Dawn of Ash

by Rebecca Ethington

  “What was all that about?” he asked, his voice tense, as everyone around us began to leave.

  “What was what about?” I growled as I finally shook him off, both of us knowing Sain was long gone, and I wasn’t stupid enough to follow him.

  “Oh, I dunno … you screaming that the barrier was down and then trying to attack your father—”

  “Don’t call him that.” I turned to him, my teeth grinding together, hating the familiarity he gave me.

  I hated the way he continually glanced at the chain around my neck. It was almost enough to make me want to take it off. Almost.

  “The barrier was down,” I growled, folding my arms over my chest in a move that was all too familiar for him. It was taking everything in him not to smile, but I still saw his lip twitch. “I saw it.”

  “I’m not saying you didn’t.” Ryland dragged his hand through his curls, his blue eyes growing dark for a minute.

  I recoiled, the resemblance to his father making me uncomfortable. Luckily, Ryland didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “Is what Sain is saying true? About your magic? About you?”

  I blinked, my jaw clenching. I hadn’t expected that.

  “I wouldn’t believe all the garbage Sain spews,” I spat, taking a step in full expectation of continuing down the hallways as though nothing had happened.

  “But he’s your father.”

  “I told you not to call him that, Ry. You of all people should know how I feel about him.” I stopped dead, a small bubble of hurt forming in the pit of my stomach as I turned to him. His eyes had an odd mix of hard and sad. “You had a crappy father, too.”

  “Sain is my friend—”

  “Ryland!” Ryland’s rebuttal was interrupted by an overexcited voice, accompanied by the loud sound of steps from behind us as we were bombarded by Ryland’s protégé and full-time shadow. The eagerness of the child spread over his face in a smile that squished the kiss on his cheek together until it looked like a burn.

  He was as excited as he always was. That was, until he caught sight of me, and his smile faded to something akin to horror, his youthful eyes wide, lanky limbs freezing in place. Then everything about him was more irritating than endearing.

  I guessed gossip traveled faster than I thought.

  Thanks, Dad.

  “Hello, Jaromir,” I cooed, hoping it would take the edge off, but he took a step back, his eyes widening more if that was possible.

  Jaromir looked between Ryland and me like a confused child trying to gauge which parent to side with and, instead, chose to stay still, an odd expression twisting his face as he tried to communicate nonverbally with Ry.

  “I would pick who your friends are more carefully,” I whispered to Ry, my focus refusing to leave the kid, who was looking more scared by the minute.

  “Interesting advice coming from you.”

  My focus snapped to him, my eyes hard as he met me with a smile, the grin tentative as he pulled his hand through his hair.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re my friend, Jos,” he said with a sigh, his eyes looking to the chain that still hung around my neck before looking back out the window, back to the barrier that had caused all the problems in the first place. “I still choose for you to be, and I don’t think you are a bad choice.”

  I stared at him, my tongue tied in a large knot, shock pressing against my chest in an oddly comforting weight.

  Joclyn, Ilyan pressed into my mind, his worry paramount.

  I flinched a bit at the infiltration, my focus so heavy on Ry I had forgotten he was there for a minute.

  “Right,” I finally said, knowing it was a lame retort. “I would still be careful.”

  He smiled in that goofy way he always had, the look sending a shock up my spine that I hadn’t expected.

  I gawked at him, expecting him to say something, expecting me to say something. However, I couldn’t find the words, so instead, I nodded my head.

  Ryland’s smile stretched even farther as I walked past him and Jaromir with my eyes stubbornly pulled forward.

  I could hear his voice as he spoke in quick Czech. I could hear the tiny squeak of Jaromir as he asked a question. Still, I walked, ignoring them, pretending I still didn’t understand the Czech, though I did. Three months living amongst native speakers, trapped in a Cathedral where that was the only language, had done me wonders.

  At least now I could ask for more than the bathroom, although I would gladly choose to speak nothing except English any time I could.

  Joclyn? Ilyan’s voice was terrified, desperate, and I felt bad he was trapped there, unable to leave the rooftop while all of this was going on. Are you okay?

  Did you see? I asked, already knowing the answer.

  Yes. All of it. His tone said it all. I want you to come right to me.

  I want nothing more.

  For the first time in the last few minutes, I realized I was fighting back tears, anger, and adrenaline, everything seeping away into an emotional drainage that was trying to take over.

  His magic filled me in a frantic attempt to comfort me as my head spun again. The hallway seemed to tilt head-over-heels as my vision shifted, my magic coming to life.

  In desperation, I stretched my arm to the wall, grasping for some kind of support, for some kind of reality before my magic pulled me into a sight, before the world around me sunk to black.

  Precognition blazed through me in a powerful torrent, pulling me right into the dark, derelict streets of Prague, the streets I had been in a million times.

  I ran through them as I had in so many other sights, and like in a million other sights, I knew what was coming.

  The cloaked man.

  He flashed before me, running from street to street as I tried to follow, as I waited for him to turn and remove the hood as he always did. This time, he kept running.

  My heart beat in fear and excitement, my magic a heavy weight on my chest.

  One more turn, one more flash of the tail of his cloak.

  I turned with him, following him. In place of the same scene I usually faced, there was a lone man, someone I recognized all too well.

  Edmund.

  My heart accelerated to a pace that vibrated through me, my entire body tensing in fear. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t escape the sight. I stood, staring at him where he was in the middle of the street with Ovailia by his side, Sain huddled off to the side like a wounded kitten, and a small child I had never seen before standing before him.

  My sight flashed as I watched, red and black skittering over my vision before the street came back into view, my heart plummeting at the way the child fidgeted, the way she tried to move away, but something held her in place; something was keeping her there. She twitched and tried to run, but she couldn’t move. Her sobs echoed, the pained sounds increasing my fear.

  The closer the sight took me, the more in focus she became. She was no older than five; a long, tattered nightgown hung over her emaciated frame, dirty brown hair falling past her waist. Blood dripped from her fingers in a slow rhythm then fell into pools of carmine that covered her feet, sprinkling over her bare calves like a Jackson Pollock painting.

  She turned to me slowly, and the red of the blood splattered down the front of her nightgown, seeping from the ragged gash in her throat, her eyes crying tears of the same color.

  “Auntie,” she whispered, and I recoiled, the alarm in my sight increasing. “You’ve got to stop him. He has it. He’s going to hurt her.”

  I wanted to scream at the sound of her voice, at the way she looked at me, but the sound never came.

  The sight melted away in an ember burn, leaving me standing in the middle of the hall, the low chatter of Ryland and his protégé still coming from somewhere behind me.

  I stared ahead, my mind still trying to process what had happened, what I had seen. It had changed again, but this time, it hadn’t changed in the norm
al way. The sight was different. It was stronger.

  More than the cloaked man, more than Edmund standing in the street, the way it moved was different. Like the first time Dramin had pulled me into sight, pulled me into the truth of my magic, it felt real.

  Ilyan, I called to him, needing his advice, needing his connection. Judging by the way his heart beat thundered inside of me, he had already seen. He already knew. Did you see?

  Come here, now. He hadn’t needed to say it.

  I was already running.

  I moved at a dead run, my ribbon pulling against my sloppy bun as it trailed behind me in a bright line of color. I ran past the hordes of people who looked at me with a combination of horror and fear. However, my mind was still too trapped on that dark, blood covered street to even dwell on what was going through their minds.

  I had one task—get to Ilyan.

  Throwing up my shield, I ran past the thin, white line that covered the cobbles and through the barrier Ilyan and I had made to protect everyone inside.

  The tension in my heart increased as the pressure of the barrier pushed against me like cellophane and a suction cup. It was hard to breathe, hard to think, but I didn’t stop. I kept moving, propelling my feet through the pressurized space and out into the open where fear and tension combined with the painful reality of what the world around us had become.

  Within Ilyan’s barrier, the space still held shadows of the war we were stuck in, streaks of blood no one could remove, broken windows and shutters still waiting for repair. But it was clean, safe. Here, underneath the bright red glow of Edmund’s dome, trapped in the city he had designed to be a death sentence, the safety was gone.

  Out here were silence and fresh streaks of blood. Out here were carcasses and remnants of life, burned out cars, and belongings scattered over bloodstained streets from when people had attempted to escape. Out here it was an active war.

  With a tight knot forming in my gut, I took one look back to the cathedral. All signs of life were gone now, wiped out by the shield, leaving me looking at a cathedral and courtyard as broken down and devoid of life as the one I now stood in, exactly how it would look to Edmund’s men.

  Can you show me again?

  I knew what he was asking. I could hear his terror as he tried to play back over the sight, as his brain picked apart every change in a mad yet useless attempt to make sense of it.

  I’m almost to you, I said as I took off into the air, my wind and magic catching me as I jumped, propelling me forward and toward the heavy pull that Ilyan’s magic always gave me.

  Be safe, he whispered, his magic further filling me as he tracked my movements, as he traveled alongside me.

  I welcomed it, pulling it into me, knowing I might need it.

  It wasn’t safe out here.

  Even with all the magic, there was no way to be safe. Our own men moved through the streets like ghosts, looking for survivors, for food, for any sign of Edmund’s guards as they patrolled the streets, groups of them attacking with no warning, even when shielded. The Vilỳs scoured for anything they could try to attack, like rabid dogs.

  The faster I got to Ilyan, the better.

  I let my magic carry me up toward the rooftops, the broken shingles and collapsing spaces stretching before me like some kind of deranged, rotting garden.

  Speeding up, I kicked off the corner of an old wrought iron balcony, the ancient structure groaning and shaking underneath the pressure. I had already moved away from it when the sound of metal against stone reverberated through the crippling silence. The balcony crumbled to the ground, landing against a street cart, and the old, food vendor’s stand collapsed under the pressure.

  Grinding, heaving, explosive sounds boomed through the dilapidated city, growing louder as bricks and wood continued to collapse.

  What was that? He was panicked, and so was I. With the sound of the crash, my heart had sped up, everything tensing in a violent agony. After all, if he had heard it, then so had any other living thing within a twenty-mile perimeter.

  Great.

  I’m fine.

  I had done that a million times before, but this time, when everything was already tense and frightening, it had decided to collapse in the loudest racket possible, guiding everyone and their dog right to me.

  Don’t even start, I growled, talking more to myself than to him.

  I wasn’t going to. Just get here.

  Right. That was going to be harder than I had expected.

  I could already see the black specks of the Vilỳs zooming through the streets below me, heading right to the noise, toward the now crumbled remains of seventeenth century architecture.

  I should be happy that, at least for the time being, it had pulled their focus. I wasn’t an idiot, however. It wouldn’t last. I had learned the Vilỳs could track magic like nobody’s business. It was why I was so good at it, it seemed. Why all the Chosen were.

  Minutes.

  I had minutes.

  Ilyan was right; I needed to hurry.

  I could feel his magic ahead. I could feel his tension, his anxiety. I could feel his fear right alongside mine.

  But I could also hear the Vilỳs behind me.

  They are coming, I hissed into his mind, my agitation pulling through each syllable while I tried in vain to move faster, knowing it was impossible. I had tried to outrun them before and failed.

  Today would be no different.

  I could attempt to defeat them, yes. But I already knew there were too many. I could feel each speck of their power as they streamed behind. I could feel their anger, feel their determination to destroy me.

  My only chance for everyone was to lose them.

  Ilyan! I shouted, although I didn’t need to.

  I am coming. A small, black shape appeared between the buildings before me. The form of a man moved closer as he sped toward me, hair and délka vedení královsk swirling around him like the tail of a kite.

  I watched him, my heart pounding, as he ran closer, his face coming into focus, his eyes madly searching for me, searching for what was coming.

  Can you see me? I asked, panicked. I could see through his shield—I had always been able to—but Ilyan couldn’t. That was one ability Ilyan didn’t have a prayer in.

  No, he responded, and my heart dropped. I can feel you.

  Just as he was about to collide with me, his arms opened wide, wrapping around me in an iron cage of comfort and security. I had barely felt him against me before he changed direction, his magic carrying us up like a shot, soaring high into the air, above the buildings, above the Vilỳs who continued forward blindly, for the moment, anyway.

  “Ilyan,” I whispered into the hollow of his neck, the tension building as I watched the creatures stop, their bodies jittering around in a manic need to find the trail again.

  “It’s all right, my love,” he growled in deep Czech, the sound lighting me on fire, even through the panic. “Just wait.”

  I wrapped my arms around him as we hovered high in the blanketed sky, the planes from this morning still patrolling the perimeter in a slow circle like vultures waiting for the flesh to rot.

  Ilyan’s arms were a sweet pressure against my spine as his lips pressed against the crown of my head, a calm wave washing through me. I didn’t understand how he could be so calm with those monsters seconds away from finding us, but he laughed right as a building several blocks away from where the Vilỳs had congregated collapsed.

  The sound was louder than the small balcony mishap, as loud as the bombs that banged against the sky every day. It echoed around us, trapped inside the dome as it called the Vilỳs to it.

  As one, they turned, flying toward it in a mad attempt to find a new victim, all thoughts of us forgotten.

  “What did you do?” I asked as I turned toward him, my head craning to see him.

  His hand left my back to gently push the wild strands of my hair out of my face, a mischievous smile spreading wide at the question, his magic g
ently setting us down on the roof of one of the many buildings of the city.

  “Don’t worry; it’s not the first building I’ve torn down today.” His voice was gruff as his eyes danced.

  “What?”

  “It was coming down, anyway,” he clarified, as if that made it all better.

  His wind swirled around us as it left, the two, long, golden ribbons of our royalty tangling around each other, clinging together as if they belonged that way.

  As if they could not stay away from each other.

  They couldn’t, just as we couldn’t.

  We didn’t want to.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was gruff and deep as he took my hand, our magic joining together, the burn on his skin against mine a comfortable warmth that moved into me as if it were a living thing.

  Passion wrapped around me with heavy arms of love and commitment that made my knees shake. I drowned in the pleasant weight of the connection, of the adoration. The emotion spread as he moved closer, his arm snaking around my wrist and pulling me against him until all I could feel was him against me, the rest of the world forgotten.

  “Ilyan,” I whispered, the tension of the last few minutes melting into nothing.

  “Můj navždy.” His voice was rough and deep, his arms pressing me into him in perfect form, stomach against hips and shoulder against chest.

  I fit against him in flawless harmony as he held me, looking down at me with a blazing light in his eyes, even stronger than the love he had gifted me with. It was strong, the promise of love and forever, of commitment that ignited something deep within me. It was a steady flame that grew, pressing against our already intertwined magic and exploding into tiny pinpricks of light, dancing blessings of the earth’s energy that ignited and swelled and sparked as the strength of our magic energized them.

  The connection we shared transcended everything, which was probably why I was having trouble focusing on anything other than kissing him right then.

  “Ilyan,” I repeated his name on a groan that was bred in passion, a plea of further contact I knew he couldn’t ignore.