by Watson Davis
# # #
With both Silverhewer and Fi Cheen touching the amulet, all my plans in ruins, I raised my head and shouted a word, hoping the collar wouldn’t block it, the word the last piece in a complicated spell already woven, a spell I wasn’t sure of, but a spell I’d heard so many times before.
The inner court of Silverhewer’s hall broke off, tearing away from the reality where it belonged, our reality rushing away in all directions faster and faster until not even the merest hint of Windhaven remained, the stones of the castle shattering in a ragged circle matching the one I’d carved in the floor of the tower, gleaming runes springing to life along the edges, runes I had cleaned so many times at the monastery that I knew them backwards and forwards, an indescribable, unbearable heat searing in from all sides, flames towering up above us as we fell, hurtling downward, our screams echoed by the millions of souls baking in the lava bubbling beneath us. All around, the jagged black mountains rotated toward us, the blazing orbs of their eyes narrowing, taking gluttonous attention of the new souls intruding in their domain, exotic delicacies ripe for a feast.
The runes and symbols tattooed on my body burst to life, burning, radiating energy. I screamed until I had no more breath, shredding my voice into a gurgle until a cackle rose from the darkest depths of my soul and somehow, I laughed.
The orcs dropped me, staggering away, trying to regain their balance as the shard of our reality, the bit of Silverhewer’s court, shuddered beneath them. I landed on my feet, hunching over, fingers curling, struggling for breath through the sharp twinges in my ribs.
Rising to her full height, Silverhewer barked orders lost in the thunder of this infernal realm, flinging her hand about, trying to shake loose from the amulet, but the amulet would not surrender her now, not yet. Fi Cheen screeched in despair and agony, helpless to let go of the amulet himself, tossed about like a child’s toy by Silverhewer’s movements.
Arcled drew his sword, and grabbed Agholor’s shoulder, steadying the man. I sprinted toward Arcled, my hands twisting into fists, mouth open, my battle cry lost on the howling winds.
Seeing me bounding toward him, Arcled launched himself toward me, stabbing out with his sword, and I cast myself on it, smiling into Arcled’s surprised face, snatching his hand, driving his sword deeper into my abdomen, piercing my guts, adding my soul to the sacrifice, adding the rest of my blood, of my life force, to the pact I’d made earlier in the Tower of Tears. Agholor joined his lieutenant, leaping to his friend’s assistance, hacking down, his sword slicing into my shoulder, shearing my muscles, biting into my bones, adding to my offering.
Beyond Arcled and Agholor, my mother stood tall, her guards having abandoned their holds on her collar. Blind, confused, she pulled Aissal, Rucker, and Cole toward her, grasping them in her arms, her face impassive, her head swiveling, the cords rising in her neck, her mouth moving, calling out, “Caldane.”
My blood ran from my wounds, into the runes glowing on my skin, permeating them, blackening them. My right hand useless, my arm powerless to rise, I dabbed the fingers of my left hand in my blood, traced a rune, spoke a word, the final piece along with my sacrifice, my blood, my soul, my finger mutating into a claw.
Everything stopped. Everyone froze. No sound, no movement, no sense of falling, no pain, no heat, nothing.
“The spell is not meant to work this way,” a voice whispered in my ear, nuzzling my throat with a warm, fetid breath, a vulgar sickness pressing its clammy body against my back.
I wanted to turn my head to see, to speak, but I could not move, not even my half-shut eyes. I wanted to say I didn’t care as long as I saved my friends and family, the people of Windhaven, and killed the imperials, but I could not move my mouth.
“Would you give yourself, your life, your soul to eternal pain and suffering, so these others might be freed for a mere moment or two before they are recaptured and die?” the voice asked. Something wet pressed against my side, gliding over my skin, around my waist, down toward my crotch. “Your sacrifice will be for naught, less than an eye blink compared to an eternity of misery.”
I would. I am.
The voice hissed, “The spell is not meant to work this way!”
The wetness left me and everything began moving.
The rune I traced appeared in the air, glowing, shimmering. Silverhewer bellowed, the rune etching itself on her chest, on the chests of Fi Cheen, Lyu-ra, and the man with the cleavers.
The collars around the necks of my mother, Aissal, Rucker, and Cole snapped open, transforming into black, wriggling worms floating up, rising to the dark sky. The archbishop’s amulet released Silverhewer and Fi Cheen and flew toward me. Silverhewer staggered forward, toppling to one knee, hand on her chest, her head whirling to look my way, snarling.
Fi Cheen landed on the ground, sliding across the stones, his fingers searching for purchase, fighting to stop, until his feet and legs found nothing beneath them but hot air, the burning air of an infernal realm. The man with the cleavers leapt forward, tumbling to the floor, grabbing Fi Cheen’s hands, stopping him from plunging down into the fires below.
The amulet landed in my left hand, black tendrils burrowing into my skin, my vision blurring, but only for a heartbeat before a new clarity reached me, a sense of everything around me. Power surged into my hand, up my arm, and through my body, bringing with it a hunger, a hunger like I’d never endured before. All the pain, the burning from my markings, the torn muscles and broken bones in my shoulder, the sword in my guts, all gone leaving only a hunger begging for satiation.
Agholor tugged at his sword wedged into the bone of my shoulder. My right hand, the hand that had been useless, swatted him away, the sword in my shoulder tearing muscle. He flipped through the air, crashing down in an unmoving heap. My right hand moved up, brushing the sword away, ripping it out of me.
Arcled snarled in fury, and leaned back, withdrawing his sword from my body, reversing his motion to drive it back into me, but grinning at him, I stepped to the side, striking him with the back of my fist as he lunged forward, crushing his nose, snapping off one of his tusks. He flipped to the ground, rolling over the stone floor, until he stopped, sprawled, arms and legs akimbo, and lay motionless.
With my claw-like finger, I traced the next rune, the rune appearing in the air, the rune now having an impelling meaning I’d never understood before. Fi Cheen, Silverhewer, Lyu-ra, and the man with the cleavers threw back their heads, shrieking as the rune burned itself into their souls, into their flesh.
The shaman danced, windmilling his arms, singing, spinning his body, drawing power to himself, preparing a spell. Lyu-ra, panting for breath against the pain, began her own spell, stomping her feet, chanting, positioning her arms in the way of the monastery. Silverhewer roared, rising up on the tips of her toes, raising her monstrous fists over her head.
I summoned more magic, drawing upon the forces of the hell surrounding me, preparing a spell out of instinct, a spell I could not know, had never learned, a diabolical gift, or perhaps, a curse. Black tendrils emanated from me, seizing the two orcs who had held me, feeding me their life force, drawing it from them, their knowledge, their hopes, their dreams seeping into my mind. I ignored their frightened thoughts, and sent those same tendrils out, one snaking through the floor, rising up behind Lyu-ra, driving itself into the back of her skull, spreading itself around her shocked face, her face growing gray, eyes rolling back in her head, arms dropping limp at her sides. Her body rising up into the air, exploding, her guts and organs flying across the chamber, I drained her soul dry.
The shaman evaded the tendril I sent for him, dodging out of the way, slashing through the tendril with his staff, shattering it into an explosion of black worms raining down on the floor, disappearing into the putrid air, a bolt of pain shooting through my mind like lightning.
Silverhewer’s fists crashed down toward me, but I was too fast for her, her fists destroying the spot where I’d been standing, shaking the floor, send
ing cracks out like spiderwebs, shaking chunks loose to fall into the lava below, toppling columns, threatening to destroy the entire structure.
I moved toward her, close to her, striking her stomach with the palm of my hand, the black tendrils nourishing me, the amulet granting me greater power, the force breaking off chunks of her, cracking her skin, driving her backward, sending her rolling across the floor.
She hunkered down on her knees, coughing, spitting up blue blood, one arm across her stomach, clutching the wound I had given her. I laughed, raising my finger to my chest to trace another rune.
Behind me, Aissal screamed, “Caldane!”
I turned toward her voice when ice pounded into me, striking me in my left shoulder, spinning me around, dropping me to my knees. Fi Cheen and the man with the cleavers: in my rage, in my euphoria, I’d forgotten about them.
The shaman pranced behind me, the sheriff charging at me, his cleavers raised, Fi Cheen yelling a chant, his spell coalescing around his hands. The shaman struck at me, lightning arching from the end of his staff, glowing blue, crackling with energy. I heaved myself forward toward the man with the cleavers, the shaman’s lightning striking the ground behind me, bits of rock spraying from the point it had hit. I caught the man’s hands where they gripped a cleaver with my left hand, my right hand bludgeoning his throat, crushing his windpipe with the heel of my palm, and I spun around, hurling him at the shaman.
Fi Cheen flung his hand toward me, sending a spray of metal flechettes in my direction, each one striking me, boring into my skin with burning pain.
The sheriff’s body smacked against the shaman, and the two of them careened off the edge of the court floor, wailing as they fell, their screams fading until they were lost in the roar of the conflagration surrounding us.
Silverhewer swiped at me, the side of her hand glancing against me, sending me spinning across the floor. Every joint in my body crying out, I gasped for breath, the bones of my broken ribs grinding against each other.
“Caldane.” Aissal put her hands on me. “Let me help you.”
“No.” I pushed her away, sweeping her hands away from me. “Help Rucker. Help my mother.”
The power within me hungered. Fi Cheen’s hands moved through the air, tracing out the flows of his next spell. Silverhewer, still coughing and clutching her stomach, crawled toward us.
Fi Cheen stomped the ground, thrusting his palms toward me, a gust of hellishly hot wind whipping against me out of nowhere.
I struggled to hold my ground, reaching down into the crumbling ground with my magic, anchoring myself. I reached my right hand toward Silverhewer, linking myself to her, lifting my hand, raising her into the air and slamming her down toward Fi Cheen.
Fi Cheen shouted, punching upward with his hands, creating a wall of force around himself, but I slammed Silverhewer on the top of his invisible wall, Fi Cheen’s arms sagging. Silverhewer screamed, squirming in my grasp, her arms flailing. Fi Cheen held his arms up, sending more and more of his power into his failing shield. I slammed Silverhewer down once more, getting closer to Fi Cheen, the floor reverberating with the force, collapsing a hand’s breadth, Fi Cheen dropping to one knee, his arms shaking, gritting his teeth.
I raised Silverhewer once more, even higher than before, my power waning, flowing out of me like the rapids of a river. I dropped her now lifeless body on Fi Cheen’s shield, a circle of the stone beneath him caving in, threatening to sink into the abyss, but Fi Cheen held.
The hunger in me ached and burned, I lifted my hand up, but had no more strength. Tendrils radiated from me, seeking some energy, some source of power, and found it. New strength flowed into me and I lifted Silverhewer once more, before I realized the life force giving me strength came from my mother, from Cole, from Rucker, from Aissal.
Behind me, they collapsed, gurgling, struggling to breathe, groaning, their bodies growing gray and desiccated.
I tasted them, felt them inside me, twitching like yummy worms, horrified and screaming in terror and anguish. A slimy tentacle wrapped around my waist, and something stroked my neck, saying, “Yes, that’s how this spell is supposed to work. You need them, their power. Sacrifice them.”
“No.” I fell to one knee, overwhelmed with pain and hunger, staring down into the eye of the amulet, the eye of fire, I held in my left hand, seeing myself staring back, seeing my skin appearing red, flames rising from my eyes, red and yellow, wild with fury and pain and desperation, and behind me, a woman’s head on a snake’s thin, lithe body, scales blacker than the blackest night, bat-like wings rising from her body, her hair writhing with a life of its own, her forked tongue caressing my ear, her rancid breath hot against my neck.
“They love you as much as you love them,” she said, her mouth next to my ear, her fangs straining out toward me. “They want you to win, and you can’t win without their energy, their strength, their love. Take what they are bestowing you, granting to you, a precious gift. Save them by saving yourself.”
“No.” Though I denied it, their strength trickled into me, drawn by my need, their love—warm and pure—flowed into my heart, lending strength to my limbs, saturating my body with magic and their thoughts. The devil was right, my mother and Aissal would have sacrificed themselves for me, would have gladly given their life force to me. Silverhewer flew high up into the air.
Fi Cheen raised his head, and wheezed. He glared at me, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a feral grimace, his hands and magic shifting from his spell of shielding to a new spell, an attack spell.
“Your enemies are too strong for you to defeat without drinking deep from the souls of those who love you.” She sounded so reasonable, her voice so enticing, rich and melodious. “You must sacrifice them to save them.”
# # #
“Shhh.”
The cacophony thundering in Lenya’s ears made no sense, the ebb and flow of her strength made no sense, but since the loss of her sight, she was not unaccustomed to trying to make sense of the world around her. She pulled the children in to her, hoping they would draw on her strength, as weak as she thought herself, hoping they would draw on her hope, as hopeless as she felt herself. Of course, the boys needed her most, Cole who thought himself too grown up, and Rucker still a child.
“I have to help Caldane,” Aissal whispered, her voice carried away on the gusting wind. She pulled away from Lenya.
“Yes, help Caldane.” My son still lives. He fights on. A proud smile spreading over her face, Lenya’s hand caressed Rucker’s quivering back. “Shhhh, sweet child.”
“I’m sorry,” Cole whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Lenya said, her hand on the back of his head.
“I betrayed them all,” he said. “This is all my fault.”
Lenya pulled Cole’s head close to her lips, and said, “If you stand around feeling sorry and useless, that’s all you will ever be. If you fight to make your mistake right again, you will be a hero. What do you choose?”
His head turned to Lenya, slowly. His breathing changing. “You’re right.”
He pulled away from her, shrugging out of her grip.
“Cole?” Aissal cried, her dainty hands finding Lenya’s forearm. “Where is he going?”
“To help Caldane,” Lenya said. “As we all must.”
“I can cast magic, too,” Rucker said. “Caldane taught me.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can,” Lenya patted the boy’s head, smiling in the direction of the sweet child. “If only I could see.”
Finger’s touched Lenya’s face, a light touch, like the wings of a butterfly. She jerked back.
“I know a spell that might help,” Aissal whispered.
But the black tentacles took them, drawing all their strength out of them, draining them of their souls.
# # #
“No!” I pushed the power back out, I pushed the life force out of me, my life into them until I emptied everything from my heart. I dropped to my knees, my chest
heavy and empty, and I lacked the strength even to breathe. The amulet slid from my limp fingers to the ground, the chain catching on my fingertips.
Fi Cheen jumped out of the pit created by our battle, and rolled out of the way. Silverhewer crashed to the ground, sending cracks spreading out through the floor, more chunks falling away. She turned, pressing against the floor for leverage to rise, driving her arm through the floor. She jerked herself back, rolling away from the hole, clambering to her feet, her growling a rumble in my knees.
My mother surged forward, Aissal by her side with her hands on my mother’s shoulder. My mother snatched Agholor’s bow from the floor with her left hand and his quiver of arrows with her right, handing them back to Aissal and taking two arrows into the fingers of her right hand.
Silverhewer howled and charged forward. My mother, still blind, but calm, confident, drew back an arrow, and let it fly. The arrow sliced through the putrid air, thumping Silverhewer in her left eye. Silverhewer stopped screaming, stopped running, stopped and shook her head, clawing at her face, not making any sound.
Fi Cheen stood and restarted his incantation, his arms flowing, magical energies shifting around him. Cole rushed toward him whooping, holding a chain, swinging it over his head like a morning star. Rucker knelt beside me, snatching a stone from the floor. He said, “We’ll save you.”
“Damn you, woman,” Silverhewer said, “I should have killed—”
My mother’s second arrow struck Silverhewer in her other gray eye. The giantess lurched backward, screeching, and tumbled off the side of the floor to sail into the inferno beneath us.
Cole swung the chain at Fi Cheen, but Fi Cheen stepped to the side, concentrating on me, never stopping his chanting, his casting.
Mother turned, reaching back to Aissal who fumbled out an arrow, placing it in my mother’s palm. Rucker tossed the stone in the air, and spoke the spell I’d taught him. The stone flew through the air, faster and faster, smacking Fi Cheen in the middle of the head.
Fi Cheen staggered back, his incantation broken, his arms flailing for balance. Cole darted in, wrapping the chain around Fi Cheen’s neck, choking him. Fi Cheen whirled, hitting Cole with a backhand. Blood and spittle flying, Cole collapsed.