Serafina and the Splintered Heart

by Robert Beatty

  “They say he’s moving every night, circling Biltmore.”

  Serafina couldn’t help but take a swallow. “I don’t like the sound of that one bit.”

  “Me neither,” Braeden agreed. “The crows will be able to give us a short warning, but that’s all.”

  Serafina gazed back at the house and the surrounding gardens, her heart filling with a dark foreboding. Noticing a change in the wind direction, she glanced up at the sky.

  In what form would Uriah attack? Would it be a sudden strike like a rattlesnake’s bite? Or would the storms and floods come gradually, doing his work for him, sweeping everything away in their destructive path?

  “Last night Waysa told me that the rivers are getting worse,” Braeden said. “Whole areas of the forest in the mountains above Biltmore are flooded with water and mudslides.”

  “When Uriah sees his best opportunity, he will attack,” Serafina said.

  “But what are we going to do?”

  “We need to find the others.”

  “They’re down by the spillway of the pond.” Seeing her look of surprise at his quick answer, Braeden said, “Crows have long memories, so they keep a watchful eye on Rowena wherever she goes. They don’t trust her any more than they trust her father.”

  “What about you?” Serafina asked. “Do you trust her?”

  “Yes, I think she’s on our side now,” Braeden said. “With the four of us working together, we can defeat him.”

  Serafina wanted to agree, but wasn’t too sure what to make of Braeden’s new optimism. A death struggle with a powerful sorcerer loomed ahead, but he seemed happier than he had been in a long time. But he wasn’t just returning to his old self. There was something different about him, more focused and determined.

  “Let’s go,” he said, touching her arm, “they’re going to be looking for us,” and they started down the hill toward the pond, his newly repaired leg brace seeming to provide a new smoothness to his gait.

  She felt an unusual sense of satisfaction as she walked at Braeden’s side. This, she thought, this is how it should be. She enjoyed being with him. His leather boot still dragged a little in the grass, and his hands were still trembling, but he seemed stronger and more at ease than he ever had before.

  She wanted to keep this sense of peace and belonging for as long as she could, but as she and Braeden reached the bottom of the hill, she felt an unusual stirring in the air. A small flurry of wind swept by her. She might not have noticed such a thing in the past, but her senses were too keen now to ignore it. Suddenly, she caught the scent of a coming storm.

  She looked around at the wind blowing in the tops of the trees. A storm seemed to be moving in with unnatural speed. Even as the light of the sun withdrew from everything around them, a flash of lightning lit up the sky.

  “So much for the sunny day,” Braeden said. And she knew he wasn’t just talking about the weather.

  Rolling over the ridge of the closest mountain, a dark bank of clouds loomed like a great wave.

  “It’s coming this way,” she said, eyeing the black front of the storm. “He’s attacking now.”

  By the time they reached the pond, it had begun to rain, like a warm summer shower at first, with the sun still shining bright on the distant eastern horizon, but as the clouds passed directly overhead, the sky grew dark and malevolent, and the heavy rain came pouring down.

  “It’s been raining like this almost every night,” Braeden complained, as they made their way miserably through the deluge.

  Serafina was about to reply when her whole body jolted in surprise. A blistering white light blazed in her eyes as a bolt of lightning struck the top of the hill. The oak tree where they’d just been standing exploded into a thousand pieces, sending shards of burning wood hurtling in all directions, whizzing past her head, as the crack of thunder boomed in her chest and rolled across the blackened sky. Braeden’s four horses reared up in panic and charged away across the field.

  “Serafina!” Braeden said, grabbing her arm and pointing into the distance toward the grassy slope of Diana Hill in front of the house. The hillsides around Biltmore were running with dark rivers of storm water. Rushing currents tore at the earth, and great areas of mud were sliding down toward the house and gardens.

  “Gad night a-livin’, will you look at that,” Serafina gasped. “I hope everyone’s holdin’ on down there.”

  As they ran down to the pond, they saw that the small inlet stream had become a turbulent river. The pond was so full that the water had breached the banks and flooded the nearby trees.

  Sloshing through inches of water, they made their way toward the stone dam at the outlet of the pond. Normally, the small amount of overflow was nothing more than a trickle, but now a roaring waterfall poured out of the pond and over the spillway, dumping into the ravine below.

  “We need to cross before it’s too late,” Serafina shouted, pointing toward the small wooden footbridge that traversed the top of the waterfall.

  As they clambered across the bridge, the driving spray of the rain and the waterfall flew into her face. The blowing wind howled like a horde of ghouls. The wood planking beneath her feet swayed as the pushing current rocked the bridge’s supports back and forth. She grabbed the side rail as her eyes darted to the rushing water below her. She felt the bridge suddenly jerk to the side, then tilt violently with the sound of cracking wood.

  “Braeden, jump!” she shouted.

  Just as she and Braeden leapt to the ground on the other side, the entire bridge split apart and came crashing down, then rolled over the falls in a great heap of broken, twisted boards.

  “We made it,” Braeden gasped, as Serafina scanned the path ahead for Waysa and Rowena. She spotted them running toward her and Braeden.

  “This storm is my father’s doing,” Rowena yelled through the rain as the last of the bridge’s wreckage went over the falls. “It’s going to get worse from here.”

  “Let’s get to cover!” Serafina shouted.

  As the four of them ran through the rain toward the house, a great mass of mud was sliding into the outer edge of the gardens, tearing through the plants and knocking down the marble Greek statues.

  Squinting through the rain, Serafina looked toward the house. A gushing river of water ripped down a side gulley, tearing at Biltmore’s foundation.

  “There’s my uncle!” Braeden shouted.

  The wind-torn figures of Mr. Vanderbilt and Superintendent McNamee stood in the middle of the blowing storm, shouting orders to what looked like more than fifty men as they worked frantically to stanch the flow of the water tearing at the house. Serafina watched in horror as a man was pulled into the current and swept away screaming for help.

  “What are we going to do?” Braeden shouted, his voice filled with fear and confusion. “We can’t battle a thunderstorm!”

  Reaching the main house, Serafina led her friends through the side door into the circular room at the base of the Grand Staircase. She and her companions were breathless, sopping wet, and bedraggled from the storm. As she looked around at them, she could see the fear and uncertainty in their faces, and their relief to be in the shelter of the house. She felt it, too. The last thing she wanted to do was go back out there.

  And then she realized something.

  This was exactly what Uriah wanted, she thought, for them to hunker down and hide. He was pushing them, pressing them back, as he wreaked havoc on the estate.

  “We need to attack,” Serafina said.

  “Now?” Braeden said in surprise. “In the middle of the storm?”

  “Exactly,” Serafina said. “This is our opportunity. He’ll think we’ll be hiding, taking cover. The last thing he’s going to expect is for us to attack in the middle of the storm.”

  “Serafina is right,” Waysa said.

  “I don’t think you realize how difficult he is going to be to kill,” Rowena said.

  “Do you know where he’s hiding?” Serafina asked Rowen
a.

  “I suspect he’s up on one of the mountain peaks, looking toward Biltmore, directing this storm, but there’s no way to tell for certain where he’s going to be.”

  Serafina went over to the door and looked out into the blowing wind and rain. “Braeden, can your crows fly in this?”

  “They normally take cover during a storm,” he said, gazing up at the darkened sky, “but they’re strong fliers, and they’ll jump at the chance to get into a fracas with an enemy they hate as much as Uriah.”

  “Talk to them and your other friends,” she said. “I want to attack Uriah with all our allies at once.”

  “I’m sure they’ll join us,” Braeden said. “They’ve been fighting against Uriah for even longer than we have.”

  Encouraged, Serafina nodded and then looked at Rowena.

  “I will load my satchel with potions and spells,” Rowena said. Serafina could see the fear and determination in her eyes. Rowena, more than any of them, knew her father’s wrath. She had felt his attacks. She had suffered his blows. She had thrown spells at him only to have them buffeted back. But Serafina could see that Rowena knew the time had come to stand up and fight him.

  “You understand that we have to take him by surprise,” Rowena warned.

  Waysa stepped forward. “I’ll attack him first.”

  Serafina could see the fierceness blazing in Waysa’s eyes. She knew her friend wouldn’t give up until either he or Uriah was dead. He was honor bound to avenge his family or die trying.

  She looked around at her three companions. “Attacking now, in the middle of his attack, is going to be the most dangerous thing we’ve ever done. But there will be no peace in these mountains for any of us until we destroy him.”

  “But how are we going to do it?” Rowena asked.

  “We’ll plan it all out, every detail,” Serafina said. “We’ll use the crows to find him. Then Waysa and I will lead the attack, charging at him from two different directions at once. Braeden will bring in our animal allies at the same time, and Rowena, you’ll attack with every spell you have. We have to hit him so fast and so hard that he never gains his footing.”

  Serafina looked around at her three companions. They were ready to fight. She waved her hand up at the sky. “Forget about this weather, this rain, this wind. This is nothing to us. We attack now, right through all this. We are the storm.”

  As night fell, Serafina and her companions made their way up into the rugged terrain of the mountains. She traveled in panther form with Waysa, the two of them slinking quickly and quietly through the underbrush. Rowena traveled on foot, her dark robes and hood gathered around her against the wind. Braeden rode his horse, with Gidean at his side.

  Braeden made a dashing sight, a lionhearted boy in a dark outdoor coat riding atop his black horse, with his black Doberman dog at his side, and his black crows flying above him, and she herself a black panther gliding alongside. She was beginning to notice a trend in his choice of friends.

  As they moved up the slope of the mountain, the wind was still blowing, but they had left the rain and lightning of the storm in the valley behind them. They moved quickly through the highland forest, following the crows that led the way. The crows didn’t normally fly at night, but tonight they flew with purpose. They flapped hard through the blowing wind, some of them tumbling in the air, others diving headlong through the buffeting gale, all of them cawing to each other, pressing each other on.

  As Serafina and her allies began to reach the top of the mountain, the wind finally died down and the air became deathly still. They entered a forest crowded with large, slanting, jagged rocks. Many of the rocks towered over their heads, jutting up from the ground, cracked and crumbling as if they had been broken by powerful earthen forces. Mottled gray lichen and dark greenish moss covered the rocks, and gnarled trees grew from the cracks, their roots clinging to the stone like the long black, creeping legs of giant spiders.

  Making their way slowly up through the denseness of the rocky forest, they came to a bank of fog so thick that they couldn’t see ahead. Just as Serafina was wondering how they were going to get through it, she felt a stinging in her eyes and a bad sulfurous taste in her mouth. Suddenly, her nostrils burned. Her throat hurt. A wave of confusion and dizziness came over her. Braeden was suffering as well, coughing badly, his horse throwing its head in agitation as it tried to turn away.

  “The fog is poisonous,” Rowena said.

  Serafina shifted into human form. “Everyone pull back!” she shouted, coughing and rubbing her stinging eyes as she stumbled down the hill.

  “What is going on?” Braeden asked, covering his mouth.

  “He’s using a spell to protect the top of the mountain,” Rowena said in frustration, “but I don’t know how to counter it.”

  Once they retreated down to a safe position, Serafina looked toward the ring of fog that surrounded the peak. “It’s a line of defense,” she said. “He must be up there.”

  “But there’s no way to get through it,” Braeden said.

  “Not like this,” she agreed. “But I have an idea. Everyone stay here.”

  As she made her way alone back up the slope of the mountain, she remembered all she had learned. She raised her hand in front of her and pushed it through the air. When she felt the air around her moving, she smiled and tried it again.

  She walked slowly up into the poisonous fog, sweeping her hands back and forth, concentrating on the movement and the flow, the wisps of air and vapor, pushing and sliding, until rivers of fog moved to her will through the sky.

  She cut a swath through the fog, clearing a narrow path, then called her friends forward to follow close behind her, Braeden on his horse, Gidean at his side, Waysa and Rowena coming up behind.

  When they finally reached the other side, the air was clear and the fog behind them. They took cover in a thicket of heath behind a large rock.

  “How in the world did you do that?” Braeden whispered to her in astonishment.

  “Just something I picked up in my travels,” Serafina said, pleased that she was able to hone her powers to useful purpose. But as she looked up toward the mountaintop, she grew more serious.

  Like many of the Blue Ridge Mountains, which were some of the oldest mountains in the world, the top of this particular mountain wasn’t a sharply pointed peak but a rocky dome, what the mountain folk called a bald, worn down by millions of years of wind and rain. Hundreds of the forest’s spruce and fir trees lay on the ground like they’d been blown down by the high mountain winds or struck by the vengeance of a sorcerer. The trunks of the fallen trees lay crisscrossed over one another, their limbs broken and twisted, like a hundred titan soldiers lying dead on a hilltop battlefield.

  “This is the place,” Rowena whispered, as they crouched behind the cracked and weathered rock. “He’s close. I can feel him.”

  Serafina looked back at Braeden on his horse just down the slope from them. “Call in our other friends now. We’ll do everything just like we planned.”

  “There he is!” Rowena whispered, ducking down.

  Serafina’s arms and legs jolted with sudden strength. The battle was near.

  Taking a deep breath, she slowly peeked up over the edge of the rock.

  The dark and giant figure of the storm-creech Uriah loomed in the clearing, with the smoky-white haze hanging about him like the fog of the graveyard. He did not appear to be aware of their presence. He wore a long, ragged dark coat so shredded and torn that it looked like the rotting carcass of a dead animal. He stood on two long, bent legs like a gangly man, but he was impossibly tall, grotesquely hunched over, with his long, crooked arms in front of him and his white scaly clawed hands protruding from the ragged sleeves of his coat. The oily strands of his gray hair hung stringy and twisting down the side of his skull. His cracked and leathery face had been slashed by Serafina’s four claws months before, and the open wounds still bled and festered after all this time. Uriah paced, lanky and stooping,
in the center of the clearing, rocking back and forth as he gazed impatiently toward Biltmore, far in the distant valley, watching over the storm that he had sent to rip it from the earth.

  When Serafina had first spotted the clawed creature in the forest, she hadn’t been sure what it was, but now she could see that the storm-creech was indeed a man, or at least had been a man before he was consumed by a black and twisting vengeance. With every injury, we become more of who we are, Rowena had said. And here was Uriah, the sorcerer, the enslaver of wild animals, the murderer of her panther father and many others, the man who had set himself to destroy everything she loved.

  By moving in on him the way they had, during the storm and slipping through his ring of poisonous fog, she’d caught him by surprise, and all her allies were ready. We’ve got him, she thought. But just as she turned to signal the attack, a fireball came hurtling over her head, snapping and boiling with terrific force, a long tail of thick black smoke trailing behind it.

  It was headed straight for Braeden.

  “Watch out, Braeden!” Rowena screamed as she leapt out from behind the rock and threw her arms up into an explosion of ice and frost. It came too late to destroy the fireball, but she managed to deflect it. Instead of hitting Braeden, the fireball struck Braeden’s horse, sending it up rearing and striking against the burning flames, killing it almost instantly, collapsing the horse to the ground, and slamming Braeden down with his clothes on fire.

  Enraged that Rowena had defended the boy, Uriah struck his arms forward and threw a violent blow across the distance, knocking her through the air with tremendous force and smashing her against a rock. Her lifeless body slid like a bloodied rag doll down to the ground.

  Serafina shifted into her panther form and charged into an attack, running straight at Uriah.

  Uriah waved his long, gangly arms around him. Suddenly, the branches of the fallen trees began to thrash back and forth, clicking and clacking. The moss hanging down from the limbs of the trees began to smoke. The bark on the trunks began to slowly peel off, as if the trees were burning. The grass turned brown and crackled beneath her running feet.