by Swinn, J. D.
“Thanks,” breathed Cal. He had been wearing down, that she could see. She was now beginning to feel her own body’s protests against her persistence. She could feel blood seeping from the deep wounds on her stomach. The claws had pierced nearly clean through, and she wouldn’t last long in this state.
“Forget it.” Her mind was already elsewhere. “Mira,” she began, “she’s in really bad shape.” He knelt slowly, she could see that he was in pain, and absorbed the magic from the fallen Harpy. She did the same absently, and could immediately feel it replenishing her energy. The change was visible in Cal, his shoulders straightened and eyes brightened. He then hurried over to where Mira lay a few feet away, and she moved on to the remaining Harpies. Seth had killed another in the meantime, and Max and Wyd were fighting another. Again, her body led as her mind was struggling to function from fatigue. She absorbed again, and felt the power and healing fill her pleasantly like a hot drink.
The last Harpy fell and an eerie quiet fell over the scene. She realized that there had been constant noise since the battle had begun, and it was strange to hear nothing except the sound of heavy breathing. She suddenly realized what had brought her back into reality only moments ago: Daniel. Had she imagined him? She didn’t think so, she whirled about to see a disheartening sight. Daniel stood, unscathed, surrounded by a group of his followers, who had apparently retreated when the Harpies had come. They had come so far, and yet a small army still remained against them, it seemed impossible. Cal was pulling Mira to her feet, the color returning to her face. Relief washed over her at the sight, but did not bring her any more hope. It seemed that they had drawn this war out as far as they could. It was seven against roughly six times that many, and the seven were losing their grips on life already. She put her arm around Mira, and pulled her into one final embrace. She turned to face the others and managed a smile of closure, which was weakly returned. To her surprise, it was Max who pulled the whole group into a battered embrace. In it, she felt dirt and sweat and blood and love. She felt at peace with them, and finally accepted loving them. She supposed love had to be lost once it was learned to be retained, though she did not know why. But she had never known anything else, and never expected anything else. At least, she thought, she would always have these last weeks, this day, this moment.
She tried to picture what they looked like, human clothes hanging ragged in shreds and scraps under Wyd’s armor, mud, dirt and blood streaked over sweat glistening skin. She turned and raised her eyes to meet Daniel’s; she had always thought those green eyes would be her downfall. Only one side could win, and good doesn’t always prevail, she knew too well. Daniel, at last, stepped forward, emerging from his group of followers. She resented the fact that he hadn’t even partaken in the battle, but allowed others to fight for him, this was the final piece of evidence that no trace of his former self remained; Daniel always fought his own battles. But this was not Daniel, she reminded herself. He spoke again, as he had before the battle, with no traces of fatigue.
“I’m impressed,” he began, “I didn’t think you’d last that long.” His voice was dripping with honey as always, with the undertones of acid. She was tired of dealing with him, tired of going on in this endless game of cat and mouse. He’d been after her for years, ever since she left, and she knew he would not relent even if they escaped now.
“No more games Daniel.” Her voice was rigid and cold, and it took great effort to keep it from shaking from fatigue, but she accomplished her final goal. No traces of formality remained, only the spite she felt toward him and all that he stood for. “End it now.” She wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t lie down and die, but didn’t want to delay it any longer.
“You didn’t really think you could win, did you?” His voice took on a more serious tone now. “What you just faced wasn’t even half of what I have. And once I have the amulet, I’ll be utterly unstoppable.” He paused, seeming to consider something, though she knew he already had his speech planned out. “I might spare you, you know. For old times’ sake. All you need to do is hand over the amulet, it could all be over, all be easier.” His words were tempting, her tired mind longed to succumb to the timbre of his voice, to curl up and sleep this pain away.
“You’ve known me long enough to know that will never happen.” Her voice was still cold, but now it seemed empty, as though her very vocal chords knew nothing mattered much at this point.
“We’re called fighters for a reason.” It was Mira’s voice that surprised Nameh from behind her. She smiled in spite of it all for a moment at how much her friend had changed, how much stronger she had become. Had she changed? One could rarely tell this of oneself. She certainly felt different; for one, she now had those she loved, but what good had this wrought?
“If the end is what you want, I would be happy to oblige, though I still think you should reconsider my offer. You would make excellent additions to my army, and with some dark magic, you could be useful.” As he spoke, he picked at something underneath his fingernail, his eyes averted, though she suspected there was nothing there. Now, he playfully raised his eyes without changing the angle of his head, in this manner he looked as devious as he ever had. “But then, you were always opposed to the practice of dark magic, weren’t you? Too bad.” His voice held the casual air that made Nameh think of a person selecting which chicken to slaughter for a Sunday dinner. Soon, she thought, it would be their blood dripping across the wooden slat floor. It didn’t seem to matter to him whether they lived or died, and she suspected as much. Even now, he meant more to her than that, at the very least, he was a simple human life. Not that she wouldn’t kill him if she got half a chance, which she didn’t anticipate.
“Then with that, I suggest you at least admire the awe-inspiring spectacle of dark magic at its finest hour.” A grin spread across his face as he prepared his spell, the spell that would end them. He raised his hands as an eerie greenish light began to glow in his palms. But the world was already fading around the edges; she was bleeding out too quickly. She suspected as much of the others, as they slipped toward the ground. She knew the magic had not yet begun working, and that they may be dead before it was complete. Her hands felt for others, and she grasped them with what energy she had left, which was very little. She didn’t know whose they were, but it didn’t matter. They were crusted with dirt and blood, both their own and others.
As she was thinking her last thoughts, an idea, rather an inkling pushed itself into the back of her mind. It was as though a small voice was whispering into her ear with great vigor, much like the first time she had Listened, something she needed to hear. All at once, it hit her. She again became aware of the cool metal hanging about her neck. The graceful curves forged from Moon Faerie magic spoke to her, assembled themselves in her mind to form a word she could read, understand. It was this that was whispering into her ear with such force.
She could feel the magic rising from Daniel, whichever spell he was spinning was certainly powerful, but it was taking him time. Nameh struggled through her few words, likely her last, drawing every drop of energy from her broken and bleeding body. They tumbled from her dry lips like weary travelers, but somehow she knew they had served their purpose. When they had scarcely been uttered, her vision softened into darkness, and she was surrounded by a feeling that was both pleasantly warm and cool. All she knew was that she was far away from the tormenting scene at the memorial. It was a comfort that made her want to linger forever, and perhaps she would. Was this what death is like?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: GREEN
Nameh had slumped to the ground; Seth wasn’t sure if she was dead, but there was nothing he could do. This powerlessness clawed at his mind, it was a feeling that he resented greatly. Her hair of spun silver now fell around her body and the grass beneath her. Grass always seemed so much greener in the autumn, but he wasn’t sure if the hue actually darkened, or if it just appeared this way against the crisp and brighter blue of the sky this time of year. It was almost
sickening, being surrounded by so much green, though it might have been comforting or beautiful in another time or situation.
He took a glance at those around him, the ones he had met only a few weeks ago. Cal, he had met at the Vine a few months earlier, but had not known him well until he met the others. They had lived together, worked together, fought and shed blood together. They were more of a family than he had ever known. Never before had he felt such belonging, but he knew it could not last; life had never worked out for him in the long run. Even though he was about to die along with these people, he didn’t know that he would change things if he could.
His thoughts were interrupted by a terrible din, a gruesome noise that filled his ears and became his only focus. It took his mind a moment to recall where he had heard the sound before, though it was familiar. He was brought back to his small apartment near central park a few years before, when he had first left home, if one could even have called it a home. He had some money to his name, and he had been able to sustain himself for a while, but he soon turned to the Vine, having nowhere else to go. Not only that, but it had been the one thing his mother had forbidden. The long sleepless nights in this apartment had been filled with horrifying screeches which pierced the air for miles around, heard only by those with magical knowledge. He remembered the Moon Faerie wars; the unnaturally loud clang of metal heard for hours, and the fierce battle cries that filled the night air. This was how each battle was started: a declaration of war.
He lay on the ground, still conscious, but barely, watching the flashes of metal armor streak by. The faerie river rushed onward, paying little mind to the broken bodies strewn, barely alive on the cold ground. It rushed around the Guild members, filling the crevices and concealing them from view entirely. Behind them rushed werewolves, half-harpies, and vampires of all shapes, colors, and sizes. They were adorned in armor bound with metal and dark leather, emblazoned with the crests of the Vine and Guardians alike. He didn’t know how or why they were here, but it didn’t matter. For a moment, hope welled inside him, perhaps they could be victorious, perhaps the world was not yet lost. After all, the amulet was still protected in Max’s pocket, and not in the possession of the Guild.
Just as the hundreds of warriors fighting on their side had arrived, a swarm of fighters for the Guild joined the mass of confusion. There were now hundreds upon hundreds of bodies tangling in a fearsome struggle to end all struggles. He had thought the battle between the few friends and Daniel’s close followers had been the battle to end all, but the fight was just beginning. The war was far from over.
A tall and spindly figure approached, clothed in a robe of deep blue which rolled and brushed about his ankles like thick fog. It was the blue cloak of a Master Healer. He towered above them, and even if they had not been lying in their weakened state, he would have stood almost a full head above the tallest of them. His hair and skin were fair, and his entire persona seemed to be brushed with a light color of wheat and sepia. He walked with a comfort and ease that gave the impression he was gliding along the ground. The figure bent down next to Seth, who was the only one who had noticed his approached, or was conscious enough to do so, he wasn’t sure. His throat was dry and lips were cracked. He was able to force some speech, but it was strained and painful.
“The girl,” he began, raising a finger to point at Nameh before his arm fell to the ground with fatigue. He meant to continue, to describe to him how her abdomen had been clawed through, how she likely had blunt trauma as well as the lacerations, but as a healer, he would know these things. The one before him was a welcomed sight, in fact, he had never been as happy to see a healer in his life. He began his spells, and Seth imagined that he would move on to the others when he had finished. It brought him great relief to see color returning to her skin, hopefully he would be able to save her, but there was no way to know. Perhaps this would quell the feelings of failure that clung to him with unrelenting will; he had not been able to protect them.
The sounds and sights of battle swirled around him, metal shimmering like diamonds, blood glinting like gold in the low moonlight. He realized that the only thing tethering his weary body to consciousness had been concern; with this alleviated, he was fading quickly. The last thing he remembered was the fierce and sorrowful melody of metal striking metal, the song of war.
The brush mingled with his dark hair as he pressed on. Nothing more could be done here, and even less if he was dead. Though it would be much better that way, the tired voice in his head persisted as usual. He ignored it and bent new branches back; he knew that his pace must quicken if he wanted to be absent from the brutal aftermath of the war. He had no desire to respect the dead, or even aid the wounded followers he had left behind. Sickening.
Things had gone almost completely according to plan, save the unfortunate loss on the field. That foolish boy had played directly into his hands, and he drew a delicious and sadistic enjoyment from it. Toying with the emotions of youth had been an easy task, and even easier when the boy believed he was in possession of the one he loved. He almost pitied the boy-almost, for being so ignorant. This girl of his had been killed years ago in a raid, but it had been so easy to manipulate him into believing whatever suited him. In times of desperation, man’s emotion clouded even the best of judgment. So quickly he had sold out his comrades, and just now he would be finding out that their sacrifice was in vain. He had even fled from the battle when reinforcements came, probably from shame. He wondered whether or not the boy would join the Guild now, with nowhere else to go, or leave the city entirely. Werewolves always were too rash for their own well being.
Now, he could only hope the girl was dead. Nameh can’t be dead. She’s stronger than that-stronger than us. He had to remember to be more conscious of his thoughts, the will inside him grew stronger when she was mentioned; apparently their attachment had been deeper than he had thought. Even if she wasn’t yet dead, their forces would be depleted, and he had already planned his secondary attack. The Relic would be his, of this he had no doubt, he simply did not know when. He spun the glistening and intricate web of lies and deceit ever thicker, ever deadlier, like an arachnid. His mouth watered at the thought of the demise of those who would soon be ensnared. After the destruction of the Vine, there would be nothing to stand in his way. He alone could combine the nearly unlimited power of both dark and light magic, once united, everyone would know his name. Daraka would wipe out all of history with ancient magic still known only in the spirit world, leaving only his name on the world’s lips. He would be as powerful, more powerful even, than the Great Warlock himself had been.
Daniel ripped at the constraints that bound him from every direction, but with each broken, ten more entangled him in its place. He screamed as loud as he could manage, fought for control of his body harder than he had in years. She was going to die, everyone was going to die, and it was going to be all his fault. He remembered how it had been in the beginning, when he had refused to accept the new control over his muscles, his bones, his voice, his actions. But soon, he had faded. Even the strongest of fighters cannot maintain an unrelenting fight for years. Now, this rage stirred within him again; his captor had gone too far.
What ate away at him the most, killed him slowly and painfully, was that Nameh would never know he was sorry. She would never know that he had only gone to the Guild to gain power for them both; he had done it because he loved her. Young and foolish, he hadn’t known what he was getting himself into. He had no way of telling her that dark magic was forced upon him, consuming his body entirely, leaving his mind in its original state, trapped within the blackness. No one on the outside could ever discover the reality that the true soul resided within the dark spirit which overtook the body, because there was no hope of escape. But it didn’t matter now; he knew they would never speak except through the harsh words Daraka conjured. He could see the way she stared blankly at him, as though the past had never been, and that only malice remained. This was his punishment, he
knew, for becoming greedy and power hungry, if only for a moment. Now he would watch the woman he loved hate him, fueled only by his captor’s attempts on her life and the wealth of information drawn from his own mind.
He would do anything for her, even now, when she would do anything to see him dead, because he knew he deserved every ounce of her anger. He would do anything to let her drive the dagger he had given her through his heart, and watch him slowly bleed out. This was the only way he could know that she would be safe. But even his life he could no longer give, even his soul she could no longer have through his will. Even in the most remote and corrupted depths of his mind, he could not think of a worse punishment than this.
For now he could only watch, slowly watch his life being lived by another. Slowly watch another thriving for what he would give his entire existence to prevent. It would be killing me, he thought, but nothing can.
Just then, a thought crossed his mind, or what could now be considered his mind. There was nothing in this world that could truly get the best of him mentally if he wouldn’t allow it. He could be physically beaten, but no one could take his thoughts and actions completely away from him. At least for a moment, and that would be enough, he could take control. With this realization, he drove the darkness out with all the will and power that he possessed, and had ever possessed. He forced the other out of every inch of the mind and body-his mind and body.
Daraka rebelled, immediately aware of Daniel’s plan. He knew he would have only one chance, that after this moment, the spirit would be more cautious of how it imprisoned him. He ripped free one of his arms, and that was enough. Before Daraka could motion to stop him, he snatched the dagger at his waist from its hilt. Time slowed for a moment as everything he never wanted and always wanted came together in one breath. He would surrender his life as he never thought possible, and bring safety to the only one he had ever loved. At long last, he could cease plaguing the world from his fatal mistake.