First of Her Kind: The Darkness & Light Series, #1

By K. L. Schwengel

"This other magic Ciara possesses, I touched upon it once… It terrifies me."

Dark, unpredictable, and dangerous, that other magic terrifies Ciara as well. In complete opposition to her earth magic, it threatens to rip her apart if she can't learn to control it.

That task is made even more difficult when Donovan, whose secrets could be Ciara's undoing, makes her a proposition: either accept his training, or lose all she holds dear, including Bolin, the man sworn to protect her.

There's no denying the growing attraction between Ciara and Bolin, but is it truly Ciara he desires? The power she harbors calls to him even when Ciara is nowhere near. It promises more than Bolin could ever imagine, but at what cost?

All of them stand at the brink of darkness, and only Ciara's ability to control the power she holds will determine the outcome.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dream Passages Press
• Release date: Jan 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781386289593

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DPP

Copyright © 2013 K. L. Schwengel

Cover Copyright © 2014 K. L. Schwengel

All rights reserved.

License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

To Mom for telling me there wasn't anything I couldn't do or be. Except a ballerina. Good call, Mom.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

About the author:

CHAPTER ONE

Ciara pulled the hood of her fur cloak over her head and slogged through the deepening drifts up the hill toward the house. The winter wind howled like a maddened banshee, tossing her lantern light across the swirling snow to create eerie shadows that wavered and danced around her. Even with the lantern, Ciara couldn't see an arm's reach in front of her. If it weren't for the fact she'd traveled the path from the barn to the house numerous times every day for the past four years, she could have easily gotten lost. It already felt as if she'd been walking far longer than normal.

She tugged her scarf over her mouth and nose, ignoring the ice crystals forming on its edge. Her feet had long since gone past merely chilled to painfully cold, making them harder to ignore. She peered up the hill between blasts of wind and caught a glimpse of her aunt's cottage, nothing more than a hulking, dark shape amid the churning white wall around her. Then the wind gusted and snow obscured her vision once again.

Her aunt would be fretting by now, and Ciara would likely have to endure a scolding for taking so long with chores. They'd a sense of the impending storm earlier in the day. The earth magic they used for healing also kept them in tune with nature's rhythms, and Meriol had shooed Ciara out right after their mid-day meal. But Ciara had spent more time than she intended with a new foal out of one of Findley's prized mares. A smile touched her lips at the thought of the black filly, all long legs and big eyes, just beginning to learn about the world around her. Ciara hadn't thought the storm would come up so quickly, or with such ferocity.

She ducked her head and braced against the wind. At least she had a fire and a hot meal to look forward to. She'd need it to chase the cold out of her bones. Ciara lurched forward as something snagged her foot. The lantern slipped from her chilled fingers as she thrust her hands out to break her fall. But instead of the ground, Ciara came up against a warm, solid form that smelled of wet horse.

Goddess's light, if she forgot to latch the barn door and Findley's mare got out the horse master would have her hide.

The wind stilled for just a moment as though taking a breath, and Ciara could see that, not only did the grey horse not belong to the horse master, it carried a rider. She shied back until she realized neither man nor beast posed a threat. The horse's head hung so low its nose nearly touched the snow, and the way the rider slumped in the saddle it surprised Ciara he maintained his seat at all.

Sir? She laid a hand on the horse's shoulder and had to close her eyes against the wave of exhaustion the touch brought with it. A healer's curse, she supposed, though her aunt told her she needed to be less open all the time, and to control when her earth magic sought out ailments. She took a deep breath, and when she looked up the man's fevered gaze had found her face.

Healer? he asked. Or something that sounded like it.

The wind twisted around them and ripped the words from Ciara's mouth before she could reply. She raised her voice and gestured up the hill. Almost there. I'll lead you.

His gaze shifted and he nodded. Ciara scooped her lantern from the snow drift it had landed in, the flame now out, and reached up for the horse's bridle as the storm recalled its former fury.

Trudging through the whirling snow proved even more difficult with the horse in tow. The beast stumbled more than once and would often leap forward to clear a drift, yanking Ciara along. It amazed her the rider didn't fall off. Then the horse reared back as it came to a sudden halt, and the rider slid off the opposite side, landing in the snow with a soft thud. Ciara swore under her breath. She ducked beneath the horse's head, and her shoulder brushed against the solidity of the cottage wall. They must have come up on it from the side instead of the front. Lucky they hadn't missed it altogether.

She worked her way around the horse and found the rider on his hands and knees, struggling to get up. Ciara bent down and grabbed his arm, draping it across her shoulders as she wedged herself into his armpit. They groaned in unison as she forced her legs straight and helped him to his feet. Ciara guessed his height and build would have made the task hard enough without the layers of heavy, wet clothing. She gasped as their balance tilted backwards, and they staggered into the horse who thankfully stayed put.

The man muttered something and tried to push Ciara ahead of him, but she reached around his waist and forced her cold-numbed fingers to find a grip.

We're almost there, she said, as her foot caught the raised edge of the porch. Step up.

He reached out with his other hand to steady himself along the wall. I can walk.

Of course you can. But Ciara didn't release her grip on him. The thought of trying to haul him upright a second time held as much appeal as staying out in the storm any longer than necessary.

Almost to the door it opened, and her aunt stepped out, holding up a lantern. Her eyes went wide when they landed on Ciara, and she tilted her head back and called for Findley. The horse master appeared in the doorway, wiping his mouth which dropped open when he saw the reason for the summons. He hurried to join Ciara, assuming a similar position opposite her. But the man jerked back suddenly, trying to turn around.

My horse, he said, his voice thick.

Findley looked at Ciara and she nodded toward the corner of the house. I'll see to him soon as we get you inside, Findley replied. You'll do him no good in your condition.

Meriol stood aside, holding the lantern like a beacon as they guided the man into the cottage. Take him straight to the back.

They got him into the small room Meriol kept for just such occasions. Despite being chilled through to the bone, sweat trickled down Ciara's back from the exertion. Even slumped over the man stood a good head taller than her, making him as tall as Findley but wider across the shoulders and encumbered by layers of wet clothing. Findley supported him the best he could while Ciara fumbled with the pin that secured the fur-lined cloak at his neck. Her fingers began to tingle as warmth and circulation returned but it didn't make the undertaking any easier. She raised a brow and exchanged a quick look with Findley as the sodden garment fell away to reveal a sword at the man's left hip, and a knife at the other. Meriol's healing skills were no secret, and more patients than this stranger had found their way to her doorstep: None whose garments and array of weapons marked him as something other than a local farmer or craftsman.

Ciara ignored the unease that crept up her spine as she unfastened the sword belt and laid the weapons on the table.

When she turned back, Findley had lowered the man to the cot. I'll get his horse to the barn. He looked past Ciara as Meriol entered the room, a basin of water in her arms. Is there anything more you'll be needing, mistress?

Meriol glanced down at her patient and shook her head. No, Findley. Thank you.

Ciara's teeth chattered as she bent to help her aunt with the rest of the man's clothing.

Goodness, child, you're half frozen yourself! Meriol took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the kitchen. There's a kettle on. Get some dry clothes on and fix yourself some tea. You'll be of no help to me if you catch your death of cold. Go on, now.

Ciara didn't need any more prompting than that. She stripped off her fur wrap on the way out and draped it over a chair by the fire, turning to warm herself before going to change into something dry. She brewed three mugs of tea on her way back through the kitchen, one with ginger root for fever, and hurried back to help her aunt.

Meriol had managed to strip the rest of the man's clothing from him by the time Ciara returned. She'd piled furs over him from the waist down, and though she'd started a fire in the brazier, moving it as close as she dared, shivers still rippled through the muscles in his arms and across his chest, and a fine sheen of sweat glistened on his face.

Meriol looked up, her grey eyes clouded, and gestured Ciara to take the stool beside her. It will take both of us, I think. There's something more at play here than just these physical wounds.

From the look of them, those would have been enough. Dried blood from a gash on his temple had matted in the tangles of dark, shoulder length hair, plastered to his head by the snow. A large ugly bruise colored his rib cage various shades of purple and yellow, and a deep cut ran from just under his breastbone to his navel. More blood had dried across his shoulder, but Ciara couldn't be sure if it came from a wound, or from someone else. His chest rose and fell with the erratic, shallow rhythm of his breath. Meriol laid her hand across his forehead and turned her sight inward, using her earth magic to seek out the injuries not visible to the naked eye.

His name is Bolin, Meriol said, her voice distant. He wanders close to the edge of darkness, but he's strong yet. She turned to Ciara. Do you remember how you helped guide the miller's boy back?

Ciara nodded. At seventeen she had more skill than healers twice her age, mastering the use of her earth magic as easily as she drew breath, though she doubted she would ever match Meriol's expert touch. Still, she hesitated as she switched places with her aunt. She knew Rothum, the miller's boy. It had been easy to find him in the quiet veil between realms and guide him back. She knew nothing of this man.

Call him, Meriol said gently, as though she sensed Ciara's inner turmoil. Trust in the Goddess. She is strong in him.

A lump formed in Ciara's throat, but she managed to swallow around it. She closed her eyes and laid her hand gently on the man's fevered brow. Her earth magic swarmed immediately around her, and she found herself in the gentle grey of the veil. She could sense Meriol's presence and took her courage from that instead of the Goddess. Unlike her aunt and her mother before her, Ciara had little love to spare the deity. It mattered not to her that earth magic supposedly came from the Goddess.

Ciara took a calming breath and pushed her thoughts aside, opening herself to any other presence nearby. Before long she glimpsed a figure moving within the softness.

Bolin?

He turned, his shape wavering like a wisp of fog before solidifying. Eyes the same light grey-green of the lichen growing on the rocks along the edge of the herb garden fixed on her. His brow furrowed, and something in the intensity of his gaze made Ciara want to withdraw.

Who are you? It sounded more like a demand than a question.

A healer.

The girl in the snow. He spoke with a lilting accent and more strength in his voice than Ciara thought someone wandering in the veil should possess.

She nodded. Yes.

Ciara shivered as she felt him slide past her earth magic and come to stand beside her. Her breath caught, and her stomach fluttered in response to a sudden and unexpected stirring from the other magic she possessed, the one her aunt called the wilding because of its unruly nature. Few knew of it, and those who did were terrified by it. Unlike earth magic, Meriol never claimed the wilding to be a gift from the Goddess. In fact, she forbade Ciara to call on it for any reason, because the results tended to be disastrous. The wilding had a habit of rising up in pace with Ciara's temper, and when it did she couldn't control it.

Ciara licked her lips and tried to ignore it, focusing instead on her earth magic and leading Bolin back from the grey mists of the veil.

You're not like other healers, he said.

In what way?

He shook his head. I'm . . . not sure. He looked away, and his form wavered again. You shouldn't be here.

We need to go. Ciara reached for his hand, her earth magic flowing from her fingertips to curl up his arm and envelope him in a glow of soft white.

He frowned at it, and looked over his shoulder at something in the distance. Not yet.

Ciara's earth magic slid from him as he moved away. Her mouth dropped opened. That shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't have been able to leave once she had him. She started forward, but he held up a hand and it stopped her as effectively as a stone wall.

Not yet.

Something moved into her line of vision then; dark, unformed, a wisp of black winding through the air like a serpent through grass. It rose up in front of Bolin and wove back and forth as though trying to see past him. To see her.

Ciara took a step back. Bolin.

He didn't turn. Go.

You have to come with me. She couldn't leave him here. Those left in the veil without someone to guide them back never returned.

Ciara sent her earth magic flowing out to wrap around Bolin like a blanket. He paid it no heed; his focus remained locked on the cloudlike wisp in front of him. Voices reached her ears, and Ciara cocked her head to listen. She couldn't pinpoint the source and the language didn't sound familiar, but the wilding trembled beneath the wards Meriol had placed around it, and the tremor vibrated through Ciara. Her earth magic flared brightly as it sped suddenly away from Bolin toward the shadow. Ciara cried out and snatched after it, her mouth dry and her pulse racing. She'd never lost control of her earth magic. That only happened with the wilding.

The bright stream of light engulfed the darkness, closing around it until nothing remained. Before Ciara could react, it arced back to nestle lightly around Bolin once again.

He turned, his eyes bright. We can go now.

CHAPTER TWO

The Goddess be damned!

Ciara swiped the tears from her cheeks, and resumed brushing Fane’s already over-brushed mahogany hide. The gelding flicked a black-tipped ear at her rant but otherwise showed little interest. The fact her aunt Meriol would be dead by the time the moon reached its height meant nothing to him.

The will of the Goddess meant nothing to him so long as he had a full manger and a spot out of the rain. To Ciara, the will of the Goddess made for a damn stupid excuse for anything. Yet Meriol had used it to explain the death of Ciara’s mother seven years ago, and she used it now to explain her own impending death.

As if we’ve no wills of our own.

A sob caught in her chest, and Ciara stilled the brush. She rested her forehead against Fane’s side, inhaling the musky, sun-warmed horse scent. The gelding swung his head around to nuzzle her shoulder, blowing strands of hair across her face, escapees from the haphazard braid that hung half-way down her back. She pushed his velvety nose away and resumed brushing. She didn’t want his consoling because holding onto the anger kept the pain away.

I'm sure Fane would appreciate keeping at least some of his hide.

Ciara jumped and half turned before the voice behind her, with its lilting northern accent, registered as Bolin’s. Unexplainable relief flooded over her but she hid it behind an irritated scowl, and narrowed her eyes at him. He stood leaning against the corner of the barn, arms folded across his chest, his dark hair wind blown. In the three years since he'd wandered to their doorstep half-dead, he'd come and gone at his leisure. Though Ciara hated to admit it, especially now, she looked forward to his visits even if he'd never treated her as anything more than a child.

I didn’t know you would be here. Ciara tried to keep her voice cool and aloof.

Your aunt sent for me. His cheeks had a ruddy, wind-burned look above his neatly trimmed beard. I would've wanted to be here either way.

I didn't think she wanted anyone here, Ciara said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

I'm sure she'll explain in her own time.

In her own time? Ciara raised her brows. Her throat constricted around the words as her eyes blurred with tears. My aunt doesn’t have any time, Bolin.

She turned back to Fane. It would help if Bolin took her side. Between the two of them maybe they could talk sense into Meriol. Convince her to abandon the Goddess's plans. Ciara would even swear to honor the object of her aunt's devotion if it would give them more time together.

Ciara.

But Bolin, more often than not, took Meriol's side.

Did my aunt send you to lecture me on how this is all the will of the Goddess, and I should just accept it? Fane twitched as the brush landed with renewed vengeance. If so, you needn't bother, she's already done so. Repeatedly.

Then for her sake perhaps you should listen.

Ciara squeezed her eyes shut. What business is it of yours anyhow?

Your aunt saved my life, he said. I owe her a debt.

Well, you'll soon be free of that burden, won't you?

She felt him come up behind her and tensed. Goddess's light, she didn't want his sympathy any more than Fane's consoling. The gelding swung his head around and Bolin reached past Ciara to stroke his nose.

Being relieved of that debt gives me no pleasure, he said. Don't you think your aunt has enough worries this day without you adding to them?

What do you know of it? Ciara snapped. She turned to face him, but stopped short of throwing the brush at his head.

I know there are some things we can't change, no matter how badly we'd like to.

Ciara drew in a deep breath. Strengthening words with earth magic--a healers’ trick to help patients focus on something besides the pain, or to find sleep--had been an early lesson that had come easily to her.

Leave. Me. Alone, she said, with a subtle mental push for Bolin to go. Apparently too subtle since he didn't leave. Ciara fought to keep her anger from crumbling. Why must the Goddess take her now?

Bolin shook his head. The Goddess's plans are beyond my ken.

And you don't question them, I suppose?

I do, he said. Frequently. It gets me nowhere.

Ciara looked at him in shock. She hadn't expected that answer, not from Bolin.

I know it's hard to accept… he began.

Ciara gathered Fane's lead rope. You know nothing of it.

She shouldered past Bolin, blinking tears from her eyes as she tugged Fane towards the pasture gate. Of course he didn't understand. How could he? He probably adored the Goddess as much as her aunt did.

In the same, equal measure that Ciara despised her.

* * *

Bolin watched Ciara march away, her shoulders back and her boot heels grinding into the dirt with each step. She nearly ran down Findley as the horse master rounded the corner. Ciara muttered what might have been an apology, but never slowed her pace, the hapless Fane plodding along behind her as Findley flattened against the barn to get out of their way.

The horse master’s frown faded when he turned and caught site of Bolin. Ha! I thought I saw Sandeen round back. He's a fine horse, that one. Findley winked. Maybe one day you'll let me use him on my mares, hmm?

Bolin hardly heard him. Even after Ciara turned Fane loose in the pasture and went into the barn, the strength of her mood hung heavy in the air, like a storm building in the distance. It raised the hairs on Bolin’s arms.

Findley’s thick brows met in a sharp ‘V’ above his eyes. You shouldn’t look too harsh on her. She's having a hard go of it these days. Don't say as I blame her. It's hard for all of us.

She needs to learn to control her emotions, Bolin said, half to himself. He looked at Findley. Have there been any more mishaps?

The ‘V’ deepened and Findley rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. No, he drew the word out as he thought. Not since last fall, if I remember right.

Bolin hadn’t witnessed the outburst, but a huge oak down near the creek bore a blackened scar where a large limb had once been. No amount of earth magic could do that, though Ciara possessed almost as much of the Goddess’s gift as her aunt. No, something far stronger and much more dangerous caused the damage to that tree; uncontrolled and fueled by a fit of temper.

She’s a good lass, Bolin, Findley said.

Bolin cocked his head. I’ve not said otherwise.

No. The horse master averted his eyes and shifted from one foot to the other. But you’re hard on her more often than not. Now’s a time she needs a softer hand, maybe. Given the circumstances.

Given the circumstances and her inability to manage her temper, perhaps now's a time she needs a stronger hand.

This isn't an easy thing for her. Findley’s voice took on a sharpness not usually present. His eyes flashed as he locked gazes with Bolin, but he quickly looked away again. You know she lost her mum when she was a child, and now she's losing her aunt. She’s no family left after that. Not blood, leastwise.

Codling's not the answer. And Findley wouldn’t understand the answer, or the reason for it, if Bolin gave them to him.

How could you explain