The Shattered Mirror (Winter's Blight Book 4)

by M. C. Aquila

  Sybil’s power with the Shadow Magic was much weaker than Deirdre’s, so she stepped beside her mother, putting her hand on the woman’s shoulder. Sybil looked at her in surprise.

  For one moment, the roaring fire, which was destroying the faeries and the forest around them, seemed to quiet. In the brief silence, Deirdre looked into her mother’s eyes for the first time. And any fear or panic faded.

  “We can do this.”

  Deirdre never knew if she or her mother spoke those words, for then with one heart and effort, they turned ahead and, as if pushing against a door that a giant was assailing, threw all their energy into consuming the flames, sucking them into the shadows.

  As the flames finally died, Deirdre was also shaking, her body and mind completely spent. She fell to her knees, her head spinning, digging her fingernails into the hot ground in an attempt to keep from passing out.

  “Deirdre.” Alvey was beside her, shaking her shoulder. “Get up. Get up!”

  She managed to lift her head, eyes widening.

  The entire area around them had been reduced to charcoal and ash or was still aflame. All the wolves and Seelie faeries had been eaten by the fire.

  Sybil and Alvey were dusty with ash and soot, Sybil barely standing in front of the girls, still facing the white wolf.

  The wolf looked like a ghost on the decimated background, though as he stepped forward, the cracking and ash clouds set up by the dry, sparked ground was all too real.

  Each step was tense and deliberate as the beast said, “I was wrong. The king spoke truly—you are not weak.” The wolf’s hackles were raised—his calmness was like a hot lid barely kept on top of a boiling pot, one that might boil over any second.

  “You poisoned your blood with iron, burned your insides with Seelie fire, and killed your own soldiers,” Sybil growled. “All for what? For one kill?”

  “A small price to forever destroy that shell, that cage, protecting you.” The wolf laughed, circling them. “What a lie. It doesn’t protect you, does it? It protects the weak among you. The truly weak.” His eyes briefly alighted on Alvey, who shrunk closer to her mother. “With such among you, is it any surprise you fall? And I don’t think”—he licked his jaws—“I shall have only one kill tonight.”

  The wolf leaped forward, jaws wide, but a spear of earth lunged up, knocking him off course. He went barreling past them, skidding to twist sharply back toward them.

  “Deirdre, take Alvey and go!” Sybil ordered, summoning the heaps of ember ash up off the ground and sending them straight at the wolf’s eyes. It struck true, making the beast roar in pain, but a gust of wind swept through and blew some back at them. Immediately Sybil raised an earth wall to shield them.

  Pulling herself up, holding on to Alvey’s chair, Deirdre protested, “But I can’t just—”

  “I can sense other Seelies are approaching to investigate the fire. It’ll be fine once they arrive—now go!” Sybil lowered a veil of darkness over the wolf, blinding him and holding him down, though the ropes of shadow were weak. He laughed as he strained, tearing them off quickly. Then she sent a gale straight toward the girls, blowing them a few yards away.

  Immediately Deirdre ran with Alvey, glancing back to see the wolf tearing away the last shadow and bellowing another flame toward Sybil. She leaped into the air, and the flame chased her.

  She spun around, turning the flame in a circle, shooting it straight at the ground, smothering it. Then, landing, she made a shield of light. As she raised her arms to do so, they were shaking from exhaustion, and she staggered.

  Deirdre let go of Alvey’s chair, giving it a push forward. “Go ahead! I-I’ll go help her!”

  Alvey hesitated before wheeling forward, her chair moving much faster than it reasonably should have.

  The wolf tore at the barrier with his claws and fangs, which were dripping with the same acidic magic the other wolves had used. In the distance was a cacophony of noise, cries of birds and beasts, as Seelie faeries drew near. But they were still too far away—

  The wolf stopped, ears twitching as he heard the ruckus. Then his head snapped toward Deirdre, eyes glowing with a wicked green light.

  Faster than a wink he leaped off the small barrier and lunged at Deirdre. She cried and fell back, raising a wall of Shadow Magic she knew would not hold as the wolf leaped on her, opening its jaws to crush her in one bite—

  In a streak of light and wind, Sybil flew straight into the side of the wolf, throwing it off course. But he did not lose his bearings and swiftly snapped his jaws around Sybil’s leg.

  Deirdre screamed, reaching out her hand and magic too late as the wolf threw Sybil hard against the burning ground, then took another bite, giant teeth tearing straight through the woman’s torso.

  Small pikes of darkness burst from Deirdre straight toward the wolf’s side, and a sharp blade of Light Magic erupted from Sybil. The wolf dropped her, howling in pain as the right side of his jaw and his front right leg were severed.

  The wolf, bleeding, staggered back into the shadowed spikes. Roaring, he lunged away on his good leg, making for the trees, blood splattering everywhere as he went.

  At the border of the burning wasteland, forest Seelie faeries emerged, spotting and pursing the wolf, running away in a bloody dash to escape the realm. The few of them soon turned into dozens, then to a hundred and more, chasing the beast in a stream of feathers, fur, and magic, screeching and roaring in a fury so powerful that Deirdre’s legs gave out and she fell to the ground, about to cover her ears.

  But Alvey’s voice reached her. “Deirdre, where are you?” The girl was wheeling back toward her, her face ashen. “Where’s Mother? There’s so much— I can’t hear, I can’t smell, I can’t sense her, I can’t—” She sobbed. “I can’t—”

  Pushing herself to her feet, Deirdre grabbed Alvey’s hand, saying in a hoarse, weak voice. “Let’s go to her. I’ll push you, okay?”

  Deirdre staggered with Alvey toward Sybil, who was motionless on the ground. The white ash around her was beginning to turn red in the pool of blood coming from her torso.

  “Sybil?” Deirdre crouched next to her. The woman was barely breathing, her eyes screwed shut in pain.

  “A-a healer can fix this.” Alvey nodded, twisting the hem of her dress between her hands. “We need a healer; there has to be one…”

  Deirdre glanced at what once was Sybil’s midsection and, feeling sick and dizzy, looked back at her face. “Sybil, can you hear me?” She very carefully took her mother’s hand.

  To her surprise, Sybil lightly squeezed Deirdre’s hand in reply, her eyelids fluttering half-open. “He is gone, aye?”

  “Yes.” Deirdre held her mother’s hand in both of hers, trying to stop her voice from quivering as she went on, “Alvey is safe.”

  “And you?” Sybil’s eyes opened fully, and she let out a pained, shaky breath. “Deirdre—earlier, I wish I could have seen you, truly seen you—you’ve grown so much. You…” She smiled. “You’ve become such a lovely young woman.”

  Deirdre smiled back, whispering, “Thank you.”

  “Mummy, look.” Alvey scooted her chair to make room for a phoenix-like faery swooping over to them from the tail end of the sea of faeries chasing the wolf. “You shall be fine. He can help you…” The girl trailed off as the faery, after landing and looking over Sybil a moment, fluttered up to perch on top of the handles of Alvey’s chair.

  “I can ease pain, but that is all.” The faery raised its wings, and shimmering dew fell gently on Sybil, glowing a creamy light where it landed on any pressure points, such as her temples or bloodstained wrists.

  “That—cannot be.” Alvey clenched her shawl. “You have to do more—”

  “Alvey, that’s enough.” Sybil held out her free hand and Alvey took it, shaking and pale. “While I am of sound mind, I want you to remember what I say. I am proud of all I have done for this realm. I am proud to have died fighting. And though I truly”—she coughed, blood trickling f
rom her mouth—“wish we had more time… more than anything, I am proud to have such daughters.”

  She squeezed their hands one last time, then the light faded from her eyes, and with a sigh, she went limp and cold.

  * * *

  Alvey’s head ached from crying as she sat outside the gazebo where the healer and a few other faeries had laid Sybil. Deirdre was somehow able to stand being in there with the body and the others as they made tea for the two daughters, a blend Titania had created ages ago for broken hearts.

  The sounds of the battle raged on, but now it was all in the distance, as the area around them had been secured. While the storm had moved on, the sound of thunder and rain coming from the south, the clearing was still and silent now under a dark gray sky, as eerie as standing in a tomb. With the barrier damaged and weakened, the warmth of the realm, cultivated by the faery magic and wills there for decades, was fading, replaced by the frigid, frosty winds of the outside.

  The gentle warmth of the realm, cultivated by Sybil’s powerful barrier, would probably never return.

  To distract herself, Alvey ran over everything leading up to her mother’s death, as if understanding how it had happened would ease the pain and hollowness inside her.

  That wolf was Bleddyn. I have… heard that name. Where? She slapped her cheeks as if to wake herself up, a little harder than necessary. You fool! That is the commander of the Varg, the Winter King’s forces. How did he get in? I smelled iron. Was it in his blood? That would have been sheer torture—he is insane. He even swallowed Seelie fire…

  Slamming her hands down on her chair, she leaned forward, forehead resting on her fists. How did this happen? If only she had her drachma! She said it had been destroyed…

  “But who would dare touch a Noble’s drachma, especially hers?” she whispered, kneading her forehead.

  “Young lady Alvey.” The faint voice of an owl Dryad reached her from the far side of the clearing. She caught the faery’s scent on the wind, smelling blood. “Do you seek the one guilty—the human boy?”

  Alvey’s mouth fell open, the realization turning her stomach. “I…”

  “Do you wish to find him?”

  Alvey was like a statue in her chair, her mind racing, her fists clenched so hard her nails dug deep into her palms. When Deirdre came with the tea, even though it was aromatic and warm, she pushed it away, nauseated.

  “I-I require some fresh air,” Alvey said. “I shall be just there.” She pointed to the small grove, away from the sounds of the battle, above which the Dryad was perched.

  “Are you sure?” Deirdre asked, her voice low and weak.

  “Aye. Do not fret—I shall return soon. I simply”—she forced a weak smile—“need to be alone for a moment.”

  “Okay, just don’t go too far.”

  She nodded. “I shall return for the tea soon.”

  With that she headed into and through the grove, moving fast despite the exhaustion in her body and heart as she followed the Dryad swooping above. She sniffed the air and picked up James’s scent.

  I do not wish for it to be true—I do not want to believe James would do this. His curiosity knows no bounds, but… A sob rose in her throat, and she forced it down. Please… please prove me wrong, James.

  But I must know the truth before anything else occurs…

  Her ears picked up the unmistakable dry bark from a passing deer, who was bounding north, deeper into the realm. She cried for it to halt, and the owl Dryad also screeched at the deer.

  It stopped, and a familiar voice reached her, deep and dry as a gigantic, hollowed tree. “I was ordered to leave the border and seek refuge. What would you ask of me, half-elf child?”

  This was unmistakably one of the Court’s white stags—the very same one who she had ridden outside the realm when her eyes were lost and, like all the other steeds in the realm, was forbidden from carrying her.

  Unless…

  “I wish to find someone quickly. My chair will not do. Please.” Alvey sniffed, forcing her voice to stay level. “My mother is dead. I believe there is someone who may need my help. I do not know what he may do—I ask for your aid for his sake, not mine. I swear it. And I swear we shan’t leave the realm or go near the battle.”

  The stag was silent, still. She could see it in her memory: large as an ancient Irish elk, with its shaggy pearl-white winter coat beginning to show, contrasting against its lively dark eyes.

  Finally it spoke. “You shall have your chance, Alvey. Be true to your oath and prove you are no longer the child you once were.”

  Chapter Thirty

  If I keep running—if I don’t stop—

  James broke through a clearing in the forest, the sounds of fighting, the crackling and thundering of magic, and the cries of warring Fae echoing in his ears. Above him, the barrier was still faltering.

  His heart pounded, feeling close to bursting, and his bruised ribs ached with each frantic heave of his chest. He felt something was chasing him, and if he let it catch up, he wouldn’t survive it.

  The sound of rushing wind, rustling leaves, and rumbling ground preceded the arrival of four faeries into the clearing. Cardea and a male Noble faery soldier appeared a yard in front of him, followed by a swift fox Dryad and a hovering owl Dryad. The female Noble faery was armed with her silver bow, an arrow nocked, and she did not lower it even as she headed straight for him.

  “Cardea!” James gasped. “Have you seen my brother? Is… is he all right? What about Alvey and Deirdre?”

  If everyone was all right, then maybe—

  “Your brother fights with the Summer Prince to protect the barrier,” the male faery said, narrowing his gaze on the boy. “Lonan’s daughters are mourning their mother and remain by her body.”

  Mourning their mother? Her… body?

  “No—” James shook his head, his words coming out in an angry snap. “She was fine, wasn’t she? You don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re wrong!”

  “Sybil’s drachma was stolen from her and destroyed—as you must already know. When the barrier was damaged, monsters seeped through. One of them killed her.” Cardea’s hard features slackened somewhat as she studied his face, but she kept her bowstring taut. “You need to come with us and face judgment. If you flee, we will be forced to stop you. You must come with us to avoid the Time Rapids.”

  The Time Rapids.

  “O-okay—okay. All right.” James flinched as the faery pointed his sword at him. Slowly he shrugged off his backpack, holding up one placating hand. With the other, he reached into his pack. The moment his hand touched the chunk of ore and crystals, Cardea threatened to loose her arrow.

  James grabbed a crystal—fluorite—from the bag and threw it into the air a fraction of a second before Cardea let her arrow fly, aiming for his arm.

  The second the crystal hit the air current above, James poured his intent into it, and the magic locked inside innately burst forth with a gust of wind, knocking the arrow off course. It struck a tree to his left, lodging deep, vibrating from the force.

  Grabbing the chunk of ore from his pack, James dashed away from the faeries, who were stunned for a second by his use of magic against them, and rushed back into the forest, branches whipping across his face and tearing at his clothes. The faeries were in pursuit, but they wouldn’t follow him for long—not as he headed toward the Time Rapids.

  Yards away, the Time Rapids were in a shallow, gentle stream about six feet across. The Time Magic rushed by, affecting the plant life and water as it moved. James skidded to a halt on the bank, where the algae, moss, and other plants grew and wilted before his eyes under the magic’s touch.

  Staring at the rapids, he couldn’t will his legs to move. He looked down at his trembling hand, finding it was clenched so tightly around the chunk of rock and lead that the jagged outer layer had cut into his palm, drawing blood—the same blood that had helped destroy the mirror and summoned that dark magic.

  He’d been used and
discarded, the mark of the dark magic on him like a stain.

  “Come on,” he hissed to himself, squeezing the crystal harder. “Just keep going. Just another step.”

  He had no way of knowing what would happen to him if he stepped into the Time Rapids, even with the lead in his possession. But there was no more room for doubt.

  “James!” A female voice rang through the forest with the sound of hooves stamping against the ground. He spun around to see Alvey riding into sight out of the tree line a few feet away, mounted on a white stag. Her voice was thick, and her face was streaked with tear tracks.

  “It’s true, isn’t it?” James forced the words out as the stag halted before him. “Sybil is—?”

  Alvey nodded, stricken. Behind her, James spotted Cardea and the faery soldier approaching, careful like lions hunting, watching his exchange with Alvey.

  When he staggered back, foliage cracking under his steps as he neared the edge of the stream, Alvey shouted, “Get away from there! What are you doing?”

  “I-I don’t know.” It took every ounce of strength he had left to keep his voice steady. “But I can’t be here.”

  “What do you mean?” She asked, reaching toward him. The stag took a step closer. “You know that Time Magic is over there—I know, I tracked you heading straight for it.” She clenched at her necklace, which was now lit with a faint, pulsating green light. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you cannot—”

  “Don’t come any closer, Alvey. I-I can’t risk you getting stuck in the Time Rapids again. I only have a small amount of this ore to manipulate the Time Magic. I can do it, and then, when I come back—it will have never happened. Or everything will be over.”

  “James, you are not thinking clearly.” The fear in the half elf’s voice made it shrill. “You could become stuck for a hundred years, or it could age you to dust. You could die!”