by Ross Turner
Chapter Thirty-Four
“So, when Mallorey was killed…” Marcii started, attempting to straighten out her own thoughts even as she spoke.
Malorie and Reaper looked on expectantly, but did not interrupt.
“Mother Nature felt your pain…” She went on, looking first at Raven.
The mysterious ghost of a woman nodded.
“And it consumed Her, just as it did you. So much so that all those around you both felt it too, for it was that powerful…”
Marcii was referring of course to the curse Raven had placed upon her home. Raven stared on distantly, her stone violet eyes encapsulated in memory.
“But it did exactly the opposite to you…” Marcii went on, turning her gaze now upon Malorie. Her eyes flitted briefly between the witch and Reaper, before finally settling firmly upon the enormous demon, holding his gentle black gaze.
His eyes were deep, burning coals that never ceased to smoulder.
In her endless grief, instead of taking another life, Mother Nature had instead gifted Reaper to Malorie.
Marcii hardly even needed to speak the words, for she knew they could all see the truth now.
“Reaper was born out of Mallorey’s death…”
But even now that it was all becoming so clear, there was still more that Marcii didn’t understand.
“Why couldn’t you be with Reaper?” She asked of Malorie. “If he’d been created specifically for you, if he came out of Mallorey’s death, why did you stay in Newmarket? You’ve both been on your own for so long. You could have just left…”
“My duty was to you.” Malorie explained without hesitation. “To watch over you. I’ve always been able to sense your link to Mother Nature. I’ve always known it was strong, even if you yourself had no idea.”
Suddenly Marcii too felt ridden with guilt, sharing in Midnight’s shame. She felt as if Malorie and Reaper had been kept apart for so long and she hadn’t even realised until now that it was her doing.
“Mother Nature feels every emotion…” Malorie went on, confirming Marcii’s suspicions. “Every happiness, every pain. She understands each and every one of them much more than we do, for She has existed for an eternity. And from those deep understandings, seeing into our very hearts, She responds appropriately.”
“What about Vixen?” Marcii suddenly asked, seeming to flit between questions like the wind.
Her mind and her thoughts were so scattered that she could barely keep track of them herself.
Instantly her thoughts shifted to the young girl. No matter what she tried there was simply nothing she could do to get the image of Vixen’s face to budge from the forefront of her mind.
Malorie sighed heavily.
“Vixen is no mere girl.” She began, revealing truths that indeed Reaper too had known all along, but in turn, at the same time, had known that he could not reveal. “She is a part of Mother Nature’s link to you. That’s why she’s always been so special to you, yet to all others she meant nothing.”
Even more began to fall into place, as Marcii thought back over every time she had seen the young orphan. She remembered quite vividly how everybody else had always seemed to ignore Vixen.
Marcii had always put it down to the fact that she was just an orphan.
But now it appeared that things had never been what they’d seemed.
Every time Marcii had seen Vixen, the young orphan had been guiding or protecting her, in one way or another.
But it hadn’t been an orphan helping her, Marcii realised all at once.
It had been the very essence of the world itself.
Was that even possible?
With wide, wild eyes, Marcii looked back to Reaper, realising suddenly that Mother Nature had created Vixen for her, in just the same way that She had created Reaper for Malorie.
The tiny orphan and the enormous demon were cut from exactly the same cloth.
Surely that couldn’t be?
Marcii felt light headed all of a sudden, overloaded with too much information.
“Are you okay?” Kaylm asked her, concerned.
But then the young Dougherty lost her footing and staggered forwards slightly. Kaylm and Malorie both reached out to catch her at the same time, just about keeping her from hitting the floor.
As they did so, Marcii caught Malorie’s knowing gaze, for she knew exactly what was happening.
She held her young friend’s gaze for a few more seconds before Marcii’s eyes rolled as her head spun.
Though, now she knew in fact that it wasn’t her head that was spinning at all, as Malorie had explained.
It was instead the very world itself.
Not that that really mattered at that point, for either way, after a few moments, Marcii’s body fell limp.
Kaylm’s eyes widened in horror, but Malorie’s expression told him all he needed to know.
He laid Marcii down as gently as he could and sat down beside her, grasping her hand tightly in his own.
All they could do now was wait.
Clearly, whatever it was that Mother Nature wanted to show her was important, else She wouldn’t have interrupted at such a pivotal moment.
She was considerate like that.
Malorie smiled at the thought and glanced up and the enormous demon Reaper. He returned her expression warmly and she saw her dear brother Mallorey in his kind eyes, as she always did.
As she always had done.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Through vision after vision Marcii’s mind tumbled, throwing her thoughts off in endless flurries. They came at her so thick and so fast that even in her divided state, somewhere between reality and imagination, she struggled desperately to focus.
As her thoughts raced, so too did her body. Her heart and her lungs pounded and fluttered uncontrollably.
Suppressed, mumbled words rolled incoherently from her tongue as Mother Nature swept the young Dougherty along once more, leaving her body far behind.
Kaylm Evans cast frequent, worried glances towards Malorie and Reaper. More than a few times the murdered witch and the colossal demon reassured him that Marcii was fine.
The old man Midnight looked on with a troubled expression and his black, coal eyes surveyed the scene with something of a grim perspective.
He had not had the most forgiving time of late and so his pensive, brooding mood could undoubtedly be forgiven. He felt responsible for all this suffering, both his own and that of everyone around him.
Naturally, as is usually the way, he was most certainly not to blame.
However, as is also often the case, it was unlikely that anything would convince him otherwise.
Raven stood silently by. The shimmering sight of the woman who had once upon a time been Malorie’s mother, so ancient and ghostly, looked just as troubled as the old man Midnight.
She too felt the burdening weight of guilt.
Hers was altogether different, though at the same time, strangely identical.
If there was any chance at all she could correct the mistakes she’d made, she would go to any lengths to do so.
Indeed, it was altogether possible that exactly that might be required of her.
Marcii mumbled unconsciously and almost inaudibly, managing all of a sudden to string more than a single word together, though they still made no sense.
Kaylm watched as, even with her eyes closed, Marcii’s expression contorted over and over.
Malorie’s gaze too grew stern, hardening further and further with growing concern.
“It’s too much…” Malorie breathed, barely even speaking the words.
“Too much?” Kaylm asked, unable to conceal his concern. “What do you mean?”
“Her visons…” Malorie answered vaguely. “There are too many. They’re overwhelming her.”
Kaylm panicked.
“Stop them then!” He exclaimed without thinking, not even considering exactly what he was requesting of Malorie.
He quickly reali
sed though that he was asking the impossible.
Malorie sighed, more than answering the young Evans with that sound alone.
He’d heard her explanation of the visions Mother Nature had revealed to Marcii, and although he hadn’t experienced them himself, Marcii had shown him what she’d seen.
By that alone he understood well enough to know that asking Malorie to intervene was not even in the question.
All any of them could do was wait and hope it wasn’t too much for the young Dougherty to handle.
Mother Nature did not relent and even still Marcii clung on with everything she had.
As Kaylm recalled everything that Marcii had shown him, above all one thing stuck in his mind more than anything else.
The image of Ekra’s ancient, burdened face flashed in front of his eyes.
He remembered her words, clear as day, though he’d never even met her.
‘When a Storm Born cannot be contained, steps have to be taken.’
He found himself wondering all of a sudden how many others over the countless years had stood here before in Marcii’s shoes.
This had probably been going on for hundreds, if not thousands of years.
And yet, even still, Marcii’s limits stretched and grew and adapted constantly, far surpassing all those who had ever come before her.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Skimming through a thousand different landscapes in the blink of an eye, Marcii Dougherty recognised some of the things she saw as they flitted by, and then others she did not.
She was bombarded with the sight of vast plains and towering mountains, wide ravines and gushing rivers, followed immediately by the narrow, imposing streets of Newmarket, condemned now beyond belief.
And then that fell out of view again, just as quickly as it had come.
Marcii’s eyes grew ever wider as Mother Nature threw more and more at her. She felt like she was flying over and even through these places, travelling at such speed that her stomach churned and her mind boggled.
Endless, flourishing forests fluttered past her then, followed straight away by the abandoned streets of Ravenhead, covered now in thick, untrodden snowdrifts. Then there came marshy coastlines that Marcii didn’t recognise, thick with the brief sounds of life.
Then she was back in Reaper’s cave. The fire was blazing and the wind was howling. But the enormous demon who was somehow, impossibly, all that remained of Malorie’s lost brother, was not there with her.
Suddenly then Ekra’s canyon loomed up either side of Marcii. What had moments ago been the flickering orange cave ceiling was now the distant crack in the sky that seemed so familiar. The sound of the river deafened her for a few seconds, roaring and echoing all around her.
And then again it was gone, replaced by whiteness all around.
It took a moment for Marcii’s eyes to adjust to the blinding snow, and just as long for her ears to accustom themselves to the sudden silence, still ringing with the sound of the river.
Unlike the untouched snowdrifts of Ravenhead however these ones were crisscrossed with footprints.
And not just any prints.
They were big enough to belong to bears.
But Marcii knew better than that.
Expecting to lose sight of them any second, she readied herself for whatever might come next.
Alas, the haunting sight of the enormous paw prints did not leave her.
Though the wind howled and screamed, the cold did not touch Marcii.
She couldn’t decide whether or not that was entirely thanks to Mother Nature, protecting her whilst she remained in this particular place, for whatever reason. Or, perhaps it was only natural, since she was not actually there in the first place.
Suddenly out of nowhere, all at once, they were there.
They swarmed in silence from every direction, ghosting across the snow like enormous, looming shadows.
Skimming across the glistening banks the wolves all but ignored the young Dougherty, even passing straight through her as they stalked endlessly.
She knew they could not see her, but nonetheless, her heart still skipped more than a few beats.
Then her gaze fell upon him and her blood ran cold.
Alistair’s eyes were black and dead as he crossed the contrasted whiteness all around. He looked determined and focused, more so than Marcii could possibly imagine.
His wolves continued to circle, drawn to his very presence.
It was clear that he had complete and utter control.
Marcii knew at once where he was leading them.
All of a sudden the terrifying sight of Alistair and his wolves was snatched from Marcii’s view. She found her vision once again skipping over the white, rolling hills and snow topped trees.
The next sight that confronted her with was a face she had not seen in quite some time. Nonetheless, she could have avoided it for a hundred lifetimes and it would still have been too soon.
Tyran’s brown, greasy hair looked unchanged aside from the flecks of grey that ran through it here and there. His dark, deep set, sunken eyes looked infinitely more troubled than ever before, though that concern was overrun by the glint of cruel determination that always shrouded his vision.
Around him stood his people: those who had once called Newmarket their home and lived there without the dread that now consumed them.
Though some of them still carried makeshift weapons, hammers for clubs and pitchforks for spears, many of his troops were clad in armour and bore real, evil looking arms.
An array of swords and maces and spears littered the crowds. There were a few here and there carrying more lavish instruments that Marcii had never seen before: chains with spiked balls on the end or tri horned spears so long that they reached almost twelve feet high.
Swallowing hard, Marcii looked upon her adversaries.
They were, for the most part, all people she had used to know. In fact, some of them had almost even been her friends, in a long forgotten life.
The more she looked over them as they marched towards her, leaving Newmarket far behind, the more faces she recognised.
She couldn’t even picture them as simple villagers or townsfolk any more. They weren’t mere merchants any longer.
Tyran had turned them into soldiers.
But not the brave, loyal kind.
They weren’t warriors.
He had filled them with dread and taught them to hate, and in doing so, he had created an army of mercenaries.
Using fear as his currency, their Lord had bought their very souls.
And now, as they made steadily west, swarming over the land like a vast plague, Tyran was at their helm, leading the final Dreadhunt himself.
All of a sudden Marcii snapped back to reality and the world spun horribly around her once more. This time though it lasted only for a second.
Her eyes shot open and she bolted to her feet, recovering from her vision in an instant, exercising her newfound control.
Beating lightly in her chest, Marcii’s heart fluttered and raced. She swept her gaze round to find everybody there staring at her.
Kaylm’s eyes were worried.
Malorie and Reaper’s were awed.
Midnight’s were unchanged, and in fact looked so much like Alistair’s that it sent fresh chills cascading up Marcii’s spine.
“Are you okay?” Kaylm asked.
The first to speak, he immediately rose to his feet and went to Marcii to steady her.
She accepted his help gratefully, for she could feel exhaustion sweeping over her body in vast waves. She realised all at once that the visions had taken an awful lot out of her, as her legs shook and wobbled beneath her own weight.
“They’re coming…” She managed to reply, leaning more heavily upon Kaylm by the moment.
“Who?” Kaylm asked, his eyes wide. “The wolves?”
Marcii nodded.
“And Tyran…” She whispered, her head drooping.
Drained of all her str
ength, Marcii allowed Kaylm to help her slide back down to the floor.
“We have to…” She started, though she was unable to finish. “They’re coming…”
Kaylm lowered her down slowly and kissed her lightly on the forehead, though his eyes pooled with worry at Marcii’s whispered warnings.
“He’s…”
And she was gone.
Her body fell limp as exhaustion claimed her.
After a few lingering moments Kaylm’s gaze swept upwards to find Malorie’s violet eyes. Unfortunately, she did not hold the answers he sought. Neither did Reaper or Midnight.
“What can we do?” He asked quietly, though somehow he knew that even if he’d shouted Marcii would not have woken, for it was clear her fatigue had a tight hold on her.
“Wait.” Came Malorie’s reply. “All we can do is wait.”
“Shouldn’t we leave!?” Kaylm asked, filled with sudden fear.
There were two armies approaching them, and she expected him to just wait for them to arrive!?
But it was Reaper who replied instead.
His enormous hands wove words into the air and the young Evans was admittedly still shocked that he could understand them so well.
Reaper told him that they had no choice but to wait for Marcii to recover.
She was the key to all this.
Without her, it would never end.
Midnight said not a word.
“So that’s it!?” Kaylm demanded, surprisingly swift to anger in Marcii’s defence. “You’ve ruined her!” He accused them, jabbing his hand back toward the exhausted figure of his dearest friend. “And now you’re just going to wait for her to recover so you can pit her against an army!? Two armies!!?”
To say that Malorie’s expression was grim would have been an understatement. However, she knew, as did Reaper, and indeed deep down Kaylm too, that Marcii was indeed their only hope.
In fact, Kaylm knew better than any of them.
He’d heard Ekra’s echoing words for himself and had known in a mere heartbeat that they were the truth.
The trouble was, he just couldn’t bring himself to accept them. Not when they placed his dear Marcii in the path of such danger.