The Frost Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 1)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Nora felt herself lifted until her toes hung above the dirt. Her captors moved her forward and set her down in front of Faylie, so close that her former friend’s warm breath ruffled Nora’s hair. Ovrun and the trog retained their grips on Nora’s arms. The rest of the mind-controlled crowd stepped forward yet again, pressing in on all sides.

  Nora tried unsuccessfully to control her breathing. “What are you doing?”

  Faylie lifted her chin, looking into the sky. “Your dragon friends are circling above, both in their right minds. Despite the female’s threats, I don’t think they’ll attack when you’re right next to me and we’re surrounded by innocents.”

  What can we do, Nora-human? Osmius asked.

  Nothing, she replied. Aloud, she said, “Please, Faylie. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

  Faylie’s face broke into an amused grin. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to induct you into the militia. Just like your father told me to do before he left.” Seeing the horror on Nora’s face, she chuckled. “It’s not like he can let you escape to tell the world our secret. And he really doesn’t want to kill you. This is literally the only safe place in the world for you right now.”

  Disbelief and fury swirled in Nora’s mind. She kicked her right foot hard, connecting with The Overseer’s shin.

  Faylie gasped, and her skin flushed with pain. Hands grabbed Nora’s legs, holding them in place. “When I take your will,” Faylie hissed, “it will only hurt for a moment. But after what you just did, I want you to hurt more than that. So, you get to remain free for a little longer. Lucky you.” She drew a sharp dagger. Its razor edge was coated in drying blood.

  Hands—how many, Nora didn’t know, but it felt like at least eight—grabbed her hair, head, ears, and neck. They yanked her head back as far as it would go. “Ovrun, please!” she screamed.

  Laughing, Faylie leaned over Nora, meeting her gaze. She rested the tip of the dagger on Nora’s right cheek, under her eye and next to her nose. “I remember Ovrun. You always did like him. I was watching the battle from the windows; I saw him protecting you. He couldn’t care less about you now.”

  Nora sobbed uncontrollably as Faylie pressed the dagger point against her skin. “No! Please! This isn’t you!”

  The blade entered her skin, and Faylie drew it slowly across Nora’s cheek. The pain was unlike anything she’d ever felt, far surpassing the ankle she’d broken when she’d fallen off Blue, or the terrible headaches she got when she was sick. Her mouth dropped open, and she screamed. The dagger continued its leisurely journey across her face, releasing rivers of thick blood onto her cheek.

  Ice.

  The word, spoken in a deep, fiery voice, entered Nora’s mind. She realized Osmius had been talking to her, perhaps since the dagger first penetrated her skin, but she’d blocked out everything except her pain.

  Now, as the blade passed under the center of her eye, the dragon’s voice broke through again. Ice, Nora-human.

  Hands! The single thought was all she could manage. She couldn’t shoot ice; her hands were pressed against her legs. She couldn’t budge them a simmet.

  Mouth! Osmius replied.

  Nora’s mouth was still open, her desperate screams the only sounds in the still street. Confusion joined her agony. Did Osmius want her to be quiet? Then it hit her. She could send ice out of her mouth. A cold weapon, directed at the cold lyster in front of her.

  Nora-human, Osmius said, you must kill The Overseer in order to release the prisoners.

  No! She’s my friend!

  You must!

  Emptied of empathy, Faylie continued to carve. Nora could no longer handle the pain. All that was left was to block it out. Her mind entered another plane, and suddenly, she could reason again. Thoughts darted through her brain at incredible speed, yet despite the pace, everything was sharp and clear.

  She couldn’t kill her friend. She only needed to render her unconscious. Surely Faylie’s magic didn’t work while she was sleeping. If Nora’s hands were free, she’d knock out Faylie with a massive ball of ice.

  But ice shot from the mouth always originated in the throat. The only thing that would fit through Nora’s throat and stop her friend was a spike. But did that spike have to be lethal? Nora could shoot it into Faylie’s cheek. That would stop her, right?

  No, it wouldn’t. Even with an impaled cheek, Faylie would still be conscious, controlling her militia.

  Truth, sharp as Faylie’s dagger, embedded itself in Nora’s mind.

  Osmius is right. Faylie has to die.

  Yet as certain as Nora was of this fact, she was just as sure of another: she could not bring herself to do such a thing.

  It had taken perhaps three seconds to reach those conclusions. At the end of her brief foray into logic, Nora’s mind reawakened to her torment. She roared, then started sobbing. Salty tears entered the gash on her cheek, ratcheting up the torture. “Stop!” she screamed. “Faylie! Stop!”

  Something in those words broke through Faylie’s coldness. Her hand halted, but the knife tip remained embedded in Nora’s cheek. Panic filled Faylie’s eyes. Tiny lines formed between her brows. Her mouth was still sneering, but her lips quivered. They barely moved as she spoke three words in a strained voice. “I . . . can’t . . . stop.”

  Faylie’s hand shook, the dagger’s tip digging even deeper into Nora’s muscle, creating another wave of agony. “Please,” Nora groaned. “Faylie.” She locked eyes with her friend, saw the struggle there. With everything in her, Faylie was striving to regain control of her will.

  Then, in an instant, Faylie stopped shaking. Cold darkness swallowed the desperation in her gaze. The battle was over. She had lost. Her dagger resumed its sadistic task.

  Pain exploded in Nora’s face yet again. Nausea slashed at her gut.

  You must do it, Osmius told Nora, grief saturating his words.

  No! Nora shouted back. But this time, it was a protest, not a refusal. Perhaps Osmius’s voice, filled with the stone’s power, had finally convinced her. Perhaps she was desperate to save the people around her. Or perhaps she simply wanted—needed—to end her own torture. Whatever the reason, she felt the shift in herself. She hated it. And she accepted it.

  She was nearly out of fuel, but she tightened her pathways to gain efficiency. She gathered her agony, as if it were itself a magical catalyst. Nora stopped breathing as the icy spike filled her airway. Was ice even strong enough to do what she wanted it to do?

  Maybe normal ice wasn’t. But this was magical ice, filled with the power of a stone that had slaughtered billions of people. This, Nora promised herself, would be the densest, strongest ice she’d ever formed. Strong enough to free the people around her. Stronger than hesitation. Stronger than betrayal.

  The dagger’s cruel tip reached Nora’s ear.

  A sick smile distorted Faylie’s mouth. “Too much pain to scream?” Her face was still directly above Nora’s, her eyes focused on her brutal task.

  A scene from the past filled Nora’s imagination. Her and Faylie. On the lawn, next to the pond. Nora’s mouth opened. Snow puffed out. Faylie smiled—a silly, beautiful smile. Flames streamed from her mouth. Fire and snow collided, sizzling. Obliterating each other. The two girls laughed and laughed, clutching their bellies.

  Wrapping her heart around the memory, Nora opened her mouth as wide as it would go. A spike of razor-sharp, magical ice shot up, slicing the tender tissues of her throat. She felt no pain. The weapon exited her gaping mouth and entered Faylie’s eye, not stopping until its entire length was lodged in her brain.

  The dagger dropped.

  Faylie fell.

  Around Nora, scores of eyes widened in awareness. Soldiers and trogs alike began to move. The man on her left released his steely grip on her arm and pulled her close.

  “Ovrun—” she said, before her vision went black.

  38

  My father once cried as he told me about the young children he encountered in those first week
s after The Day. They would ask, over and over, when they could go home.

  “I was practically a kid myself,” my dad said. “How was I supposed to tell these children that everyone they’d ever known was gone, and they could never go home?”

  -The First Generation: A Memoir by Liri Abrios

  Waking in the middle of a crowded street was . . . disconcerting.

  Krey’s awareness rushed in, and he cried out, taking in the chaotic masses around him. Trogs in black and soldiers in gray stood everywhere, but nobody seemed to be doing anything.

  Acting on instinct, Krey rushed at the nearest militia member and tackled him, knocking over three additional people. Before he could get his arm around his enemy’s neck, the young man shouted, “Stop! Help!”

  Krey halted. Mind-controlled soldiers didn’t panic. He looked around and realized the mouths of most of the militia members were agape, their eyes filled with confusion. They’re free. Krey got off the man’s back and helped him up, shouting in a hoarse voice, “The battle is over!”

  He didn’t know if anyone could hear him in the pandemonium, but the trogs seemed to be coming to the same conclusion. Somehow, they’d won.

  The last thing he remembered was meeting the mind lyster. She’d said something, but he’d only half-listened, because he’d been trying to get Zeisha back in his sights.

  Zeisha—she’s free too! “Zeisha!” he screamed, bringing his hand up to his aching throat, where her vines had choked him. “Zeisha!”

  He pushed through the crowd, frantically searching for glossy, black curls. He didn’t see her, but as he ran, he saw the tall building in the distance and remembered there were still two bound militia members on the roof. They had to be panicked. But Krey didn’t have the fuel to fly up there, and it would take too long for him to climb the stairs.

  Cursing, he ran toward Osmius and Taima. Yellow blood seeped from multiple gashes in Taima’s dark skin. When had that happened? Krey pushed the thought aside and told Osmius what he needed. Osmius nodded, and Krey climbed on the dragon’s back. Last dragon ride ever, mark my word.

  As they flew, Krey looked for Zeisha. However, Osmius flew too quickly for Krey to see much, and in seconds, they were on the roof. Two crying lysters awaited them, one of them gagged.

  Krey untied the young woman’s gag and began working on her ropes, all the while trying to explain what was going on. The woman hardly seemed to hear him over her cries. Finally, Krey pointed at the street. “See all the people in gray? They’re in the same predicament as you. Once we bring you to them, we’ll explain everything.”

  He moved on to the male magic eater and started untying his bonds. “The dragon is trustworthy,” he said. “We’ll all ride him down to the ground.”

  “There are no stairs?” the young man asked.

  “There are, but it’s dark, and this is a really tall building. Riding a dragon isn’t that bad.” Krey hated lying to these poor people, but he had to calm them down.

  Several minutes later, they were all on the dragon’s back, which the magic eaters took in stride. Did no one else realize how terrifying it was to ride on a massive, flying beast?

  They made it safely down. Krey pointed the magic eaters toward their fellow former soldiers. Then he entered the crowd and again shouted, “Zeisha!”

  “Krey?”

  He spun around, and there she was, her eyes wide, tears rushing down her smooth cheeks. She was standing with another young woman in gray. Krey pulled Zeisha into his arms, then lifted her from the ground and spun her around. People skittered out of their path.

  “Krey, what’s happening?” Zeisha’s voice in his ear was breathless. “Your neck—you’re hurt!”

  He put her down and realized he was crying as hard as she was. He had to get a grip on himself. His mind probably hadn’t been stolen for long, yet he’d been utterly confused when he regained his faculties. What must it be like for Zeisha? She’d left Tirra over three months ago; had The Overseer controlled her since then? Based on Zeisha’s wide, desperate eyes, he feared the answer was yes.

  His heart cracked with grief. He took her face in his hands. “Are you okay?”

  “There was a big knot on my head, and it hurt. A lot. But someone healed me. I’m okay, I’m just—I don’t know what’s going on.”

  He hadn’t realized she’d gotten hurt. She’d probably been knocked out by a trog, then regained consciousness for the end of the fight. “I’ll explain. You’re safe now. I promise. Come sit.”

  Zeisha’s eyes calmed, her panic seeping out along with her continued tears. “Krey.” The word was soft, almost reverent. She followed it with a smile that made his heart ache even more. “Explain later. Kiss me now.”

  “Oh, by the sky, I love you.” He brought his mouth to hers. For months, he’d dreamed of her lips, but he’d forgotten just how soft, warm, and impossibly wonderful they were.

  Her hands snaked up his chest and shoulders. Her fingers tangled into his hair. He held her even closer, his lips moving across her cheek, to her ears and neck. She was salty with sweat, covered in dust, and absolutely perfect.

  “Krey?” she whispered. “We’re not alone.”

  “Hmm?” He’d never been one to display a lot of affection in public, but as his mouth explored her collarbone, he didn’t care who was watching.

  Zeisha laughed softly. “Seriously, I need to introduce you to someone.”

  “Right now?” he murmured against her neck.

  “Yes, she’s important. We kept each other alive out here.”

  From behind Krey, a female voice added, “When we weren’t trying to kill each other.”

  That got Krey’s attention. He lifted his head and shifted his gaze to the girl Zeisha had been standing with.

  She looked about their age. Her straight, brown hair was in a messy braid, and she wore an embarrassed smile. “I’m Isla.”

  Krey stepped closer and shook her hand. “I’m Krey. Zeisha’s boyfriend.”

  Her smile grew. “I guessed that. Good to meet you, Krey.” She tilted her head to the side. “Where are we?”

  Krey let out a long breath. “Let’s all sit, and I’ll explain.”

  “Thank you,” Isla said. “And after that, I’ll give you two some time alone. I promise.”

  Nora’s eyes fluttered open, meeting the gaze of a rough-looking trog. He was kneeling over her, one hand on her cheek and the other on her neck.

  “What the hell?” She swiped his hands away and pushed herself to a seated position. “Who are you?”

  “Nora.”

  She swiveled her head and found Ovrun next to her.

  “He’s a healer,” Ovrun said. “Do you remember the cut on your cheek? And the bruises on your neck?”

  “Oh.” Nora brought her hands up to her face and neck. The strangulation bruises were gone. She could feel a narrow cut under her right eye, and it was sore. Crusty, dried blood covered her cheek and neck. She looked down and found red all over her shirt too. “What happened?” she asked.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  In a moment, it all came back. Faylie. The dagger. The ice spike. I killed my friend. Nora squeezed her eyes shut, and the broken skin on her cheek pulled painfully as her face screwed up with unshed tears. “I remember,” she whispered.

  “Almost done,” the trog said in a soft voice that belied his heavy brows and thick neck. “I already heal your throat. Inside and out. May I finish your face?”

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  He brought calloused fingers back up to her cheek, and a few seconds later, he removed them. “The scar stays,” he said.

  She reached up and touched the thin, hard band of skin. “Thank you,” she managed to whisper.

  He nodded and got up without another word. As if his exit had given her permission, Nora started sobbing. Ovrun pulled her into his arms. She grasped his dirty shirt and cried into his chest for what felt like forever. When her tears abated, she didn’t pull away. S
he couldn’t bear to meet Ovrun’s gaze. He deserved to know what happened, but she couldn’t form the words.

  “When I came to,” Ovrun said softly, “I saw a woman on the ground in a pool of blood. I’m guessing that was The Overseer? And you stopped her?”

  Nora’s tears returned. “Yes.”

  “You’re amazing.”

  The words were so quiet, she wasn’t sure she’d heard them correctly. She pulled away from Ovrun’s grasp and looked up. His awed expression confirmed that yes, her ears were working. I have to ask. “Did you see who it was?”

  “No, she was facedown.”

  “Then you don’t—you don’t understand. The Overseer . . . oh, Ovrun. It was Faylie.” She started sobbing again. “I killed Faylie.”

  He pulled her to him and held her even tighter. After a time, she calmed, tears replaced by exhaustion. “I’ll never forgive myself,” she murmured.

  He took her shoulders and gently pried her off him, locking eyes with her. “Did you save everyone here?”

  Nora nodded.

  “If you could’ve saved us without killing her, would you have?”

  She nodded again.

  “Like I said, you’re amazing.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

  “I’ll keep telling you until you do.”

  Her face started to crumple again, but she held her breath until the urge to cry passed. Someday soon, she’d have to come to terms with what she’d done to Faylie. Doubtless she’d be dealing with it for years. But right now, she had to put it aside and figure out what came next.

  She looked past Ovrun. Some trogs and militia members were sitting or lying down. She knew others, like her, had injuries. There were plenty of people chatting softly. It all looked very calm. Farther out, bodies lay at the edges of the street. Hopefully some of them were merely unconscious. “I wonder how many died.”

  Ovrun’s shoulders fell. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Were there any other leaders in the warehouse?”