The Rise of Fortune and Fury

by Sawyer Bennett

  “True,” he agrees, and we grin at each other.

  Zaid can hear us as he paces nearby, and I normally wouldn’t want to say something that could potentially hurt his feelings. But time is ticking, and I’ve never said this to Boral.

  “Thank you.” My earnest tone and expression causes Boral to go still. “For helping me over these past several weeks. For being on our team. For being loyal. And for saving my life on more than one occasion.”

  Zaid stops in mid-stride, head turned his father’s way.

  “You’re welcome,” Boral says in a gruff voice.

  “You’re not bad for a Dark Fae Ravager,” I tease, not willing to risk a glance at Zaid. He’d probably hate me bantering with the father he hates.

  But to my surprise, Zaid lightens the mood with some dark humor. “I bet you’re his favorite human he’s wanted to kill but decided not to.”

  For a moment, Boral doesn’t know how to take that, but I’ve come to know Zaid well over these past months. Much better than his father does, and I crack up laughing.

  It takes a second or two, but Boral eventually does the same.

  Even Zaid chuckles before resuming his nervous pacing.

  Glancing at my watch, I note just two minutes have passed since I last checked. I glance over at Carrick, crouched to examine a terrain map with the others huddled around. Maddox is pointing at an area, perhaps imparting information he found when he scouted the last few days.

  As if sensing my eyes on him, Carrick actually looks over his shoulder at me. Eyes intense and focused with love, he seems to devour every detail of my face. I smile at him tentatively.

  I have no clue if he smiles back because a flash of white light blinds me, along with a loud boom that shakes the ground. I scramble to my feet, my vision obscured by bright dots, and I yank my whip free of my hip holster.

  Has Kymaris brought the fight to us early?

  As my eyes start to clear, I realize it’s not Kymaris standing before me, but rather five tall, imposing and regal figures.

  The gods.

  I’ve only met Veda, Cato, and Rune in the past—the time with Rune I’d rather forget—but I know exactly who Onyx and Circe are by virtue of all the times Carrick has talked about them. They form a semi-circle before me, not five feet away.

  I vaguely notice everyone around me is on their feet, but Carrick bends distance, flashing to put himself in between the gods and me, arms slightly spread to protect me. A reminder they are inherently dangerous creatures.

  “Easy, Carrick,” Cato murmurs in a deep voice. “We are not here to cause harm.”

  “I would hope not,” Carrick replies sharply as he moves to stand at my side, taking Cato at his word. “Given that you all appointed Finley as your biggest pawn in this game.”

  “We came to wish her luck,” Veda says softly, and Carrick’s shoulders relax slightly. He takes each one in and it’s clear they are not here by unanimous decision. Veda, Circe, Onyx, and Cato are standing casually with smiles on their faces.

  Rune’s mouth is pressed flat, arms crossed defensively across his chest. When my eyes meet his, they gleam with malice and my hate for him increases tenfold.

  “The final motions of the prophecy are in play,” Onyx announces, as if this formality is required. “You have been fated to this prophecy as the only one with the ability to stop it. While the gods do not take sides or offer aid, we wish you success in your endeavors.”

  My eyes move from Onyx to Circe, who blows me a kiss; to Veda, who gives me a slow nod of encouragement; and to Cato, who offers a slight bow of respect.

  To Rune… his expression in exact opposition to his fellow gods.

  I nod at him, my eyes refusing to avert from the harsh glare of antipathy. “He’s not here to offer wishes of good luck.”

  Carrick tenses, because I’m sure that most would not ever dare to offer even the slightest insult to a god. Yet he doesn’t warn me off or chastise me. He lets me have my say.

  “We are here by consensus,” Circe explains.

  I don’t look at her, staying focused on Rune. “I don’t care about your consensus. I am doing what you have appointed me to do, but I don’t have to stand here and listen to what, as a group, is complete insincerity by virtue of Rune even being here.”

  Deandra, who is a good twenty feet away, gasps at my temerity, and I know I’ve offended good and well if she’s shocked.

  It actually empowers me because I know that I’m critical to the prophecy, which means there isn’t a damn thing Rune can do to punish me right now.

  “In fact,” I continue, on too much of a roll right now. Pent-up anger, frustration, and fear make my tongue loose. “Rune is a coward. He’s an embarrassment to the council.”

  “How dare you—” Rune sputters.

  “How dare I?” I snarl back. Carrick’s hand reaches out to take mine but not to stop me. Instead, he squeezes softly in support. “How dare you continually punish Carrick for a mistake that was made and paid for a hundred times over? Is your ego really so thin that you can’t move past it? So you lost your chance to be with your love, and I respect the pain you must have felt, but Carrick has felt it over and over and over again. And it’s still not enough for you. I’m starting to think you’re not the almighty god of Life and therefore Death, but rather someone who is overcompensating for some type of inadequacy—one I can hazard a guess about what it is.”

  Rune’s eyes turn blood red, and his lips peel back in rage. I’m guessing the insult to the size of his dick might have gone a bit far. The other four gods are alarmed, and they actually move slightly in my direction as if to protect me.

  Not fast enough, though, as Carrick is already there, putting himself in front of me.

  “You’re going to regret that,” Rune hisses at me. With a wave of his arms, he disappears.

  “You shouldn’t have done that, Finley,” Veda chastises softly.

  “I kind of liked it,” Circe says with an impish smile.

  “It was disrespectful,” Cato says with no hint of admonishment. Merely a statement. “But I understand your need.”

  Onyx doesn’t comment on my rash words but rather asks Carrick. “Are you ready for the battle?”

  As the god of War, she would be most interested in that.

  “We are,” Carrick replies, and Onyx gives a sage nod in return.

  And with no further fanfare—well wishes or chastisement—there’s a flash of white light as the gods disappear.

  “Whoa, that was intense,” Deandra exclaims, and I look over. She grins and flashes me a thumbs-up sign. “Mad respect, human.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter as Carrick turns to face me.

  His expression is grim, but there’s no anger for what I did. He doesn’t say what I already know.

  I’ve angered Rune enough that if I survive the prophecy, I’m probably going to die soon after.

  Even knowing that, I don’t regret a single thing I said.

  CHAPTER 26

  Carrick

  The hours of waiting were excruciating, and while Carrick had not truly envisioned Kymaris coming to the ritual spot any earlier than necessary, it didn’t make the wait any less tense.

  The clearing where the ritual would take place was a large field approximately the size of a football field. It was surrounded by thick forest and rough terrain with Fish Lake to the northeast and Lake Wenatchee to the south.

  Because it was a new moon dawning, there was no ambient light in the sky. Not that it mattered as it was overcast and not even the stars shone through the clouds. Carrick’s eyes had long grown accustomed to the dark and while he couldn’t see clearly, his demi-god powers let him envision enough of the ritual field that he could spot their enemies coming.

  He knew Kymaris would arrive by bending distance, but he wasn’t sure how her forces would get there. They might hike in. If so, they would most likely be from the south side of the clearing as there were decent trails leading in from Lake Wenatchee.
For the time being, Carrick had positioned their forces to the west, north, and east of the ritual site, and had them stay back several hundred yards to avoid detection.

  Of course, all of their precautions to stay hidden could be moot, as Carrick knew that Kymaris might just as easily use her newly acquired Blood Stone powers to flash her forces into place.

  This meant that when it was about ten minutes until the midnight hour and there had been no sign of Kymaris or her minions from the scouts scattered throughout the forest, Carrick ordered everyone to move in close and be ready to battle at a moment’s notice.

  “She’s going to bend distance in,” Finley surmised. “Along with her daemons and fae.”

  “It would appear so,” Carrick agreed as they advanced.

  He halted everyone twenty-five yards inside the tree line on the north side of the ritual clearing. Using his own powerful magic, he amplified the power of the dark night and thick forest, casting a cloaking spell so that all of their army were covered. Anyone within the ritual field wouldn’t be able to see the enemy watching them from the woods.

  Along with Carrick and Finley were Myles, Zora, Boral, and Zaid. Myles had launched his drone into the sky and set it to hover over the center of the clearing. It was quiet and couldn’t be heard. The fisheye camera lens—equipped with night-vision tech—provided a clear view of the entire area and they huddled around his tablet screen to watch and marvel at the clarity of the feed.

  Deandra and Rebsha were there as well with their contingent of Light Fae that they convinced to join the fight. They stood back a little deeper from the edge of the woods, battle armor in place and iron swords in hand. Behind them were the handful of daemons and fae—regardless of if dark or light—who were ready to fight.

  Maddox was on the west side of the clearing with the Brevalians. His smartphone was tapped into the drone, and he had a communications device in his ear to talk to Carrick. They had moved in closer, too, as the clock ticked nearer to midnight.

  And on the east side were the annihilators. Caiden, Titus, and Priya had managed to amass a strong group willing to help end the threat Kymaris posed. Titus had also been provided with an earbud comm so he could communicate with Carrick as needed.

  As it stood, all of those in the woods poised to battle evil would charge together when Carrick gave the order. Finley might be the one destined to take down Kymaris, but Carrick was the one in charge.

  When it happened—when things became real—it was fast and somewhat shocking.

  One moment, there was only the dark of night. In the next, the ritual field came into focus in what appeared, at first, to be an explosion of light.

  Finley gasped, the light so bright the camera feed from the drone went white.

  When it cleared, the field was lit with small bonfires along the perimeter, spaced about fifteen yards apart from one another.

  That wasn’t the only surprising thing. In addition to the fires providing light, the field was full of daemons, all with black auras and ugly as sin. Big, hulking beasts with mottled skin, most of who carried crude weapons like machetes and sledgehammers. Some had guns, but not many. In that respect, Carrick was glad he had Boral and Zaid buy their own daemon forces those black-market munitions.

  The daemons moved toward the edges of the ritual field, clearly setting up a barrier of protection against anything that might come out of the woods to try to stop Kymaris. They set up in groups of two and three, their gazes roaming everywhere and on high alert. Fortunately, they could not see their own enemies twenty-five yards in because of the cloaking spell.

  They knew Finley, as the one destined to thwart the prophecy, was coming, but they weren’t sure what she’d be bringing with her. As such, Kymaris had hedged her bets and brought a lot of forces. There had to be twice as many daemons in the clearing than those hiding in the woods and ready to fight on Carrick’s command.

  Things only got worse. In a flash, at least thirty Dark Fae appeared in the center of the ritual field. She apparently had some luck finding progeny that would be loyal to her. It was unknown, however, whether these newly appeared fae had powers since that was always hit or miss with that race. Carrick would assume so because Kymaris had unlimited power at her disposal with the Blood Stone, and she knew how to share it.

  Bottom line—Carrick, Finley, and those dedicated to fight with them were severely outnumbered by daemons almost two to one, but they had more magic at their disposal, even if the Dark Fae that just arrived all had their own magic.

  It would be a close battle if fully engaged, and Carrick hoped it wouldn’t get that far. He was banking on he and his brother being able to swiftly distract Kymaris enough that Finley could get the lariat on her to dampen her power and get control of the Blood Stone.

  Reaching out slightly, Carrick easily found Finley’s hand as she stood beside him. He squeezed it briefly, and she responded. They didn’t look at each other, but they didn’t need to. Their touch was strength enough.

  Releasing her, Carrick spoke quietly into his comm unit, which went straight to Maddox on the west side and Titus on the east. “Stay alert. Be ready to move on my command.”

  While Carrick, Maddox, and Titus were wired in directly to each other, they also carried walkie-talkies where they shared a frequency with the variety of scouts they had placed throughout the woods.

  Carrick’s unit crackled at his hip, and one of the scout’s voices came through. “We have movement on the south side. Heading your way.”

  All eyes moved to the edge of the clearing. As if melting from the darkness, individuals in black robes appeared. They walked in single file, emerging from the forest. Their hoods were pulled low so their faces couldn’t be seen. They were of varying heights and their hands were clasped serenely at their stomachs, looking almost peacefully monkish in nature.

  Carrick counted them as they appeared. There were twelve.

  The original Fallen. They moved counterclockwise around the clearing, forming a large circle in the middle.

  Another figure appeared out of the woods, and his wings immediately gave him away.

  Amell.

  He was wearing the same green leather outfit he’d had on in the Underworld, and he didn’t enter the circle of twelve fae but rather moved around it, heading north across the field straight to where Carrick and his forces awaited in the dark.

  Twisting, Carrick risked a glance at Zora. Her eyes were pinned on the Dark Fae who had both abused and helped her, but her expression was flat.

  Amell reached the far north side of the circle of twelve and turned his back on where Carrick and his army stood.

  “Bring in the sacrifice,” he ordered, his voice ringing across the field.

  From the south side, there was movement once again as Pyke emerged from the darkness. A low hiss came from behind him and he knew it was Deandra, furious at seeing her traitorous brother for the first time since she got dragged into this.

  Pyke wasn’t alone. He was marching a female into the clearing. His hand was at the back of her neck, and there was a black hood covering her entire head so she couldn’t see. Oddly, the woman was wearing a long-sleeved white nightgown as if she’d just been plucked out of bed, and she stumbled a few times as her bare feet caught what was probably rocks on the ground.

  She didn’t fall, though, as Pyke’s grip on her neck was tight. Everyone watched quietly as he pushed her forward through the circle of twelve and straight to very middle of it. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a thick wooden post that was driven deep into the earth. Turning the woman so she faced back toward the south from where they’d emerged, Pyke pushed her against the post. Magical bonds of rope circled her from chest to waist, tying her to the post with her arms at her side.

  The woman was oddly calm, her head merely bowed. She didn’t struggle, and Carrick thought she might be drugged or under a spell so she wouldn’t be a distraction in her fight to stay alive. Pyke stepped a few feet back from the woman, then clasped his
hands behind his back.

  “We have to help her,” Finley whispered beside him.

  “Agreed,” Carrick replied, his mind calculating whether they should make their move now.

  But before he could call an order to his army, there was more movement at the south side of the field and then it was Kymaris appearing from the forest.

  She was dressed like she was attending a royal ball in a crimson dress that billowed out at her hips to flow to the ground. The bodice was tight, forming a deep cleavage, and scrolls of diamonds formed patterns along the hem, wrists, and neckline. Kymaris’ hair and makeup were as they always were and glimmering from a thick diamond rope at mid-chest was the Blood Stone. It looked mostly black from afar against her pale skin, but the center had a low-level glow of red to it.

  She, too, moved through the circle, following the path that Pyke just took. She walked slowly, head held high. She looked left and right, taking in her loyal brethren, who didn’t look back at her as their heads were all bowed under their dark hoods.

  Her gaze moved to the woman tied to the post as she approached.

  “We need to do something,” Finley whispered urgently.

  Carrick wanted to save the human at all costs, but he wasn’t sure this was the time. The ritual had not started yet as Amell said he’d be the one performing it. He was hazarding a wild guess that the sacrifice would not be made until the ritual was underway. He knew somehow that the power had to be filtered through those in the circle, and he felt the sacrifice would be a catalyst, so he believed he had time.

  He was assuming a lot and playing with that woman’s life, but he had centuries of wisdom guiding his decision. He merely said, “Not yet.”

  Finley shifted from foot to foot restlessly as Kymaris drew closer to the woman.

  Rather than focus her attention on the sacrifice, Kymaris’ gaze went to Amell on the far side of the ritual circle. She moved past the woman tied to the post. Just as everyone was letting out a sigh of relief that she hadn’t killed her, Kymaris’ hand gracefully reached out and pinched the edge of the black hood. She tugged it off as she strode by, not even bothering to look at the sacrifice tied to the pole. She dropped the hood carelessly on the ground and kept walking.