by S A McClure
Mr. Wolf growled.
The sound caught Iris off-guard. When she looked down at him, she noticed that his teeth were bared and his eyes were wild. He tracked the raven with his eyes as it took flight once more.
Confused, Iris looked between the two animals. The raven didn’t appear to be a threat. She’d never seen it before and it didn’t act like it wanted to hurt her.
“Stop it,” she hissed at the wolf. “He’s not trying to hurt us.”
Still, Mr. Wolf continued to track the bird. He released a low whining sound each time the raven dipped close enough to Iris that she could have touched him if she’d reached out her hand.
She looked down at Mr. Wolf. “What’s wrong with you?”
Mr. Wolf bounded forward. The raven somersaulted in the air before darting after the wolf, leaving Iris standing alone in the frozen world.
“Well, that’s just great,” she mumbled as she looked around her. Snow drifts formed towers of tightly packed ice.
She took a tentative step. Without Mr. Wolf’s support, her knees buckled and she went crashing to the ground. She pounded her fist in the snow, sending a spray of coldness across her face.
“Tremendous,” she muttered as she crawled forward. Her gown was already soaked through and her teeth were chattering. Having the full length of her body pressed against the icy terrain was just the cherry on top of the dessert.
She knew that if their positions were reversed and it was Emma who was trying to rescue her, a little dampness and cold wouldn’t have stopped her. Not even a swollen, sprained ankle would have kept Emma from coming to her rescue. She had no excuse. She was still alive.
And, she still had hope.
Her fingers were too cold to bleed, even when she broke her nails as she clawed her way forwards. She was numb to the pain. She knew she was moving at a glacial pace. She might freeze to death in the ravine before ever making it to her sister.
She was determined to try.
The ravine echoed with a high-pitched shriek. Her entire body convulsed with pain. She swore she could feel the sound in her very bones. It was as if someone were smacking her with a hammer. Red spots filled her vision. She tasted copper as she bit her tongue.
And then the wailing stopped. It was so sudden that, for a moment, her body continued to shake. She flopped onto her back, taking shallow breaths.
“What, in the Darkness was that?” she hissed through clenched teeth.
Before she could get another coherent thought out, the wailing began again. She clamped her hands over her ears. It did nothing to quell the soul-splintering sound. She thought she was shrieking right along with the wail, but she couldn’t be sure.
She couldn’t be sure about anything.
Closing her eyes, she tried to focus on the way her hands felt pressed against her ears. They were ice cold and dry.
“E…i…we…you…” she mumbled as her body continued to convulse with the wails.
When the noise stopped this time, she couldn’t open her eyes. The thought of exposing her aching mind to the brilliant light of day and glittering snow and anything other than the darkness made her stomach squirm.
Something moved above her.
Her entire body tensed. She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from whimpering.
Something pointy and sharp raked across her cheek. Heat flowed over her skin and the poignant stench of blood caught her off-guard. Her eyes flew open.
A pallid, blue-skinned woman floated above her. Her dark hair streamed behind her. Her tattered dress had barely enough fabric to cover her breasts.
“Who….dar…o?” Iris muttered.
Her eyes fluttered closed again, the attempt at speech zapping all her energy.
She couldn’t let this be it. She couldn’t let herself be murdered by a light-sucking banshee in the middle of the woods. What kind of a death was that? Not a very good one, that was for sure.
She had just enough control over her hands that she began feeling around in the snow for anything that she could use as a weapon. It was a long shot. If she did find something, she doubted she’d have enough wherewithal to wield it. But, there was no way she was letting herself go out this way, especially without a fight.
Her fingers grazed the rough edge of a rock. The woman stared down at her, her eyes shifting from black to green to glowing gold.
Iris tried to form words. “Wha…d…yo…wan…?”
If the creature wanted to kill, she should do it already. Iris didn’t want to be the plaything of a sadistic beast.
She drug herself away from the banshee. She followed, of course, but she remained several feet above Iris. Her eyes darted all around them.
Iris placed her hand atop the rock. It was smaller than she had been anticipating, but it was all she had. Her fingers were stiff from cold and, for a moment, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to grip it. When her finger finally curled over the rock and it pressed into her hand, she released a long sigh of relief.
She kept inching backwards. The banshee continued to follow. It was like a strange version of cat and mouse, except the cat wasn’t attacking.
A loud crack split the air, sending currents of energy through her. Stunned, she slumped backwards as another jolt of power filled the ravine.
The banshee hissed and opened her mouth to release her unrelenting wail. Iris dropped the rock and covered her ears in anticipation of the sound. The banshee’s throat bobbed, her mouth wide.
Her eyes bulged when no sound came.
Iris ripped the dropped rock from the ground and hurled it at the banshee. It hit her in the chest, leaving a sickening depression just above her breasts. She turned her flickering gaze upon Iris.
She might not have her voice, but she still has her claws. The thought was enough to send Iris scrambling backwards. The banshee swiped at her, her nails raking across her already swollen ankle. More hot blood seeped from the wound, painting the snow dark crimson.
Defenseless, Iris did the only thing she could think to do. She flopped onto her belly and crawled away from the banshee as quickly as her hands and knees would allow. The beast scraped her on the back, the head, the rear. Each new wound was like fire in her veins.
She did not want to die here.
She scooped a handful of snow into her hand and flung it at the banshee. She didn’t turn around to see if the snow had hit its mark. It didn’t matter anyway. She doubted it would have any effect on the creature. But, she was quickly running out of options.
She screamed as the banshee flew low to the ground and sliced her right down the back. There was a flash of burning, hot pain. And then numbness. She slumped to the ground, unable to move.
“No,” she whispered.
Another pulse of power soared over her. The hair on the back of her neck prickled just before the scent of singed hair enveloped her. She coughed, her mouth filling with snow and debris. Half her nose was pressed firmly into the frozen terrain, blocking her airflow.
She lifted her head, but all that succeeded in doing was sending a wave of nausea through her. Her head ached. She couldn’t breathe.
“Tell me who sent you here,” someone said from nearby.
Grandmother.
Her voice was the calmest Iris had heard over the past few days.
The banshee hissed.
“Retrieve her.”
Iris didn’t know who Grandmother was talking to. She didn’t know if she, or the banshee, was the one being retrieved.
She knew who’d sent the banshee. Who was behind it all. She just needed to relax. To breathe. To find Emma.
She tried lifting her head again, tried to see what was happening. Her vision swam, and she was so consumed by nausea that her head fell back into the snow. With her lips pressed against a mound of ice, it was all she could do to swallow the bile that rose up the back of her throat.
No one came.
Grandmother wasn’t saving her. She’d sent whoever her little minion was to retrieve the b
anshee, not her. Iris knew that if her wounds weren’t mended that she would bleed out. She couldn’t feel her body. Even when she envisioned herself crawling, moving forward, there was nothing.
She sighed heavily. She didn’t know what her sister would do. For so long, she’d lived under Emma’s shadow. She’d been content there, safe.
Dark gray talons clenched at her arm. She didn’t feel the prick of their sharpness against her skin. She didn’t feel anything. But she watched as the same raven from before cocked its head and stared straight into her eyes.
They were silvery-blue.
Never, in all her days spent idling away in Grandmother’s garden, or out in the woods collecting herbs, or searching for rare ingredients, had she ever met a raven with blue eyes.
Her thoughts pieced together. It was as if the missing link between everything that had happened suddenly clicked into place. The animals in the cages who appeared human. The spell Balkeen used to keep them captive. The young man she’d met in the woods. The raven who’d tried to help her. It was him. It had to be him.
She didn’t know if she would be able to speak. Her lips cracked and bled when they parted. She willed the words to spill from her. She shoved on them, until finally, a single word popped out.
“Liam?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Iris
The raven pressed his head against Iris’s brow.
Tendrils of power crept across her mind like vines. They curled around her memories of Liam’s face, the way his silver-blue eyes roamed over her, the way his muscled body felt wrapped against her own. They formed a network, connecting everything she knew about him with the spells she’d read in Grandmother’s books. It was as if her mind were creating a map—a framework for understanding exactly how Liam had been turned into a raven. The tendrils unfurled with one final image.
She knew how to break the spell.
But he wasn’t only one. She trusted her instincts. She’d seen the animals Balkeen kept caged in his lair for who they really were: his human slaves. Cursed.
Well, she could break that curse.
She could turn him—turn them all—human again.
She leaned towards the raven and stroked his head with her thumb. He leaned into her, his wings fluttering slightly from her touch.
“I know how to save you now,” she said.
Closing her eyes, she let herself delve into the network of magic she found there. She could see how every spell was connected, the ribbons of color, the darkness and the light. They swirled around her. There were so many.
She didn’t know which one to tug on.
All she knew was that this was how she was going to save him—to save all of them. She reached out a hand, and her finger grazed a ribbon of light that was streaking past her ear. It was warm to the touch. Glittering dust burst from the depression her finger formed in the ribbon.
She pulled back her hand in surprise, yet the depression remained. She reached out again, this time wrapping her entire hand around the ribbon of light. A spark burned her fingers as more glittering dust exploded outwards. The stream of light quivered beneath her grasp.
“What are you?” Her words sounded hollow. They reverberated around her. They morphed into an unnatural cry that sent a shudder down her spine. She squeezed on the ribbon, willing it to reveal its secrets to her.
The heat emanating from it seared her hand. She felt something pushing back against her. Gritting her teeth, she concentrated on one single command: break.
Her consciousness slammed into an obsidian wall. The ribbon disappeared into it. She knew this was it. The last obstacle she had to face to break the spell.
Spellbreaker.
The witches from the coven had used that title to shame her, to justify their lust for her blood. They had called her an abomination. They had made her feel like her powers were something to be disgusted by.
But she didn’t see it that way. She felt the panic attached to the human the spell had been placed on. She felt the way they longed to be free from their cage. She’d seen the pain—the horror—the girl left to starve in Balkeen’s cage had shown in that brief moment she’d seen his death.
She could do this.
She could set them free.
She trailed her fingers over the dark obsidian. It was icy to the touch and smooth, as if it had been cut from a single sheet of rock. She searched the wall for any sign of a crack. There was none. Every inch of it was solid, smooth, and strong.
She tugged on the ribbon. It rippled and a faint thrumming followed its movement, but it did not recede from beyond the obsidian barrier.
She rolled up her sleeves. Sweat formed on her brow as she placed both hands on the stone and pressed her ear to its cold surface.
She was instantly pulled into another vision, but this time it wasn’t her own.
A young man with tan skin and shaggy, dark hair had his back turned towards her. He wore a coat made from the snow tiger’s fur. Only Dramadoonian royalty were allowed to wear such items of clothing. The pelts were given as gifts from the majestic creatures and only then when a member of their line had passed into the void. They were treasured by all who received them. He must be a Dramadoonian prince, she thought. He had to be.
He turned to face her, his expression a mask of anger.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded. His brows furrowed and his lips puckered. His hand dropped to the sword hanging from his waist.
Liam. He was younger and more finely dressed than she had ever seen him, but it was him. She blinked at him, her hands trembling at her sides. He had to know who she was. He had to.
“I—”
She faltered when he strode forward and walked right past her without a glance in her direction.
“I asked you a question,” he bellowed, his back turned towards her once more.
“General Valdom sends his regards,” a sharp, mousy voice hissed from the shadows encircling them.
Iris twirled in a circle, searching for the owner of the voice. It sounded familiar, though she couldn’t place it.
“General Valdom will lose when the Dramadoonian forces I’ve been training face him on the battlefield. You can tell him thus” Liam said.
The incorporeal voice laughed. “No, Captain Forseeth. I don’t think he will.”
There was a loud crack and blinding white light. Liam crumpled to the ground in a cloud of smoke. He screamed, his voice piercing her very soul. There was so much agony contained in that scream. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and console him. She reached for him, but her fingers slipped through his form as if he weren’t there at all.
His skin seemed to melt from his body. His bones cracked as they shrank and began to reform. His muscles bulged and convulsed before collapsing in upon themselves. Through it all, there was horror and agony screaming from his eyes. In the end, the snow tiger fur slumped to the ground.
She stood in silence for a moment, breathing hard. He was gone. Everything in her yelled at her to run, to find him. Save him, the thrumming of her blood in her ears seemed to say.
She took a tentative step towards the pile of his clothing when she noticed the fur was wriggling. She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from yelping. She crouched low, unsure of what she was about to encounter.
His black beak was the first thing to emerge from the fur. He was frail and so very, very small. His massive frame had been reduced to something easily imprisoned, controlled, and hurt. He squawked, fear clearly visible in his eyes.
“I don’t think you’ll be helping win battles anytime soon,” the voice hissed.
Iris curled her fingers into a fist. Balkeen had done this to Liam and it was more horrifying than even she had imagined. What had Liam ever done to deserve this fate? Win a few battles? Piss off another kingdom?
Balkeen stepped into the light. His lips were pulled into a crooked grin as he scooped Liam up and tied a silver chain around his ankle. Liam cawed, frantic
ally trying to squirm out of Balkeen’s grasp. It was all to no avail.
“If you ever want a chance at returning to your old life, you’ll follow my every command. You’ll do my bidding. You’ll report back to me on the things you see.”
Balkeen gripped Liam’s tiny raven neck as he stuffed him in a bag he pulled from his pocket. Iris reached out to grasp Balkeen’s arm as he walked by her, but her fingers passed through him as if he were nothing more than air. He disappeared into the darkness beyond where she stood illuminated. A little ribbon of blue light trailed behind him. Without pausing to consider the repercussions, Iris wrapped her fingers around the ribbon of light.
A current of power flooded her fingers and up her arm. It was so hot she almost dropped the ribbon of light. Somehow, she knew if she released her hold on the thread of magic that had trapped Liam in the body of raven, she might not ever be able to find it again.
It pulled her along within the void. Flashes of vibrantly colored images swept along beside her. Liam—the raven version of Liam—was in all of them. They were all terrible. Large armies tearing one another to pieces. Blood spattering walls and small children crumpling on the floor. Magical creatures being persecuted by the Szarmians. Szarmian soldiers impaled on large spikes.
And Liam had been there for them all.
And then, at the very end of the ribbon of light, was her face.
Her features had been softened: her cheeks were rounder, a pale pink blush highlighting them. Her hair was darker and somehow lusher than it was in real life. A smattering of delicate freckles covered her nose and chin, so faint that if she hadn’t known to look, she would have missed them entirely. Her own face glowed so brilliantly within the darkness of his other memories that it was almost blinding.
“I feel the same way,” she whispered.
She hoped she would be able to tell him that in person.
Taking a deep breath, she tugged on the ribbon. She felt it grow taunt. The images around her shuddered, cracks forming in random places in each of them.