Flynn Nightsider and the Edge of Evil

by Mary Fan

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Shots pierced the air. The images in her head faded, and the weight lifted.

  Aurelia lowered the arm covering her eyes. The shadowhawks scattered and circled above her. Calhoun stood with his rifle a few yards away, shooting them down. A flash of gold light—Williams appeared beside him.

  The professor raised his wand. “Dissipate!”

  Aurelia covered her ears. What sounded like hundreds of grating screeches rang out, and the shadowhawks dissolved into a thick black fog.

  She snatched up her sword and realized, to her chagrin, that her cheeks were wet. She hurriedly wiped her eyes. With the shadowhawks gone, the images that had filled her head seemed so unreal, she wondered how she could have let them affect her so much. Yet her injuries were real enough—the bruises from their wings, the scratches from their beaks, not to mention the utter exhaustion of her still-quivering limbs.

  Williams grabbed her arm. Light filled her vision, and heat engulfed her body. The next thing she knew, she, Williams, and Calhoun stood in the Citadel’s main hall. Calhoun held a sword out to her, and Aurelia recognized it as the one she’d thrown at the manticore.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, accepting it.

  “I figured you were in trouble when I found that.” Calhoun glanced at Williams. “Let’s get the others.”

  Williams put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m coming too!” Aurelia exclaimed.

  “Kid, you barely survived a shadowhawk attack,” Calhoun said sternly. “If we hadn’t shown up when we had, you would’ve been drained in a minute. Go get some rest.”

  “But—”

  “You won’t do us any good at half-power. Williams, let’s go.”

  Aurelia considered grabbing Williams’s arm and tagging along but quickly realized that was a bad idea. Her swords, which usually felt as natural as extensions of her arms, seemed too heavy to hold up. She wouldn’t help the Risers any if she was too worn out to fight and had to be rescued again.

  Williams and Calhoun vanished in a flash.

  Disappointed at herself, Aurelia stuck her swords back into their sheaths. First the wraiths, now this. When did I become so weak?

  Perhaps all that time she’d spent training Flynn instead of practicing her own skills had taken its toll. She’d have to shape up, or the nightmare the shadowhawks had filled her head with could come true. She shuddered at the thought.

  Glancing around, she noticed a number of gray-uniformed prisoners standing around the hall, and her frustration at herself faded somewhat. Even though she’d had to retreat early, she’d still been part of their rescue, and thanks to her, no one got eaten by a manticore. We freed them.

  Still, she wished she could have done more and that Calhoun and Williams hadn’t had to save her hide. She headed to the staircase. She had to find someplace to lie down before she collapsed onto the floor. Those shadowhawks had really done a number on her.

  Hot shame swirled in her stomach. She’d failed—had to get rescued like some weakling. Meanwhile, others were still out there fighting. If Connor were there, he’d tell her that she couldn’t be expected to win every fight. People might have called her abilities superhuman, but that didn’t make her a goddess.

  Her boots weighed down each step as she trudged up the stairs. She tried to focus on the worn wood beneath her. That was real and not the nightmares still plaguing her brain.

  I can’t let the monsters get me again. If I go down, who’ll be left to protect the others?

  Ninety-eight people. Aurelia had never seen the Citadel’s assembly room so crowded. Not one chair remained unoccupied, and several people leaned against the walls at the back and along the sides. Calhoun stood on the platform at the front. The late-afternoon sun streaming in from the window behind him made his chalky skin appear almost as golden as Aurelia’s. He held his arms up for attention, and the gray-clad former prisoners turned their gazes to him.

  We won. She smiled. The Triumvirate had intended for everyone to get killed by monsters. Instead, they’d opened up the town for easier escape. She still felt drained from the shadowhawks that had attacked her a few hours ago, but she held herself erect so no one would notice, especially not Flynn, who sat not far from her next to that fragile little newbie, Kylie. Why are they here anyway? They had nothing to do with this mission.

  “Hello, again, everyone.” Calhoun curved his lips. “You never thought you’d see me again after that night in Salvator City, did you? In case you forgot, I’m Frank Calhoun, leader of the Rising. Now that you’re here, we can finish what we started.” He swept his arm. “The Triumvirate has deemed you unworthy of life under their protection. They intended to have you all mauled by monsters because they saw a few of you trying to escape. Unfortunately, this means you can’t return to the lives you knew before. But you don’t have to stay with us either. If you want to live in quiet anonymity, we’ll find a way to smuggle you to safety. I know of some towns that are very isolated, where you can disappear until the Triumvirate tightens its fist again.”

  Aurelia felt a subtle grin creep onto the corner of her mouth. He always began with that offer, but no one she knew of had ever taken him up on it.

  “Or you can join our fight.” Calhoun spoke each word with deliberate gravity. “You can help us overthrow the regime whose corruption spurred you to seek action, and whose injustice stole your lives. Who will join me?”

  The brown-haired former patrolwoman stood. Barely a second passed before several others joined her. Before long, everyone in a gray uniform was on his or her feet. Aurelia smiled. She’d known they would come to the Rising’s side.

  Calhoun motioned for everyone to sit then continued. Aurelia listened intently as Calhoun spoke of the Rising’s goals: the new government they would create, one where Norms and Enchanters were treated equally and where freedom was granted to all. A fresh wave of revolutionary fire ignited in her veins. Though she’d heard the speech many times, something about the way Calhoun spoke never failed to inspire her.

  A glimpse of movement caught Aurelia’s attention. Turning, she spotted Tamerlane peering through the doorway. He caught her eye then vanished from sight. Irritation bubbled up her chest. She still couldn’t believe Tamerlane had refused the mission. How could he have abandoned her? Maybe if he’d been there and had her back, those shadowhawks wouldn’t have come so close to killing her.

  She got up from her seat and rushed out of the assembly room. Tamerlane approached the staircase at the end of the hallway.

  “Tamerlane!” Aurelia ran to catch up. Realizing he’d goldlight away to avoid her, she grabbed his arm. “Oh no, you don’t. Did you have a nice vacation while the rest of us were out saving people?”

  “Firedragon, please.” A worried look spread across Tamerlane’s narrow face. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have stayed back if I didn’t have a good reason.”

  “And what was that?”

  Tamerlane glanced around nervously. “I needed to do something while Calhoun was out of the Citadel, and the mission was the only time I knew he’d be gone.”

  Aurelia tilted her head in confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Listen, Calhoun’s keeping too many secrets.” Tamerlane’s whisper was barely audible. “Remember how he wouldn’t let me look at that Palace map?”

  “Seriously?” Try as she might, she simply couldn’t understand why Tamerlane would make such a big deal out of something so stupid. “Calhoun runs an underground revolution! Of course the guy keeps secrets. So do I! So does everyone! And we have the right to not tell everyone everything. You know who wants to know everyone’s secrets? The Triumvirate.” She released Tamerlane’s arm. “I’ve had it with your paranoia.”

  Huffing, she rushed back to the assembly room. She knew what she believed in: a cause people had been fighting for since before she was born, that they’d sacrificed eve
rything for, even their lives. Countless men and women had died at the hands of the Triumvirate, and every moment the Triumvirate stayed in power, more fell into their clutches. She had to stop them, and she wouldn’t let anything shake that drive, certainly not the Triumvirate’s propaganda, which seemed to be seeping into Tamerlane’s head.

  Storm pressed the tip of his wand into the dirt over the grave he’d chosen. Though the next full moon would not occur for another ten days, he wanted to be prepared when it did arrive. Raising draugar was an imprecise art, and the more gravesites he prepared, the higher the probability that one or more would result in a suitable creature.

  The pale light of the white crescent moon was hardly enough to see by, especially since the skeletal branches of a dead tree partially blocked it. The chipped headstone had been so worn down by the elements that the name engraved on it appeared to be nothing more than grooves in the rock. Using his wand, Storm drew an angular, twisting symbol in the ground. It was one he’d drawn many times before, and it had nearly been lost to humanity before his studies unearthed it.

  “Playing with draugar again?” That flat female voice could only belong to Sayare.

  Looking up, Storm saw his subordinate standing behind him. Her short brown hair hugged her jawline, making it appear even sharper than usual. Had he not known her for years, he would have taken the look on her narrow-nosed face for disdain. Though she was a small woman, her presence commanded attention.

  “Storm, I understand why you spend so much time in the cemetery.” Sayare shuddered as a chilly wind blew past. “But you need to spend more time worrying about the present. It’s been over three months, and the Untouchable One is still in the hands of the Rising. Why have you not even proposed a plan for a second attack on the Scarlet Citadel?”

  Storm stood. “For the same reason as I explained to you last time. Believe me. That Flynn Nightsider remains in the Rising’s hands disturbs me far more than it ever could you. I have spent countless hours going through every possible scenario in my head, trying to find a way to bring him to us. But the fact is, the Risers outnumber us by hundreds—thousands, even. It’s easy to forget, since there are only a few dozen of them at the Scarlet Citadel at any given time, but Calhoun’s influence is widespread. If he called, those thousands would come, and we would be no match for them. And we won’t be able to talk the boy into coming with us willingly, since he knows of my role in his parents’ death.”

  Sayare let out a frustrated sigh. “I only wish we were doing something about the Rising instead of standing back and watching Calhoun’s influence grow.”

  Storm twirled his wand between his fingers. “Don’t worry, Sayare. I have plans.”

  “I hope they’re enough.” Sayare spun and walked toward the low, flat-roofed buildings at the edge of the cemetery.

  Storm turned away from her retreating figure, determined not to let her skepticism cause him to doubt himself. He crouched by the headstone, placed the tip of his wand into the dirt, and took a moment to picture the next symbol. The dark powers of the Underworld churned within him, and the image of a jagged sigil appeared.

  Knitting his brows, he drew it into the dirt of the grave. When the moon next waxed full, the undead would rise, and they would all follow him.

  Chapter 23

  Death at the Citadel

  Flynn dunked his mop into the bucket by the hallway’s wall, and soapy water sloshed over the edge. Even a secret rebel fortress needed cleaning. The Enchanters usually took care of that by waving their magic sticks, but lately, they’d been busy making Azur Shields and going on supply runs. Plus, the influx of new Risers from the prisoner rescue mission meant things got messy more quickly. So with no one to cast a little hocus-pocus and make the hallways clean themselves, Flynn had volunteered for janitor duty. It wasn’t his idea of fun, but it was a nice break from worrying about things like overthrowing a government. And the company was good. Kylie mopped beside him. She had, naturally, been the first to raise her hand for a task no one else wanted.

  Okay, so maybe I mostly volunteered for cleaning duty because she did. Her presence was a welcome respite from the frenetic world around him. Around her, he felt like the old Flynn again—someone who didn’t have a spotlight on him because of the way he was born. It was nice to forget for a few moments that he was some prophesied being with the fate of the nation resting on his less-than-capable shoulders. Besides, since both Aurelia and Tamerlane had been too busy for him lately, Kylie was the only friend he had.

  He pushed his mop along the floor, forming streaks of wetness along the scratched wood, and glanced at Kylie. “I guess this isn’t exactly what you pictured when you ran away to join a revolution.”

  Kylie smiled. “I don’t mind. It’s actually kind of relaxing, performing this simple, mindless task with you… makes me feel like we’re still Secondstringers and that nothing ever went wrong.”

  “Yeah.” Flynn’s mind flashed back to his Academy days. They seemed so far away. Hard to believe that not too long ago, the school had been his entire life. He could almost see Mrs. Miller standing at the end of the hallway with her hands on her hips, telling him not to miss the corners and the Scholars breezing past and acting as though the Secondstringers were beneath them. And Brax, refusing to pay heed to either party. Flynn never thought he’d miss the days when he’d been treated like crap, but the recollection filled him with nostalgia. The Academy hadn’t been all bad. At least he’d had his friend. “I kind of wish I could go back to those days.”

  “So do I.” Kylie sighed. “I keep expecting to look up and see Brax.”

  “Yeah, complaining about how hard the work is when he’s barely moved.”

  She laughed. “He was always so full of it… Can you believe he tried to convince me his grandparents were Peruvian like mine when we first met? I almost believed him too!”

  Flynn chuckled. “He told me he was going to try that… Hey, I tried to stop him. Not my fault he didn’t listen.”

  “Yet I fell for him anyway…” Kylie’s smile faded, and her eyes became distant. A strange melancholy seemed to descend upon her—the same one that enveloped her every time Brax’s name came up. Flynn still didn’t know why. He kept meaning to ask what had happened between her and Brax, but something about her sorrow discouraged questions.

  Tamerlane’s voice shot through the air, interrupting his thoughts. “You can’t keep ignoring me, Firedragon. Stop acting like I’m invisible!”

  What’s going on? Flynn turned to face the staircase.

  “Fine!” Aurelia’s voice rang out from below. It sounded like it was coming from the ground floor. “Wanna know what I think? I think I must’ve whacked your melon harder than I thought during our last drill. Must’ve scrambled the part of your brain that keeps you from being paranoid.”

  “Listen, between what I found and what you—”

  “Really? You’re really still bugging me about that crap? So I got a little freaked out. Happens to everyone.”

  “If you piece together what Calhoun—”

  “I don’t agree with everything Calhoun does either, but it works. And I’m not gonna listen to your screwy gobbledygook, so shut up, and leave me alone!”

  Kylie glanced at Flynn, her dark-blond brows low over her brown eyes. Her expression seemed to ask, “What’s going on?”

  Flynn shook his head to indicate, No idea. He was accustomed to Aurelia’s yelling—the nickname “Firedragon” could as easily have applied to her temper as her fighting skills—but she and Tamerlane had always gotten along. He’d never heard her go off on him like that before.

  Tamerlane said something unintelligible, to which Aurelia responded, “You’re nuts!”

  “Hey, look at me!” Tamerlane’s voice rose in agitation. “Believe me, I wish I were making stuff up, but—”

  “Go away!” Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Moments later, A
urelia appeared at the end of the corridor. She approached, waving with mock cheeriness. “Hiya!”

  Tamerlane followed a few steps behind her then stopped.

  “What’s going on?” Flynn asked.

  Tamerlane caught Flynn’s eye. “Tread carefully, Flynn. Not everything is as it seems, and I have a feeling you’re at the center of it.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Tamerlane shook his head and went back down the stairs. “You wouldn’t believe me,” he muttered.

  Flynn considered going after him but stopped when Aurelia stepped in front of him.

  “So, how’s cleanup duty?” Her fake merriment was kind of terrifying.

  “What was that about?” Flynn asked.

  “Ugh, Tamerlane’s the worst.” Aurelia scowled. “He’s making stuff up, but he can’t prove any of it.”

  “That doesn’t sound like him.” Tamerlane was one of the most levelheaded people Flynn knew—not the type to tell tales. But the guy had been acting weird lately—avoiding people, spending all his time in the basement, muttering to himself. It was like his head was always somewhere else. “I wonder what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Aurelia nudged Flynn with her elbow. “Wanna spar? I gotta go outside. The Citadel’s too full of hot air!” She directed those last words over her shoulder. “Whadaya say, Nighty? How about we practice some punches?”

  Flynn glanced at the unfinished hallway. “Sure, I just—”

  “Oh, I get it.” Aurelia cut him off. “You like that mop too much to let it go.” She glanced at Kylie and raised an eyebrow. “Or is there something else here you like?”