by Shea Berkley
A loud battle cry sounds from one of the Seven Sisters, and they rush forward, jumping through the barrier and into the fight.
“Women.” Wyatt drops his arm and the rest of us surge forward.
Chaos in the Dark
Kera did her best to stay close to Dylan. As is wont to happen during the chaos around battles, they became separated. When next she looked up, he was in front of her, sword in hand. She hadn’t noticed until now how long his hair had grown. He had a fine stubble on his cheeks and he’d gotten broader in his shoulders.
If she hadn’t been watching for it, she wouldn’t have noticed, but she knew the opportunity to play false was the Rodarians’ greatest defense. Dylan slowly approached her, his sword like any other. No fire. Not even a spark. Dylan’s sword always burned in a fight. Kera whipped her bow onto her back and pulled out her sword. Just to make sure, she ran at him, zigged to the left and then twisted back and slammed her sword hilt into his temple, dazing him for a second. She grabbed his left hand. No mark. When she delivered the death blow, the man disintegrated into ash.
Killing Dylan, no matter how fake he had been, shook her. She couldn’t ignore the thud of her heart and how her hands shook. Fighting her way to the edge of the clearing used all her concentration. She took refuge in the dark and studied the battlefield and the never-ending flood of Rodarians. The Seven Sisters gleefully exterminated one after the other, their beauty even more pronounced with each kill. She looked for Dylan. He was quick and strong and held a terrifying amount of power. Unlike most of her magic that came from Navar and Baun, very little of Dylan’s was temporary.
Fire exploded toward the right edge of the field. It was there she saw Dylan, standing in the thick of it. The ground sizzled with each step he took. He incinerated every soldier who came in contact with him, leaving behind a precise trail of destruction. A small spark of jealousy ignited as she watched him, because unlike her, as his magic had grown, so had his control. Seeing him at his worst scared the Rodarians and caused panic in their ranks. Closer to her, Wyatt hacked away at a group of Rodarians, his men close at hand, compensating for his human limitations.
Even seeing their successes, Kera knew they would soon grow tired, even the most able of them. She could feel her power scrubbing insistently at her skin. It was wild and big and wanted to be free. To free it held a danger she was afraid to use. She was no Dylan. Watching him now made that crystal clear. The struggle to keep her magic in check challenged her in ways she never expected. But she always gave in. For weeks now she had dabbled and experimented. Though her confidence had grown, she feared it was a false confidence. The voice inside her sprang to life, insisting if she used what was in her, she could stop their enemy’s advance.
She bit her lip and frowned. This was a defining moment, more real than she wanted to experience.
She looked to the battlefield and saw one after another of their enemy morphing into someone she and her allies were meant to trust. It made them all hesitate. No matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t wipe clean the memory of the man who wore Dylan’s face as she killed him. She could never do that again. She sheathed her sword. It was time to find the hole the Rodarians were climbing out of and seal it shut.
Kera ran into the woods, pausing against the papery bark of a clump of trees as Rodarians intent on the battle ahead sped past. She swung into the trees, traveling from branch to branch, out of sight and out of reach.
The trees thinned as she arrived at the edge of a familiar clearing, and she hid in the cool shadows of the oncoming night. The Unknown, a place concealed by a cloaking spell beyond a ravine so wide and deep, none of the horrific creatures living there could escape, loomed behind the clearing. Yet Granel, his once-clean appearance now sullied, his back bowed with the weight of his evil work, stood at the helm of a swirling vortex of Rodarians, Dark Souls, and even darker magic.
Her grip on the branch she balanced on tightened. How had he made it out of the Unknown? The sharp points along the bark dug into her fingers. It didn’t really matter. She’d found the answer to the unrelenting onslaught of Rodarians, but how could she end Granel’s magic if she didn’t understand the basic concept?
Always one to use his talents in ways that twisted nature, Granel had found a way to reproduce an unlimited supply of Rodarians. Their singular appearance and hive mentality made it easy. For every one Rodarian, Granel created dozens more, entities to kill and be killed.
The Dark Souls darted in and out of the vortex like dark threads binding magic to skin and bones. Without the Dark Souls, the process would fail. So maybe she didn’t have to understand it…just interrupt it.
She called forth the dark magic she kept locked deep within her, and snapped off nearby tree branches, suspending them within the boughs. With only a thought, they zipped forward, piercing the chests of the Rodarians and creating a cloud of dust with their death that choked Granel from view. The Dark Souls stopped spinning. Granel staggered from the haze, coughing and covered in a film of dirt. Spying her in the trees, he pointed and yelled for her death. The Dark Souls gathered close and spun into a tight twist of darkness and shot toward her like a deadly arrow.
She darted to the right, avoiding the blow just in time. The dark mass smashed the tree she had been in, splintering the wood from top to root until there was nothing left but kindling. She jumped from tree to tree, moving deeper into the woods. A sudden whip of pain lanced her shoulder. Beneath her torn shirt a dark, ragged wound appeared. She hadn’t moved fast enough. The Dark Soul twisted back. She crouched on a limb, raised her incordium blade, and used its magic to rip the Dark Soul from top to bottom. The inky blackness slipped to the ground.
Dark magic surged deep within her, and the feel of it made her smile. She used what was around her, hardening the grass until it glistened like emeralds in the moonlight. With a flick of her wrist, the slim blades broke free and sliced through the undulating darkness, breaking the Dark Souls off, one by one. She destroyed many and sent the rest scurrying back to Granel like hurt dogs.
In the end, one remained. It chased Kera even farther into the woods, dodging her efforts to send it back to Granel. Moving fast, she quickly found herself in unfamiliar surroundings. She paused and looked around. What she saw nearly broke her heart. Their enemy had marched through the land, cleaving a ragged scar through the once beautiful woods. She could hear its mournful sighs and groans as it struggled to repair itself.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the last Dark Soul materialize. The whisper of evilness as it took shape shook the leaves in the trees, curling their edges brown. The form of a man became clear, and it walked into full view—sure of its unnatural power and proud of its death.
It was Navar. His likeness was complete, even down to his beautiful smile that hid a wealth of ugliness. Black suited him. The poison of his undulating spirit dripped to the ground and charred the grass into withering clumps.
Kera stared speechless.
“Enjoying your new power?” His voice sounded moist, spoken in gruff tones, yet gone too quickly. He moved in a hypnotic motion, like slick ink and wispy smoke combined.
Though he was a spirit, he still unnerved her. And though his death had caused his powers to transfer to her and Dylan, he had clearly gained another form just as terrifying and hypnotic. Kera forced herself to look away. As Navar’s spirit progressed, she made sure to keep a healthy distance. “I have barely begun to use it. Why bother with something that is only temporary?”
“Temporary? No. I think not. My power is now yours.”
He was right. “But the rest is not mine. I only keep it safe until it can be returned to its rightful owner.” She’d never spoken a truer statement, though it disturbed her to say it.
“Really? You play free and loose with all you harbor. Exactly what part isn’t yours?” Navar’s black form inched closer to her. “There are no secrets the living can keep from the dead.”
He spoke as if he could distinguis
h his magic from Baun’s, that he knew she allowed the magic to mingle more and more. The distinction between good and bad had blurred a few times, but she had always been able to recover. She bit her tongue and forgot about trying to keep him at a distance. Her whole mind chewed on the idea of siphoning more of Baun’s magic, just to bolster the areas where she was weakest. Surely Baun wouldn’t miss such a tiny portion.
Navar’s knowing laugh slipped along the air to twine around her ears. “The thought of giving up even a portion will pass.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” But she did. Just a little.
“Don’t you?” He drew closer. A crackle of energy surged between them. The power she’d stolen from him recognized the form he’d become. He stilled and held out his hand to touch her for a moment.
She jerked away. That power was no longer his. It was hers. It rose within her and itched along her skin. She rubbed her arms, soothing the agitation he caused, and glared at him.
He laughed. “That strange pull. The thrill. Be honest. You feel it. You want it. Forever and always. Adding Baun’s magic to mine, well, that is the power from which dreams are made into reality.”
Her jaw hurt from the pressure to keep her mouth shut. She shook her head, clinging to her denial, and backed up.
“But let us say you can keep them apart. It doesn’t matter. My magic burns within you. It harbors a deep love of darkness. You can try to manipulate it, but you will fail. You can try to hide it, but it will make itself known.”
With every word he spoke, she shivered. “You make it sound like it controls me.”
“It does. It fascinates you, tempts you. Mix mine with Baun’s…well, that kind of power can change everything. You can do anything. Anything. And you will…just to feel the power move. It’s glorious, isn’t it?”
“I am not like you.” The wound at her shoulder and the one under her leather bracelet where she’d been attacked by the Dark Souls when she’d first encountered them throbbed as if punishing her for denying Navar’s accusations.
“Yes, you are. You are exactly like me. I can see into your soul, Kera. I can see your secrets. Your greed for more.” The dark face leaned close and the oily whisper purred, “Darkness becomes you.”
One moment she stood openmouthed, the next her incordium blade was in her hand. She dove at Navar’s black form and sliced his neck open before jagging the blade from his lying throat to his rotting belly. She jumped back, her breath ragged and heavy, and watched the massive wound ooze ink and smoke until he dissolved in a pool of muck, burning the ground where he once stood.
The air within her lungs stalled. Her heart thudded impossibly hard and her throat ached with the need to scream he was lying. She couldn’t.
He knew her secret. He knew she fought an avalanche of longing that twisted her perception of what was right. The only thing that kept her anger and selfish wants in check was her love for Dylan. He was all that mattered.
As soon as she thought of Dylan, her heart calmed and she could breathe again.
Navar was wrong. She could control the power, something Jason hadn’t been able to do. His soulless nature had something to prove. Her goal was to find justice for her people. Bring back peace. She was good, her motives pure, and if that meant mixing the magic that was in her, she would do it, and then force the bad portion back into the deep recesses where it would stay until she called on it again.
But it was getting harder to keep the magic separate. Dylan had noticed. He’d felt her struggle. If Baun continued to make positive strides, then all too soon she would be giving him back his power.
She ignored the pang of panic that rippled in her. His magic was hers for only a short time longer. She would give it back, she promised herself, and be thankful to be rid of it.
Nightmare Men
All I see are droves of Rodarians pouring from the forests and no sign of Kera. Figures she’d disappear on me. Being so closely connected to her gives me the ability to know when she’s stressed or hurt or even dying, but I feel nothing, as though she’s stepped into a vacuum. She’s blocking her feelings on purpose. That scares me even more. I have to find her.
I need to thin out my area of Rodarians. They’re like red-eyed fire ants, a never-ending colony with one goal. Attack. I dart to the right and slide, clipping the leg of the man who wears the face of Wyatt, but the red eyes of a Rodarian. I pop to my feet and end his life and end up standing in a choking cloud of his remains. The whirl of an arrow sounds. I turn and grab it just before it hits me. Flipping it over, I search for the shooter and see a Nightmare Man staring at me past his bow. He doesn’t look pleased as he grabs another arrow from the quiver on his back. I sheath my sword, take aim, and throw the arrow. It spins like a well-thrown football and strikes the Nightmare Man square in the middle of his forehead. He digs it out, looks at it, and then at me.
Shit.
I start running toward him. He notches it along with the one he’s holding. Both arrows fly. I meet them halfway across the distance, catch them, spin them in my fingers, and jump toward him. When I’m almost on top of him, I plunge both arrows into either side of his neck. He drops to the ground, and I land beside him, panting from the effort.
I straighten and find myself at the edge of the fight. Rodarians are morphing into us at breakneck speed, yet they’re getting cut down just as quickly. A few yards away an image of me appears where once there was a Rodarian. His attention lands on one of the sisters. Turning, she strikes him dead. When the dust clears, her gaze finds me and she nods before dashing away. I’m pretty sure she didn’t even look for the mark.
I go back to my search for Kera and see her backing away from a handful of Rodarians. There’s no way I can get there in time. I load up the slingshot and start spinning it. Before I let it go, one of the firsts slashes through the Rodarians and saves her. I feel a sense of relief when she smiles that gorgeous smile…and then stabs him.
I actually stop moving, not sure what I’m seeing. He crumples to the ground, and she finishes him off. Before I can move again, Neve whirls into view and kills the imposter.
I hate the cowardly Rodarians. How dare they come into our land and threaten us, kill us. A blind rage takes hold. I let the tiny ball within the slingshot fly. It attaches to a Rodarian and explodes, tearing a hole through him, and wounding several around him. I plow through the enemy, slashing and stabbing and when next I turn, my blade comes to a quick stop against Wyatt’s sword. We’re face to face. So far, every Rodarian I’ve met has had red eyes. The eyes I’m staring into aren’t red.
I want to believe, but my rage won’t allow it. I swivel to the left and lunge to the side, catching him off guard as I place the tip of my sword to his neck. “Show me!”
The look he gives me says he has no idea what I’m asking him to do. Did he hear me? Has the fight confused him? The muscles in my jaw flex. There’s a group of Rodarians coming our way. Time isn’t on my side. I have to make a decision. Now.
Lunging forward, I thrust my sword into his heart. For a split second I think I’ve made a terrible mistake, then he dissolves into a cloud of dust. I breathe again.
“That could’ve been me!” Wyatt yells.
I swivel around, ready to fight.
“Hold off.” He shows me his mark.
We face the oncoming pack of Rodarians. They aren’t exactly easy to kill, but it’s a lot easier when I have Wyatt by my side. One by one, they dissolve into ash. The last leaves a thick coating of his blood and dust on my sleeve, and I turn to Wyatt. “We have a problem. The one that looked like you didn’t have red eyes. How am I supposed to know who I’m killing?”
“They figured out their eyes were giving them away. But I found a better method. They can’t talk. Or they don’t, and if they don’t answer my question, then they’re dust.”
“Good to know.”
“The Rodarians don’t worry me. It’s the Nightmare Men. There aren’t many of them, but they’re hard to kil
l, which doesn’t make sense. They practically stood still for us before.”
He’s right. The ones we met in the city barely put up a fight.
Neve appears. She looks Wyatt over and touches his arm where his sleeve is torn and bloodied. He jerks away and faces me. “I’ve been watching their leader, and I don’t like what I see. We need to take him out. Once he’s gone, it’ll shake up the Rodarians.”
I agree, but I have my own problems right now. “I need to find Kera.”
“She went into the forest.” He twists away from Neve and snaps, “It hurts enough without you poking at it.”
His anger doesn’t bother her. She continues on, cutting away his sleeve and exposing his wound.
“Kera left the fight? When?” Why would she even do that?
Wyatt raises his hurt arm and glances at his empty wrist. “Oh, I don’t know, let me check my watch. Seriously?” Neve pulls his arm back and examines the long line that oozes bright-red blood from his armpit to his elbow. She touches it, slowly drawing her finger down the cut. He winces, but stands still for her.
I can’t stop looking toward the forest and the droves of Rodarians spilling out of it. “Kera’s a risk-taker. I promised I would be there for her. How am I supposed to do that if she keeps going off on her own?”
Wyatt looks where I’m looking, then back at me. “Are we talking about the same girl who killed those millispits and dragged your ass back here? You keep forgetting she can take care of herself. But hey, you’re the one in charge. If you tell me to go after her, I will, but honestly,” he nods toward Orntho, “if you want my professional opinion, defeating that guy is top priority. Are you with me on that?”
Kera is strong, and whatever she’s doing, I know it’s to protect her people. I have to trust her. It’s that simple. Though I want more than anything to find her, I stay put. “I’m with you.”
Neve steps back and Wyatt twists to look at his arm. There’s a long scar where an open wound used to be. “Nice, babe.” He pulls her close for a kiss. “Thanks.”