Dawn of Ash

by Rebecca Ethington

  “I remember you things when you were annoying little peacemakers,” I spat, part of me wondering if he could even hear me. “We must love everyone. Do not judge based on what you see. The hippies would have loved you. You were almost as bad as the Drak.”

  It continued to gnash and claw at me as it fought against my hold, the motion useless. Even in my weakened state, it had no hope.

  With a roll of my eyes, I compressed my hand against its throat, its windpipe closing with a little bit of pressure.

  Slowly, it stopped trying to fight me, the sharp point of its claws digging into me less and less.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered as its head fell to the side, wings sagging as I let it drop lifelessly to the ground.

  I hoped no more found me.

  One, I could choke. Two hundred and I would be a goner. I already knew I wouldn’t be lucky enough for that scream to go unheard.

  I needed to hide. Not that it would make any difference with Vilỳs, but I wasn’t going to go out into the middle of the street and start waving my arms, either.

  Dragging my feet against the garbage-strewn floor of the alley, I moved away, clinging to broken bits of mattresses, chairs, and the wall as I made my way to a large dumpster, the massive thing taking up most of the space of the dingy thoroughfare and providing me with the perfect cover.

  Or so I hoped.

  Hissing in pain, I slid down the wall, pressing myself against the vile metal box that smelled faintly of fruit. I tried to focus on my surroundings, focus on any noise coming my way—be it hissing or wings or blue-eyed men. There was nothing, nothing except dead air and the faint red glow of Edmund’s barrier.

  It was something that should have been relaxing, but I didn’t think anything could be at that point, because right then, sitting behind the dumpster, the panic that had gripped me for the past few minutes became more of a frightening reality. Everything that had happened in the last who knew how long washed over me: attacking my best friend, Sain, and Sain standing beside Edmund, and Rosy and Cail, and Thom …

  “Thom,” I said aloud, the frightening memory swimming through my mind—that moment as I fought against Edmund’s control in a desperate attempt to stop myself from killing him.

  No, to stop Edmund from killing him.

  I had thought I was strong enough to face the demons the blade awakened, to save my daughter. But Edmund was stronger. No, the blade was stronger. This dangerous thing had better not end in Thom’s death.

  I needed to get there in order to make sure he was okay, to give this dratted thing to Ilyan before something worse happened. I hoped he could destroy it.

  My arm exploded in a jolt of pain as I looked down at my hand, at the blade and the dried blood that clung to it like some kind of scab. I had to take it out before he found me, before he tracked it and found me, before he took control again. For all I knew, it was this thing that was blocking my magic, and I wasn’t conceited enough to think I could make it through the city without so much of a spark, that I could make it through the city without Edmund taking control again. I didn’t have another option. It was too dangerous to wait.

  Closing my eyes, I wrapped my other hand firmly around the end, the rock slick with dried blood, warm and uncomfortable to the touch.

  I tried not to think about what I was about to do. I breathed, part of me praying I didn’t go into cardiac arrest. It would be like a band-aid, or so I said in my head. I guessed the analogy would be correct if the band-aid was made of massive leeches, barbed wire, and duct tape.

  “Five, four, three…” I didn’t wait, just pulled, the action rough and quick as the thing dislodged from my hand with a loud, wet smack.

  It took all my willpower to keep the scream inside my throat, keep the agonizing pain hidden, and keep me safe from any other magical flying rats that were about. Every muscle stiffened in mind-numbing pain. My body seized and flailed in a need to stay quiet.

  One swift move and my head slammed into the stone wall I sat against, a new pain erupting through my skull at the impact, but even that pain was not enough to compete with what now ripped through me.

  Stomach spinning, I heaved, the smell of blood and vomit so strong I could barely breathe through it.

  Balling up the hem of my shirt as best I could, I pressed it against my hand in an effort to stop the massive bleeding that was now flooding from the golf ball-sized hole in the center of my hand. I already knew it was pointless. The pain continued, blood flowing in rivers over my skin, pooling against my legs and the garbage I sat on.

  Still, I could not feel my magic. I couldn’t feel the warmth. Nothing rushed to my hand in a mad attempt to stop the blood flow, to heal the ragged wound I had created.

  If I stayed here much longer, I would bleed out.

  I had to move.

  I had to find Ilyan before it was too late.

  Shaking, I attempted to place the shard of blade in my pocket, trying to focus on a world that was spinning and shifting before me. Everything shook. I shook as my body moved into what I was convinced was shock.

  Pressing my weight against the wall, I leaned against it as I forced myself to stand, my eyes wide as I looked down the alley, part of me praying Ilyan would magically be standing there.

  It remained empty.

  At least there weren’t any rabid Vilỳs, I supposed.

  Using the wall as support, I moved back down the alley, my eyes darting every direction as I tried to get my bearings, praying I was on the right side of the river, praying I was close to the cathedral.

  I couldn’t be that far away after what had happened, not that I remembered much. I remembered running, and if I was running then as well as I was walking now, I had to be close.

  I was.

  I was on Latenska, the long street that moved over the river and stretched into Old Town, which was less than half a mile from where I needed to be, from someone who could save me. I hoped I could get there in time, or Jos would probably find me in a few days, face down in a pool of my own blood, surrounded by Styx lyrics.

  I ran, leaning against the wall, my hands clawing at corners and windowsills as I stumbled forward, keeping my pace as fast as I could, given that my legs still weren’t working right, and the added pain in my hand was making it hard to see straight, hard to think.

  Everything ached, each step getting harder to think through, each step draining me. Worse still, all I could really see was red and black as the sun hovered above me, weird shadows moving over the street before me, and the steady drip of my blood as it fell against the street was loud in my ears. The rhythm of each drop perfectly matched the frantic pace of my heart.

  I supposed I should calm down. It would ease the blood flow a bit, but it was an impossibility. It was all I could do to keep my brain focused on my destination, something that was becoming harder, my brain slowly shutting down with each step.

  With each drop of blood I lost.

  “Who needs blood?” I asked aloud, the words slurred as I turned a corner, the wide foyer of the cathedral opening up before me. The cathedral beyond the massive space was broken and smoldering as though it had been destroyed, as though they had been attacked. Staring at it, I struggled to get my mind to focus on what I was seeing, trying again to recall what had happened. I knew Ilyan’s barrier made everything look abandoned from this side, but that level of destruction was a little excessive.

  Leaving the safety of the wall, I moved into the open space before the barrier, the same stretch I had run through before seeming as though it was as long as football field, the golden gate broken and looming before me, the dark stone looking more like a gateway to Hell than to safety.

  With all I had done in this life, I would certainly deserve that.

  “Ilyan,” I gasped, my voice broken as I took another step, my stomach spinning as much as my head was. Everything before me fell apart, black looming in and making it hard to see. “Ilyan,” I gasped again, my broken legs twisting underneath me as I
spun on the spot, collapsing as the world continued to twirl.

  Stars of black and red all mixed together in what my brain was trying desperately to interpret as a smoothie.

  Oh, geez, I was losing it.

  “Ilyan.”

  My head made contact with the heavy cobbles of the courtyard with a slap, the plea reverberating in the cave of my mind, the simple word mixing with a scream that flooded the air.

  I wanted to tell whoever was screaming to shut up. They were just going to attract the Vilỳs, attract Edmund’s men. Nevertheless, I couldn’t get the words out.

  While I stared ahead, his shoes moved toward me, voices pulling through the screams in a weird echo I didn’t understand.

  “Wyn?” The voice resonated through my head like a bass drum, the same word coming again and again as the fear in the name increased. Maybe they could get whoever was screaming to shut up. “Wyn!”

  “Help,” I said, my desperate pleas barely above a whisper. “My hand. Help. Heal it.” I wasn’t confident they had heard me above the scream that wouldn’t stop or even if they were really there. I couldn’t focus enough to know anymore.

  Pain throbbed through my head as I felt wide hands lift me. Then bouncy black curls came into view, the familiarity of them seizing through me in a wave of dread.

  Edmund.

  No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t be.

  It was then the screaming stopped, the terror taking its place as my weak body began to fight. Blood sprayed everywhere as I flailed, nonsense spewing out of my mouth as I tried to get away from him, to fight. Except, I couldn’t find the energy above a gasp and a flail. It didn’t matter; I would die trying to escape him if I had to. I would rather die than go through what Edmund had planned for me.

  “No!” I screamed, “I won’t marry you! Let me go! No!” The words came one right after another, the panic mounting as his magic moved into me.

  The calm heat of a power I didn’t recognize flooded me, moving right to my hand, right to my heart as it calmed me, as it cauterized the wound in an obviously desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

  I stopped fighting as the magic took control, my body relaxing, my heart rate slowing, even while I could still feel the fear, still feel the pain. I didn’t seem to care quite so much anymore.

  “Geez, Wyn,” Ryland gasped, his voice breaking through my horror in that same weird echo I had heard before. “I didn’t know you thought of me that way. I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

  “Ryland?” I gasped, turning to face the boy who carried me, but he didn’t even look at me. He held me against him, his jaw tight, eyes focused ahead.

  “At your service.” His voice was chipper all things considered, but even I could tell he was putting it on, something dark edging beneath him, like he was trying to hide something. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  I didn’t know what to say. My body felt very heavy and foreign as I lay in his arms, my magic slowly coming back to life as his filled me. Something, considering the way his brow furrowed, he noticed and, strangely, was not happy about.

  “Ryland?” I asked, confusion and fear rising up in me, barely able to get the one word out.

  “Ilyan says I am to treat you like an enemy, Wyn.” His voice had taken on that deep, gravely quality I had heard before. The underlying tension made sense, and I froze, the calm I had felt at being found melting away in a tense anxiety.

  I swallowed, looking away from the boy to the cathedral, to the barrier we were quickly approaching. My mind panicked over whether or not it would even let us through.

  “You attacked Joclyn, Wyn. You attacked Risha.” His muscles constricted at the mention of the last name, and the dread I was feeling dipped into me painfully. “And last anyone heard, you were going to be marrying Edmund, which seems to be hauntingly accurate given what you were yelling at me … I mean … I do look awfully similar to my father—”

  “I have a reason…” I could barely get the words out, the selfish, pathetic nature of my excuse grating on me.

  “A reason for marrying my father? I don’t want you as my stepmother, and neither does Ilyan.”

  “No! I obviously don’t want that, Ry! I mean, for attacking…” I felt like I had been hit in the chest … or maybe stabbed in the hand. After everything, trying to pass off my selfishness as a reason for attacking my best friend was pretty pathetic. I guessed Ilyan had a right to tout me as dangerous.

  Maybe I was.

  No, I knew I was.

  “We know about the blade,” Ryland said, pulling me out of the quickly building panic with a growl. “And you should know better.”

  “What are you, my dad?” I couldn’t stop the snap from erupting out of my voice. Now that my body was healing, my personality went right back into place. “Says the boy who attacked his mate and his best friend when under the control of his father—”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?” I spat, my temper quickly rising to a dangerous level, the heat of my magic rising to match.

  I could still feel Ryland’s magic as it attempted to heal my hand. I knew he felt that, felt the heat, felt the warning. It was something he obviously didn’t miss.

  “First, they were the same person,” he barked as he turned his head toward me, his eyes narrowing in obvious irritation. “And second…” He stopped in place, his arms tense as he halted barely steps away from the barrier, steps away from what my head had interpreted as safety. But he didn’t move. He froze, glaring at the barrier with a jaw so tight I was concerned for a minute that it would snap off.

  I knew why he had stopped, and not because there was no second reason. He knew as well as I did that the situations were pretty much the same.

  Minus the whole marriage thing.

  Ew.

  “I’m not going to attack anyone, Ry,” I whispered, knowing exactly where his mind was. “I’m not working for Edmund.”

  “I know that, and I’m pretty sure Ilyan knows that. But I can’t disobey orders, either.” The same fear as before moved through his voice, heavy and broken, everything tensing.

  I could tell he regretted what was about to happen, and I reacted, my fear kick-starting through the heavy emotional binder Ryland had smothered me with.

  “You’re not going to kill me, are you?” My magic flared in preparation.

  I knew I was still weak, but I could hope I had enough energy to take on Ryland. I doubted it, and I didn’t want to. But I wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

  “No, Wyn. Don’t be ridiculous,” he groaned, his voice making it obvious he was trying to make it light-hearted, even though there was something else there, something that made my muscles tense. “Can you stand?”

  I could merely nod in answer, regardless of being convinced whether I could or not. Standing, I could probably do at this point. Although, if I would be completely vertical was still a matter of debate.

  Walking, however, I knew was not going to happen, and judging by the way the nerves on the left side of my body were jumping around, I was beginning to wonder if walking in a straight line was ever going to happen again.

  I would never pass a sobriety test.

  I guessed it was good I didn’t drive. Flying would be interesting, though.

  With a deep exhale, Ryland set me back down on the ground, his motions careful as he made certain I could at least hold my weight before he let go, his magic leaving as soon as we lost skin contact.

  I gasped as the powerful numbing balm of his magic left, the pain flooding right back through me, jabbing through my arm and erupting in my head like a billion, little bombs all going off at once.

  Tensing in pain, I fell to my knees, my body deciding not to hold my weight. Figures. Everything spun and seized, my stomach churning angrily as the pain threatened to do me in, everything vibrating as my stomach turned and twisted in a viable threat.

  “Are you okay?” Ryland asked as he fell down beside me,
his hand strong on my back.

  For a moment, I briefly thought about asking him to pull my hair back, not that it wasn’t already covered in vomit and blood.

  Focusing on my breathing, I tried desperately to find something to stare at. If only the world would stop shifting and duplicating. Even Ryland was caught in some odd vortex of clones.

  “I think so,” I said, looking at one of the five Ryland’s to choose from and hoping it was the right one. For all I knew, I was staring far off to the left.

  “I’ll take that as no,” he grumbled, obvious regret weaving through him. “I don’t have any other choice, Wyn. Ilyan barred you from the barrier. Even if I try, it won’t work. You are going to have to wait here. Can you hold on?”

  I nodded numbly, still not quite certain if I was looking at the right Ryland.

  My heart pulsed painfully as he turned from me without another word, his body swallowed by the liquid air that surrounded the cathedral. Everything became wobbly, confusing my already twisted brain more.

  I didn’t dare move as I focused on the spot he had stood in a minute before, knowing he could see me on the other side. Chances were high that he was watching me. Chances were even higher that he wasn’t alone.

  I sat, staring at the cathedral, the distorted damage hard to make out with the way everything was shifting. For a moment, it looked like one of the main walls was about to fall in. Thank goodness it was the false reality created by Ilyan’s shield.

  I knew Joclyn and I had done some damage with whatever had happened before, but I would seriously be dead if it was that much. That would be more of a reason for Ilyan to put me on an “armed and possibly dangerous” list. Destroying churches. In some ways, I guessed I should be happy it was a perceived disloyalty … well, and attacking my best friend. Those, I could fix.

  At least, I hoped I could.

  The air moved as though it was a mirage, my heart rate accelerating in fear of exactly who was coming through and what I could be facing. It had been such a relief when Ryland had found me, and granted, the whole stopping-my-bleeding-before-I-died thing was awesome, but I suddenly found myself wishing I had bled out.