Curse of Blood and Midnight

by Emily Inskip

  “I know.” Amara tried not to think about that too much, but it had already begun to gnaw at her.

  “As soon as the moon’s energy is within you, you’ll attract every magic-possessing being in this world. It will be like putting up a beacon. Your power will be so strong it’ll be magnetizing. You’ll be a target that everyone wants a shot at.”

  “Well it’s a good job I’m really hard to hit,” Amara said, sitting against the base of an old tree, her arms clasped lazily around her knees.

  Nadia didn’t seem convinced. “We won’t have long before they start coming. The Valkrane, Fassar, and every other creature of the night. But Amara, you won’t be able to defeat them all, even with the moon’s strength.”

  She hesitated. Perhaps Nadia was right, but that wouldn’t stop her trying.

  “What if I have an idea?” Amara said slowly, turning the thought over in her head.

  Nadia’s spine straightened. “I’m not sure I’m going to like this.”

  “Oh, most definitely not,” she grinned, that usual wicked spark already lighting her eyes. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t brilliant.”

  “I’m listening . . .”

  Amara eased to her feet and stepped forwards, the afternoon sun filtering down through the leaves, gilding the panes of her face. The amber necklace thrummed against her chest as she smirked again, the girl from the slums rushing back like a tidal wave.

  “What if we can defeat them all,” she said, her legs already trembling with adrenaline. “What if we don’t have to fight alone.”

  “And what if we win.”

  ∞∞∞

  They sat in the clearing of the forest as dusk crept over them. It gathered in murky pools amongst the bushes, and even now Nadia had lit candles around the symbols on the grass, the flames did nothing to push back the shadows. Above them, the canopy of bony branches opened up, revealing the starlit sky. The moon had yet to show itself. But that was to be expected. On the night of the Bloodmoon, it only ever appeared when it wanted to. When it was time. Magic had a strange sort of logic like that.

  But frankly, Amara was bored of waiting.

  At least the celebrations were on time. The parade had already begun. Streams of people marched along the twining mountain tracks towards the city. They had dressed in red from head-to-toe, like a trail of blood, trickling down the foothills in a flow of crimson fabric and light. Drums pounded in the distance, joining the din of celebration. It was a constant rhythm of two beats, like a pulse. It led the way as people bled towards the heart of Valmont, to the Jarsli River, where they would soon line up and watch as the water runs red with the light of the Bloodmoon.

  Amara had watched it many times before from the open windows of her windmill. She had longed to join in, looking as people laughed and smiled, children splashing in the water barefoot, their trousers rolled up to their knees. But of course, she’d never allowed herself such frivolous joy. It was for fools, not for monsters.

  But now she wished she’d followed the tug of those drums, the laughter and shrieks of playing children. If only it wasn’t too late.

  “Not long now,” Nadia sighed, resting her head against a boulder, its cool surface covered in clusters of damp lichen and moss. “Everything is set.”

  “Are you afraid?” Amara found herself asking before she could stop.

  She sat beside Nadia, pressing her back against the rock and staring into the depths of the forest before her.

  Nadia reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. “Yes.” There was was a beat of silence. “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, that’s a great start,” Nadia laughed, but Amara could sense the tension in her voice, the slight tremble of her fingers around hers.

  “I’m not going to lie and say that we will get through this because we both know that might not happen,” Amara said. “But what I can say is that we can try, and that I am beyond grateful for your help.”

  A small noise escaped Nadia’s throat. “My sister was always so brave. She was never afraid of anything. She made me look like a frightened mouse in comparison, scared of my own shadow.”

  “We all have our ways of coping with this life we get given,” Amara replied, knocking her knee against Nadia’s. “Being afraid isn’t something to be ashamed of. It’s how you survive. I fight because I am so goddamned scared. I run because the alternative is always so much worse. Just because we are afraid doesn’t mean we are weak. It doesn’t mean we don’t get to do something about it.”

  Nadia loosed a long, shaky breath. “I swore I would never use my magic again for anyone else. I never wanted to be used in the same way my sister was. But this is different. I’m doing this for you as much as I’m doing it for me. It’s time that we fight. It’s time that we show the world that even when you beat someone down they can still get up. I don’t think I need to be brave to face my demons, I just need enough hope to believe I can.”

  Amara tightened her grip around her hand. “To believe we can.”

  The pounding of drums grew more and more distant as the parade headed for the city, leaving the rest of Winvaris quiet, empty save for the few guards that were left behind. Even the Queen had joined them on their journey to the river, sat safely inside her royal carriage as the celebrations raged on.

  Amara gazed across the clearing of the shadowy forest. Her jaw tightened as she noticed the crimson tint outlining the bushes, like a red film stretched over them. Nadia had noticed too, and together they looked upwards towards the sky.

  The witch’s breath hitched as she spotted the Bloodmoon. It was hard to miss. An orb of deep red, seeming to swell and bulge, pulsing with a strange magic that only appeared once a year. Amara shuddered. It looked possessed. Her familiar friend in the sky had been taken over, forced to trade its lustrous light for a scarlet cloak. The stars seemed to shrink away, fleeing to the other side of the universe in order to get away from that uncanny power. A power that would soon live inside of her. If she survived the process, that is.

  “It’s time,” Nadia whispered distantly, her eyes wide as she tilted her head back towards the moon.

  Amara straightened, squaring her shoulders as she tried not to let her mind run wild. But it was too late for that.

  Maybe she hadn’t thought things through properly. Maybe there was another way to bring down Fassar and save her brother . . . if he was still around to be saved. A shudder rippled down her spine. No one has ever survived the Bloodmoon. What made her think she stood a chance?

  But as Amara rose to her feet, she clung to that tiny shred of hope that had guided her through so much. The small voice amongst the darkness. The dream of a better world.

  She would never yield.

  So Amara faced the shadows and didn’t turn away. If this ritual was their last chance at destroying the Valkrane, then she welcomed it with open arms. Because even though she was afraid, she would never back down. She was the field mouse that the wolf was too foolish to kill.

  And now it was her time to hunt.

  40

  By the time Amara and Nadia had positioned themselves in the centre of the forest clearing, the ancient design sketched beneath their feet, the Bloodmoon had already swelled twice in size. It continued to swallow the sky and everything around it, spreading like a broken yolk into the darkness above.

  Amara tried to keep her gaze down, but it was almost impossible to avoid her eyes snagging on the blot of red. The forest was lit in a crimson sheen, as though each tree were wreathed by a thick mist of blood. Amara was glad she had drunk her fill of what Nadia had brought to her that morning. But even now, a slight thirst had begun to tug at her. Amara pushed it away. Now was no time to think about one’s stomach.

  Like they’d rehearsed, Amara reached down and slid the dagger out from where she’d stashed it in her boot. Earlier that day, she’d managed to slip in and out of the castle armoury without the guards so much as batting an eye. Being so preoccupied with the celebratio
ns, no one even noticed the open window that had been closed just moments before.

  Sneaking was her speciality. It seemed being a friend of the shadows had its perks after all. So she’d taken as much as she’d dared to and left without a trace.

  The moon continued to swell, and Amara could have sworn she felt the air shift, eddying with latent magic.

  “We have to hurry up,” Nadia whispered urgently. “The moon will only be at its peak for a few moments, then after that, we will have lost our chance.”

  Amara nodded, handing her the blade without a word.

  Like before, Nadia sliced it down her palm, flinching at the sudden pain. But this time, the blood that welled from the cut was different, stagnant, agglomerating into tiny droplets before drifting into the air. Amara’s eyes widened as she watched it.

  “Focus,” Nadia said before gripping Amara’s wrist firmly and cutting the dagger across her hand.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly, turning her attention back to the ritual. Amara barely reacted to the slender cut, but she couldn’t help the unsettled nausea as she watched her own blood spiral upwards, joining Nadia’s in a sphere above their heads.

  Nadia reached a finger into the cloud of their own blood, before drawing it back, her fingertip coated in deep crimson. Without warning, she smeared it across Amara’s forehead. What symbol? Amara couldn’t tell.

  “Now we begin.” Nadia closed her eyes and the chanting began.

  A strange warmth thrummed around them as Nadia’s voice filled the air. Amara kept finding her eyes darting around the forest. Now that the Red Ritual was underway, it would only be a matter of time before every other supernatural being knew about it. And she needed to be ready. She just prayed that she had the moon’s power before that happened.

  The reality hit her like a ton of bricks. She’d seen Fassar use this ritual as a punishment to any vampire that had wronged him. She had watched so many dissolve into a blood mist for merely consuming a fraction of the moon’s magic. Amara would be lucky if she even survived long enough to face the Valkrane again.

  She gritted her teeth, the rushing in her ears so loud she could barely hear the ancient language flowing from Nadia’s lips. Why was it that as soon as Amara finally began enjoying the life she’d been given, it was so close to being snatched away?

  She thought of Aedric, her golden prince with a love for his people that was unmatched by any ruler. Enid, a princess with the purest of hearts. A girl who would always be brave, who always chooses to see the good in everyone. Amara thought of Nadia, her loyalty and kindness that had made her change her mind about people. Even Lady Myria deserved happiness, perhaps with the stable boy she was too ashamed to admit. And Fenn, her dear brother who she had wanted to protect her entire life.

  All of these people made what she was about to do worth it. She would face death, Fassar, the Valkrane and whatever other hellish creatures they came with, it if meant that she could save them. If she could just bring a flicker of that better world she had dreamt of as a child.

  Nadia’s words grew louder and Amara almost jumped as a crack of thunder boomed overhead. As if in response, the mark upon her forehead began to burn, throbbing with a searing heat.

  “Nadia?” she called, looking desperately to her friend, but her voice was drowned out by another thunderous clap.

  Amara resisted the urge to wipe the marking away and end the pain that felt like it was burning halfway through her skull. She gritted her teeth and braced herself as a wave of pain and heat rolled over her body. She convulsed. Her knees shook furiously as she bent over double, screaming.

  But not even a flicker of concern passed across Nadia’s face. How had Amara not even noticed? For the witch’s eyes had rolled backwards into her head. Two delicate tears of blood streaked her cheeks.

  “Lantos, Penrtis, Naviena,” she chanted wildly, her voice so deep it was barely recognisable.

  Amara cried out again as pain shook through her. Her knees buckled and she slammed to the ground. Warm, wet blood from the grass was already seeping through her clothes.

  Another spasm of fiery agony lanced through her chest, squeezing tightly like a clenched fist around her heart. Wheezing, her hands clawed at her throat as she began to choke up blood. Crack. And another whip of pain shattered through her.

  She was going to explode.

  Every second was harder than the last. Amara didn’t know how much more she could take. Her bones felt like they were being carved into, her skin beginning to singe and peel. A strangled scream ripped through her as she brought her hands to her face, shaking madly. The world was on fire. Her head burned as though her brain was being set alight. Smoke filled her veins, flooding her organs, scorching her from the inside out.

  She couldn’t . . . she couldn’t . . .

  And then everything went quiet.

  She felt the rain first. It began slowly, a gentle patter against her face. Around her, she heard the rustle of droplets as they fell through the forest canopy towards the ground. Amara sighed, savouring the lift of a weight off her chest. The fist began to uncoil, the smoke seeping out of her pores, a rush of frost over her mind. She smiled with relief. She’d done it. It was over. She’d survived the Red Ritual.

  The rain fell heavier now and Amara tilted her head up to the sky. She ran her hands over her face, washing away the pain, whatever magic had wrecked her body. But as she drew her hands away, her smile dropped. Because that wasn’t rain that was falling from the sky. Deep black blood covered her palms, the entire forest floor flooded by pools of it. And it only kept falling.

  She cringed, shuddering as it washed over her, drenching her hair until it was slick against her scalp. Amara felt the smoke creeping back, heat beginning to ignite in her once more.

  No. No. No. It was over. The ritual was done. This wasn’t meant to happen. Nadia had finished chanting and now—

  Nadia.

  Amara desperately whipped round, only to see her friend face down on the ground. She had collapsed into a puddle of dark blood, her eyes shut, one arm strung out to the side.

  Amara was there in an instant, slipping through the pools of the thick metallic liquid.

  “Nadia,” she cried, taking the witch’s head into her lap. “Nadia wake up.”

  There was no response, but Amara thanked the gods for that small flutter of a pulse in her neck. Alive. She was alive. And that was all that mattered.

  Amara knew Nadia would have exhausted herself during the ritual. It was too much for one person to handle. But her friend had done it anyway. All because of hope.

  Her usually dark skin was wan. Amara couldn’t tell whether the blood on her face was from the sky or her own. She brushed a bloodied hand over her forehead, smoothing the stray strands of hair from of her eyes.

  Was it possible they hadn’t completed the ritual? Maybe Nadia had fallen unconscious before it was done? What if she hadn’t received the full power of the moon? What if it hadn’t worked at all? So many questions raced through her mind. Amara could barely focus. But as she looked down at Nadia’s blood-coated face, it put a halt of her running thoughts. Alive. They were both alive. And that had to be worth something.

  The rain slowed before finally stopping altogether. Silence flooded the empty forest and Amara no longer liked the idea of being in a castle without people.

  Gradually, she eased herself from the ground, leaving Nadia resting in the grass. She didn’t fancy trying to move a recovering witch. Especially after the magnitude of the Red Ritual.

  Amara rolled her shoulders back, her neck still stiff from whatever her body just had to go through. But save for the aching muscles and pounding headache, Amara didn’t feel any different. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she thought with the moon’s energy she would at least feel somewhat more powerful. In honesty, she wasn’t even sure how she would access the magic in the first place. For all the epic tales and dramatic legends told of the Bloodmoon, Amara almost felt a bit let-down. P
eople had died trying to gain the strength that she had now, so why didn’t she feel any different?

  “I’ve got to give it to you, I didn’t think you’d be able to do it.”

  Amara whirled just as Fassar made his way out of the shadows of the tree line, peeling away from the darkness and into the crimson light of the moon. A line of figures hovered just a step behind him, even from here she could see their glinting fangs and sweeping black capes, velvet hoods thrown over their heads.

  “It’s nice to see you again, Amara dear,” he grinned, his slim, pale face nothing but calm. “I have to admit, after you rejected my generous offer of freedom and burnt one of my family members to death, I was left rather hurt by you.”

  Amara matched his grin. “Oh, I was only getting started. I can do more than just hurt your feelings, Fassar.”

  Perhaps the magic had changed her, because she no longer saw him as a threat. Only a fly that needed to be squashed.

  He laughed, low, emotionless. “If scratching out my son’s eyeball is what you call ‘getting started’, then I can’t wait to see what’s to come.”

  “I’ll make sure you have a very good view.” She winked.

  He took a step forward, his spindly legs unfolding as he strode into the clearing. “Well, since it seems to be the time for reunions, why don’t we welcome another old friend.”

  A dark shape blurred in the treeline and Amara froze. A familiar scent drifted up her nose. Jasmine, citrus and embers. She didn’t even need to see the figure’s face to know who it was.

  Fenn was forced forwards through the trees, his hands clamped behind his back with shackles that were sure to be enchanted. Elias was behind him, his hood pulled low over his face. He shoved Fenn towards where Fassar was stood in the clearing before throwing him to his knees. Fenn let out a growl as he hit the floor, but he still didn’t meet Amara’s eye. Desperately, she searched his bruised face. It was almost unrecognisable beneath the streaks of blood and dirt. His left eye had swollen shut, a deep shade of purple that matched the rest of his cheekbone. For a vampire to be this injured . . . Amara didn’t want to think about it.