by Zoe Parker
I fought hard today, as did every other single Feyrie on that field, but I wasn’t able to fight at my best and it bothers me. Following on Phobe’s coattails to keep from getting myself nuked with Light Magiks significantly bothers me, no matter how practical it was. Sure, I held my own and I’ll continue to, but it’s at a cost. I took some damage, surface wounds really, but I feel every one of them and they’re painful and need to be cared for. I’m not sure I’ve ever healed this slow in my life, even when I was full of whatever poison shit Paul and Mary put in me. But, if not for Phobe’s shadows always there to protect me, this situation would be different. The fiends were always there to protect me too, but they’re not as strong as the forlorn who are fed power from Phobe.
I don’t feel like I could’ve come out as well without either of them. I’ve become a liability.
“No, you haven’t,” Phobe says from behind me. I slide out of my boots and strip off my stiff clothing. The cold water numbs the various cuts and bruises on my skin as I wade into the water up to my waist.
“You able to read my mind again?” I doubt it but asking, it’s better than assuming.
“No, but I can read your face. You like blaming yourself for things that aren’t your fault.” I make a face, he’s calling me a martyr again. “You fought as equally as every other Feyrie on that front, better than some of them and you’re technically crippled.” Thanks for the reminder, Phobe. “Don’t take yourself out of the fight mentally, then you will lose for real.”
“You had my back.”
“And you had mine. Stop feeling sorry for yourself Iza, be prepared for another day of this and revel in it like you should be. Like you would be if you didn’t think you were less because of that fucking collar.” I start to move deeper into the water but my feet freeze in their tracks as his words sink in. Is that what I’m doing? Feeling sorry for myself?
Hell. I am. I can’t fucking have that, not now. Not when I need to have my shit together more than anything.
“You’re such an asshole sometimes, Phobe, but you’re a smart one." His heat slides up behind me and those arms that killed so messily hours ago, wrap around me in comfort.
“You think I’m a pretty one too,” he teases, as his breath tickles my ear.
“True, but I love you more for your brain.” The words slip out of me before I can stop them; surprisingly, I don’t regret it.
“Where’d you put the soap?” Laughing, I fall back against him and just breathe. When he and I first started this journey together—what feels like decades ago—I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Honestly, before he spoke to me that first time, maybe even after, I thought he might end up killing me. I was a right pain in his ass and well, that hasn’t changed. But now, now he holds me like I’m the most precious thing in the world to him and I don’t know what my life would be like without this.
“Did you get enough to eat?” I ask, walking my fingers down his forearm to tangle with his. His body is pulsing with power, a lot of it.
“It was a nice snack, but I still need more.” He’s honest if nothing else. I’m glad he doesn’t blow smoke up my ass; we’d have never survived the prison.
“Tomorrow you get the full buffet.”
“Stay close to your Feyrie tomorrow,” he cautions and then his left hand slides down my body and starts doing wonderful things to it. As my head lolls back against his shoulder, I accept the distraction for what it is and forget everything but him.
19
Dawn greets us with rain and a heavy blanket of fog. Standing at the edges of the field, I watch the first Schoth battalion march into view. They’re pure infantry but of the shinier variety. This is a small part of the king’s personal army and the golden armor they’re wearing shows it. In perfect formation they march to the middle of the field until each row stops and draws their sword. The middle rows turn and face each other, making a big enough gap for a mounted group to pass through.
As the horses come into view, decked out in gold and diamonds, I get my first genuine look at the Light Fey King. Aesthetically I can see why he’s the king. He’s the most stunning Schoth I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of them, but that’s not even the most eye catching part. It’s the power all around him. He looks like a sun, sitting on top of that horse. He’s nearly blinding with it.
Absently, I tug at the collar and when I realize what I’m doing, I shove my hands in my pockets. I might not have access to my Feyrie bits anymore but my body is still as allergic to Light Magiks. I can see why Phobe said to stay away from him. He’s dangerous to me; that motherfucker can kill me with his pinky finger.
Next to him, the Guide is grinning like he won the Schoth lotto, but beside the glory of the Light King, he looks like nothing more than a common Schoth. The amulet on the prick’s neck has a tether trailing out of it to tangle with the power surrounding the king. He’s got more umph than the other mages have had so far. Golden eyes lit with power survey us. No, that’s not the king anymore—Light is wearing the king’s skin like a comfy sweatshirt.
When doubt trickles into my thoughts, I squash it. It doesn’t matter what the outcome is, we still have to fight like we’re going to win. We have to push ourselves and give it absolutely every ounce of fight we have or not only will the people on this field die, half the world will quickly follow suit. Billions of humans will die an undeserved death at the hands of these sadistic assholes.
We’re all that’s stopping that from happening. Gods help us all.
The king stops his horse at the front of his army and looks down his nose at the distance between us. The smug look on his face is one I ache to rip off with my claws, but it won’t be me that has that satisfaction, not this time. His attendants raise their trumpets and the sharp bursts of the instruments make the air heavy with tension.
“If you surrender now, I won’t kill everyone,” Light calls out. The fake sincerity in his voice makes me nauseous with its falseness. He’d do no such thing. My answer is short and simple: I raise my middle finger. The King's smarmy smile drops, to be replaced with a look of annoyance. “What are you idiots waiting on? Attack them!” he yells and points at us.
The Schoth shift nervously on their feet, afraid of his anger even though I'm the one who pissed him off, and then start the long march across the field. I can’t say I have any pity for them; he didn’t order them to rape, torture and murder the humans in their path.
Phobe, intimately familiar with their strategy, was prepared for it. The night before he had people busy digging holes in the field. Which pays off when the first wave of them hit the booby traps. Falling into deep holes, they scream as they’re impaled with barbed, metal spikes. Don’t ever let it be said that the human military can’t find what they need in a hurry. They had hundreds of them custom made and shipped here within six hours of Phobe’s request.
The ones refusing to march further are forced onward by their generals and infamous king. Resolutely, the Schoth start their less confident march forward, now aware that there are potentially more traps on the field. They’re right, of course. They’re all over the place, and by the time they get close enough to engage us they’ve lost at least a thousand troops to pit traps and well laid Magikal traps.
That’s a thousand troops we won’t have to fight. And Phobe’s not even done yet.
“Dragons!” Phobe yells to be heard over the din of noise. With the whooshing flap of leathery wings, the dragons lift into the air and flying in a V formation, create a line of fire and ice around another section of infantry, cutting them off from their peers and herding them into another trap.
“Auryn!” Phobe calls out again. A giant spider tunnels up from the ground underneath them, grabbing them in her web and dragging them down to their deaths. Another grab and even more follow, then she disappears from sight, following the plan Phobe drilled into everyone last night.
I didn’t say one word; it's a good plan and a lot better than anything I can come up with.
“Goblins!” Phobe calls out and the little guys appear in a straight line ahead of us. Goblins are really good with one weapon: a bow. Lighting their spelled arrows with Magikal fire they notch them, waiting for the next signal. Phobe raises his arm, and the goblins launch their deadly missiles into the sky. They whistle through the air as the Schoth raise their shields with arrogant sneers on their faces.
I can read their thoughts on their faces: ‘No arrow can harm us through our super-special shield.’
So they think. “Big boom,” I whisper as the first arrow hits a target. The explosion is potent enough to be felt even at this distance. Several more go off in short order, and yet another section of the army is gone. The king sits on his horse, watching dispassionately as his soldiers die; he doesn’t lift a finger to help them—because it’s not about them.
“Mages, guard their backs! Feyrie, let’s go,” Phobe orders, leaping into the air, minus those snazzy wings, and comes down on the heads of several Schoth. Shaking my head at his entrance, I run towards the broken line of Schoth.
The fiend armor flips out, covering me from head to toe as long, black swords fill my hands. Jumping over the holes in the ground, I hit the first Schoth with my knees and take him to the ground, then, with a swipe of my sword his head flops to the side. The skin of his neck is barely holding the head on. And just to be morbid, I cut through it, and watch it roll across the grass, in satisfaction.
Twisting at the waist, I stab up and get the Schoth to my right, pushing the blade to the side, I gut him and move on. Over and over I slash and stab, slipping and sliding through blood and guts until a familiar presence catches my attention. Jameson is several feet from me, slinging a staff around like he knows what he’s doing but that’s not what holds my gaze. He’s fighting with a desperation of one whose giving it all or nothing. Then I see why. Crumpled at his feet is Michael, unmoving but still breathing.
Damnit!
Running towards them, I hurriedly take out only the ones in my way, avoiding getting sidetracked by others. Michael can’t die here, not like this. Grabbing Jameson’s shoulder, I catch the end of the staff he swings at my head in reflex.
“Take him and go, now!” I shout, pointing towards the line of healers at the end of the field.
Pain slices into my back and shoulder, looking at my back I see two arrows sticking out of my body. The Magiks inside of them burrows into me, searing my muscles and skin. Jameson sees the arrows and with a nod from me, pulls one out of my shoulder while I fend off a Schoth running at us, sword drawn. Stabbing the soldier in the chest, I turn enough for Jameson to pull the other out.
He’s looking at it with worry, and says, “Iza, it’s in your spinal cord, if I pull it out—it can potentially kill you.”
“If you don’t it will. Pull. It. Out!’ I grit my teeth when he grabs it and pulls. It feels like half my back goes with it when it finally breaks free of my skin.
“Okay, it’s not as bad as I thought, I can’t heal it but I can—“ he doesn’t finish the thought. Wrapping his arms around me he presses his chest tightly against my back. His body jerks several times and then his weight hangs limply against me. Turning, I catch him with my arms, careful to keep him upright. Several arrows are buried in his back and though I see his Magiks trying to heal them, it's not going to be enough.
“Oh, you big idiot what did you do?” I ask, going to the ground with him on his side sprawled across my knees. Michael stirs and pushes to a sitting position, his eyes dazed from the headwound I can see above his eyebrow. He gives me a look of confusion and then sees Jameson.
“Hey… I wasn’t a coward this time… that’s gotta earn me some brownie points?” he asks his voice faint and trembling in pain.
“You were pretty godsdamn brave Jameson, they’ll give you a statue for sure,” I reassure him, more sad than I thought I’d be watching him die. Why didn’t he let me take the arrows and keep fighting? The sappy fool. Swallowing everything but a smile for him, I tease, “All the ladies will drop their panties for the local hero. I’ll have to beat them off you with a big stick,” I’m determined to make his last moments of laughter instead of sadness.
He laughs and blood runs out of the corner of his mouth, our gazes holding—speaking silently to each other—his eyes are full of apology and love, while mine are full of acceptance. The life bleeds out of them and as I feel his body go still a tear escapes for the first time.
Jameson, the boob just sacrificed his life for me and made me feel guilty for thinking he’s an idiot..
“Michael, can you carry him?” Looking shocked he nods and stands on wobbly legs. Spinning, I meet the sword with my own that was meant to take off Michael’s head and instead the Schoth loses his. “Are you sure?” I ask, flinging the blood off my sword. Michael nods and scoops him up, running and dodging towards the healers. There’s no saving Jameson, but I can’t leave his body out on the field. He’s my nerd after all.
Scanning the mass of bodies, I look for a familiar face and find the big dinosaur one of Adriem. “Watch them,” I mouth to him and turn to dive back into the fray. Michael will make it to the healers and be out of the fight.
Now, though, I’m pissed.
20
Iza is surrounded and will soon be overwhelmed—and Light and his fucking Schoth are standing in my way. I’ll never get to her in time, no matter what I do. Growling, I run at the Schoth in my path and they’re lost in the darkness as I tear past them. Light climbs down off his horse, straightens his cuff and smiles at me. Waiting for me to get to him, to attack him. He knows he’s the stronger of the two of us and is confident in his victory. Past his shoulder, Iza is fighting for everything she’s worth but she’s injured and the light of her that shines so brightly is slowly dimming.
“You’ll never make it to her in time, brother. Once again you’ll lose that mortal that’s so precious to you, except this time—it’ll be forever,” Light gloats.
My eyes are only for her. Those black eyes that I see everywhere I look, lift to meet mine. Weakly, she swings her sword but it’s knocked out of her hand as the Schoth in golden armor of the king’s private guard, stabs his sword through her stomach. Hands on his shoulders, she smiles at me, her teeth white in the dark, red blood coating of her face. With a quick move she grabs his head and twists it, breaking his neck as they fall together.
“No!” I yell.
Time slows and then completely stops. Light is frozen in mid step a look of satisfaction on his hated face. I try to move towards her but I’m held prisoner in a power stronger than my own.
Life is here.
“I didn’t realize the kind of creature he’d become. Vile and greedy, caring only for his next conquest. I spent all that time worrying about you being the one to end everything when all along, it was him.” He walks into my line of sight, a look of disgust on his wrinkled face as he looks at Light. “That’s a mistake I need to help fix, but brother—you’re the only one that can stop him.” His hand lands on my shoulder as he looks into my eyes.
“Even without me, the essence of life itself will continue. I’m a foolish creature who believed that I alone was responsible for it. My arrogance has nearly destroyed the very reason I exist. You have to do the one thing I can’t.”
“And that’s what? He’s taken the only thing from me that matters,” I grit out from between clenched teeth.
“Has he?” he questions bringing his other hand to rest on my shoulder. “You have to kill him and his entire army.” To hear Life talk of killing things is a new thing, he’s never spoke of it before. Capture, imprisonment, stowing someone away on a world void of life—all of these. Death, this is a first.
“How do you propose I do that?” I ask sarcastically.
“You eat me.”
Shock makes me ask, “Is this a joke?”
“No,” he says smiling kindly.
“Okay.” This time it’s his face filled with shock.
“So eager to s
ee me gone?”
I shrug and respond, “No, I’m eager to see her live.”
Life laughs and then embraces me. Unable to move, I do nothing. He may feel a fondness for me and Light but I don’t share the sentiment.
But I do owe him more than saying nothing. “Thank you.”
“Have you ever actually said those two words before? That woman has done amazing things with you. I can only imagine what you’ll be like in twenty-years,” he teases. “Okay, get on with it.” He stands up straight, shoulders back in preparation of death. Shadows trickle out of me and as gently as I’m able, I wrap them around my smiling brother. As his bright light disappears into the shadows his smile doesn’t fade and I watch his face until I can’t see him anymore. When the shadows clear, he’s gone and his Magiks hit me like a punch in the gut.
As it filters in and combines with mine, his endless memories leave me locked in the same position for several seconds. As I exhale, long and deep it merges completely with my power, I open my eyes. I’ve never been this powerful before, not even in the beginning.
Rolling my neck, I turn my full attention to Light.
Time is once again moving normally and he’s still got the smug look on his face. As he stares at me, it slowly fades and he looks at me with a new look in his eyes. Apprehension.
“How is it that in your weakened state you stand before me as an equal?” he demands.
Chuckling, I let power flow through my body, let him see it.
“There’s nothing equal about us, Light. Life sends his regards.” As I leap at him, his power reaches out for me and then we clash. The explosion is instantaneous but I hold onto the man that has been the bane of my existence for eternity. Light and darkness shoot out in every direction until the dark rebounds and eclipses the golden brilliance in its dark mouth.