by Lisa Daniels
“I need all the witches from the tunnels. I need you, Jael, to be our shield. And at least a hundred werewolves. We won’t need a big force. Just a well protected one.”
Geraline sighed from above Malek. No rest for the wicked. Yarrow smiled thinly, her black veins prominent on her arms. Malek observed everyone here, wondering if this was the last time he’d see anyone alive.
Someone scurried to them from the other side of the encampment. Malek squinted as he recognized the enchantment witch, Raine Lancer.
“Here,” the dark haired beauty said, pressing something into Helena’s palm. “It should help protect you from the pain, and enhance the potency of your ice magic.”
Helena nodded. “Thank you. And good luck.”
“Good luck,” Raine echoed, before retreating to an anxious looking man’s side.
Surveying the battlefield, seeing the heart and valor everyone put into the fight, he felt a surge of hate towards his family. His stupid, stubborn family, that would rather keep to their narrow little corner of the world instead of fight for a cause.
People who he wished he didn’t share his blood with.
His heart pounded heavily, and he inhaled deep, mentally preparing himself for death.
Helena quickly assembled the small advance guard she wanted. Then, with a last glance towards Erlandur’s illuminated section of the city, and the growing mass of Shadows waiting to reclaim the Black Tower back, they followed her in.
“I wonder what plan Helena has,” Geraline whispered to Faith, who shrugged. The combat witch had been staring towards Erlandur, suspended above the battlefield with a constant sliver of fear upon her face. Fear and concern and love. It made Malek respect her, and worry with her.
Kell seemed to be doing a good job of keeping Erlandur out of harm’s way, and apparently levitating some Supremes towards the group every now and then, making them easy pickings.
Inside the Black Tower, Malek’s heart quailed.
Evil saturated this place. It stank out of every wall, bled into every orifice.
The walls were just as black as they looked on the outside, though an ethereal blue glow illuminated the spindly corridors.
The pull of the place made Malek believe in the concept of true evil. His hackles flared, his tail turned into a spiky brush, and Geraline slid off him, instead pacing by his side. The inside of the place was vast, bigger than any structure he’d ever seen. It needed to be, of course, to support the height the thing soared to. It was likely many leagues long on each side, more like a miniature city within the heartland of the Fractured City itself, which was pretty much the size of the Lunar Wastes.
Though they referred to the Black Tower as the center, it was actually near the front of the city, with the rest dwindling back into frozen tundra, and where the Shadows seemed to be massing up.
The whole first floor was a network of tunnels, of ancient architecture, grand and intimidating at the same time, of a bygone era. When people must have been so much more advanced than the scrabbling civilizations today. Chills rippled over Malek’s fur. He snuffled Geraline’s palm when he sensed fear emanating from her as well. Her chest heaved up and down under her warm gray robes, and her leather boots padded softly on the hard ground. Every noise they made got amplified, echoing into the expanse.
Every moment, Malek expected something to happen. For the walls to start teeming Shadows. Either Helena’s army had already cleaned out the floors and fortified them against additional Shadows, which was unlikely… or they didn’t dwell in this place. Was it sacred to them? Something to avoid?
This used to be a human city, right? Long, long ago. Before they invaded. Before the Lunar Wastes became what it is today.
Where in the moon were they supposed to go? Up? Where was up?
Helena acted as if she knew where she wanted to go. So did Jael. The others fell into silent step behind them, unsure. All the werewolves behaved like Malek. Uneasy. Expecting something awful to happen.
The Supreme, the former enemy known as Grace, glared into the back of Helena, as if trying to figure out what lay in her mind. What her end goal was.
Malek wanted to know, too. He didn’t trust Grace at all. He didn’t know if Yarrow’s magic was a temporary salve on an ongoing problem – and that at any moment, the combat witch would turn on them. Given the melee prowess of such a witch, and that awful gift of intuition which allowed the keening of an opponent’s move, she might obliterate them all before they stood a chance.
So unnatural. To work with some of their enemies. To be surrounded by thousands upon thousands of the aberrations, without knowing if any of them would ever make it out the Tower again.
He wanted to morph, to assure Geraline that he’d do everything to protect her. To make sure the witches made it out alive, because their magic could change the tide of a fight.
All he offered was a rumbling growl and a nuzzle of her palm. Some of her fear subsided, and it made him feel good, to see he had that effect on someone.
Proud, even. Without any attachments, he found his thoughts gravitating more to her, wondering, contemplating if they could try working things out together if they survived. He didn’t want to appear as needy, or clingy, but he did desire company. Affection. Love.
Things to give life meaning, and a purpose to thrive. He didn’t know so much about her. Her thoughts. Her bonds to her family. Her hopes and fears. If she wanted children or if she intended to become a sage. What made her laugh, what made her cry.
He found her physically attractive and passably satisfying to talk to, but the secrets of her heart remained a mystery to him. He hoped he might have a chance to find out.
“It’s going to be a long climb,” Helena whispered, her voice creating susurrations through the arched hallway, which descended further than the eye saw, and glowed with that ethereal light. The same light that animated the true undead, replacing the soul that housed their bodies before.
What was it about this place that oppressed them? The silence? The darkness? The size? Feeling tiny and signature against the achievements of humanity before?
Was it because of the Shadows that humanity had regressed?
After wandering the solemn halls for what felt like an eternity, they took a left turn, folding into one of the spacious corridors, where ornate frames were strung up on either side. Each frame depicted something from a bygone age. Beautiful, rolling plains stuffed with colorful flowers. The original Lunar Wastes? Each picture had a description, but the language was unrecognizable, nothing Malek had ever seen. He padded along these ancient, pristine halls, devoid of dust, though they had stood the test of time for centuries. Meadows. Shining cities and cobbled streets. Humans smiling, posing for their portraits, wearing rich clothings of zany colors.
Scholars, architects, painters, musicians.
Malek hesitated for a second on one picture, which displayed a shadowy being standing above everyone else, whilst they bowed their heads towards it.
It bore an odd resemblance to Helena.
He narrowed his wolfish eyes, suspicions increasing.
He didn’t trust her. And he needed to find out her motivations before he could act. But what if by the time he figured them out, it would be too late?
They approached a huge set of stairs with black marble bannisters, polished to mirror brightness, adding to the disjointed atmosphere of the Black Tower.
“It will be a long climb, but the stairs in this place are at least together.”
“How long?” Geraline whispered, as if afraid to speak out loud.
“Well… we’re aiming for the top floor.” Helena jabbed at a long set of symbols engraved in the wall. “And there’s about two thousand five hundred floors.”
“You’ve got to be joking,” Alyssa exclaimed. “We’ll die of exhaustion before we even reach there!”
“I never joke.”
Perhaps if you’re centuries old, you lose your sense of humor, Malek thought, glowering at her.
<
br /> “WHO DARES INVADE THESE SACRED HALLS!” A voice boomed.
Everyone stared, looking around to where it came from. Then, a horrible wailing sound penetrated the atmosphere. To Malek’s shock, he saw one of the werewolves who trailed the back of their expedition suddenly melt into bones, without any obvious touch by a Shadow.
“Defenses activated…” Helena huffed. “Alright, run, run, run!”
Several more werewolves met the same fate. In a panic, everyone galvanized themselves to run, witches hopping onto werewolves, Helena flinging herself over what Malek suspected was the Dreadwood chieftain – a brave move, considering the Dreadwood reviled the Shadows more than anyone else.
Up the stairs, Malek glimpsed black arms groping from the marble floor, and shuddered.
About nine werewolf bones lay scattered between them. Mighty warriors, usually so resilient against the Shadow touch, dissolved.
Dark magic, indeed.
Fear igniting his thoughts, and Geraline clinging hard onto him, he puffed as he stretched out his limbs, fighting for the long climb ahead.
For all he knew, everyone on the ground floor, inside and out were dying right now.
They had nowhere to go but up.
Chapter Four – Geraline
Geraline’s world blurred into the stairs that led up to the top floor. Apparently, there used to be a kind of winch and platform in the Tower which had rusted and broken over time, or they might have taken that instead. Now though, they needed to run up thousands of flights. The werewolves would be bone tired, if they didn’t drop unconscious from exhaustion. They might have to take snap breaks, and with whatever the blasts was pursuing them at the moment, Geraline didn’t exactly feel confident about the whole situation.
How in the moon were they getting out of this? If the entire bottom floor was a sinkhole of destruction? Just fling themselves off the Tower and hope Kell could catch them all? If she and Erlandur’s little army weren’t dead at this moment.
Halting her fear as best as able, she concentrated on the climb, and kept her eyes peeled for any hint of danger previously unseen.
What was the plan, here? Why did they need to enter this thing?
Sure, maybe they didn’t have the numbers to take on the Shadows. Or maybe they did. But this – she saw no strategic purpose in it. Not unless something amazing existed on the top level. Like the leader of Shadows or some powerful artefact. Nothing else made sense to Geraline.
When they finally advanced the last set of stairs after what felt like centuries later, and Geraline’s other secret fears that they were ascending above the death zone of where they were able to breathe proved irrelevant for this, the remaining fragments of the expedition were greeted with incandescent light, a vast room with no corridors, no hiding spots to duck in, except for the pillars that helped support the structure – and what looked like a softly glowing stone in the middle, hosted on top of a podium and encased in a transparent box.
Geraline saw realization flood into Grace’s eyes.
“No,” she said. “I mean, I knew you must have been heading here. But… can you?”
Was this a powerful artefact? Stronger than the cursed queen’s skull? Helena gave a determined scowl. “We break this, we destroy the anchor between our worlds. After all, it is odd, is it not, that we can only spawn in the Fractured City? In the direct vicinity of this orb, which centuries ago, we went to great lengths to protect?” She brushed some of her white hair back, fingers twitching. “Of course, no human dared set foot in this place for so long, either…”
Jael growled. “No. If this is your plan… surely you condemn us all? We cannot breed on this planet like we do back home.”
“What is it?” Geraline asked, speaking out the sentiment the rest of the expedition felt.
“They call it the Heart of the Ancient,” Helena answered, slowly stepping towards it, partly reverent, partly anxious. “Supposedly the heart of an old God, one before your sun and moon deities. We destroy it… and no more Shadows will be able to cross over into your world. There will still be mindless, but there will be no more Supremes. Their numbers will be limited.”
Just before Jael voiced her dissent, or Geraline attempted to ask what purpose would Helena have in crippling her kind so badly – the hissing noise rang out.
“TRESPASSERS! How dare you look upon the Heart! All of you must die!”
Again, the tendrils of hands started reaching out of the floor, surrounding the podium. Everyone jumped away, frightened beyond measure, and Alyssa gasped when Supremes came out of the walls behind them, flinging their corrupted magic into the heart of the expedition.
One other revealed themselves as well, with blue glowing eyes, with two missing limbs, and it snarled, “HELENA. JAEL. And Grace… how dare you hang with the filth? You have betrayed everything we mean. Our purpose. I won’t let you live.”
Werewolves collapsed under the barrage of grasping hands from the floor, before Jael focused her freeze spell upon the floor in a radius around them, leaving them vulnerable to everything else.
“I’m sorry, this is the best I can do,” Jael murmured. The wrinkles around her lips became deep crevices.
“No, you shield from them. I’ll handle the floor,” Helena said. She placed her hands upon the ground, and it turned bright white, encasing itself in ice. The ice rose up a few inches, elevating everyone and leaving them a slippery but secure anchor against the grasping hands, which couldn’t handle permafrost. Jael instantly raised her shield, and Helena screamed at the witches, “Focus all your power on the Heart! Destroy it!”
Hesitating, Geraline saw the look of desperation on Helena’s face, the fear in the Shadow’s eyes.
Was this really what their entire invasion had been for? Why thousands of werewolves and witches had died, and some more than once?
Obediently, with Malek pressing his body against her, preparing for any intrusions, Geraline flung her firebombs at the Heart. The glass held strong, resisting her magic. Yarrow crackled lightning at it. The Supremes continued flooding the perimeter, now appearing on the other side, leaving them surrounded by greater numbers of magic casters.
Jael’s magic appeared to be focusing on the air around them to freeze magic as it entered, but not to stop the Supremes from simply pushing in and overwhelming them.
Helena screamed and conjured up an ice wall completely obscuring one side of the final floor, but it got melted down within seconds by fire casters – who were unable to do the same to the floor within Jael’s protection. Yarrow switched her targeting, focusing on the fire casters.
“We’re outmatched. This isn’t a case of us versus some mindless drones. This is the best of their magic casters crammed into the field.” Jael clenched her jaw, and Geraline’s heart squeezed. Fire, lightning, water, and what appeared to be air blasts pummelled Jael’s spell, sticking on the edges like liquids.
Grace, although on their side, hesitated a moment. “I remember the motivations of the Shadow. It does not want this to happen.”
“Don’t you agree, though?” Faith yelled at her, eyes wide in panic. “That if we can’t stop this, there won’t be any humanity left?”
“I don’t know if that’s a bad thing.” Grace hesitated a moment, before stepping towards the Supremes on the front line, drawing her sword. “But I do know that each and every one of these Shadows would slaughter you. And I do feel… something here.” Grace smiled. “Granddaughter.”
Faith’s eyebrows twitched, her lower lip trembled, before Grace flung herself into the Supremes, wreaking havoc amongst them with her uncanny ability to avoid spells and hack at key targets. She aimed towards the armless Shadow, reaching them and hacking them down before the sheer barrage of spells and numbers proved too much, even for a combat witch to avoid. Grace crumbled into dust, her gleaming sword lying on the ground.
Meanwhile, Geraline kept flinging firebombs, gradually melting the glass, before deciding to go all out and directing her blue flames
upon the portal. She heard Helena scream in fury and frustration, and felt her heart shiver in panic when she saw Jael collapse next to them, a black spike embedded in her skull. She crumbled into ash. No more shield. No more Jael.
“Come on!” Helena screeched. “We must!”
“Helena, what are your plans?” Alyssa’s voice drifted to them, silent, even as Yarrow desperately tried deflecting incoming magic with her lightning. “There is no benefit for you if you die here, is there? You must have had something.”
“I do,” Helena said. Her voice trembled slightly, all her former confidence and cold patience dissolving. “And it might not happen if I die. Not much of a choice now, though.”
In response, Faith and Alyssa stepped to shield the Supreme. Several werewolves tightened their ring around her. The poor, hapless werewolves on the outer ring were melting, collapsing, their numbers devoured by the onslaught. They were already exhausted from the climb, on their last legs instead of getting the rest they needed. Geraline saw the shape of the glass vanish under her blue flames, and now she was on the Heart itself – apparently the most powerful magical artefact in the world, and she was destroying it, sacrificing what might have been the Fractured City’s greatest legacy. Something like this could create civilizations. End them. Allow them to access multiple worlds, maybe travel to the stars. Why, if they could just take it…
Geraline sighed, quelling her ambitions, and watching as the Heart melted.
Pulsing red and green light throbbed over the heart, tainted purple by the ethereal blue glow of the room.
It contracted.
Screams of anger resonated from the Supremes. Even as the Heart pulsated light and collapsed, exploding in a wailing vibration of power, the blast knocking them down, bolts of energy from the Supremes rained down upon them. Malek instantly leapt onto her body with his, but it didn’t prevent the barrage from hitting the center of their group, or the searing pain that dug into Geraline’s thigh, which must have been some sharp object, since spells couldn’t penetrate her so easily through the armor. She screamed, her heart almost bursting out of her chest – someone kicked her on the side of her head, and she fell limp – without knowing if they’d all be dead in seconds, without seeing if they had saved anything.