Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“I want to see if you can open it.” Lachlan looked at me intently. “Go on, little one—try.”
Shrugging, I pushed on the bark door—which had no knob, so I assumed it opened inward. I felt some resistance, as though the door was sticking on something, so I pushed harder.
With a little more effort on my part, the door finally creaked open, revealing a surprisingly spacious room inside.
“Well, well,” I heard Bran said from behind me. “Did you spell the door as well, Lachlan?”
“I did.” Lachlan sounded grim. “No one but another mage—one with considerable power—should have been able to open it.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, turning to look at him. “Because it, uh, wasn’t that hard to open. It felt a little like the door was sticking for a minute but…”
I trailed off, because he was looking at me and shaking his head.
“I think your powers have grown since we entered the Realm, little one,” he murmured. “Possibly because we’re in the Natural World of the Realm, where the power we all draw on comes from, in the first place.”
“Really?” To test his theory, I closed my eyes and held my focus pendant. I reached for the ribbon of gold, which I always saw with my magical eye when I looked for it.
But there was no ribbon this time. Instead, I saw a rushing river of shimmering golden sparks—something so vast I feared I would get lost in it if I got too close. What if I got sucked in?
I dropped my pendant and opened my eyes.
“What did you see?” Bran asked me.
“It’s so big here!” I held my arms wide apart, as though to illustrate that the river of golden power had been much larger than I could reach. “It’s just a tiny, thin ribbon in the human world but here…” I shook my head.
“It’s as I thought,” Lachlan murmured. “Emma, you’re going to have to be very, very careful how you use your magic here. In fact, it might be better if you don’t use it unless you absolutely have to.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised. I still felt a little bit shaky, thinking of that vast river of power rushing just in front of my face when I looked for it. It was too big—too much. Nobody had to tell me twice to leave it alone.
“Come inside,” Bran invited me. “This was where Lachlan and I used to meet to play when we were younger.”
“And this is where I moved when I left my parents’ dwelling,” Lachlan added. “I guess you could say that it’s my home in the Realm, as much as anywhere else.”
We all stepped through the door in the massive tree’s trunk and found ourselves inside a room carved out of the living wood. It was about the size of one of those small apartments in big cities and it had the feel of a hobbit hole, with low ceilings and hardly any windows.
Despite the lack of natural light, it didn’t seem stuffy or depressing. The smooth walls made of living wood were illuminated by sconces which held magical glowing golden spheres. They grew brighter when we stepped inside, as though they were welcoming us home.
The little tree house was neat, with a bed in one rounded corner and a couch with a fireplace in the other. There was a kitchen area in the third corner and a small door which probably led to a bathroom in the fourth.
I wondered how they managed to have both a fire and running water in the middle of a living tree and then decided that magic was probably the answer. Things that would be impossible in the human world were clearly ordinary here.
“Well? Where are they?” Bran asked.
“Here.” Lachlan went over to the neatly made-up bed—it had a patchwork coverlet that seemed to be made of many different kinds of animal fur—and pulled a long, flat chest out from under it. He spoke a few words in what sounded like Celtic and the lid of the trunk flew open.
Reaching inside, the dark Fae pulled out a sword in leather scabbard. He lifted it with both hands, as though it was heavy.
“Come take back your own, friend,” he said to Bran, who took the sword from him, a delighted expression on his face.
“I never thought I’d see this again!” he exclaimed. Pulling the sword from its scabbard with one hand, he admired the long, silver blade which ended in a sharp point.
“Is it a magic sword?” I asked, studying the blade. It had curving marks etched on its gleaming surface that might have been some other language.
“It’s a family sword,” Bran said. “My grandfather’s blade—my father gave it to me when I came of age.” He looked suddenly sad. “He probably regrets it now, since he has taken the family name from me.”