The Last Spell

by J. A. White

“When I put my hood up,” Kara said, looking at Sordyr now. “That’s when you give the signal.”

  Sordyr patted the horn by his side. It was long and curved, carved from the hip bone of some gargantuan creature.

  That’s it, Kara thought. The plan is set. There’s nothing more you can do.

  What she hadn’t anticipated was the raging fear in her stomach, the frantic pounding of her heart. Trying to keep her face as impassive as possible—Don’t show weakness!—Kara rode Shadowdancer a few paces forward. On the other side of the field, Rygoth sat astride a white horse that looked surprisingly unmagical.

  She spoke directly into Kara’s mind.

  Interesting choice of allies. Graycloaks and monsters. Are you sure you’re on the right side?

  Surprised at this mental intrusion, Kara immediately began setting up protective walls in her mind, like Sordyr had taught her.

  Rygoth’s laughter roared through her head.

  Don’t bother. I’ve no desire to control your mind. I’d rather do this the old-fashioned way. Witch versus witch.

  Kara feigned surprise she did not feel.

  I don’t want to fight, she thought. We’re going to make an exchange. That’s what we agreed on. The grim for my friends!

  No, foolish girl! I’m going to kill everyone here. And yank the grim from your cold dead hands!

  Rygoth clasped her fingers into a fist and the mercenaries charged.

  Kara could feel the ground rumble beneath the hooves of armored horses. She glanced at Taff, who nodded slightly. We both knew that Rygoth would never go through with an exchange. Of course, anticipating the attack was one thing. Seeing your death in the eyes of hired killers was something else entirely.

  Cold sweat dribbled down Kara’s back. She felt removed from herself, out of place.

  I was raised to be a farmer, not lead a battle. Is this really me?

  “Mary,” Kara said, eyeing the kite. “It’s time.”

  She knew the risk she was taking. Rygoth said that the moment she sensed a trick she would kill Lucas. But what if that was just a cruel lie to keep her in line? She hadn’t seen Lucas. How could she know for sure that he was truly alive?

  He’s not, Kara thought, her voice hard and practical, a remnant from her years in the Fold. He’s dead and you know it. And even if he was alive—he’d want you to do everything you could to stop Rygoth. This is bigger than all of us.

  Mary unwound the spindle, allowing the string a little slack. The kite rose a few feet above them. Its needle spun madly, refusing to stop at a single picture.

  Father held out a hand.

  “Wait,” he said. “Let them get closer first. This way our men can flank them and split Rygoth’s forces.”

  Kara watched with increasing trepidation as the mercenaries charged closer. In some ways, they were even more frightening than Rygoth’s creations. The violent instincts of monsters made sense to her, but seeing such lust for death in human eyes was truly unsettling.

  “Now!” Father exclaimed.

  Mary released the kite. It caught the wind and sailed high into the air. Just before it rose too far out of sight, Kara saw the spinning needle settle on the drawing of a storm cloud.

  It began to rain.

  Water raged down in an angry torrent. Thunder boomed and startled horses kicked into the air, tossing the mercenaries on their backs. This chaos, however, was short-lived. In less than a minute, Rygoth’s forces regained their composure. They marched forward, slower this time, their faces set with determination. A little storm wasn’t going to stop them.

  Except the storm wasn’t just a storm.

  It was also a signal.

  From out of the thick woods to either side of the clearing charged hundreds of soldiers.

  These reinforcements were the result of Father’s role in their plan. Pretending to be Timoth Clen, he had sent messages to the four regions of Sentium, calling their armies to De’Noran for one final battle against the Spider Queen. Kara had doubted that anyone would come, but after several weeks of nervous waiting the first ship had arrived, this one from Ilma. The others soon followed.

  They hadn’t come because of the Clen. They had come because of Kara.

  They had all heard stories of the young witch who had freed the village of De’Noran from evil, defeated the Forest Demon, saved the children of Nye’s Landing, exorcised the evil spirit of Dolrose Castle, and wounded Rygoth at the Battle of Clen’s Graveyard. Rumor had it that even vicious beasts were humbled by the goodness in her heart.

  They called her Kara the Kind.

  She was their only chance of stopping the Spider Queen, and they now fought in her name, their weapons revealing their region of origin. Those from Ilma fired glorb-arrows with deadly accuracy. The knights of Lux wore crystal armor and wielded beautiful swords that looked like glass but never shattered. Aurian warriors fought with only their bare hands and tiny bells that they would ring in their adversaries’ ears, making them fall to the ground in agony. The contingent from Kutt was smaller and wore black masks, like the ones that Kara had seen on the Swoop, connected by clear tubes to metal canisters worn on their backs. They hung at the fringes of the fighting and tossed glass spheres into the larger groups of mercenaries. Upon breaking, these spheres released clouds of gas that caused anyone in the immediate vicinity to scream in pain as blisters and boils exploded all over their body.

  The mercenaries grew fewer in number but continued to fight fiercely, delivering death on well-honed blades.

  “Father,” Kara said.

  Raising his ball-staff high into the air, Kara’s father charged into the fray, and the graycloaks followed. Their whirring weapons struck heads and knees with sickening speed, and the mercenaries, trapped between two enemy forces, began to show the first signs of panic.

  High above them the spinner on the kite changed position. The rain stopped with the suddenness of a tightened spigot, and a blazing sun sent the temperature soaring. The Luxians quickly utilized this unexpected advantage, expertly tilting their cry-swords to blind the enemy with the sun’s glare.

  More mercenaries fell. Some fled into the Thickety.

  Rygoth set her monsters loose.

  Kara did the same.

  Beast met beast just north of the main battle. Kara could see only the larger animals past the clashing soldiers, but she felt all of them, their violent instincts throbbing deep within her bones. Every animal sound imaginable, and some that were not, muffled the clang of weapons: roars and bleats, growls and hisses, screeches and snorts. Other noises—torn flesh, spraying blood—sent lightning bolts of pain through Kara’s body. She suffered as her creatures suffered. Kara had learned how to diminish this link between them, even sever it altogether, but she chose not to. Those in her charge had offered their lives, and it would have been the highest form of disrespect not to share their pain.

  “Are you ready?” she asked Taff.

  He nodded bravely, tightening his little hands around Darno’s neck.

  I won’t let him fall, the scorpion-wolf told her.

  I know you won’t, Kara said. She shifted her thoughts to a different animal. Shadowdancer! Go!

  The mare shot off like a cannonball, Kara holding tight and keeping her head low as they danced past mercenaries and monsters. Near hits abounded. A bearded man charged with a raised ax but fell when an arrow took him in the chest. An eagle with quicksand eyes slashed Kara’s back but was snatched in midair by her sledgeworm before it could attack again.

  As they reached the center of the field, the chaos closed around them like a vise. The two main battles had spilled into each other; a graycloak fought for her life against a mist-like creature, while a group of mercenaries fended off Kara’s sickleowls. Shadowdancer whinnied and turned, every path blocked. Two snarling bodies crashed into the mare’s flank. She nearly toppled over but somehow managed to maintain her balance.

  Too many, Darno said, turning his body to sting a sable-toothed gorilla before
it reached Taff. We need help or we won’t make it.

  Kara stretched out her mind until she felt the blood-red thoughts of her old enemy. I need you! she shouted. Immediately two low-riding gra’daks exploded through the mob like rampaging bulls, sending the bodies of both man and beast flying through the air. These gra’daks were larger than the one who had bitten off Lucas’s fingers but had the same five mouths, which they used now to make short work of some squishy squid-like thing with fanned plumage.

  “Go,” Kara said, patting Shadowdancer’s neck.

  The gra’daks took the lead, creating a path by barreling through any man, woman, or creature stupid enough to get in their way.

  Shadowdancer and Darno followed on their heels.

  Soon they had passed through the main conflict. The open field spread out before them. Kara could see Rygoth clearly now, still astride the white horse, giving orders to the witches around her.

  The sun vanished. Hail pelted Kara’s body.

  As one, the witches marched forward while opening their grimoires. Kara couldn’t hear the words they spoke, but she could sense the oncoming threat as dark magic rose over them like a tidal wave. There was no time to scream a warning. Suddenly the sky was awash with colors: mauve lightning and streams of blue fire and a swirling yellow vortex that sucked three Luxian soldiers into its depths. Kara’s allies had been doing well up until this point—perhaps even winning—but this barrage of magic instantly turned the tide of battle.

  Get Taff into position, she told Darno. This next part is going to happen fast.

  The scorpion-wolf dashed away, Taff clinging to his back. Kara met her brother’s eyes as he departed and saw the worry there. It was not for himself.

  Nightseekers, she commanded. Attack!

  It was Father who had brought the innocuous-looking dogs to the Thickety, having used them to hunt witches as Timoth Clen. At first Kara had been reluctant to use the animals—for one had nearly blinded her when she was a little girl and that fear had never completely dissipated—but finally she had built a mind-bridge and made them her own. For the entire battle, following her command, they had been slinking unnoticed through the trees. Now they rushed at the witches from behind, already changing form and rising up on two legs as translucent needles extended from their paws. Kara saw several witches go down, grimoires flying out of their hands as they desperately tried to fend off the beasts.

  The attack created a break in the witches’ lines that revealed Safi and Bethany, tethered to the ground by chains. Kara reached out to a shy raccoon with pincers strong enough to snap a sword in half and sent it an order.

  Free my friends!

  Before Kara could signal to Safi and Bethany that help was on its way, a cold voice frosted the passageways of her mind.

  What do you hope to accomplish here?

  Though a good distance still spanned the ground between them, Kara was now close enough to see the expression on Rygoth’s face. By this point in the battle, after dealing with such unexpected losses, Kara had hoped to see at least an inkling of worry in the Spider Queen’s eyes—maybe even panic.

  She looked bemused.

  I could end this entire fiasco in a heartbeat if I desired, but the practice is good for my witches. Look—they’ve already regained the upper hand.

  Rygoth was right. Nightseeker bodies, battered and broken, lay strewn across the field. The witches had continued their march toward Kara’s forces, casting spells as they approached. The body of a Kuttian soldier shot high into the air and plummeted into the trees. Graycloaks writhed in pain as invisible forces whipped their bodies. A brave knight in the process of swinging his sword simply vanished.

  Kara saw the twins read from the grimoire they shared. The ground grew grass teeth and swallowed a soldier whole.

  We don’t have a chance against so much magic, Kara thought.

  A dozen voices screamed in terror as a cloud-colored hand reached down from the sky, grabbed the last of Ilma’s troops, and squeezed. The caster of this Last Spell, a tiny witch no older than eight, was dragged shrieking through an open portal in her grimoire. The Well of Witches awaited her.

  “I grow bored,” Rygoth snapped in Kara’s ear. “Give me the grim.”

  Kara jerked in surprise. Just a moment ago, Rygoth had still been across the field. Now she was close enough to touch.

  The horse teleports, Kara thought. It’s magical after—

  She noticed that there was a dagger in Rygoth’s hand.

  The blade slashed Kara’s shoulder, cutting away the strap of her satchel and sending a searing line of pain across her arm. Rygoth caught the satchel. Kara slipped off Shadowdancer’s back and struck the ground hard, biting her tongue. The taste of blood filled her mouth.

  The hail stopped. The sun blazed down once more.

  Rising shakily to her feet, Kara saw Rygoth remove the grim from the satchel and examine it with reverence. Luckily, she did not notice the sticky substance flattened to the underside of the leather square, its color a perfect camouflage against the rose leather.

  Where are you? Kara called out to Darno, frantically searching for the wolf among the chaos of the field. Get Taff here now!

  Laying the back cover of the Vulkera on her lap, Rygoth reached into her saddlebag and produced the other three grims. She placed the sixteen pages in a neat stack on top of the back cover and then pressed the spine into place. The moment she added the front cover there was a terrible hissing sound, like the opening of a tomb sealed for centuries, and a blinding ray of blue light speared the grimoire. It looped quickly through the spine, over and over again, acting as needle and thread to bind the book together.

  The Vulkera was complete again.

  “At last,” Rygoth said. “Now you will all see true power!”

  With a gloved hand trembling ever so slightly, Rygoth opened to the first page. Her eyes widened at the spell awaiting her.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Why don’t we start there?”

  Her mouth formed the first word. It did not make a sound in the traditional way but rather slid down Kara’s throat like rancid meat. She gripped her stomach, fighting the urge to vomit. Rygoth spoke the second word. The sound of this one turned Kara’s ears numb, as if she had just rubbed them with snow.

  Rygoth never made it to the third word.

  The Vulkera flew out of her hands and attached itself to a spinning object whistling through the air, the taffy on its back cover magically bonding to its counterpart on the boomerang. The toy continued its forward trajectory a few more feet before reversing direction and landing halfway across the field—in Taff’s outstretched hand.

  “NO!” Rygoth shrieked.

  Taff pulled the Vulkera from the boomerang and handed it to Sordyr. The former Forest Demon nodded to the Spider Queen, as though they were acquaintances meeting by chance in a crowded square, and then raised the curved horn to his lips.

  A blaring sound like the call of some aquatic beast rose over the sounds of battle, signaling the graycloaks to action.

  Each of them withdrew a grimoire.

  The idea had been Taff’s, but Safi’s father had played the most important role. By utilizing his years of experience working in the Bindery, Breem had been able to make the books to Kara’s precise specifications.

  They all looked exactly like the Vulkera.

  Keeping these grimoires in full view, the graycloaks donned their hoods and set off in every direction. Sordyr lifted his own hood into place and vanished into their numbers. In moments he was indistinguishable from the others.

  Rygoth scanned the battlefield, desperately searching for the true Vulkera, now lost in a sea of duplicates. Her face, frozen in a rictus of rage, was no longer beautiful.

  “Where is it?” she screamed. “GIVE ME MY BOOK!”

  Hissing like a cornered cat, she flicked her wrist forward and killed the nearest graycloak with a handful of black butterflies, and then slid off her horse to examine the bloodstained grimoir
e in the poor man’s hands.

  Kara didn’t wait to see what happened next; her destination was on the other side of the battlefield, and there was no time to waste. She raised her hood and ran, leaping over fallen bodies and weaving around monsters locked in battle. It would have been faster to ride Shadowdancer, but the mare was too recognizable and would have revealed her identity. Her loyal creatures always knew where she was, however, and subtly cleared a path out of harm’s way. Kara kept her head down and ran as fast as she could—until she found herself suddenly falling to the ground, her feet yanked backward as though by invisible hands.

  She looked up and saw the twins staring at her.

  They looked both surprised and thrilled by this unexpected gift. The sisters exchanged a glance, and the meaning was as clear as if they had spoken aloud.

  After we kill this one the Spider Queen will finally love us best!

  In unison they began to chant a spell from the grimoire they shared between them. Kara heard the air crackle and felt magical energy gather around her. The twins raced toward the end of the spell, their eyes gleaming with mad delight.

  Before they could finish, a beam of purple light sent them flying.

  Kara turned and saw Safi standing behind her. There was an open grimoire in her hands.

  “Taff told me the plan,” she said, helping Kara to her feet. “Go!”

  The twins, already standing, eyed Safi with murderous intent.

  “Can you handle them on your own?” Kara asked.

  Safi smiled brightly as she turned to the next page of her grimoire.

  “Absolutely.”

  Fat flakes of snow had begun to fall. Forcing herself to ignore the vicious exchange of spells behind her, Kara sprinted to the shadows of the trees, where Sordyr was waiting. His breath misted the suddenly frigid air.

  “Cast well, Kara,” he said, and handed her the Vulkera.

  Upon touching the completed Vulkera a desperate need to use it flooded all of Kara’s other thoughts and senses. This was more than just a simple desire to cast a spell. It was as though her very soul had grown teeth and developed a ravenous hunger for magic.