The next wave crashed her into the cliffside, and she grabbed onto it with everything she had. She scratched her fingers along the wall, trying to find a grip before the next wave hit. Her legs slipped, and her muscles screamed in protest as she struggled to gain her footing. Crawling along the cliff face took less energy than swimming. With images from Liz’s visions floating through her mind, she worried she’d be too late.
Time moved slowly. She concentrated on moving one hand, then one foot, then the other, holding tight before the next wave crashed over her. Her left grip faltered repeatedly as the wound on her wrist ached. Saltwater assaulted her senses, burning her nose and eyes as she shivered against the cold.
It could have been hours or minutes, but at last an opening came into view. It was the training center entrance. It would be faster to go there and run to the other exit by Andre’s office.
She entered the training room, finally finding her footing up the cave walls. Shivers coursed through her body as she moved into the training center. The same one she’d met with Andre less than a day ago.
Someone must have forgotten to turn out the small witch light near the entrance of the room, but it gave her a dim enough light to find her way. Next to a row of lockers, extra jackets and sweaters hung on hooks on the wall. Her jacket was already lost to the ocean, but she ripped off her shirt and put on a snug jacket. It was something.
As she headed towards the door, something caught her eye. Or someone. “Lance?”
Sitting over a silver bowl on the ground, his gaze flashed up. Gone was his usually lighthearted expression and replaced with disgust. His dark eyes were sunk in with lack of sleep, and he clenched a knife tightly in one hand.
“What are you doing here?” Despite her uneasy feeling, she stepped towards him. “Hasn’t the fighting begun?”
“Probably, but I’ve done enough.” He lifted the knife in both hands, pointing it at himself.
Without thinking, Becca tackled him. The bowl scattered as she knocked him backwards. They grappled on the ground, each struggling for the upper hand.
Lance ended up on top, pinning her arms on the ground. At least the knife was out of his hands. But he was a wizard. He didn’t always need a knife.
“What the hell are you doing?” She grunted. Was he possessed? She spoke a simple spell, strengthening her magical shield, though she didn’t feel any attack.
“Why couldn’t you leave me alone?” His face flushed red in the dim light, desperation lacing his words.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you at the fight?” She remembered the bowl and the practice of scurrying. Some magicians used water to communicate, to see the future or other things.
Shame washed over his face, and he lowered his eyes.
“It was you. Wasn’t it? You’ve been talking to Ryma.” The betrayal cut Becca deep, especially when she thought about Navina and the kids who trusted him.
Anger flared in his eyes, and his grip on her wrist tightened. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice,” she spit at him. “Yours was to be a coward and traitor to the people who took you in.”
“No. I didn’t have a choice.” His face softened a touch as if he wanted her to understand. “I’m blood bound to Ryma. Forced to cooperate. The only way to escape is to kill myself.” He dropped her hands and scooted back. “Go ahead and do it.”
Becca rolled over and grabbed at his knife in case he attacked again. He remained still, and his eyes turned to pleading. “Please.”
He couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t kill Lance. Yes, he betrayed all of them, but... She didn’t want his blood on her hands. The stains and memories already haunted her. He deserved a trial, to stand in front of Andre and these people and be held accountable.
“I’ve tried to fight it, but I can’t. Death is the only way I’ll be free.”
“Maybe. How did you do it? How did you trick Jemi?” Becca remembered the uncomfortable sensation of Jemi searching her own mind.
“Ryma helped me. I’m pretty good at most magic. That’s why I was the teacher.” He gave a sick laugh. “But that included defensive magic as well. I had been here for so long, I wasn’t much of a suspect. Anyways, Jemi and I were a couple for a while. She doesn’t like to go digging around in my head.”
“Ryma knew about this place for years and did nothing?” She found that hard to believe.
“He’d rather know where the rogues were collecting and keep tabs on them. Andre wasn’t a threat. I tried to hold back as much as I could from Ryma. I swear.”
Becca said nothing. If he was looking for absolution, he was looking in the wrong spot. She had none. He’d put her whole family in danger. She couldn’t forgive him for those lives that would be lost today.
She stepped towards him with the knife in her hand. And to his credit, he didn’t flinch.
“Put down your shields,” she ordered.
He watched her closely. “I have none up.”
It wasn’t hard for her to invade his mind and render him unconscious. She pushed power behind the spell to keep him out for some time. Then she grabbed rope out of the closet and hogtied him in a rough, quick manner. He might’ve deserved to die, but she’d killed enough in defense to know it would hurt her more than it would hurt him. Andre could deal with him. And given the battle about to start, she was sure he’d find some takers later.
Caleb rubbed his hands together, bringing warmth into them. He needed his hands to work his bow, his best tool yet. Peter had sent him up ahead to position himself in a large tree. It took him a bit to climb, but soon he reached a high spot overlooking the forest. He’d made camp in a nice notch of branches.
Thankfully, he made it up before the forest changed. Branches morphed, and dark green leaves sprouted all around him. The change almost unsettled him, but he closed his eyes and held on to his branch. Then he remembered the necklace given to him by Darion. Caleb draped the amulet over his head, and slowly the forest morphed back to normal. The amulet warmed against his chest. One hell of a parlor trick.
Down below, Peter sent out a group of soldiers. Ryma’s group headed towards the coast, and the others swung around wide. It looked like they planned to surround the rebels.
Nikki stayed next to Nevada near the back, and Peter strode straight forward with great confidence, meeting his opponent head-on. Granted, he had about a hundred men on either side of him, and a couple Soultorns next to him. He didn’t have a reason to be scared.
Caleb moved slightly, getting better aim at Peter’s group. Ahead, maybe fifty feet in front of Peter, Leon’s group approached. They were walking straight towards Peter. Caleb’s heart raced as he fought the urge to shout out a warning. He couldn’t give away his position just yet. Or could he? He knew better than to waste a shot on Peter or Ryma. Their shields would protect against bullets and arrows. He had to wait until they were weak. Then maybe he would have a chance.
Caleb aimed carefully and let the shot fly. It stuck into a tree inches from Darion’s head. He flinched, then gazed to the trees. Warnings were hollered. A single gun fired into the air. It had begun.
Rebels appeared from the east, springing into action, their battle cries echoing throughout the trees. From his bird’s-eye view, he could tell the battle started long before the forces reached each other. Random rebels fell to their knees, writhing in agony. Shots rang out, but due to the scarcity of ammunition, there were few and far between the cries of pain. Caleb went into action, retrieving arrows from the full quivers on his back.
He took aim at the Ryma’s men with guns first. After being at camp with them, he realized those without magic carried the most weapons, not completely unlike himself. The mercenaries went down easily. Caleb didn’t think; he just shot, over and over.
The rebels continued to fall by the handfuls, and desperation crept into Caleb’s mind. He didn’t have enough arrows to take out all of Ryma’s army. He’d have to go down there and make every shot count.
Leon’s men fought hard, but many still ended up on the ground, incapacitated. Several struggled with the illusions, trying to fight around invisible objects.
Caleb dropped low in the tree to get a better advantage with his shot and found Peter fighting Darion. They faced each other at least ten feet apart. Even to the Mundane eye, the sparks and magic between them were visible. Darion fell to his knees, struggling to stay upright. It was obvious he was outmatched.
Even though Caleb knew it probably wouldn’t meet its mark, he let his arrow fly straight for Peter as a possible distraction if nothing else. It flew straight until a foot before its target. It froze and dropped to the ground. Peter glared in his direction.
A flash of pain struck Caleb’s mind, disorientating him, and some force yanked him from the tree.
“You’ve grown weaker.” Peter approached Darion. Peter’s face shone a pristine white; all traces of the scars had vanished.
You’d be weak, too, if you were protecting more than yourself. Sweat dripped down Darion’s face as he now focused all of his power to fighting Peter, but Darion’s magic weakened by the second. He knelt in the dirt, clenching his hands against the oncoming assault of magic.
Darion had been trying to protect the other men, especially Leon. Being immune to magic made Leon their best weapon, and possibly their only chance at killing Ryma. Out of the corner of Darion’s vision, Leon fought with another Soultorn nearby.
But now, Peter was out for blood. The eagerness for revenge was painted clearly on his face.
Darion’s heart burned like it wanted to burst. He pushed aside his fear, and replaced it with a bravado he knew annoyed Peter. “If you were getting a new face, you should have asked for an upgrade.”
Peter’s jaw tightened. “Why you love fighting with these Mundanes is beyond me. So pathetic.” He turned to a man next to him.
Bullets unloaded towards Leon and the Soultorn who were twisted together in a violent embrace. Darion forced the gun to explode in the soldier’s hand, but it was too late. Both the Soultorn and Leon appeared to be hit as they fell apart. Leon knelt on the ground. A shot appeared to have pierced his thigh as the blood gathered on his pants.
Relieved that the shot wasn’t worse, Darion acted fast. He lit the brush near Peter, and fire roared high into the air. It provided Darion cover for a few moments. By the time he got to Leon, the Soultorn was dead on the ground with a knife in the middle of his throat.
“Can you move?” Darion asked.
Leon grunted and Darion helped him up. Leon was still strong on his feet, but couldn’t put much pressure on his leg without bleeding out.
“Cauterize the wound for me,” Leon ordered.
Darion did a quick double take. Burning the wound would stop the bleeding, but it would hurt like hell. This was Leon though.
“Yes, sir.” Darion quickly burned the wound.
Leon yelled with the pain, but kept standing, his grip tight on the tree. “Let’s go get that bastard.”
“My pleasure.” Darion turned back to the flames but couldn’t find Peter. He wouldn’t have left. Peter wouldn’t rest until Darion was dead. His stomach tightened with an uneasy fear. He’d rather fight the enemy he could see than the one he couldn’t.
Caleb lay on the damp ground, struggling to breathe. The pain in his mind had left, but his body ached from the fall. He couldn’t stay down. Shots rang out, people swearing, screaming—a cacophony of pain and injury surrounded him.
He rolled over and scrambled to his knees. Thankfully his bow was in one piece, the arrows nearby. He wouldn’t have long before Peter finished him.
With one more shot to make, he kept low and sprinted back to where Nikki and Nevada stood. The sounds of battle echoed through the forest, but near the back, there wasn’t much fighting. That would make his job easier. Scanning the area, it didn’t take him long to find Nikki.
Once she noticed him, she nodded and stepped aside, giving him a clear shot to Nevada. Caleb released the arrow and sent a prayer that Nikki removed any shields. At the last moment, Nevada must have sensed it approaching. A shocked look crossed his face, and he tried to avoid it. He didn’t move fast enough, though, and the arrow struck his shoulder. He collapsed and so did the illusions surrounding him.
Caleb didn’t have time to celebrate. He sent the next arrow through the throat of the Soultorn. Shouts rose up around him as the illusions lifted. With both of the men on the ground, Nikki should be safe.
Screams sounded behind him. Nikki waved him off and he agreed. He had work to do. He couldn’t wait around for a thank-you note.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Becca hurried through the caves to the exit near the battle. The barren tunnels full of memories of these people motivated her. If there was ever a chance at civilization actually becoming civil, this was it. They deserved so much more.
Still shivering from her wet pants and shoes, she slowed down as she neared the exit and waded through a good foot of water. The waves crashed on the path ahead. She’d have to time it precisely.
As soon as the tide rushed back, she sprinted. The path was rocky, which helped her secure her footing. She kept an eye on the water, but instead of drawing back again, the waves remained low. It could only mean a couple of things: somehow Andre knew she was on the path, or that he was too weak to control the water. She hurried, a sinking feeling that it was the second option. Her legs burned as she ran up the switchbacks, but she couldn’t let herself stop. She tried to ignore the nagging part of her mind that told her she was fulfilling the vision her sister saw, that it was too late to help.
Bodies littered the trail, carnage of the war ahead. At a quick glance, they didn’t look familiar. One broken body was wedged between the jagged rocks of the cliff.
As she neared the top, the sounds of battle grew: screams of pain, shouts of angry spells, and gunfire mingled with the faint smell of smoke. The thought of Darion pushed her faster. Legs burning, she finished the climb, steadied her magic, and pulled herself up over the edge.
A bitter taste flooded her mouth at the sight of the bloodbath in front of her.
Nikki ignored her conscience as Nevada screamed. She not only lowered her shield but attacked his personal shield and his Soultorn, so that Caleb would have a clean shot. It was the first person she purposely hurt. Pushing back the guilt, she grabbed his arm as he staggered to the ground.
“Try to stay still,” she said.
“Easy for you. You don’t have an arrow in you.” He knelt on the ground and gritted his teeth.
“I’ll protect us.” She placed a shield around her and Nevada, but left out his Soultorn who lay dying mere feet away.
“I thought you were already doing that. Remember you were supposed to be protecting me,” he snapped.
She grabbed a bandage from her pack to stop the blood and glanced at the forest. The vines and oversized trees vanished. The familiar forest helped settle her nerves. A glimmer of hope grew. Now, maybe her people had a chance.
Nevada’s painful moan brought her back to nursing mode, and she put some gauze around the wound. Pausing, she realized that was all she could do. If she removed the arrow and tended to his wounds, he’d replace the illusion. She didn’t know what she would do if the others came back to investigate.
She worried he would use the Soultorn’s death to help heal himself. She wasn’t going to impart undue harm, but if it was between him and her family, there was no real choice. The pool of blood continued to grow though.
Nevada winced. “What are you waiting for? You’re the healer. Take care of this.”
/> She lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, Nevada. I can’t.”
He stared at her for a minute as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Who are you?”
She laid a hand on his chest, letting her power course through him. Already weak from the illusion, the arrow in his shoulder impeded his power. It would only take a slight push to stop his heart before the others came back. But could she kill a man?
“These are my people Ryma is killing,” she said.
He tightened his jaw as he tried to push against her power to no avail. “Of course he is killing for no reason. Ryma is a psychotic power-hungry wizard.”
“So stop working for him. Help save my family.” She couldn’t fathom Nevada wanting to work for someone like that. For the little time she’d known this man, she knew he danced to his own tune.
“Then I am dead.” His chest rose with a heavy breath. Those large eyes weren’t scared but accepting of his fate in a haunting way. “Either way, by your hand or his, I’m dead. At least this may be easier.”
“Not if Ryma dies first.”
“You can’t stand against him. Sorry, princess, but he’s as strong as a demon straight from hell.”
“You haven’t met my father. He can move mountains. Literally.” She sent a prayer his way, hoping she was right.
Overwhelmed, Becca searched for those she knew scattered in the combat. There were flashes of recognition, but she couldn’t see Darion or Caleb. She couldn’t afford distractions, so she focused on finding Andre.
She closed her eyes briefly. A huge power surge pulsed to her right with enough magic to push her over, if she let it. Andre. She strengthened her shield against magical attacks and took off, swerving through the trees. She picked up a couple knives from a dead man lying face down on the ground, praying it wasn’t anyone she knew.
Becca skidded to a stop. There they were: Andre and Ryma over twenty feet apart. Their power was like an oppressive heat pressing down on everyone. Electric sparks traveled between them as they used everything around them at their beck and call.
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