Dead Magic

by A. J. Maguire

  They had ignored her for the most part. Surrounded as she was by Remora stones, they must have assumed that she wasn't a threat. They were right, of course. Even if the stones hadn't been there, she still had the morphed one in her pocket. It bit into her thigh where she leaned against the tree, calling her to some kind of action. But she couldn't feel her magic anymore.

  She wondered if it had been severed from her when Winslow was taken. Perhaps she'd only had it because of him, and now that he was mutated by the Dellidus, it was gone. That made a little sense. After all, she hadn't been Talented until that incident on his balcony.

  Her eyes strayed to the pit into which they had thrown Winslow. It was several feet away, covered by a wooden grate. She could hear him screaming a berserk, half-man half-wild cry of outrage. Every now and then, the grate would rattle, giving evidence to his continued struggle for freedom. Her heart broke at the sound. She wished they'd just killed him.

  She wished they'd kill her, too.

  Why, she wondered. Why not kill us? If they hated us enough to call us abominations, then why keep us alive?

  She looked away from the pit. Voruke stood by the massive, sick tree at the center of the clearing. He alone had stayed behind when the others had run off for Magnellum. He faced the tree and fell to his knees, raising his arms in something akin to worship. Valeda watched him. Twisted limbs began to move, curling and swaying as though in response to his prayers.

  Valeda felt the stone in her pocket begin to heat. Confused, she shifted against the ropes holding her down and managed to cover the pocket with her hand. Warmth pulsed out, thawing her numb and frozen body. She could sense the Wild in her. She'd never attempted to communicate with it as she had her Talent. She didn't know how and, frankly, it scared her.

  She could feel it now. It was angry. Frighteningly angry. At first there was no real form for it. The anger was just present, boiling in her center with no purpose behind it. Then Voruke began to speak, sibilant whispers urging that anger toward Magnellum, and her Wild started to respond.

  "No peace," he said, "no mercy."

  Valeda closed her eyes and shook her head, trying to dislodge the words from her mind. But shutting her eyes only seemed to connect her to the Wild. She was suddenly a part of a larger whole, no longer just little Valeda Quinlan, but a member of a community. A community, she realized, whose singular purpose is to destroy everything I've ever known or loved.

  For one aching moment, she wanted the Pillars to fall. But that was not her voice raging against Magnellum. She opened her eyes and forced the voices from her mind, cutting them off from her consciousness. She saw the tree again. It was still swaying with Voruke's chanting prayer of hatred.

  The Wild was everywhere, imbued in all living things, but that tree was the source. She knew this like she knew her own soul. And she knew that there was something very, very wrong with it. It was a brackish gray color, festering with some kind of moss that drooped and hung off its branches. It creaked and moaned, straining to move, and she could sense that deep anger thundering through it.

  But the anger was not for Magnellum. Not originally, anyway. Voruke was the one pointing the fury at their borders, not the Wild.

  She gasped at the implications.

  If the Wild was being directed by a man, then it could be stopped by a man, too. All they had to do was shut him up.

  Valeda struggled to get her hand into her pocket. Voruke was alone. He'd sent everyone off to the war, believing himself safe from the "abominations." Whatever plan he had for them when this was over was most likely violent and painful and she would be damned if she just sat by and waited for it. This was her best chance at taking him down and she knew it.

  Her fingers closed on the rough stone and she pulled it from her pocket. It had several sharp edges. She picked one and started sawing at the ropes, periodically glancing to where Voruke continued to pray. Her fingers warmed under the stone where she gripped it, but her knuckles froze in the winter air. The contrasting sensations reminded her of her Talent, its reaction to the Wildness in her.

  There has to be a balancing point, she thought; like scalding water left to cool to the right temperature for tea.

  Fates preserve her, she was comparing herself to a cup of tea. Magnellum was falling, people were dying, Winslow was screaming in pain and she was looking for an appropriate analogy.

  "Mother, Maiden and Crone!" she hissed, annoyed with herself.

  The rope snapped free and Valeda paused. That had been far too easy. Her toes and body were no longer numb from the cold, either. Somehow she had called on her Talent, and it had answered. She glanced at the Remora stones surrounding her.

  "Half Wild, Half Talented," she murmured to herself.

  "And still doomed," Voruke said from above her.

  Valeda looked up, surprised at his sudden nearness. He sneered down at her, his pitted face wrinkling into the most sinister expression she'd ever seen. He had crooked, yellow teeth, with two prominent canines on either side of his mouth. She could see scars running over his bald skull, crisscrossing in small white lines as though he'd fallen headlong into a bramble patch and never healed.

  "Magnellum means you no harm," Valeda said.

  She didn't know why she said it. She knew he didn't care. But she wanted to buy time. It was one thing to attack him while he was vulnerable and chanting, it was another thing to try fighting him straight on. She didn't even have a sword.

  "What harm are mice to a cat?" Voruke asked.

  "They why kill us?"

  He crouched down and grabbed her chin, bringing his face intimately close. His black eyes bore into hers, seething and hateful in their intensity. "Because you are mice," he said.

  Valeda felt her Talent coil at her center, prepared for action. Without really knowing what she was doing, she shoved him back with one hand. He soared away from her, propelled by the force of her magic. Valeda blinked in mingled surprise and horror.

  Before he hit the ground Voruke changed form, his body morphing and elongating into a giant cat. He landed on all fours and immediately sprang for her.

  Valeda screamed and rolled out of the way. He came at her again, rocketing himself off the tree. Scrambling to her feet, she turned in time to strike him with the stone. It hit him in the head and Voruke let out a startled cry, falling back into the shape of a man. A great, purplish mark covered the left side of his bald head.

  The tree suddenly let out a groan, bending toward them. Several of the branches looked to be reaching for her, clawing in desperation at the air.

  "No!" Voruke shouted.

  She looked back at him, but he was already up and moving. His fist caught her in the jaw with blinding accuracy. Her open mouth clattered shut, pain blooming through her teeth and straight into her temples. She staggered backward, holding tight to the stone.

  He kicked her in the stomach and she fell back. Agonizing nausea churned in her gut. Her body hit something wooden and dizzy lights swirled in her vision, but she still had the stone.

  She tried to call on her Talent to subdue the pain, but remembered at the last moment that only male Witch-Born could do that.

  Such a stupid rule, she thought, and rolled onto her side.

  She was half on top of the wooden grate. In the gloomy shadows of the pit she could see Winslow's blond hair. He wasn't screaming anymore. Winslow leapt at her, far too fast for a normal man. He looked like a streak of blond blur and before she could react, he snagged her wrist and began to fall.

  Valeda's arm slipped through a slat in the grate and she crashed back into the wooden surface. Winslow's descent jerked to a stop, anchored by her body. She felt her shoulder pop out of its joint and she screamed in pain. The stone tumbled from her numb fingers, landing somewhere in the pit below.

  She called to her Talent-asking for strength, for a spell, for anything-as she tried levering herself up. But the movement only brought Winslow closer. His other arm snaked through the grates and he grabbed
her neck. She fell forward again, choking. His fingers dug hard into her throat. She tried to dislodge him with her other hand, but he was too strong.

  "Winslow . . ." she wheezed. ". . . please!"

  The grate began to crack under their combined weight. She felt his nails pierce the skin at the side of her neck and saw him smile in triumph. The Dellidus had changed his teeth, giving him two curved and horrifying fangs. Darkness clouded her vision and her chest squeezed tight with grief.

  Oh, Winslow,she thought.

  "This was meant to be done at our victory feast tonight," Voruke said from somewhere nearby. The grate splintered again and her body tilted forward. "But no matter. I'll just hang your empty carcass to the Host tree. The people can spit on you in passing."

  Valeda couldn't reply. Where Winslow's fingers had pierced her, she felt a sudden wrenching. It tugged insistently through her, locating the core of her Talent, and began to pull the unseen substance from her. Her scream came out as a high-pitched, half-choked wheeze. The grate finally broke, but Winslow's grip was too strong. She felt him feeding on her Talent even as they fell into the pit.

  ***

  Winslow landed in a crouch, releasing Valeda at the last moment. They couldn't risk her neck snapping on impact, after all. They needed her alive. Her Talent would return to its original form if she died and that would force them to hunt for another Witch to feed from. And they had their doubts there would be any Witches left after today.

  Valeda crumpled to the ground, coughing and dragging in ragged breaths. Her beautifully angular face was dirty. He saw smudges of black on her forehead and cheeks and realized she'd been crying.

  No, she iscrying.

  The little thing has given up hope.

  That's for the best, the Dellidus told him.

  He took a step toward her and stopped. He was fully aware of every move he made and simultaneously incapable of stopping himself. At every sign of rebellion, the creature attached to him would draw more Talent out, weakening his resolve. He felt its fangs buried deep inside him. They were a constant, burning torment on either side of his spine. The tail of the serpent clung to his torso, tightening every time he tried to move on his own.

  But the worst of it was the invasion of his mind. The Dellidus crept into every memory, every thought. It did not wish to join with him like his Talent or the Wild, it wanted absolute mastery over him. And it had it, mostly.

  Valeda struggled to her knees. He could see that her left hand searched the ground frantically for something, but her gaze remained on him. He took another step and stopped.

  Winslow knew the creature's will. It would feed on her Talent until she was nearly depleted, then stop. After an hour or so, she would be regenerated enough to feed from again. Hour by hour, day by day, it would keep her until she finally died. And he could not-would not-willingly let that happen.

  It drew on his Talent again, tearing the magic out of him until he shouted and staggered. The tail squeezed so tight he couldn't breathe. Winslow stumbled back until he hit the wall of the pit. He clawed at the coils wrapped around his chest, desperate for air and release.

  "Winslow?" Valeda asked.

  Her voice was a balm. She'd found whatever she'd been looking for and stood with her back against the opposite wall. Her dove-grey eyes were full of remorse and terror.

  "Run!" he pleaded. "Vee, you have to run!"

  The Dellidus redoubled its assault and Winslow collapsed, screaming in mingled fury and agony. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her take a step toward him. He threw up one hand to stave her off.

  "No!" he said, panting. "Just . . . run."

  "Run where?" she asked, but had the good sense to back away.

  He arched against the ground as the Dellidus bit down more forcefully. It was getting insistent now. He could read the annoyance and frustration in its mind. It couldn't understand how he had regained control, couldn't fathom why they weren't feasting on Valeda's Talent yet. What terrified him was that he was beginning to wonder why he was fighting it. Feeding on Vee's magic had been more than satisfying-it had been euphoric.

  He felt the unnatural bulge of the Dellidus's head press into him as he lay prone, barely able to pull in air. Was feeding on her worse than suffocating to death? She wouldn't die, after all. He could keep her safe. They could find a quiet place somewhere, far removed from the tribes of the Wild, and they would protect her from everyone else.

  Winslow struggled to refocus his mind. That was the Dellidus talking.

  But she would be safe. The tribes would undoubtedly want her dead after today. What did it matter if they fed on her now and again? At least she would still be alive.

  "No."

  His voice was no more than a whisper, but he heard it for what it was. He heard the sibilant, changed tones, the evidence of just how far the Dellidus had invaded him.

  How could he fight something that had taken hold of him at such a primal level? He was saturated in the creature's essence, a captive in his own body. No amount of magic could aid him. Not that the Dellidus had left him much to use.

  He thought suddenly of snowy terrain and sharp rocks; a granite cliff face with a ledge, and on it sat a black-spotted great cat, watching him with large, blue eyes.

  His Wild.

  It still wasn't friendly, but it also wasn't hostile.

  Winslow shut his eyes and reached for it. He didn't have any idea what he was doing, but anything was better than giving in to the Dellidus. Heat pulsed in the center of his chest, ebbing outward with a strange surge of strength. He rolled onto his hands and knees. It was an effort to maintain control of his body. Whatever power his Wild had lent him strained under the might of the Dellidus.

  With one hand he reached back and gripped the head of the snake. With another shout Winslow summoned all of his strength and ripped the creature off his neck. He felt its fangs tear out of him, felt his mind suddenly freed from its influence, and immediately had to tighten his grip as the Dellidus snapped at him again. His ribs cracked under the squeeze of the creature's tail, but he knew better than to let go.

  Winslow rolled onto his side, wrestling the serpent's head around until he could grab hold with both hands. Its mouth opened wide, curved teeth stained with his blood, and it hissed up at him. He felt his magic sputter to life and recognized when it had fused with the Wild in him. In an instant he was rejuvenated and dug his thumbs into the creature's throat. He slammed its head into the ground over and over again until he was certain it was dead.

  Panting, Winslow released the limp Dellidus and began to squirm out of its coils. He shucked off the serpent's tail and staggered to his feet. The fusion of Wild and Magic made him giddy and he had to brace himself against the dirt wall.

  He'd done it. He'd broken free from a Dellidus. It was impossible, but there it was.

  He stood there, staring at the smooth, curved scales of his former captor, and almost forgot where he was. Then Valeda rushed over to him, wrapping herself around him one-handedly with near as much strength as the animal. He cringed as several of his ribs protested, but held her anyway.

  "Fates alive!" Valeda whispered against his chest.

  "Indeed," Winslow said. He kissed the top of her head. "Let's never do that again."

  She huffed a laugh and held him tighter.

  The grate overhead flew open, thrusting more light into the pit. They both looked up as Voruke leapt down. The man changed on the drop. There was nothing fantastical or violent about it, he simply changed, landing on all fours in the pit. Winslow recognized the great cat at once. Its jaw was askew and it had a familiar presence that drew him back to the train wreck.

  "You?" he asked, altogether surprised. He hadn't thought Voruke would be so bold as to attack inside Magnellum while the Pillars were still up. Then again, from what he knew of Voruke-which was next to nothing-the Wild man's hatred probably drove him to it.

  Winslow read the violence in the creature and very carefully pushed Valeda behind
himself. He had no weapons, just magic. He would need something more than that to fight Voruke in this form.

  Form, he thought, remembering his own spotted cat.

  It was time to give his Wild a little more freedom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Elsie felt it when the Pillars fell. Like the reverberation of a thousand drums all struck at once, it hit her and she collapsed to her knees. The incantations that had gone into securing the Pillars dispelled, rushing back to her, back to her arm, with a flood of power that left her dizzy. Her tattoos flashed in sudden golden color, too bright to look at. She heard several people exclaim their surprise, and then the light faded to its normal glitter in her skin. A moment later, Dorian was at her side.

  "Elsie?" he asked, kneeling down.

  "It's starting," she said.

  "Is she all right?" Rorant asked, rushing up to them.

  "Yes," Dorian said, and looked up at his father. "Tell them all to man the lines. We won't be alone for long."

  Rorant nodded once and ran off. Elsie watched him go. Their meager number made a perimeter twenty feet away from the ark and lined by torches. Ten feet behind the Witches stood the Warders and what few Hemic knights they'd managed to find. Elsie felt guilty about not promoting Hemics in Delgora. She'd left the faction of Untalented fighters alone ever since her sister died. Bryva would have slapped her upside the head for such a gross oversight.

  Forty men in all, she thought. And every one of them is doomed. Every person outside of the ark, Witch and Untalented alike, would be dead by morning.

  Elsie had led them all to their deaths.

  "Elsie," Dorian said, forcing her to look at him. She expected to see fear in his face, or regret or pity, but was greeted instead by firm resolve. He cupped her cheek, his steel-grey eyes echoing what his magic was already telling her.