"I'm Angie," she told them. "Just Angie, or Angela."
They must not have heard her properly, because they began to softly chant "Angel," the word reverberating in the night. She sighed and turned to Sandman. "Well, it's better than bride or Spirit-Taker, I guess." She pointed at the mountain highlighted against the stars. It was impossible to tell at night, but it didn't seem that far. "That's Mount Laguna, isn't it?"
"Our elders call it that," Sandman answered. "But we’ve always just called it the mountain."
"Is it close? I need to—"
The stench of brimstone washed through her, filling her mouth with bitterness. Moonwing shrieked. Just in front of the giant wooden effigy of Lodin, the darkness pulled in on itself, gathered, and became thick, acrid smoke.
The demon had found her.
She didn’t know how, but it didn’t matter. "Run!" Angie yelled to the crowd. It would slaughter these people getting to her. "Hurry. Get the hell out of here!"
No one moved.
The demon formed from the smoke, a monstrous figure with bat wings and a hideous bat head with a gaping three-jawed maw. Fire trailed from its eyes and nostrils. The crowd screamed in fear and drew back as the demon’s wings snapped out.
Sudden Bloodletter laughed, a cackle that chilled Angie's soul. "I’ve found you, little mage, as I promised I would. Now I’ll peel back your skin and find what hides within you. Then I’ll devour your soul."
"Devour this!" Angie cast Shockwave. The fully charged spell hammered at the demon, bowling it over and sending it flying back to smash through the wooden effigy of Lodin, shattering it. As the broken sticks fell, Lodin's spear dropped to the earth, burying its spearhead in the dirt, leaving the staff upright. Her gaze focused on the spear and then the thin side-sword on her hip. With a weapon like that, she might stand a chance, but the demon was between her and it.
NO. YOU ARE THE WEAPON, the Shade King urged.
As the demon rose, unhurt, from the rubble, a group of clansmen rushed it with spear and ax.
"No, don't!" Angie yelled.
The demon spun in place, blurring like a tornado and using its wingtips to lash out at the clansmen. Its sharp wingtips cut through them like chaff. The air exploded with blood as their bodies fell apart. The demon's spin stopped, and it opened its maw and roared in triumph, fire burning in its throat. Now the crowd screamed and bolted. The demon launched itself into the air, flying for Angie, surprising her with its speed.
Moonwing's challenging cry answered the demon's roar as the griffin collided with the demon, bringing both falling to the earth with a ground-shaking crash. Demon and griffin fought with claw, fang, and beak, ripping furiously at one another, their cries chilling.
Moonwing had given her a chance.
Angie bolted for the spear. She came within paces of their frenzied fight, knowing they might yet crush her without a thought.
She reached the upright spear and took it up, holding its now-glowing spearhead before her, her breath heaving. It was far too large for her to use properly, but it was all she had.
Unless…
Moonwing shrieked in pain as the demon battered him onto the ground, ripping into the griffin's chest with its claws. The griffin lay still, only its rear legs jerking as the demon ceased its onslaught to glare in triumph at Angie.
"Come, little mage," it taunted, stepping over the dying creature. "I have such torments planned for you. Even now, your city falls, and your friends die screaming."
"You're going to have to do better than your brother, Gouger of Faces." She trembled with fear, but she forced scorn into her voice. This was the only chance she was going to have. "We ripped him to pieces, and he was the one who died screaming."
The demon roared, flying into the air and coming down on her with unstoppable force. Bracing the butt of the spear against the ground, she found herself surprisingly steady as the demon descended, aiming the glowing spearhead at its broad chest.
She might have been too small to fight with such a large weapon, but she was not too small to hold it.
A moment before Sudden Bloodletter struck, she let go of the spear and cast Shutter, transporting twenty paces away. When the demon hammered into the ground where she had been, it drove the spear through its torso and into one of its wings, pinning the appendage. The demon screamed in rage, spinning about as it sought her.
Impossibly, it was still alive!
And she no longer had the spear.
More clansmen, led by Sandman, attacked. Perhaps they thought the demon badly wounded and helpless. It was neither. The demon ripped into them the moment they came close. It lifted one of the warriors into the air and pulled his body apart and then swung his lower body like a club, smashing the other attackers away, entrails and blood flying. Sandman's shade created a shield, and sparks erupted around the young shaman as the demon clubbed him away.
All with Lodin's spear embedded through its chest.
My God, it can't be stopped.
I TOLD YOU, the Shade King urged, YOU AND I MUST WORK TOGETHER. YOU ARE THE WEAPON, BUT I AM THE HAND THAT WIELDS IT. I HAVE FORGOTTEN MORE OF THE ARCANE ARTS THAN ANY FEY OR HUMAN MAGE HAS EVER KNOWN.
"It's ... it's too powerful," she gasped, her emotions surging as the demon beat the last of the clansmen into a bloody pulp.
YOU ARE READY NOW. THE BARRIERS IN YOUR MIND ARE GONE. LET ME SHOW YOU.
The demon was advancing on her now, one wing still pinned by the spear. "Enough foreplay, little mage. I am ready for you now." Bodies and parts of bodies lay in its wake.
Angie squared her shoulders and stood tall. She shivered but inhaled deeply. "Okay," she whispered. "Show me what to do."
YES.
For the first time ever, they worked as one, a pair.
She raised her hands and began to weave a net of fire, the Shade King showing her what to do, the mental bond facilitating instant communication, perfect understanding. She was neither spectator nor grasping pupil. She was both Angie and the Shade King. She cast out the net of fire, throwing it over the advancing demon and trapping it. Sudden Bloodletter shrieked, but this time in pain, not anger.
Angie had already begun another spell, one the Shade King showed her. Her hands moved in circles, trailing fire. A moment later, another of the fire tornadoes she had used to battle Nathan's mages appeared before her, but this one was far larger, at least a hundred feet tall. Wind and heat whipped at her but didn’t harm her. She was impervious to flames. She—the Shade King-Angie—was fire, was wind, was storm.
With a sudden thrust of her hands, she sent the whirling tempest of fire over the trapped demon, holding it within its funnel. Now the demon's screams were muted by the howling winds, but Angie was only getting started. She began to understand what she was doing, to comprehend the ancient arcane forms she used. She understood now how the mana weaved together so flawlessly to create complex patterns.
She could even control the weather. She cried out, laughing with amazement, "I can make storms!"
Storm clouds formed, created from nothing by her magic. The night turned black, lit only by the tornado of fire holding the demon.
WE ARE FIRE. YET WE ARE ALSO THE WIND, THE ELEMENTS.
Angie understood now. She was a part of the black storm clouds. The connection was as natural as breathing. A brilliant lightning bolt arced down and struck inside the fiery tornado, its thunderclap shaking the earth. The air sizzled with ozone, and Angie's hair floated about her as if she were underwater. Her skin glowed with eldritch fury. Another lightning bolt followed the first, and then a third, all landing inside the tornado, all striking the trapped demon. More lightning followed, a nonstop barrage of energy that pummeled the demon.
Even its screams had ended.
DONE, ANGELA. DONE, SOURCE MAGE. NOW YOU MUST LET GO.
But such power flowed through her, such majesty. She was the fire, was the storm. If she kept going, she was certain she could transform herself, become more than just a woman. Sh
e'd truly become a being of fire and wind.
LET GO!
And then Tec's face flashed before her eyes, followed by Char's, her brother's, her mother's, and then her father's.
She lowered her hands, physically spent, her heart pounding and her skin drenched in sweat. The fire tornado grew weaker and then sputtered out in a cloud of sparks. The storm clouds drifted away, revealing the stars and moon once more.
Sudden Bloodletter was gone. Where the demon had stood, nothing remained but blackened ground and ashes—and Lodin’s spear.
The clansmen, those who hadn't fled, stared at her. Sandman approached, limping, awe on his features. "How?"
"Are ... are you all right?" she asked him, panting with exertion. Even now, she felt more alive than she ever had.
And then she heard a pitiful, squeaky chirp, and she spun to see Moonwing lying on his side, blood pouring from gashes across his chest, one wing badly injured. The griffin was dying, unable to even raise his head. She ran to him, throwing herself to her knees beside him, her hands trailing over his savaged chest. His blood flowed, an unstoppable rush. A part of her was amazed the noble creature was even still alive.
"I'm ... I'm so sorry, Angie," Sandman said from behind her. "Those wounds..."
She cried out in anguish as she placed her cheek against Moonwing's bloody chest.
And then she remembered the Shade King’s words, "I have forgotten more of the arcane arts than any Fey or human mage has ever known." The epiphany struck like thunder. Char had healed a wounded lion with magic once. And Rayan Zar Davi had healed Angie's broken ribs with a touch. Elenaril had healed Tec. Please. Help me again, she asked the Shade King. Can you show me how to heal?
THE ONES THAT CAME BEFORE YOU USED ME ONLY FOR SLAUGHTER, BUT MEMORY REMAINS, EVEN AFTER ALL THESE CENTURIES. PLACE YOUR HANDS ATOP THE WOUNDS, AND I WILL SHOW YOU THE PATTERN OF MENDING.
Once more she worked the flows of mana, working in tandem with the Shade King. Her weaves pulled Moonwing's torn flesh together and fused his broken bones. At first, the griffin had thrashed, but then he calmed. When she was done, the mana she had taken from the Savage Sons was almost gone, but it had been enough. Just. She sat back, exhausted, as Moonwing raised his head and rubbed it against her shoulder. Angie stared in disbelief as the griffin's chest rose and fell. His wing was still hurt, still bent at an odd angle, but he would live.
She had healed him. And she had defeated a star demon—her, the woman Nathan and the others had thought too weak to serve as a combat mage. No Fey grandmaster mage could have done what she had. Not Ephix, not Elenaril, not even Char.
Not even Lodin.
The Ferals—no, the We Clan. She’d never call them Ferals again—had come back and gathered about her as she had healed the griffin, watching in silent wonder. Now they softly chanted something.
Angel. They were chanting Angel.
Chapter 36
Rayan Zar Davi gasped in astonishment atop the temple of Zolin. Something’s happened to the demon.
Because she had been the one who performed the ceremony that summoned Sudden Bloodletter, she was the one who felt the demon's sudden absence from the world. Somehow, the demon was gone, banished from this reality, just like its brother, Gouger of Faces, had been. Which meant someone had defeated it.
"What?" Itzpapalotl demanded. The black dragon lay with her horned head resting atop one of her forelegs, her massive head at an angle as she fixed her serpentine eyes on Rayan, the slit-like pupils narrowing.
"I..." Rayan's lips were thick, her tongue dry, as she tried to explain the impossible setback to a mistress who would burn her to ashes for anything—or nothing. "Sudden Bloodletter, Beautiful Mistress. The demon is ... gone."
"Gone?" The dragon's voice never rose, but Rayan shivered. "Gone where?"
"It's no longer on this world." She couldn't meet the dragon's gaze, so she looked at the dragon's long, swordlike claws instead, imagined them pulling her apart with no more effort than if she were paper. She shivered uncontrollably, knowing this time she must die for her failure. But who could destroy a demon as powerful as Sudden Bloodletter? It was impossible.
Yet someone had.
"The demon is gone," Itzpapalotl's deep voice rumbled. "And Aernyx is missing? I smell betrayal."
"I ... I don't have answers, Beautiful Mistress." Rayan's fingers shook so hard she had to grip both ends of the scarf around her neck to stop them from shaking. All the other Tzitzime servants had slithered away, leaving her alone to face the dragon's wrath. And so it ends.
The dragon closed her eyes and remained like stone for long, dread-filled minutes. When she finally spoke again, smoke trailed from her nostrils. "Everyone keeps telling me victory is at hand, that everything is going exactly according to plan, yet we still do not have the changeling. Our enemies hide within Sanwa City. This strange mage, Angela Ritter, is missing. Aernyx is missing. And now the most powerful demon we could have summoned has been defeated. There are hidden forces at play, Mother Smoke Heart, secrets that might bring down even me. I will not stand for it, not one moment longer. My mercy makes me weak. Go. Go to Sanwa City. The time has come to launch the final assault."
"Beautiful Mistress, they have no water. They must surrender or die. At best, they will run out in days, at most a week—"
"I will not wait for them to surrender. You will take the changeling now and bring her here for sacrifice."
"Yes, Beautiful Mistress." The implications dawned on Rayan. The dragon had given her a task. That meant she'd live.
"Go. Tarry not a moment longer. Bring me my sacrifice. Bring ... bring me the elf bitch so we can spill her blood."
The barest hint of … something in the dragon's voice gave Rayan a moment's pause. It had been so slight that she had almost missed it. "And ... and the residents of the city?"
"Kill them all."
Rayan Zar Davi spun about and stalked down the stairs leading to the interior of the temple. She lived to fight another day. Now she had a city to crush. Excitement coursed through her, energizing her. But her mind pondered that strange tremor in the dragon's voice.
It had been almost like...
Fear.
The demon was gone. We Clan members approached the black smear where it had been and spat upon the ground. Angie climbed to her feet from where she knelt beside Moonwing. Overcome by exhaustion now, she swayed in place, and Sandman surged forward, wrapping his arm around her, holding her upright. She was more tired than she had ever been. She had used so much mana—all the mana.
What had she become?
Moonwing rustled, his injuries no longer life-threatening, but clearly still hurt.
"Angie," said Sandman, holding her against him. "Perhaps you should sleep."
"I ... what?" It was so hard to think clearly. Could she curl up against Moonwing? Would he keep her safe?
"My sister’s tent. She no longer needs it. Come."
Each step became a battle to keep her eyes open as Sandman led her to the tent. She saw the other woman, his aunt, Silver Katana, as well as the worried face of Miss Fortune. Both took her by the elbows and guided her inside. Moonwing remained where he was, but his eyes followed her. Then she was within the dark tent. Before she realized what was happening, they had bundled her under the furs.
No longer able to keep her eyes open even a moment longer, she fell into a deep sleep—
Angie walked atop the battlements of the corrugated iron wall surrounding Sanwa City. Below her, the city burned and died. An army of Aztalan warriors surrounded it, a sea of death. The walls were breached, and Aztalan warriors surged into the city, slaughtering everyone they came across: men, women, children. The screams of the dying assailed her. Even from this high, the stench of death rose like a fog.
"No," she whispered. "It’s not real. Just a dream."
The dream shifted, and she now stood in Veteran's Square in the city's center, where criminals were hanged. The city no longer burned; the fires only smold
ered now.
But the stench of death had grown so much worse.
She was barefoot, still wearing Sandman’s sleeveless green vest and tattered blue jeans. A mountain of corpses sat in the center of the square, each with its heart cut out. On the other side of the pile of dead, someone raised a huge cross. She approached the cross. The blood from the mound of dead sucked at her bare feet. It was like walking in glue.
Angie stared at the corpse pile, overcome with horror—with shame. This was her fault. She didn’t know how, but she knew she should have stopped this but didn't. A million flies buzzed madly, feasting in the gore. Dead eyes watched her as she crossed the square, skirting the mound of dead. With every step, the enormity of the crime that had taken place here scoured her. The Aztalans had sacrificed all of them. Every. Single. Person.
Her city.
Her home.
Her friends.
She turned, staring in horror at the one person who hadn’t been ritually sacrificed. Tec hung crucified from the cross, naked and covered in blood but somehow still alive. She gasped in horror, reaching out to touch his bare feet, blood dripping from his toes. The moment her fingers touched him, he opened his eyes, soul-wrenching sorrow in his gaze.
"It called." His voice gurgled through smashed lips, missing teeth. "Why didn't you answer?"
"I ... who called?"
Tec's eyes remained open as his life ended.
Angie screamed.
And found herself in darkness, a complete absence of light or sound. She spun in place, seeing nothing, but she was standing on rocks with the bones of dead animals all about her.
She was back at the edge of the Black Pool.
Then a golden glow surged from the depths of the waters, quickly growing in radiance and illuminating the entirety of the vast underground cavern. The light in the water throbbed...
Like a heartbeat.
—Angie woke. She was sore, tired, but alive, the sunlight shining in through the tent flap and blinding her. It had just been a dream, another nightmare. Tec was alive. Her city was alive. Her friends were alive.
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