Crimson Wind

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  The ground rumbled and growled and jolted. She felt drunk as she staggered over the moving earth. She slipped a knife into her hand. What if it wasn’t just a magical forest or a glass mountain sprouting up in there? Fairy tales came loaded with a horde of vicious beasties. Keeping the wild magic from changing her little band of survivors into eggplant Parmesan was one thing; staying alive was another kettle of piranha altogether.

  Alexander broke into a slow jog. Amanda’s head bounced against his shoulder, and behind him, Matthew struggled to run with his daughter pressed to his chest. Max fell back behind. Holt soon joined her.

  “So if we’re attacked, are you going to cover your own ass or help me?” she asked. “I’d rather know now if I can count on you.”

  “I said I would help.”

  “How far are you willing to take it? Valery didn’t seem to think you’re the till-death-do-us-part kind of guy. If you bailed on her, what kind of loyalty are you going to have for someone like me who tied you up and held you prisoner?”

  His face hardened; his eyes turned scorching. “Valery left me,” he said tautly. “I never bailed on her.”

  “You must have done something to piss her off. She didn’t strike me as all that flighty and impulsive.”

  “I—” He broke off, his face twisting with the violence of hard-held emotions.

  “Did I hit a nerve?” Max asked.

  “As I told you before, it is complicated,” he said, enunciating each word carefully.

  “When isn’t it complicated? But hey, not my problem. That’s between you and your ex. All I want to know is if you’re going to throw me to the wolves when they’re gnawing at our feet. After all, saving these people doesn’t require covering my ass, now does it?”

  “And if I say yes, you’ll believe me?”

  “I might. If you say it with feeling.”

  He laughed suddenly. “You’re a bitch coming and going, aren’t you?”

  “So they tell me.” Max grinned. Despite herself, she liked Holt. She could see what had drawn Valery to him in the first place. He had a kind of razor charm and an unexpected humor that made him likable, despite being a mage and an arrogant ass.

  “I guess you’ll have to wait and see what I do,” he said. “Don’t you love a good surprise?”

  “Only if I’m the one springing it.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He chuckled, then sobered. “Why are you helping these people? What’s in it for you?”

  She shook her head. And the rat bastard came scurrying back. “Does there have to be something in it for me?”

  “What’s the point of risking yourself if not?”

  “Is it always about the bottom line with you? Do you ever do anything without expecting something in return?”

  “Not really.”

  “No wonder Valery divorced you.”

  “She didn’t divorce me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Caramaras don’t get divorced. When I catch up with her, we’ll get that settled once and for all.”

  “If you catch up with her.”

  “She’d better hope I find her first,” he said, and a flicker of fear danced through his eyes so fast that Max wasn’t sure she’d actually seen it.

  “So why help us? If you only do things for payment, what are you expecting?”

  “Alexander will owe me. You saw him. He’d have told me how to find Valery if you’d ordered him to. If I happen to save your life, then he might just feel obligated to share the information.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. She’s his family.”

  “And he’s in love with you.”

  Max ground to a halt, staring slack-jawed at the mage. “Where the hell do you get that from?”

  “Aw, is that one of those surprises you don’t like?” He grabbed her arm and jerked her forward. “Stopping is probably a bad idea right now.”

  She started her stumbling jog again. “He is not in love with me.”

  But electricity was racing through her, and her blood pounded with the possibility. What if he was? No, she didn’t want that. Did she? Fuck no. Even if Scooter wasn’t waiting for her, there were a dozen other things that made it an insane idea. Like the fact that Giselle wouldn’t hesitate to use him against her; like the fact that no one at Horngate trusted him; like the fact that screwing around with one of her own Shadowblades would make everyone question her decisions. Not to mention the fact that letting people get that close made you stupid.

  She sought out his form ahead of the others. He’d made it clear that he wanted her, whatever that meant, but love? That was too much. Holt was wrong. And if he wasn’t, it was a can of worms she didn’t want to open.

  “Ready now,” Holt said, looking upward.

  A rain of scarlet fell softly toward them. It clumped in thick tufts, some the size of melons. Some of it was no bigger than an eyelash. It whirled and drifted on a wind Max couldn’t see or feel.

  She and Holt closed the distance on their companions.

  “Things are about to get weird,” she told them. “Don’t let go of that chain.”

  They all were looking up now, fear making them bunch together and stop.

  “Keep moving,” she ordered.

  Alexander tugged on the end of the chain, and they started forward again.

  More of the wild magic filled the air, swirling around them like a red blizzard. A heady, sweet smell filled her nose and flooded her mouth. It tasted of honey and oranges and burned down into her lungs with every breath. The heat was searing, and yet it filled her with strength and energy like she’d never felt before. The ground lifted and rolled like a wave in the ocean. Max staggered and fell to one knee. Holt lurched against her, and she held him steady.

  Then the world around them exploded.

  The weight of Holt vanished. Dust and clods of dirt filled the air, and Max was blinded. She coughed, her mouth filling with dirt. Something hit her cheek, slicing her to the bone. Flying rocks and debris hammered her from every side.

  The ground dropped away. Max swung her arms wildly. They tangled in a vine. She clutched it with one hand, swinging like a pendulum in the dirt-choked air. The surface of the vine was warm and nobby. It stretched in her hand, growing and widening, splaying her fingers apart until she could no longer hold it. She dropped her knife and reached up to grip it with her other hand, clawing her fingers into it. The outer layer gave, and sticky coldness seeped down over her skin. The massive vine jerked and swung her from side to side.

  She kicked, trying to swing her legs up to grab the vine for a better hold. Before she could, something grabbed her left ankle, and sharp pains drilled into her calf. A second later, her right foot was captured. Both legs went numb, and something smooth and wet slid up to her waist.

  It was like she was caught in cement. She could swivel her hips but little else. Max gripped harder on her handhold above and tried to draw herself up. She didn’t budge. She could hardly feel her legs now, and sharp prickles circled her waist.

  “Alexander! Holt!” She coughed again as dust filled her mouth and nose. No one answered. She called again and thought she heard a faint noise off to her right. She strained to listen. Not far away, she heard a guttural panting and a high-pitched whining-buzzing sound like flies and ants arguing over a picnic. A thrum vibrated through the air, the sound so deep it could only be felt, not heard. Other sounds rose now, too—chirps of birds, barks of squirrels, squeals, purrs, squeaks, and so much more. In the distance, she heard splashing.

  The dust began to settle. Max caught her breath in amazement. The panorama that spread out before her was primordial. Gone was the flat plane of the valley. All that remained was Mount Shasta, still spewing wild magic from its cone. The snow looked glassy and sparkled like cut crystal. The lower slopes vanished into a lush forest that spread over a broken landscape of hills and gorges, bald tors and sharp ridges. The foliage was dark green, almost black. Wild magic still spun in the air, but Max could see that Holt had been right. The
bulk of it was blowing southward on a crimson wind. She swallowed. She had to get to Winters before the wild magic did. If anyone is still alive.

  She refused to consider it. Instead, she examined her predicament. She was on the edge of a cliff. Far below, a gold river cut through the steep-sided gorge. She was naked—her clothes and weapons no doubt changed by the wild magic. Her legs were encased in a sickly green, nacreous material that was solid from the knees down, breaking apart into a delicate lace patterning over her thighs and waist. Blood welled from beneath the filigree and was absorbed into the shiny green casing with a faint wet sound.

  Bile flooded her tongue. It was eating her.

  She looked up. She was gripping a long orange and black limb as big around as she was. Its smooth surface was studded with flat calluses. Where her fingers dug through its skin, she could see pale yellow flesh. Yellow liquid ran down over her hands and arms, smelling faintly like carrion.

  Suddenly the limb trembled and lifted. Max let it go as her body stretched, her tendons pulling taut. The limb—no, a tentacle, she realized—curled, and the end of it whipped back toward her. The last four feet or so flattened out into a kind of webbed fan. The underside was covered with puffy ovals with a slit down the middle of each one. It came at Max like a big flyswatter. She flung herself sideways, and it passed over her, wind whistling around it. The sharp edge of her prison cut into her, and blood streamed down her side as she readied herself for the next pass.

  The swatter came at her again. Max ducked and slammed it with a two-fisted hammer blow. There was a scream like tearing metal, and the tentacle flailed wildly. More sprang up around it, and Max realized that they grew in a cluster. Whether the one tentacle was attached like an arm to the others or whether it was a little patch of individuals, she didn’t know. What she knew was that they were going to batter her to death and likely eat her.

  Just then, the stuff around her legs made a sound like a burp and rippled upward over her no longer bleeding belly wound. Inside, her skin prickled and itched. Max grimaced. The tentacles might be late to the buffet.

  She glanced at the quivering tentacles. They would certainly kill her if they came at her at once. Which meant she had to free her legs fast.

  She bent as far as the lips of the mouth holding her would allow and swung her fists at the outer shell with all her might. The creature shuddered and clamped tighter on her. She swore and pounded it again, all the while keeping one eye on her tentacle friends. They quivered, the fan ends rubbing gently together. It wouldn’t be long before they attacked.

  Suddenly the creature’s grip on her waist loosened. Encouraged, Max kept up her battering attack. Abruptly, the mouth opened and shrank back down into the ground with a wet groan. Max flung herself headlong as the tentacles crashed down where she’d been in one united blow.

  The creature below was still feeling hungry; it snapped up and circled a group of six or seven tentacles, hardening almost instantly. The tentacles tugged furiously, and those that hadn’t been caught thrashed madly at the ground. Max dragged herself out of the way, her legs clumsy and weak. Her thighs were mottled blue and black, and her lower legs were pale gray. She crawled around a wet gash in the ground that looked too much like another mouth and eyed the trees around her carefully.

  The trees were scattered widely, allowing for a carpet of lush grass pocked with bright flowers that bobbed in the heat. Many were familiar—tansy, goldenrod, lupine, golden poppies, and horseradish. Others she didn’t recognize at all, not that she was much of a gardener. They could be common, and she’d never know it.

  Something caught her eye. It was a small grove of trees with smooth gray-orange skin and dark oval leaves gathered in small fronds. Rowan. Max lurched to her feet and limped toward it. Small creatures scuttled away, twitching a telltale path through grass.

  Max went into the grove and found a low-hanging branch about two inches in diameter. She pressed her palm against the trunk. It felt warm and silky.

  “Sorry about this,” she said. “But I need a weapon if I’m going to get out of here alive.”

  With that, she snapped off the limb. The tree made a moaning sound, and the grove rustled, though no wind blew. Max hesitated. Rowan wood was powerful against most Uncanny and Divine creatures. But taking it without some kind of payment when the tree was protesting seemed incredibly stupid. The trouble was, she was stark naked and, aside from blood, had little to offer. But maybe that was enough. Blood was life, after all, and sacrifice was honored.

  She didn’t have a knife or anything to cut with, which meant this was going to be messy. She dug her right thumbnail deep into her wrist at the base of her left thumb, looking for the radial artery. She nicked it, sending a small fountain into the air. She aimed at the splintered stump of the branch she’d stolen. It took only a few seconds for the wound to heal. She stared in surprise. Even in perfect health, it should have taken a minute to close. But the wound was already a pink scar, and as she watched, even that faded.

  She looked down at her legs. The bruises had disappeared, and the gray was now looking more pink. It had to be the wild magic. It was feeding her healing spells. Thank goodness. She looked back at the tree. Her blood had disappeared, the end of the branch was smooth, and a new twig rose from the center.

  “Thank you,” she said, and then headed out to find her companions.

  She went north, away from Mount Shasta, hoping that any of the enchantments traditionally associated with magical forests wouldn’t work on her. Otherwise, she’d wander in circles forever or until she got captured or eaten or worse.

  Max carried the rowan branch like a club, making her way carefully so that she didn’t step into any traps. She didn’t let herself think about what was becoming of all the people caught up in the spreading eruption of magic. She hoped to hell Alexander had gotten clear with his charges.

  She’d gone maybe a mile, following a zigzagging track as she avoided clear pools of inviting water, sand pits, suspicious glades, and strange plants, when she heard him yelling for her.

  “Here!” She started in his direction, going into a small copse of what looked like dwarf oak trees. Beside her, something unfurled from a stout branch. It was four feet long and covered with a thin layer of white hair. A black stripe ran down its red center. It dangled like a thin flag. Or a tongue. Max eased around it. More of the things uncurled until she was standing in the middle of a swaying maze. She dropped to the ground and wiggled forward on her stomach. The tongues sensed her passing and stretched toward her. She pushed them away with the twiggy end of the rowan branch and pulled herself along faster. She reached the other side and rolled clear before jumping to her feet.

  Alexander called for her again, and she didn’t answer, following his voice and hoping for his sake that no one else was doing the same thing.

  She topped a low ridge and stopped short. The downslope was covered in short silvery white grass. She hesitated. It didn’t look threatening, but then nothing ever did in fairy tales. That was the point. She prodded the nearby edge with the end of the rowan branch. Nothing happened. That was a good sign.

  She looked to either side. Trees crowded up the ridge, their shadows black and dense. Who knew what hid within? A rustling caught her attention, and Alexander emerged from a tangle of bushes at the foot of the hill. He was fully clothed, one of the witch chains wrapped around his waist. Just her luck. The chance to see him naked, and she was the only one streaking.

  “Max!” he said, relief coloring his voice as he caught sight of her. His gaze traveled down and back up. “Nice. A little dirty, though. Care to turn around so I can see the rest of you?” He turned his finger in the air.

  Men. “Did you get the others out? Where’s Holt?”

  “The magic stopped just short of Weed. I got the others out, mostly none the worse for wear. I have not seen Holt.”

  Damn. They couldn’t just leave him, either. “I’m coming down,” she said, and reached out a tentative foot.
The silver grass was as stiff as its color. The tips slid into her flesh like needles. Max jerked back, swearing. She was going to have to go around through the trees after all. Then she remembered Tutresiel’s feather in her hand. Could she just jump over it?

  “Wait. I am coming to get you,” Alexander said.

  He pushed his booted foot out, bending the blades of silver down with a crunching sound. He scuffed up the hill, making a long double-ribboned track behind him. At the top, he reached for Max and pulled her into a swift kiss before swinging her up into his arms. “My kingdom for a bed and a few minutes of privacy,” he growled as he leered down at her.

  “I wouldn’t be bragging too loudly about how fast it takes you to get your business done,” Max admonished. “You don’t want a reputation for getting off the freeway an exit too early.”

  He snorted and kissed her again. “If that was a dare, I will take you up on it.”

  “You’re getting awfully grabby, aren’t you?” Not that she minded his kisses or being wrapped up in his arms. In fact, she liked it too damned much. Suddenly she remembered what Holt had said about Alexander being in love with her. She started to pull away, then stopped herself. What if he was? Did it matter? She was promised to Scooter. It couldn’t last. He knew that as well as she did. So if he was willing to play for a few days, why shouldn’t she?

  “Are you complaining?”

  “I’m ….. crap,” she said, and then pulled him to her. This kiss was as fast as the other two, but it left them both breathless. She could hear his heart thudding in his chest. Hers wasn’t any slower.

  Close by, a whispery howl cut through the night, followed by two more. Alexander tensed. Without another word, he followed his path back down, the leaves of silver grass already springing back upright. He set Max on her feet at the bottom.

  “What now, boss?”

  “We can’t leave Holt. We have to look for him,” she said.

  He grimaced and nodded. “I know.”

  He stripped off his shirt and handed it to her with the second witch chain. She pulled the material over her head. It fell to midthigh and smelled deliciously like Alexander. She wrapped the chain around her waist like a belt. He passed her a knife, and she used it to sharpen the end of the rowan wood branch.