Ink Sisters

Chapter Seven

Both sisters wrap their hands around their pens. Lorelle takes a deep breath, her sister doing the same. The silver tips of their pens are pressed into the unblemished paper. As one, their minds move.

"Bring the Seeker from legend to our world," Drakkor murmurs somewhere in the distance. His voice is faint as the twins plunge deeper into the void of their joined mind. Through concentration, they are able to be as one.

Their hands work as quickly as their minds do. Words fly across the page, a vast description of the elusive Seeker. His eyes are the crystal blue of a bottomless lake, his hair darker than night. The sisters work fast, their writing turning into a blur, but their minds begin to slow, creeping along in search of the man they seek. Like a hawk, they search the ashen trees and charred forests of the past for the Seeker. His beginning is in one legend, but his story arcs over many events in the past. The great wars. The loss of the kingdoms. The fall of those in power.

  A slanted line meets another one to form the top of a slanted cape that drapes over the back of a tall, sturdy back. The figure walks away from their line of sight, a lone sad shape that blends into the shadows of the mountains. Here he is wandering. He has lost his sister already and seeks escape. Well, he's about to get just that.

From the white page covered with small scribbles, a figure begins to materialize. At first, there is only the hum of loose particles of light. Then, all the pieces begin to come together and take shape, each piece vibrating until the color shifts into a texture, like the coarseness of a strand of hair. There is a great intake of breath, like the beat of an eagle's powerful wings. A stark silence steals the noise away, casting a low ringing about the room. The others fling their hands up to try to cover their ears. The noise fades within seconds.

The sisters stop moving their pens. Both feel physically exhausted, their backs sagging under their fatigue. Ink is in angry splatters everywhere. It covers their cloaks and trembling fingers. Their pens have been rendered useless by the magic. They are an odd sight wide eyed and covered in black, but that is not the strangest thing in the room now.

A man crouches in between the desks, his head bent. An ethereal glow emits from his shoulders and neck, a product of his time within the wishing star long ago. There is a jagged sword strapped across his black cape. Carefully, he rises.

"Stay back!" Drakkor shouts. Excitement laces its way through his voice. "Stay where you are!"

The sharp blade is drawn and an inch from the older man's throat in two seconds. "Who are you?" the Seeker demands in a raspy voice. "What sort of devilry is this?"

"Not devilry," Aramis muses from the far wall, "magic."

"Magic," the figure whispers. His wild eyes dart around from the ink-drenched sisters to Maren, drawing a slim dagger from her belt. Aramis pushes himself closer with Teddy trembling behind him. Only the top of his wavy head and his thin rimmed glasses peek out above Aramis's shoulder.

"Yes, magic." Drakkor risks releasing a held breath. His withered Adam's Apple vibrates just beneath the man's blade.

"You're him," Lorelle remarks, slowly standing. Leandra matches her sister's movement. Stray ink drips from her nose.

"You're the Seeker," she says, finishing Lorelle's thought.

"I am called that by some, yes," the stranger replies, never removing the sword and never looking from Drakkor's wide eyes. "Now tell me why I am here." He grabs Drakkor by the shirt and swings him in front of him. The mage goes sprawling out on the floor before the group. Lorelle shrieks lowly, a sound only Leandra hears, and sidesteps behind her sister, grabbing hold of Leandra's shoulders. Below them, Syd says something, but his voice is muffled. He is laying face down where Drakkor dropped him when the Seeker came through.