by Mary Fan
Her best bet was to make it across the enchanted barrier around the Way Station; the specter wouldn’t be able to follow. She just had to get there. She had to be close enough now.
She hoped.
“Stop, girl!” The specter’s shrill voice landed in her ears like a double punch, harsh and startling.
Cold air brushed Aurelia’s left arm. That was where the specter would materialize next—she knew it at once. She swiped one blade through the area, where a faint gray glow had already begun to appear, and the specter let out another high-pitched wail as it was forced to scatter again.
Aurelia sprinted through the trees, knowing there was no time to lose. Energy coursed through her as she dodged an avalanche of falling branches, then slashed her blades through the specter’s third attempt to materialize. The undead creature hadn’t caught her yet, but beneath the heat of action, terror sat embedded in her chest. This spirit was vicious, and Aurelia didn’t care to find out what would happen if she didn’t make it to safety.
Her heart seemed ready to explode as she wove through the quaking trees; she was sure she’d never run so fast in her entire life. Her lungs burned, and her legs felt like they were turning into jelly. All she could see was a tangle of black shapes, and she kept one arm out in front of her as she ran, feeling for obstacles. Then she spotted a house—wide and squat and so white, it seemed to glow under the moonlight—through the bare trunks ahead.
The Way Station. It had to be.
A creeping feeling told her that the specter would appear behind her next, and she spun on her toe while swinging her right blade. She glimpsed the specter’s glowing, silvery outline just before her sword slashed through it, making it explode into wisps of smoke. Completing the turn, she continued forward without missing a beat. Then, spotting the spirit’s hideous face right in front of her, she swung both blades forward—an instant before the specter actually appeared. Somehow, she’d seen it in her mind before it had made its actual move.
Her gut twisted with discomfort at that thought. She’d always been freakily good at predicting an enemy’s moves, but recently she’d come to realize that there was something more to her uncanny ability than fast instincts. She still hadn’t fully grasped how exactly it worked, though, and wondered if she ever would. But she wasn’t about to question it now—especially when it was telling her that the specter was three feet to her right. Without looking, she stabbed one blade in that direction and caught a glimpse of the grotesque, ghostly face in the corner of her eye before it shattered.
She fixed her gaze on the Way Station, trying to make out details as she drew closer. It was a long, one-story building topped with a sloping roof, and patches of black windows sat against the whiteness of the walls—defensible enough if the enchanted barrier around it didn’t hold … but not from a specter that could walk right through it. The perimeter’s gotta work, she told herself. Williams wouldn’t send me here if he weren’t sure.
A barrage of cracking noises suddenly assaulted her hearing, and she recognized it as the sound of dry branches being snapped off trees. A soft whistle rang out; the specter was hurling the branches at her from behind. She dropped to the ground without thinking about it, and the branches flew over her head. A split second later, she sprang up, then sprinted the last few feet.
The specter would make another attempt to materialize, but it didn’t matter—she’d already won.
She stopped and whirled back in time to see the specter crash into the invisible wall created by the enchanted perimeter. Though the barrier didn’t shimmer like the one surrounding the Capital—probably because it guarded a smaller area and therefore wasn’t as powerful—she could feel its magic crackling around her like the static of a storm.
The specter vanished as it hit the perimeter, and her ears buzzed from its cry of frustration. It rematerialized a second later, gnashing its teeth and contorting its face.
Aurelia lifted her chin in triumph. Her shoulders were heaving from her fast, deep breaths, and sweat covered her entire body, but the exhaustion that should have hit was absent. Instead, her blood pumped with gleeful energy. Maybe she hadn’t banished the specter, but she was still the victor.
“And you’re the loser, because you can’t get me,” she said with a smirk.
The specter screamed and rushed forward again—only to shatter against the barrier. With the threat gone, Aurelia suddenly found the creature’s freak-outs to be hilarious, and a giggle escaped her lips. Unable to resist, she stuck out her tongue. “Nyeh, nyeh!”
Then the tiredness hit her, and it hit hard. She suddenly felt like dropping into the ground and going to sleep right there in the dirt. But she couldn’t let herself relax just yet. Maybe her supernatural enemy couldn’t get through, but the humans chasing her could. The Triumvirate’s Sentinels. And Tydeus Storm. They were still after her, and for all she knew, they could track her here. She had to get inside, out of sight.
She turned and forced herself to trudge toward the house. Behind her, she heard the spirit try yet again to fly through the barrier, but didn’t bother looking back.
“Take a hint, stupid-head,” she muttered. She had a hard time believing that such a mindless creature had ever been a person, and wondered how psycho you had to be to end up like that after death.
When she reached the door to the house, she found it unlocked, but it wasn’t until she’d crossed the threshold that she realized she might actually make it. Here she was, in a rebel hideout, and one step closer to joining the fight to take down the Triumvirate.
A thrill rushed through her. Soon, Williams would get his message to the Rising, and they’d meet her here. If she could avoid or fend off any enemies until the others arrived, then by escaping, she’d have won her first victory against the government. And as part of the rebellion, she could finally begin changing the world.
She just hoped the Rising would find her before the Triumvirate or Storm did.
WAITING WAS THE WORST THING in the world, and Aurelia decided she’d rather face another thorndevil than spend another minute pacing around the empty Way Station. At the same time, the quietness meant her enemies hadn’t found her yet, and she supposed she should be glad for that. She feared that the Triumvirate might track her to the safe house, and had considered staying awake through the night, but the exhaustion had overwhelmed her.
Now, having rested from her crazy journey the night before and eaten her fill of the hideout’s food stash, she felt ready for battle. Problem was, there was nothing to fight.
She considered grabbing the bow sitting on a shelf beside her and practicing some shots, or maybe checking out some of the other weapons in the small room she stood in. A number of swords, rifles, and more sat piled against the walls, gleaming under the morning sunlight streaming through the window. She guessed that the rebels kept this makeshift armory in case the perimeter failed and they ran into supernatural trouble, and she was glad to have found it. Maybe she could use some of these weapons to set up defenses against any would-be attackers, whether it was Storm or the Triumvirate’s goons.
Before she could come up with any ideas, though, a flash of light caught her eye. For a moment, she thought it might have been the sun glinting off one of the silver blades, but then she caught sight of a figure in the woods outside the window. Someone must have just goldlighted into the area. And he or she was in trouble—there was a flock of black razorbirds, each of which looked deceptively like a crow, fast approaching.
Who was out there? Could it be the Triumvirate, catching up to her at last? Or Storm, still chasing her for reasons she couldn’t guess?
She barely had time to think about it before her combat instincts kicked in, and her eyes instinctively searched the room for a bow. Spotting one on the floor, she seized it, then grabbed a fistful of arrows from a bin against the wall. She didn’t know who that person was or what they wanted, but humans always trumped supernaturals, and she wasn’t about to stand by while someone was attacked. I
f it turned out to be the Triumvirate, she’d find a window for escape after the razorbirds were down.
If it turned out to be Storm, then she needed him alive to tell her what he wanted.
And if it turned out to be someone else altogether, then she would’ve fulfilled her duty as a monster fighter and saved a life. That last possibility drowned out the first two, and she decided she’d rather risk saving an enemy than doing nothing while an innocent was attacked.
She barreled through the house and burst through the door into the yard. The other person was at least two hundred yards outside the Way Station’s perimeter, desperately throwing up shield spells to block the incoming blades shooting from of the razorbirds’ wings. From the sound of the voice, Aurelia could tell it was a man. And from the brilliant red color of his hair, she knew at once that he wasn’t Storm. He also didn’t wear the gold cloak of the Sentinels. It didn’t rule out the possibility that he was with the Triumvirate, but it did make it less likely.
Whoever he was, he didn’t have much time left. The razorbirds were swooping toward him, apparently too busy closing in on their quarry to notice her approach. Though she was still some distance away, she was close enough to be within range. Still running, she raised her bow and slapped one arrow against its side, then aimed at the razorbird closest to the man and fired. Without waiting to see if she’d hit her target—and she was certain she had—she fired again, and then again, and then again. Four arrows, four shots, four dead razorbirds.
That got their attention. The remaining creatures from the flock veered toward her, firing several black blades from their wings. A whirl of alarm spun through her as she ducked up against a tree. She only had two arrows left in her hand, and there were four monsters coming at her.
No problem, she thought, a plan forming in her head.
She waited a few seconds for the razorbirds to get a little closer—and lower. They were swooping down toward her, probably hoping to impale her with their blade-like feathers, then peck at her to finish her off. She pressed back into the dry bark as more blades flew at her, whizzing past her ears and slamming into the ground. Then, when the birds were close enough, she leaped out from the shelter of the tree and fired both remaining arrows in quick succession. They hit their targets with double thwacks, and the razorbirds shrieked as the missiles impaled them both against the trunk of a tree.
Catching movement in the corner of her eye, she dodged as blades rained down from the two remaining razorbirds, twisting and sidestepping to avoid the sudden barrage. She trusted her instincts and moved automatically to their commands. The creatures passed overhead, and she took the opening to race toward the tree in which the arrows were embedded.
She yanked one out, then spun, firing as the razorbirds veered back around, coming for her. One fell, its cry grating against her ears, and the other—the last—whipped one black wing in her direction. She jumped behind the tree for shelter, then reached around it and grabbed the other arrow from the trunk. Before the razorbird could strike again, she shot it through the middle.
It landed with a dull thud, and, without the beating of wings or the noise of screeches, the forest suddenly seemed very quiet.
The tension in her chest loosened, and she regarded her handiwork, satisfied. Though she had no way of checking a clock, she would have bet her new swords on the fact that less than a minute had passed between the moment she’d spotted the flock and the moment she’d defeated its last member.
Now she turned her attention to the red-haired Enchanter. He stood several yards away, as still as the trees, and she could tell even from the distance that he was gaping. She smirked, strangely flattered by the idea that she’d impressed someone enough to effectively paralyze him. Yeah, I’m that awesome.
Then she strode toward him, stopping briefly along the way to yank an arrow out of a fallen razorbird. The man didn’t look like a threat, with his skinny build and narrow face. In fact, now that she was closer, she realized that he wasn’t much older than her, and had a bookish look about him, as if he’d been born to sit in libraries pondering the meaning of life. But after what had happened with Tydeus Storm, she wasn’t taking any chances.
She aimed the arrow at him. “Drop the wand, loser.”
The young man blinked, a startled look filling his eyes. “Firedragon, I’m not—”
“I said drop the wand.” She didn’t waver, even though she was somewhat surprised that he’d recognized her like Storm had. Does everyone know who I am?
“Okay, okay.” A wand as orange as his hair tumbled out of his hands, which he then raised in surrender. From the color, she knew he didn’t use dark magic, and that curiosity was one of his main traits.
She crossed the last few yards between them, keeping the arrow aimed. “Who are you?”
“My name is Tamerlane.” Nervousness quivered at the edges of his voice. “I’m with the Rising. We got a message from Professor Williams saying you’d be here, and I was sent to get you and goldlight you back to HQ.”
“You’re a rebel?” She cocked her head doubtfully. She’d always imagined the rebels would be a tough, battle-hardened bunch, and Tamerlane looked anything but. Still, he’d mentioned Williams, and her gut told her that he was legit. Excitement sparked in her chest as she realized her waiting was over. She dropped her arms, swinging the bow and arrow by her side. “Why didn’t you say so, dummy? And why did you arrive outside the Way Station’s perimeter? The barrier doesn’t keep you from goldlighting, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t.” He dropped his mouth into a sheepish expression. “I was aiming for the house, but it’s not easy to goldlight to a place you’ve never actually been.”
A zing was on the tip of her tongue, but then she suddenly recalled where she was. This was not the time to be joking around, when the Triumvirate or Storm—or more supernaturals, since they were outside the Way Station’s perimeter—could show up any second.
Tamerlane seemed to have the same thought, because his expression tensed, and he reached toward her. “We should hurry.”
“Wait! I’ve gotta get something.” Aurelia raced back toward the house. Though he was right, she wasn’t about to leave without her double swords. Not only because they were amazing weapons, but because Connor had given them to her. And it would take her less than a minute to fetch them.
She reached the kitchen, where she’d left them propped up against the wall, and strapped the blades to her back. A flash of light caught her eye, and she turned to see Tamerlane standing in the doorway.
“Were you aiming for the other end of the house?” she asked mockingly.
An annoyed look crossed his face. “I don’t usually make mistakes like that.”
“Well don’t goldlight us into a wall or anything, okay?” She didn’t like the idea of being goldlighted somewhere by a stranger who’d just proven that he sucked at a lot of things, but she didn’t exactly have a choice when he was the only way she could reach the rebel headquarters. And they didn’t have much time. The Sentinels could turn up at any moment.
He didn’t respond, but clamped a hand onto her shoulder, and a wave of heat and a flash of light engulfed her. Though she’d been goldlighted a few times before by Sentinels sending her into battle against a monster, she hadn’t experienced it often enough to be used to the sensation. Her body prickled uncomfortably, as if a million tiny bugs were partying in her limbs and frolicking in her gut, and her eyes quickly started to hurt from the glare that erased everything else from sight.
When the light faded a second later, she was standing in the middle of a wide room with tall windows covering one wall. Looking up, she realized she was on the ground level of a huge building with several floors, each of which was visible because of the hallways overlooking the atrium. Excited tingles raced through her as she took it all in. She’d reached the Rising, leaving her enemies in the dust. Neither the Triumvirate, nor Storm, nor the supernaturals had been able to stop her. The fight was far from over, but
still, she’d won the first battle. And she planned to win many more.
To her left, an old man was in the middle of descending a staircase that zigzagged along the wall, and she turned toward him. Though he looked ancient, with his pale, wrinkled face and snowy hair, he had a decently strong body for someone who could have been raised with dinosaurs. Something about the straight-backed way he held himself and his no-nonsense expression exuded toughness and grit, and Aurelia felt a sensation she hadn’t known in ages: an immediate sense of respect. He must be important.
The old man approached. “Welcome to the Rising. Williams told me all about you. I must say, it’ll be nice to have a real fighter on our side. No offense,” he added, glancing at Tamerlane.
“None taken,” Tamerlane said. “I just saw her take down a flock of razorbirds in about thirty seconds.”
“And save your hide while you stood there like an idiot,” Aurelia quipped. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Oh ... right. Thanks.” He looked away with obvious embarrassment.
She turned her attention back to the old man. “Who’re you?”
“Frank Calhoun.” The old man jerked a thumb at himself. “I’m the leader of the Rising. Have been since I started it about twenty years ago, and will be until freedom is restored to this great nation. I know that sounds like an eternity to you, but believe me, it’s necessary. You can’t defeat a government as powerful as the Triumvirate overnight. We’re getting close, though.” A hungry look filled his pale eyes as he glanced past her.
“You’ve come at a good time. All our efforts are about to come to their climax, and then we will rid this land of the Triumvirs and their tyrannical ways. Soon, Norms like you and me will be treated as equals to the Enchanters. And everyone—magical and non-magical alike—will live without being afraid of their own leaders.”