Jemin leaped across two people who were rolling in the mud as they sliced each other’s throats. He didn’t stop to help or look who they were. All he could see was Maray and the panic which made a red wall appear before his eyes.
“Maray.” The mud soaked his knees as he sank down beside her, not daring to touch her… Her back lay in an awkward curl, which seemed hardly natural, her face pale, so pale. He swallowed. And her scent—
Jemin’s nostrils flared. This was no scent that belonged to Maray. It was magic—Gan Krai’s dark magic. His twisted, cruel, and deadly magic.
The space around her had cleared. Even Neelis had stepped back almost as if Jemin’s desperation was repelling them. But what he felt was nothing compared to the sensation a second later as he realized her heart wasn’t beating.
“My love.” Jemin bent forward, reaching for Maray’s hand, and found it covered in solid steel. “What did he do to you?”
He brushed his knuckles over her forehead instead, standing by as his heart fractured, and tears spilled from his eyes, dripping hot onto Maray’s blood and dirt-covered cheeks.
“What happened?” He stroked her hair for a moment before the weight of the sight crushed his chest and he collapsed onto her, sobs coming uncontrollably. “Maray,” he repeated, over and over again. “Maray.” But she didn’t hear him. She never would. And there was no peace left for him in this world—or the other. “Maray.”
It was only when the slithering sound of dark laughter hit him from the distance that he realized Gan Krai’s body was missing.
He was on his feet in an instant, most of his fractured heart staying in the very same spot as Maray’s broken body, and turned for the source.
“For a moment, I thought she had me.” Gan Krai crouched on the ground, the sneer on his face almost distracting from the gushing wound on his abdomen. “But to my relief, Allinan’s savior is no longer—” He paused, giving Jemin time to choke on the meaning of his words, then pushed himself upright, sword in hand.
Jemin didn’t look left or right. There was nothing in that field but Gan Krai and him. And he was going to slit that devil’s throat if it was the last thing he would do.
“Come play, Jemin,” Gan Krai taunted. “Maray did wonderfully until she tried to let go of that dagger.” He gestured at his hands as he referred to the metal coating of Maray’s fingers.
“You—” Jemin couldn’t find the words. All he found was rage. Blind, hot rage.
And as he charged, sword above his head, he no longer cared if he left his sides unprotected. He no longer cared if he was going to survive the defending blow that would surely come from Gan Krai.
One strike and then another. Gan Krai yielded and stumbled back before he had a chance to defend himself as Jemin’s sword buried itself right where Maray’s dagger must have stuck. Before Gan Krai could strike, Jemin had pulled the sword out and was whirling for the next blow.
Steel met steel, and Jemin’s sword almost escaped his hands as Gan Krai slipped away, now on his side, his free hand grasping his stomach as if he could hold the blood in by mere willpower.
Jemin felt heat rolling up and down his body. It wasn’t the good type of heat, which he felt when Maray secretly brushed his hand with her fingers as they walked down the hallway. She was dead. Another roll of heat shook his frame. Or the type of heat that came with lying too close to the fire in the woods.
It was the heat that announced he was about to shift whether he liked it or not.
The bundle in front of him looked defeated, almost harmless. But Jemin was very much aware that nothing Gan Krai did was harmless.
He glanced down at the warlock who now blinked, crimson eyes filling with hatred as he rolled over and snarled as if he was hoping to intimidate Jemin with a mere sound.
Others might have shied away from him even now that he was wounded—healing, probably preparing his next move. Jemin had fought him on the lake, and he had not seen it coming. But not anymore. He had nothing to lose.
With a movement so sudden it startled Jemin enough to stall his transformation, Gan Krai slid forward and was about to grab for Jemin’s sword which was still lying between the rocks and roots and mud on the ground. But Jemin was fast—fast enough to beat him to it. With light fingers, he picked up the blade, ready to sink it into the warlock’s chest when he hesitated, held back by something much worse than concern he would be making a mistake by killing him.
Gan Krai noticed his moment and hissed, “Go on then, Boyd.” He lifted his chin, head on the ground and legs still in the direction he had crawled from, leaving a long blood trail behind. “Kill me.”
Jemin’s fingers itched to do it. It would only take one short stab, and Gan Krai would be dead. But there was something there in him, something more than the blind fury. An anger that had been boiling inside. This man had taken everything from him. He had adored Gan Krai in his youth almost as much as he had adored Rhia. A legend. A scholar. A warlock of impeccable morals. The countless times he had dreamed of having been born a warlock so he could be independent of a bracelet. And then, the realization that Gan Krai had lied—in his books, to his court, to everyone, and had been the one turning Rhia into a foul, rotting soul, greedy for power. He had lied to all of Allinan, biding his time, allowing the horror of Shalleyn back into this world. The spells, the abilities that could have made people’s lives so much easier… He had corrupted them all. Kept it all to himself. Had kept the power to himself. But worst of all, he had taken the one person who had opened his heart. He had taken Maray from him.
Jemin lifted his boot and stomped it onto Gan Krai’s throat with a satisfying thud, leaving just enough room for the warlock to suck in shallow, rattling breaths, hardly audible over the noise of the battle in the background.
“Death would be a mercy on you,” Jemin snarled then rested his sword on his knee and leaned forward with a smile, letting his toes shove harder into the warlock’s jugular. “You took my life away, and I will deny you death until you beg me for it.”
Corey
“You sure we can do this?” Corey whispered at Oliver.
She hadn’t stopped shaking since they left the room in the folds between dimensions, their ‘brothers and sisters’, the other devil-children, following them—following Oliver, for he had been appointed their leader by Gan Krai and his Shalleyn.
What a poor call, Corey thought. Gan Krai, evil mastermind with decades of scheming under his belt, and he didn’t see it coming…
“Positive,” was all he said in return.
Garla and Isa watched closely, their gazes not fearful or empty like the hundreds of soldiers Gan Krai had recruited from the other world but excited to be playing their part—soon.
None of them were suspecting of her or Oliver after they returned unscathed from the palace. And all it had taken were some stories, made up, lies to make them believe Wil and the others had actually taken her by force.
And now, it couldn’t be long. While the others were shielding their troops—brainwashed warlocks shielding brainwashed soldiers—Corey was listening to the sound of the battle, to the cries and screams, to the steel that rained down onto metal, leather, and Thaotine alike… and onto bodies. She imagined she could hear bones crack and flesh coil open under the slicing blades of both sides. How she hoped none of them was Wil.
It had been going on for too long…
After Maray’s initial charge, Corey had believed they stood a chance. That Maray’s heart would be strong enough to beat for all of them in courage and defiance of Gan Krai’s terror. But with the slowing battle, the groans and moans and crying audible evidence of their troops’ exhaustion… Corey no longer knew if there was even a shred of hope left if nobody felled Gan Krai.
As if her thoughts had stabbed Gan Krai, his scream flattened everything else in her mind against a black wall. It had been the sign—Gan Krai was summoning them. And it was followed by the deadly laugh of a crazy man.
Oliver grasped her
hand, locking gazes with her, when she noticed that he, too, was struggling against the bond that was calling them to act. The bond that was the mind-control, the triggers Gan Krai and his demons had planted, slumbering, always slumbering until now.
Oliver nodded as if to tell her it was going to be all right, that they could fight it. And she believed him. Her free hand mechanically rose, readying herself to strike, to kill, to eradicate everything that was dear to her—because Gan Krai wanted it. And his wish was her command. Everyone’s command.
“No.” Oliver grabbed her rising arm by the wrist and pulled it down.
Patience, she had to be patient until Wil gave the sign… Wil… He had to be on his way…
Haze rose in her head like the mist when they portaged between worlds. But she dug her fingers into Oliver’s sleeves, holding on for her sanity, her awareness.
Oliver smiled at something behind Corey’s shoulder and said, “Brothers.” He called, “sisters. It is time.”
All fifteen of them straightened, their hands before them, palms raised and ready, and Corey turned her head to follow Oliver’s gaze, only to find Wil’s handsome face half-hidden behind an evergreen. It was time—
He winked at her, and the fog halted in her mind. “You are your own person,” Corey mouthed to herself. “Your mind is your own. Your will is your own.”
She let go of Oliver and followed him to the battlefield.
As they stepped out of the bushes, her eyes screened for her friends, for her Queen.
She raised her palms, obedient to Gan Krai’s call, but her mind… Her mind was free, set on saving every soul she could, including the damned Gan Krai had scraped off the streets in the other world, and her fellow devil-children—at least those who decided to join Oliver and her.
At the far end of the battlefield, the demons were pacing and directing the battle as they forced Maray’s soldiers against each other. She noticed Heck and Seri, who each defended themselves from palace guards. Corey’s chest tightened.
“It’s time,” she said to Oliver and earned a nod as they lined up along the side of the field.
“Summon your magic,” she commanded.
The devil-children obeyed. Including Corey.
“Hold.”
Oliver’s eyes scanned the field, and Corey knew what he was looking for—the eye of the tornado, the wielder of darkness… Corey almost stopped breathing when, instead, she found Maray, sprawled in the mud, one of the many who had fallen in the battle for the two worlds. She shrieked and broke from the formation.
Behind her, Oliver repeated, “Hold.” And like archers waiting to release their arrows, the devil-children held as Oliver followed on Corey’s heels.
She didn’t slow to look over her shoulder. Their Queen was down, and if anyone could help, it was Corey. She had to get to Maray, no matter the cost.
As she whirled through the mud, a shriek hit her from her side, and Pen scrambled across the mud, almost colliding with her.
“Maray needs us,” Corey told him, and he tossed his nose up and down as if nodding, his mane flying in the wind as he slowed his gallop and fell into step beside her. They moved toward the fallen queen, leaping across limp bodies, rocks, and stray weapons as they made progress through the field. Pen bit left and right, keeping their path clear, and when Corey finally slammed her knees into the ground next to Maray, the Gurnyak screeched in pain.
Oliver was next to them in an instant. “Pen.” He reached, for the beast’s new where a gushing wound was hiding under its mane. “You’re injured.”
But Pen shook his head, defiant like a stubborn pony, and pointed his nose at Maray.
Maray. She was why they were there. And the Gurnyak wasn’t going to let them fail…
“She’s not breathing,” Oliver assessed as he bent over the blood and dirt covered figure before them.
But Corey’s gaze had caught at a gleaming reflection on Maray’s hands. “What’s that?”
Oliver shrugged, searching for Maray’s vitals. “No heartbeat.” His voice was more than alarmed. “We need to bring her back, Corey.” And when Corey didn’t respond, he yelled, “Now.”
He grabbed Corey’s wrists without warning and placed them on Maray’s chest. “Heal her. Now,” he repeated. The desperation in his voice was overbearing. Pen screeched again and nudged Corey’s back in a wordless command.
Corey dug into her magic, drawing up every last bit she had, and let it flow into Maray. She could almost see it as it wound its path through the young queen’s body, but as it spread and swirled along, it seemed to vanish as if a void had been opened inside Maray—a magic-swallowing black hole.
“It’s not working.” Corey gritted her teeth, trying harder. To no avail. Until her magic became weak.
Oliver pushed her aside, trying himself even though his strength wasn’t healing but the wrath of embers and fire, just like Maray’s. He tried anyway.
Behind them, Jemin’s growls and snarls sounded, enraged as if he was about to tear the earth open. Did he know? Had he seen her broken body?
Corey’s eyes filled with tears. They couldn’t give up on her. Not yet. Corey had saved so many—even if she’d had herbs and potions and spells to do so. She had even brought back Gerwin from the dead when he had been poisoned… It could not end like this.
“Again,” she demanded, adding her hands to Oliver’s while Pen’s urgent gaze surveilled their attempts to rescue the savior of Allinan.
Maray
Maray’s body was light. So utterly light that she wasn’t sure she was even there. Everything around her was soundless. Just moving images of her friends, her family—what was left of them. And they were all fighting for their lives.
And at the center of it, her own body, crushed and broken. Hands coated in the remains of the Cornay dagger and Gan Krai’s blood.
Someone was working over her. A familiar face... Corey. Beside her—not as Maray would have expected, Wil, but Oliver Gerenhoff, face half-hidden under his hair.
Maray wondered if she was dead or if she was merely hallucinating from Gan Krai’s poison.
She screened the battlefield, her soul sinking as she found more and more of her people down on the ground—guards, soldiers, Yutu…
Heck was limping across the field, his face grim, sword hanging loosely at his side. He was no longer fighting but searching his way across the field as if he no longer cared whether he lived or died, and when Maray’s gaze slid behind him, she understood why.
Seri lay on the ground, her human face smeared in blood, her chest hosting a sword, which must have pinned her into the soil, where she struggled as she shifted into her stronger Yutu-form, probably hoping to escape certain death. For a moment, Maray was glad she didn’t have a body, for she couldn’t stand the thought of feeling her heart break.
Further away from the battle was… Jemin… He was bending over a dirt-covered figure who Maray would have noticed even in the darkness of her nightmares.
“Maray.” Corey’s voice, the first sound in the image, urged her to return to the center of the scene, where now a new figure had joined them at her side.
Pen screeched softly, solemnly. The horrifying lament of a friend who had nothing left to lose. He lowered his head and nudged Maray’s ribs, drawing protest from Corey.
“She’s not going to wake up, Pen.” Oliver laid a comforting hand on Pen’s neck.
But Pen didn’t react. He stalked forward, his legs buckling as he reached his nose to Maray’s face. Maray felt it. The touch of his nostrils and the breath that blew onto her cheeks. It stung her nose, her mouth, and Pen opened his lips to hiss a small cloud of smoke into Maray’s airways, making her choke even though she wasn’t breathing. Her body heated as if something were burning through her veins, her skin. Her hands, so stiff and painful, seemed to melt free of the layers of metal Gan Krai had forced over them, leaving them stinging.
“Pen,” Corey whispered, horrified.
But Maray no longer sa
w what was going on above her. She was propelled back into her body, the first sensation she experienced being a singeing pain in her throat, followed by a dull pain in her chest as her newly-beating heart was almost crushed by a collapsing Gurnyak.
“Pen.” It was Oliver’s voice, and there were surprise and sadness resonating in it.
Maray’s eyes shuttered as she struggled to keep them open, watching while Pen breathed his magic into her as he was already dying. A tear slipped from her eye as his beetle-black eyes closed.
She wanted to ask what happened, but her voice choked on a blast of magic as it hit her from the side, almost blowing everyone over. And screams… There were so many screams…
“This way.” Oliver had scooped her up into his arms and was running for the trees, stumbling through a field of struck-down soldiers, some of them dead, some simply knocked over by the force of magic, but hardly any of them standing.
Maray’s heart gave a jolt as she noticed the line of devil-children on the edge of the field, their arms raised, palms outward as if they were readying their arrows to release from a strung bow.
“They won’t hurt you,” Corey called from the side as she noticed Maray’s terrified expression. “They are commanded to wait for Oliver’s instructions and won’t release their strikes until he says so.”
So, still brainwashed, but now under a different master… Maray felt bile collect in her throat. When was it going to end? She had taken down Gan Krai. Why were there still attacks going on?
Still, if the devil-children hadn’t struck, who had?
They made it behind the line of warlocks when Maray heard a familiar voice… and yet, it wasn’t familiar at all. It was full of rage—hot, boiling rage… and it was a growl more than spoken words.
Jemin.
She twitched and struggled in Oliver’s arms until he set her down, and when she had free sight on the field, she noticed them, there at the other end of the battlefield—Jemin and a figure cloaked in blood-drenched ivory.
Two Worlds of Dominion Page 25