The scent of wet earth and moss tickles in my nose. Water droplets ooze along the rough walls, as if trying to subdue a wild beast with their soothing drip. Even though they could also be tears of the fallen who were buried not too far from here. The Jacobite rising had been bloody and after the Sentinel council decided to remain on the sidelines, the Scotts were slaughtered. A shame really. The Gaelic language is so much more pleasing to the ear than English.

A bat flutters in the dark; one of its wings grazes my cheek. My punishment is swift; the thing evaporates with a hiss. Disgusting creatures. If they weren't important for the ecosystem, they'd be long gone.

As I walk along the narrow, slanting shaft, the temperature drops the deeper I get underground and goosebumps spring up on my arms. The light globe sitting on my open palm bops up and down in the rhythm of my steps, its milky glow radiating of the now smooth walls. This tunnel was blasted out of solid rock thousands of years ago by the stroke of Kaleidopae's hand. It marked the birth of the Sentinel Council.

When I step into the underground cave, every head turns in my direction. Heat engulfs me from the firepit blazing in the center.

Izikey smirks. "Marush. How nice of you to join us." He plays with a few spitting flames in his hand. Even after five hundred years as a Sentinel, he likes to show off his fire powers any chance he gets.

"And late, if I may add." Oldor's frown is undoubtedly designed to trigger some guilt trip. If he isn't careful, he'll be the next one to go. Andrenior hasn't tapped into all of his powers, but he'd be able to take on this old codger any day.

"Well, I was busy." I drop in one of the stone chairs that shapes to my back from the heat of my body and prop up my feet onto a stool.

Asther pours the tea. "I heard your plaything is home." A slight scent of oak sap clings to her skin. She must have played with her tree family again. A horrid habit and so childish. Definitely shows her immaturity.

I snort. "Is Rikka what this is about? Man, you should get over it."

"The malediction applies to you just the same," Oldor remarks as if this were some type of eternal wisdom.

My glare cuts into him. "I'm aware of my responsibilities and don't need you to lecture me."

"Then again, it was something your friend Gideon so obviously forgot." Oldor's gaze doesn't waver from my face. "And now we have a hybrid on our hands."

"He paid for it with his life." When he refuses to look away, I force Oldor's gaze down. His powers are getting weaker.

Asther lowers herself in the stone chair across from me. "How is the hybrid?"

"She looks like Gideon."

"And her powers?" Concern flares in Asther's green eyes. Gideon had been a Wood Sentinel. If the hybrid inherited those powers from him, she could be in line to replace her.

"Not sure, but I doubt they will be very strong. Andrenior and Rikka both believe she is a Caomhnóir. They witnessed her communicating with the dead."

"So the plan is to take her to Sazith and let him deal with her?" Izikey extinguishes a few flames in his hand. When he looks at me, his irises have turned red. As if his shooting-fire-from-his-eyes threat could ever intimidate me.

"Sazith will be my first stop." Another fib I deliver with a straight face. Sazith will be the last one to get his hands on the hybrid. I want to test the waters first.

"She could be both." Delsandra's words are as soft as a summer's breeze. She perks her head up at me from her usual spot behind the wall of fire.

I laugh. "Don't get paranoid. A Caomhnóir with Sentinel powers hasn't been born in close to three thousand years."

"Gideon was the last, which means he could have passed this combination on to his offspring." Asther purses her lips in this know-it-all fashion I despise. On second thought, it mightn't be the worst if the hybrid replaced her. Having a young Sentinel under my guidance will mean easy control of the council.

"You guys keep forgetting that she is part wolf. Her powers will never as fully develop as that of a pure blood. Besides, she hasn't even made her blood promise to the Moon Goddess. Her twenty-first earth year is almost complete. Once she officially crosses the threshold to adulthood without a firm commitment to our world, her powers will be gone."

"True." Oldor's stare travels from face to face. "But do you agree that we will prevent the hybrid from taking her blood promise if she turns out to have Sentinel powers?"

Asther nods. "That will be the best. A hybrid is already a violation of our laws. We don't want her to turn into one of us."

Izikey raises his thumbs up. Judging from the drool in the corners of his mouth, he can't wait to kill the hybrid. He and Gideon hated each other.

Delsandra grunts from behind the fire; her usual non-violence doesn't extend to Gideon's transgression. Not that I can blame her, considering their history.

"What do you say, Marush?"

I smile. It's a very remote scenario, but if the hybrid happens to have the strength required for a Sentinel, I fully intend to leverage her powers to my benefit. I won't let such an opportunity slip away—unless she proves to be a Steel Sentinel in direct competition. Under those circumstances, I'll have to find a way to slit her throat myself. "Don't worry, I have everything under control."

~~~~

By the time I return to camp, it is dark. Andrenior and the hybrid sit together with the other students in the spacious community hall, feasting on a bowl of stew. The scent of freshly baked rolls has my stomach rumble.

I sit down in my usual spot at the head of the table and gaze at the bend heads in front of me. The conversation, in full swing just moments ago, has fallen quiet. Eager spoons scrape up the last remains of the meal; the fear is palpable in the air. The rules are clear: supper is a time of reflection and those who spoke earlier expect to be punished with three days of silence.

"We have a couple of visitors tonight, so it's okay to show them hospitality."

A sigh of relief replaces the fear and most students raise their heads.

Tessa's eyes sparkle. "Master Marush, did you know that Raelyn is a hybrid?"

"Indeed I did."

"She stinks," Nalco, one of the youngest, says.

A few chuckles around the table draw a blush to Raelyn's cheeks.

"Now, watch your mouth, young warlock. Words can sting like a blade."

Nalco lowers his gaze. "But she does. I was just telling the truth."

"And sometimes, silence is the key to wisdom."

When he nods, I smile at him. Just like Tessa, he has much to learn.

"I have to apologize for him, Raelyn. The rules of training leave no room for lies and deception. It's one of the key skills of leadership."

Her smile can only be described as tentative; she isn't on board with this, which could turn into an issue. "Are all the students in line to be Sentinels?"

"In line, yes, but that doesn't mean their powers will develop sufficiently. To reach that level of leadership, your skills have to be impeccable. Only few succeed."

"And what happens to those who don't?"

I shrug. "Once their training is complete, it's up to them. Many travel the world for a few years and mix with other creatures to experience what type of life those groups lead. Eventually, most partner up and start a family. The warlock community is small and tight and many of us live either within the confines of the Iomaire Draíochta or in nearby communities."

"That sounds a little bit like a werewolf pack."

I laugh out loud. "Trust me, warlocks are nothing like werewolves."

Ridiculous to even think that!

I smile at the young witch setting a bowl of stew and some of the freshly baked rolls on the table in front of me. "Thank you, love."

I dip the spoon into the broth, sucking out the spicy juices from the meat. Comparing warlocks to werewolves—that's a first. The silly statement might have even been funny if the hybrid hadn't looked so serious. It confirms that she couldn't have inherited her father's sharp wit.

I watch the hybrid finish the last bite of stew. "Are your quarters comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you." The smile doesn't hit her eyes. It's undoubtedly a lie, and a bad move after I just told her that this type of behavior isn't acceptable.

"I'm afraid that while you are here, you will have to find a way to control your crude nature."

She quirks a brow. "You mean my wolf?"

"Indeed, that's what I was talking about. The animals in the Iomaire Draíochta are protected by Oldor, the Sentinel pulling his powers from the earth. It would be a violation of our natural laws if they were hunted."

"I came here to learn about the magical half of me. I have no interest in hunting."

When I narrow my eyes, she doesn't flinch. This time, she's telling the truth.

"I take it you have a lot of questions?"

She nods. "Foremost, I want to know about my father."

"Gideon?" That's surprising. From what Rikka told me, I took her more as the power-hungry type.

"How did he die?"

"Natural warlock succession."

She wrinkles her nose. Obviously, it's not something she wanted to hear. That, or her intuition is extraordinary. It's something to look out for. "And what type of warlock was he?"

"You mean his dominant powers?"

She nods.

"Wood. It's highly spiritual in nature. Wood warlocks are the guardians over birth and death. They are also the healers among us."

Her gaze flicks to Andrenior. "Are you a wood warlock?"

I answer in his stead to keep control of the conversation. "Andrenior is a warlock of the earth. Some of his secondary powers are healing, but compared to a wood warlock, those are a joke. A wood warlock can pull you back from the threshold to the afterlife."

"That's pretty impressive."

"It is. Your father was also what we call a , a guardian that protects the spirit line. They can communicate with dead souls." I leave out the rumors about Kaleidopae. That she allegedly is able to move back and forth across the spirit line is humbug. No one has ever returned from the realm of the afterlife.

"And you think that's what I am, right?"

"It is possible." I scoop up another mouthful of stew, not really in the mood for more questions. She is an inquisitive little thing. Then again, she is very young, something I need to keep in mind, even if her features are that of a warlock who already passed her first thousand years on earth.

"And what type of Sentinel are you?"

I halt the spoon halfway to my lips. Didn't Andrenior tell her? "Steel."

"And what do those do?"

"We control metal. Here, let me show you."

I set the spoon down and spin it around on the table, making it fly while shaping the metal into a formidable weapon. An exercise that usually requires no more than a blink of an eye, but what would be the fun in that? The lips of most of the older students twitch. They've seen this before.

With a lazy swoop of my hand, I guide the spoon-dagger through the air. Smirking at Andrenior, I can't resist. The weapon cuts right through the middle of his neck. Blood drips from both sharpened ends. Raelyn gasps.

"Very funny." The words are slurred and Andrenior spits a mouthful of blood into his stew bowl. Pain flares in his eyes, but he makes no sound of discomfort. About to raise his hands to pull out the spoon and heal himself, I stop him.

"Let Tessa do it."

The young girl gets up. Biting her lip, she walks over to Andrenior. With the wink of her small finger, she pulls the spoon-dagger out. Blood pours from the wounds, soaking into Andrenior's white shirt. He keeps the pain hidden deep within him; if we didn't have a natural blood connection through our ancestors, I wouldn't even know it.

Tessa takes a deep breath. One more glance in my direction. I nod at her with encouragement. Closing her eyes, she closes her hands around Andrenior's neck. A beat later, his skin is smooth again. When he sways on his stool, Tessa strokes his forehead with the back of her hand. The color returns to his gaunt cheeks. His next breath releases the pain.

I smile at the young girl. "That was very good, Tessa."

Retaking her seat, she blushes. So modest. A very good quality for someone with her strength.

"Why didn't he die?" Raelyn asks.

"Warlocks can't be killed with ordinary weapons."

Her gray eyes pierce into me. "Then how do they die?"

I hesitate. It's something we don't talk about with outsiders. Even as Gideon's daughter, she has not reached that level of trust in our world. "I'll teach you during your training."

"And when will that start?"

"Tomorrow morning at sunrise."

~~~~

© Sally Mason 2018

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