place might be dangerous,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ll be mostly recovered in a few hours. My body recovers quite fast, for some reason, even though I can’t control my ardor.”

  “‘For some reason?’ Do you really not know?”

  “Elkah doesn’t want me Soulcasting. She made a law to prevent anyone from teaching me about it.”

  “She can do that? She can make such specific laws?”

  “Try it yourself. You have an Umbra, right? It should stop you from saying anything about how Soulcasting works to me.”

  Firnix opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp twinge in his forehead cut him off.

  Do not explain Soulcasting to Syra.

  The voice echoed in his mind. It unsettlingly sounded like one of his own thoughts, but he knew it was alien in origin. A trespasser, a parasite, stowed away in his soul.

  “You’re right,” he said shakily. “But, if I may ask, why doesn’t Elkah simply make a law specifically on you, to forbid you from trying to learn Soulcasting?”

  “She can’t. My Umbra doesn’t work anymore.”

  “Indeed?”

  Umbras could be deactivated. That piece of information sparked a small light of hope. He decided to prod deeper and see if there was anything he could learn about deactivating his own Umbra.

  “How did you accomplish that?” he asked.

  Syra was silent for a moment. “Have you heard of the Soulcaster’s Will?”

  Although the First Library had a lot of books on Soulcasting, he’d always spent his time in the life sciences section. But he had heard of it. Almost everyone on Arla had, he thought. The Soulcaster’s Will was a strong, singular ambition, a deep yearning in one’s heart, that could turn someone into a Soulcaster when declared with intent. Many dreamed of the day where their Soulcaster’s Will would awaken and they’d become a rich and powerful Soulcaster. For most around the world, that day never came; most never found the requisite dedication or passion. Firnix suspected the select few who did manage it were among the least well-adjusted men and women in the world — a dangerous group to be the ones to have the most power.

  “What about it?” he asked.

  “When I found my Soulcaster’s Will, and became a Soulcaster, my Umbra suddenly stopped working. Elkah said it’s because the process of being a Soulcaster twists the soul in some way. I don’t know how exactly the Umbra works, but I guess the new shape of my soul deactivated it.”

  “What about the Redcloaks?” Firnix asked. “They’re Soulcasters too.”

  “They were Soulcasters before they were Gifted. I’m the only one who changed into a Soulcaster after being Gifted.”

  “Gifting you a second time didn’t work?”

  Syra chuckled, but it quickly devolved into a hacking cough. “Elkah tried Gifting me a second time, a third time, a fourth time, and many more times ever since. I came back to life with a deactivated Umbra each time. Thankfully, she always did it herself back then.” She paused.

  Firnix couldn’t believe how casually she was talking about this. Gifting required death. Even if temporary. Elkah had killed Syra that many times? Syra was the only one not bound by an Umbra, and surrounded by Elkah’s laws and nonsense, she must’ve felt so isolated. And lonely. No wonder she was so unusually friendly to him. Or at least, that’s how it seemed. He had no idea how to make sense of anything anymore.

  “She gave up on Gifting me many years ago,” Syra continued. “Now she just keeps me close. She’s a bit overbearing, but it’s a peaceful life.”

  “Years ago?” She’d only looked about sixteen years of age, same as him — though now she was nothing but a disembodied voice in the darkness. “It’s rare to find a Soulcaster’s Will as a young teenager.” Usually, people became Soulcasters after years of focused meditation on themselves. Most who became Soulcasters as young as Syra went on to become at least Medial Soulcasters, an exclusive echelon of power. Or they went on to die, after taking their will too far. That was the most common fate of a Soulcaster.

  It was also the cause of much of the conflict in the world.

  “Teenager? No, I found my Soulcaster’s Will when I was around seven years of age.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Is that unusual? Oh, never mind. I suppose you can’t tell me because of your Umbra.”

  Firnix’s mouth worked soundlessly. That was younger than he thought possible. “What was your Soulcaster’s Will, if I may ask?”

  “Right. Um, when I was six years of age, I came to this island with Da. We met Elkah. Back then, she hadn’t Gifted the entire population of the island yet. Elkah isn’t a Soulcaster, so she hadn’t been able to take over Oberon Kingdom. Da and I, we came from a bad incident. I don’t have memories from before I was six, but I do remember a lot of people died, and I always feel horrible when I think back to it. I guess that’s why Elkah’s Umbras, with their promise of absolute peace, were like a dream come true for us, at the time. Da was a powerful Soulcaster, so he helped Elkah spread her Gift throughout the island. I was with them the whole way, and I really wanted to help too.”

  “Your Will was to spread Umbras across the island,” Firnix said, amazed. If he asked her directly for advice on deactivating his Umbra, what would she do? Stop talking to him? Attack him? They only had each other for company in this dark cave, but Firnix knew he had to be wary of what he said around her. She was a Soulcaster, after all.

  “Not just across the island,” she whispered. “Across the world.”