Dire spirals occur when one wrong begets another. And yet, was I not the one first wronged?

  From the journal of Drago? Buh?scu

  Mirel never spent much time on frivolous things like love spells. They were beneath her. She was an intellectual purist, however, so she did teach the theory of emotional manipulation. Briefly.

  Wind whipped past his head, above the sheltered section of rock. The vista from the mountain ledge was grand, but he had no interest in admiring it.

  Her students were to be well-versed enough to at least be competent in any spellwork, whereas the Stag's leader was known to appreciate such things as love spells and hypnagogic transference. Dragos saw how easily Viorica had used the more subtle charms. And the one that ended her. The one that went too far.

  He closed his thoughts to that. The spell he wanted to work was different.

  Dragos eyed the space. A slab of rock had fallen off the brief peak to lie mostly flat. Its slight tilt wouldn’t be a problem. He stood on it and glanced at the layers of stone beside him. It would do.

  This time, he had to make sure the spell was strong. It had to compensate for the offense the captured spirit must have felt.

  Easing his box down, he flipped the latches. It creaked open to reveal his things. He took the container of iron out first and set it out of the way, then rummaged through his drawers. Rose petals and lavender selected, he sprinkled them into the mortar. The smashed quartz he’d gathered up during the lemniele disaster.

  He put the frustration it brought out of his mind quickly. Intention was everything. When he’d captured the iele, his intention had been driven by desperation. This time, intrusive thoughts could weaken the spell.

  Or cause it to fail completely.

  Instead of letting his mind wander, he corralled his feelings and sought the placid pleasure of creating a spell. He kept a measured pace as he ground the contents and drew upon his own energy.

  Dragos let the tingle of his life force run through his hands as he blended the compound. He ignored the zmeu, who watched silently, hovering just beyond the steep drop-off of the stone upon which the albstrig? sat.

  First, an alchemy of compounds.

  Once the petals and quartz were ground fine beneath the stone pestle, he ran his fingers through it, eyes closed. Dragos focused on the ideal of love. Selflessness. Desire. Companionship.

  With his mind’s eye, the sensory organ trained into him by the Solomonari, he observed the dust’s energy ignite with the charge.

  He pulled a candle from the drawer he kept them in, and a precious matchstick. The match was stuck between his teeth, the candle in the cradle of his legs as he sat there, back to the looming stone. He took the mortar and spilled half the contents on the stone in front of him. It lay still in the breezeless lee.

  Dragos took a long, steadying breath. Now came the hard part. Alchemy of emotion.

  As he filled his mind with thoughts of devotion, he drew the vial from the box of iron. With great care, he brushed it off and set it on the mound of petals and ground crystal. He spilled the rest over the top of it and set aside the mortar.

  He took the match out of his mouth and began the spell. This was one he had to craft for the moment. One word that didn’t ring true, and it wouldn’t work. He didn’t think of the things that could go wrong, only what could go right.

  “Str?luciele, du al apei vii,

  cea ce curgi din mana Luminii

  ?i te-adance?ti sub voia ?ntunericului,

  ascult?-m? ?n ceasul acesta.”

  Dragos leaned down to murmur over the pile of compound, welling his emotions. His survival depended on it, now that he’d chosen this course.

  “Adanc? e?ti, ?i limpede, ?i schimb?toare,

  iar lucirea ta bate ca o icoan? sub val.

  R?mai cu mine-n zi ?i noapte,

  cand p??esc prin fric? ?i r?t?cire.”

  He appealed to her nature, then begged her to stay. She was already bound, but if she chose it as well, he might not wake up drowning, one day.

  “?tiu c? ?i-ai ?nt?rit inima ?mpotriva mea,

  dar nu l?sa piatra s?-?i fie lege.

  Deschide-?i canalul ?i vezi:

  nici cale mai mare, nici scop mai superior

  nu-i decat cale cel al de vr?jitorului Drago?.”

  Zgavra’s snort almost distracted him. He maintained his focus, pushing his hope and will that she join with him on his quest to the spot between his hands. The soft pink glow that eddied around the dust he’d made intensified.

  “Apleac?-?i firea spre voia mea

  cand umbrele se ridic?,

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  sus?ine-mi pasul ?n ceasul cel greu.

  Dar mai mult decat supunere cer

  slobozenie cer, s? sim?i mai viu,

  cum izvorul simte muntele care d? na?tere.”

  Instead of his doom, he asked her to be his strength. He visualized her feelings shifting from hardness to smooth flowing water. Moving, aligning. The freedom she’d feel if only she softened her heart.

  “Fii roua petalei neprih?nite,

  nu mai ocoli inima mea.

  Vino ca drumului, draga mea!

  Las? am?r?ciunea ?n urm?,

  las? rana s? se strang?.”

  To be sweet, a glistening petal on dew, no longer turning away. He begged she let the wound between them to close.

  “Str?luciele, duhul meu de ape,

  prime?te-m? ?i nu m? mai izgoni.

  ?n numele luminii ce te-a f?cut

  ?i al ?ntunericului ce te p?ze?te,

  vino lang? mine.”

  His final plea to her nature, to come beside him instead of against him.

  He snapped up the candle and lit it with the spark of his match on the stone beside him. Holding it over the pile, he covered the vial with his other hand and sought for every inch of warmth in his heart to travel downwards.

  Dragos raised his eyes and stared at the zmeu, who floated where it had since he started. His gaze locked on it as he pulled the vial out of the pile of dust… and wiggled the stopper free.

  The chunk of cork fell.

  A geyser of water rushed upward, far more than had been inside the vial.

  Water droplets congealed into a figure. She was much smaller outside P?durea Ielelor. Her figure remained curvacious, rippling in the sunlight, glinting as water. Silky liquid locks spilled over her shoulders, blending into her body, replenishing and flowing from her scalp once again.

  Dragos tilted his chin up to meet her gaze.

  They three on the cliff froze still, as if time were a droplet suspended, dangling from the delicate frond of inertia.

  The wizard, the zmeu, and the str?luciele, all rendered momentarily inert by the weight of Dragos’s spell.

  Her mouth opened, lips twisted into anger, despair, and then settled into a gasp.

  Without a word, she flung herself at Dragos.

  She was surprisingly solid for water. Her arms wrapped around him as he sat there, one hand holding the candle away from her body as she splashed against him. His clothes soaked through immediately.

  “Dragos,” she purred.

  “Probably shouldn’t have said the thing about opening her channel,” Zgavra commented from its lofty spot, well away from the drama.

  “Seemed like the right words… something she could relate to…” Dragos muttered, unsure of what to do. He was drenched, and regretting some choices made.

  “You’re what I never knew I wanted!” the iele cried, her arms tightening around his neck.

  “Not bad, young wizard,” Zgavra chuckled. Its cloudy form twisted, lowering to touch down on the flat span of granite.

  Dragos shivered. The altitude was chilly as it was. He gently took hold of the iele’s arm and said, “I—I’m c—cold. Wet and cold. Let go. Please.”

  She pouted instantly. “And I’m shrinking because of the sun, but do I care? No. No, I would diminish to nothing to stay in your arms!”

  Futui.

  It was better than getting murdered. Maybe. Though it might just be a slower death, this way.

  “I’ll die,” he sighed, gently tugging on her arm. “Please. I don’t want you to die, either. Go back in the vial. When we’re somewhere warm, somewhere away from the sun, we can spend some time together. Talk.”

  About what, he had no idea.

  She squirmed in his lap, leaning into his chest. At first, he thought she ignored him. With a last, tight squeeze, she let go and got to her feet.

  “If you put me in that box again, I’ll be very mad,” she said, shaking a finger at him.

  Droplets spattered his face with her gesture. The candle in his hand sputtered. He pinched the wick to save the rest and set it down where it wouldn’t roll off the rock.

  “I won’t. I’ll put you close, right here,” he promised, patting his robe where a pocket was sewn in.

  Her smile glittered like diamonds. The figure of a woman pooled and slithered back towards him. Dragos snapped up the vial from his lap and she spilled back in. With a slow exhale, he found the cork and pressed it in. As he promised, he slipped the vial into his now sodden pocket.

  “Happy now?” Zgavra asked, hands on its hips.

  It was judging him.

  “I’m cold. Let’s climb and find a place to rest before sundown. We can make the pass to ?oloman?? in the next few days, if I don’t freeze to death, first,” Dragos said, ignoring the judgement.

  He quickly gathered his tools and tucked them away, then tugged his cloak around him before shrugging his box back onto his shoulders.

  The zmeu scoffed and turned to jump to the next jut of rock.

  Dragos grinned as he followed. “Jealous?”

  The monster turned, black scales shining in the sun. “Me? Of what? That?”

  “You were my only companion. Now I have two,” Dragos commented, his stiff face breaking into a grin.

  The monster stared at him.

  “You never cuddled me,” the creature finally grumbled.

  Dragos couldn’t tell if it was serious or not. A chuckle bounced from his trembling chest. “You never threw yourself at me like that.”

  He stepped forward, balanced on two stable rocks, and threw his arms out to offer a mocking hug.

  “Psssh,” Zgavra hissed. “You had your chance.”

  Despite the bite of the wind, Dragos couldn’t stop laughing. It might have been relief, though he knew he shouldn’t feel that. Not yet.

  He felt incredibly lighthearted.

  There was something almost as scary about the iele’s adamant behavior as there had been about the threat of her escaping her vial and killing him. How long would it last?

  Would her feelings change?

  The spell he’d cast wasn’t unbreakable.

  He supposed time would tell.

  Lemniele (Lem-nyel): Wood spirit construct from chapter 9

  Zmeu (zmyeh-oo): Shapeshifter dragon

  Albstrig? (ALV-streeguh): White witch. Barn owl. A pale ghost or evil spirit.

  Spell Translation:

  Straluciele of living water

  What runs of light’s hand

  To sink beneath will of darkness

  Listen to me in this hour.

  So deep you are, so clear, ever changing.

  your brilliance beats like an icon under the wave

  Stay with me through day and night

  As I walk through fear and wandering.

  I know you heart hardened against me

  But let not stone be her law

  Open your channel you’ll see:

  Even the biggest, nor the purpose finer,

  The only path is that of the wizard Dragos.

  Lean your nature towards my will

  When the shadows rise

  Steady my steps in the hardest hour.

  But more than submission, I ask

  For freedom, for you to feel alive

  How springs feel the mountain that give it birth.

  Be the purest dew on a petal.

  Avoid my heart no more.

  Come on my path, my dearest!

  Leave bitterness behind,

  Leave the wound to close.

  Str?luciele, my spirit of waters

  Receive me, cast me out no more.

  In the name of the light that made you,

  And darkness that keeps you

  Come beside me.

  P?durea Ielelor (puh-DOO-ree-ah YEH-leh-or): Forest of spirits.

  Str?luciele (Struh-loo-che-eleh): Spring water spirit

  Futui (Fu-too-ee): Curse word