Heavier than ever before, with the weight of her new sword, the goddess's tears, and the shard of darkness, Sonder left the barrow.
She glanced back once at the crooked doorway of the mound.
The creature had followed her but remained inside.
Its form was lopsided and flickering, as though it could not decide whether to step forward or fade back into the dark.
She lifted a hand in a wave and thanked it, even if she knew that it didn't understand.
Then she turned away.
She had to go east.
That was where the Yellow Mage's home lay. That was where Vell waited.
And she had a feeling that time was running out.
She broke into a run.
She thought of Vell lying still, his breaths shallow. Of the Yellow Mage's warning: a week. Perhaps less.
The thought clawed at her until she could no longer bear to run, not when running was too slow.
Then came Vell's voice, recalling a lesson he had taught her long ago.
The pulse.
Not really a spell, and not something for offense or movement, but something for defense.
Pushing power outward for a moment.
She skidded to a stop, chest heaving, eyes on the meadow rolling out before her.
It was impossible, she thought, but only for a moment.
She set her feet apart, bent her knees, and pulled the breath deep into her lungs.
Power stirred in her fingertips.
She pressed them inward, compressing the magic against her chest, coiling it tight until it felt as though her ribs would crack from the strain.
She aimed her hands down.
Then she let it go.
The pulse burst outward in a surge of explosive force, rippling through grass and earth, and in that instant she was lifted.
The ground fell away beneath her.
The wind tore against her, sharp on her face, as her body arced through the night sky, sending her soaring across the treetops.
The ground rushed up toward her, too fast, too soon.
Her stomach lurched. She had no wings and no plan to land. She was going to crash.
Instinct screamed louder than fear, and she thrust her hands upward in a protective manner and wove her mana into a sheet as thin as silk but as strong as her will.
It stretched above her, curved, with two holes for her to hold on to.
Her flight steadied. The barrier hummed, trembling, but it held.
She leaned her weight left, and the shimmering blue surface tilted, carrying her in that direction.
She leaned right, and it obeyed again.
Now she was gliding, not falling.
The forest slipped past beneath her in long strokes of black and deep green.
The river gleamed like a band of glass, and beyond it the land opened wide into the grassy plains.
She gasped, then laughed despite herself.
This was nothing like what the spell was intended for, yet it worked.
She was no longer bound to mud and roots but soaring, unchained, as though she were a bird.