The Shadows of Dark Root (Daughters of Dark Root Book 5) Read online

  The Shadows of Dark Root

  Daughters of Dark Root: Book Five

  April Aasheim

  Contents

  Foreword

  The Formation of Shadow

  Prologue

  1. The Fool

  2. The Magician

  3. The High Priestess

  4. The Empress

  5. The Emperor

  6. The Hierophant

  7. The Lovers

  8. The Chariot

  9. Strength

  10. The Hermit

  11. The Wheel

  12. Justice

  13. The Hanged Man

  14. Death

  15. Temperance

  16. The Devil

  17. The Tower

  18. The Star

  19. The Moon

  20. The Sun

  21. Judgement

  22. The World

  Bonus Reading: A Touch of Light

  About the Author

  Also by April Aasheim

  Copyright © 2017 by April Aasheim

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  For My Readers

  Who have made Dark Root real

  Thank you

  Foreword

  I never planned to write a series. Originally, the Dark Root story was going to be only one big book. But as I started to develop Maggie and her family, I realized her tale was MUCH larger than I first envisioned. This wasn’t just a story - this was a saga.

  I hope you enjoy reading The Shadows of Dark Root as much as I enjoyed writing it. I leave a piece of myself every time I visit Dark Root, and I know you do, too.

  Cheers and happy reading!

  April Aasheim

  The Formation of Shadow

  (From The Wandering Witch, Circa 1892)

  In the beginning, there was only darkness. And then the Goddess, in her infinite wisdom, gave us light.

  But in those moments when she separated the light from the darkness, she created shadow.

  Formed by her divine hands, the shadow grew and grew.

  Larger than our own world and without the limitations.

  Though mortal eyes cannot see the shadow realm, it coexists alongside our own.

  It is the realm of dreams and fantasy, faeries and imps, demons and angels, nightmares and madness.

  It is the bridge between the past, the present, and the future.

  It is the divide between the living and the dead.

  It is the Netherworld. One gate opens to another. And then another.

  Beware of the false lure of this shadow world.

  For most who wander in - even witches - are never heard from again.

  Prologue

  Larinda swaddled the gangly child in his downy blanket, clutching him to her chest as she flew toward Eagle Mountain. The launch was bumpy - as passing between worlds usually was - but soon the broom between her slim legs sailed effortlessly across the midnight sky, casting her silhouette against the full yellow moon.

  She stifled a laugh as she picked up speed, her spirit buoyed by a giddiness she hadn’t felt in years. She had done it! The baby was really hers! She chanced a peek inside the bundle to ensure he was still in her arms. The child slept peacefully, her enchantment spell locking him into his dreams. She smiled, then bent forward, clutching the broom handle tight with her free hand and picking up speed.

  “Screw you, Armand!”

  She cursed her former lover as she veered hard right. She alone had done what the all-mighty Armand could not - take his first male heir. Granted, it had taken time and preparation, but fate had also been on her side: Had Shane Doler not returned when he had, Maggie never would have let the child out of her sight, let alone allow him to leave Dark Root. But once Michael took the child out from under the protective dome, all she needed was a series of lesser cantrips - rolling fog, twinkling lights, a minor confusion spell. Abracadabra! Just like that! The baby was hers!

  At last, her castle perched atop the gray peak of Eagle Mountain loomed before her. Larinda maneuvered along the contours of the steep slope in her hurry to reach the safety of the castle door. As she landed, she snapped her fingers. The broom disappeared and the enormous vaulted door swung open, as if expecting her.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Larinda’s wooden shoes echoed across the marble floors and throughout the vast hall. She went straight to the main chamber, now carrying the baby carelessly beneath her arm like a football.

  “Leah? Leah! Show yourself!” she called for her daughter. “I know you’re here. I can smell your apathy a mile away.”

  Larinda fell back into her tall throne atop a raised platform and waited for her daughter to appear. Once settled, she pulled the blanket away from the boy’s face and smiled. He was cute, she had to admit. In fact, he looked rather like Armand. Even the way he smiled sideways when she stroked his cheek. She was seized by heartbreaking nostalgia as she remembered her time with the warlock. She quickly covered the boy’s face again, lest her emotions get in the way of her judgement.

  Leah appeared in one of the many corridors leading into the throne room, wearing baggy jeans and an old sweater. Larinda’s lip curled as she took in her daughter’s slovenly appearance. She let it go, for now. Perhaps over dinner they’d talk of the proper way to dress in castles.

  “What is it, Mother?” Leah asked, her words as pinched as her thin face.

  Larinda snapped her fingers and another chair appeared beside her own - not a throne, but not a chair for a commoner either. She patted it, motioning for her daughter to join her. “I want you to meet your new brother, Leah. Isn’t he a lovely little imp?”

  Leah ignored the chair and stood over her mother, surveying the bundle. “My new brother?” She pushed back the blanket, revealing the boy’s bright auburn hair. When she saw him, she smiled. “This is Maggie's baby! Mother! You did it! Daddy will be pleased.”

  “Oh, he will, won’t he?” Larinda said, standing. She handed over her new charge to Leah, then smoothed the wrinkles from her long black gown. “I was thinking, perhaps we should wait on telling Armand. You know how he’s always wanted a boy? I’m afraid that if he sees this child, he may not want to spend time with you.”

  “He doesn’t spend time with me now,” Leah said. “I don’t even think he knows my name.”

  “That's nonsense,” Larinda said, though she knew it was a lie. Aside from a pitying glance now and again, Armand never noticed Leah at all. "Your father loves you, he just has many burdens.”

  “Bringing about the end of the world will do that,” Leah said, nuzzling the child.

  “But every end brings a new beginning!” Larinda reminded her. “And if all goes well, this end will be a new beginning for us. We won’t be trapped here, Leah! Just think of it!”

  “I’m not trapped here now.”

  Larinda fought to keep her composure. She hated being reminded that her daughter was free to roam both worlds, while she was mostly confined to the Netherworld. She also hated defending Armand, even though she felt compelled to do so. But this wasn’t the time for squabbling. “We will keep the baby with us a while, just until we figure out the best course of action. You’ve always wanted a sibling.”

  "But Maggie will be coming for him!"

  Larinda pursed her lips in disapproval. How she had managed to raise a witch with so little m
agick and backbone was beyond her. She opened her palm and the image of a large hourglass appeared before them, spinning in the air.

  "Don't worry, my darling. We have all the time in the world,” Larinda said. “Now go and find the child a room. Summon him toys. Just amuse yourself while Mommy comes up with a plan.”

  Leah nodded uncertainly. She took the baby and left through the lone corridor, which was guarded by a row of stone gargoyles. Leah’s ’pets.’ The girl had strange tastes, but as long as she was obedient, Larinda was willing to tolerate her odd daughter.

  Once alone, Larinda stroked her chin thoughtfully. Gleefully. My, how times had changed. For once, she had leverage - real leverage- against Armand. She had wanted marriage from him before, but now she could demand anything. Money. Power. Even immortality, once Armand’s deal went through. The Netherworld, the Upper World – all Worlds! - were her oysters now. Armand would do anything she asked in return his male heir.

  Still…

  Could she trust him to keep his end of the bargain?

  He had, after all, imprisoned her here. He had used her heart, her body, and her magick to help travel through the Netherworld. And then he had left her here to rot. And here he kept her, trapped like a genie in a bottle, always promising to release her – someday.

  Larinda’s eyes narrowed as her fingers drummed the arms of her throne. “How dare Armand? How dare he steal everything from me?” She seethed as she thought further of her current situation. How had she allowed herself to be taken advantage of, and by a man, no less? Her own mother had warned her of the fickle hearts of warlocks, but she hadn’t listened. Why?

  Love, her heart answered quietly. Love was to blame. But whatever love her soul had once possessed had long ago been eaten away by Armand, and this entrapment.

  No matter. The day of reckoning had come!

  Armand had his share of enemies. Hers wasn’t the only bridge he had burned. Perhaps it was time she made deals of her own.

  The raven-haired witch reached into a bag at the foot of the throne, producing a glass mason jar. A cross on a chain dangled from its lid. The jar was cool to the touch, though it vibrated in her fingers, as if something large and horrible was seeking to escape.

  “Hello, Gahabrien,” she cooed as she tossed the cross onto the floor and unscrewed the lid. “We met years ago in Dark Root. Do you remember me?”

  She set the jar on the floor and an inky cloud rose up out of it. Soon, the entire room was filled with mist and shadow. The dark form collected itself into a tight column at her feet, ready to receive its orders. It smelt of sulfur and rage.

  “I’m sorry that Maggie did this to you,” Larinda said, sympathetically. “A powerful demon like yourself shouldn’t be caged.” She stood and greeted her new guest properly. “I am Larinda, your queen and protector. You are home again, where your powers cannot be contained within a simple jar. You are strong again, Gahabrien. Avenge your enemies with me, and I’ll even give you one of their own as payment.”

  She conjured an image of a sleeping baby with red hair. Gahabrien slithered around the picture, seeming to taste it with his numerous inky tendrils. His eyes glowed red, and Larinda thought she glimpsed a smile somewhere in the darkness of his face.

  “Are we in agreement?” she asked. “Destroy Maggie and I’ll turn over the child to you. In doing this, you’ll also get revenge on Armand. All of this is yours, so long as you serve me.”

  It was a risky barter, as demons weren’t known for keeping their word - but neither were warlocks. If she pulled this off, three generations of trouble would fall with a single blow.

  The shadow pulsated, and Larinda was certain of its answer.

  “Yesssssssss, myyyyyyy queeeeen.”

  1

  The Fool

  The earth surrounding the once-majestic Harvest Home was a dry, arid brown, parched and cracked like the binding of an old book found at the bottom of an attic trunk. Sickly gray vines crept out from an otherwise empty garden, seeking out moisture like a pack of snakes seeking their first meal after a long hibernation. The flowers in their beds had also shriveled, their stems so delicate that a stiff breeze might disintegrate them to salt. And though it was high summer, the trees had all dropped their leaves and needles; their boughs were at half-mast, as if paying homage to my despair.

  I sniffed the air. It was still charged with the scent of heavy rain from the night before. But that rain had been born of magick - my magick - and these days magick dried up quickly in Dark Root, no matter how powerful the witch.

  An assembly of fat crows and steely-eyed ravens gathered on the front yard, raising billows of dust as they scratched at the dirt and flapped their metallic black wings. They had swarmed overnight. I had watched their sharp-beaked silhouettes cut through the heavy rain from my porch. When the sun finally rose above the trees - illuminating the peak of Eagle Mountain, where Larinda had undoubtedly taken my son - their ranks swelled further. They squawked out warnings in raspy caws and piercing screeches, steadily encroaching upon the house as their reinforcements joined in.

  I stood up, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a cup of tea in my hands. The cup hadn’t been warm for several hours. If the birds were trying to scare me, they clearly had no idea what kind of a mood I was in. I caught the eyes of one of the larger birds, who was hopping towards the porch. Just yards from the steps, he stopped and puffed out his chest.

  “Caw!” he challenged, locking eyes with me.

  His squawk hurt my ears, but it was the gleam in his eyes that got me. There was a human quality to his expression, as if he knew, and enjoyed, my grief.

  “You have no power here,” I said, shedding the blanket and dropping the cup as I descended the steps. The cup shattered, fragments bouncing from the ledge.

  The fat leader-bird blinked, exchanging glances with the others, as if considering their collective next move. I waded into the flock, scattering them. They cried out, hopping away, but all the while readying themselves. There were hundreds of birds, and I knew they could easily rip me to shreds if they chose.

  But they didn’t attack. Were they waiting? Or only watching?

  “Leave,” I ordered, raising both arms high into the air and stretching out my fingers. I couldn’t pull from the earth any more, as all its local magick had been tapped by my mother, Jillian, and my Aunt Dora. But I didn’t need to.

  The air was mine to control.

  I felt the familiar tingle in my fingers as I drew in energy, letting the charge trickle all the way into my toes. The birds watched, curiously. Once full, I snapped my fingers as I had seen my warlock father, Armand, do in my snow-globe visions.

  “I SAID LEAVE!”

  The ground trembled, from the Victorian house all the way out to the edge of the surrounding woods that marked Harvest Home’s property line. The birds looked around, hopping, squawking, and confused.

  I pointed to a nearby cluster of dried leaves, then spun my finger in the air three times. The leaves rose up and formed a whirlwind, gathering twigs and stones and even a few birds as it slowly twisted across the yard. With every pass, the funnel grew larger, sucking in new fodder along the way. The birds cried out, scurrying to avoid the flying debris. A few less-disciplined crows even flew away.

  I thrust my hands forward, as if closing a double door, and there was a perceptible roll to the air, a wave. Vines, twigs, rocks and birds were swept into the surrounding forest. Not a creature remained.

  “This is my house! Mine!” I called into the woods. “Tell Larinda I’m coming for her!”

  “Impressive, Maggie,” said a voice behind me.

  “How long have you been watching?” I asked, turning to face Jillian, trailing down the steps in her robe and slippers. She handed me a fresh cup of tea, which I took absently.

  “All night.” She smiled wearily and I felt a wave of love for her, knowing she hadn’t slept at all.

  “My patience ran out.”

  She lifted a strand of
my curly red hair, staring, as if it brought a memory. “I knew you were powerful, but that was the work of more than a mere witch.” She dropped my hair and sighed, filling up her lungs. “Dora and I have been magickally neutered, so to speak, but you remain strong. Even as the magick of Dark Root wanes.”

  “I’m not even sure how I did it,” I admitted, still feeling the charge inside me.

  “So mote it be,” she said, her jade eyes twinkling. “You are a wilder, but you are learning to gain control. It’s almost like breathing to you now, Maggie. You’re creating reality with every thought and every word.”

  The notion did nothing to encourage me. “I wasn’t able to create a reality strong enough to save my son.” I rolled a pebble into a crevice in the ground with my toe. The crevice then sealed itself shut, as if it had reached its occupancy. “Jillian, I’m so scared. I’ve never been so scared in my life. What if… oh, God…Jillian…what if…”

  My earlier bravado disappeared and I was overcome with fear. How could I find Montana in the Netherworld? What kind of fool believes in the impossible?

  Jillian clapped her hands before my face, bringing me back. “Maggie, darklings and demons can smell fear. And who knows what else lurks in the Netherworld? You must control your thoughts! You cannot let yourself imagine the possibilities, because they are infinite. If you want to make it out of there, you’ll need discipline of both temper and mind. You can’t be reckless in the Netherworld. It’s too dangerous.”

  “I don’t care about danger or making it out,” I said. “I just need to find my son.”

  I know, darling, but please hear me out. Magick is more than just words and intent. It’s about how you feel and think, too. The more powerful you are, the more you need control. You are going to the world where magick runs even deeper than in our world. Do you understand?”