by Jordi Burton
Continuing to rub her hand gently over his back, she headed downstairs to find Lili. She was seated at the table, eating a breakfast of fruit and bread. As Anastasia entered the room, she looked up. Anastasia was surprised to see she had a bow and quiver of arrows slung across her shoulders. She also wore travel-ready clothing.
Across the room, Ryke and William wore tunics and trousers, with an extra dagger each at their belts. Anastasia hesitated in the doorway, a frown tugging her lips.
“Why is everyone dressed like we’re heading into battle?”
“For all we know, we are, my Princess,” said Ryke.
So they felt the strange foreboding, too. Sitting at the table, Anastasia helped herself to some bread and jam. She hadn’t had a chance to alert the Mistresses yet that she was leaving Bahail. She’d hoped it would be a quick trip to Armol, where they could find the Vatis and return. Even though the feast celebrating the harvest equinox was in a few days, she figured they’d have more than enough time without needing to alert anyone.
William strode forward and held out a bundled package to Anastasia. “These are from my father.”
Unwrapping the bundle, she found two daggers within. One was longer than she was used to, the blade roughly the length of her forearm. The other was the usual size. They fit into a belt that she strapped around her hips.
“I’ll be sure to thank him,” she said.
“I hope you don’t need them.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
By the time Mohan came downstairs—dressed in a black robe with a large, gray hematite crystal around his neck, and a belt of vials—they were ready to go. Gerrard met them at the door, seeing as he’d volunteered to join them, after much prompting from William the night before. He and Ryke said he knew what he was doing with a hammer and would provide more protection.
Together, with Lili, they headed out behind the castle. There, Mohan upended the contents of the bag he carried. Upon seeing a dead bird and rat, Anastasia recoiled.
“What is this?”
“Portal travel,” Mohan explained. “It will take us directly to the location from the spell.”
Anastasia turned away as Mohan took to carving the bird and collected its blood in a chalice. He placed its heart and wings separate from the rest of its body into a bowl and added the rat’s ribcage. Covering it all in anointing oil, he put the bowl off to the side. He poured the rest of the oil into the blood-filled chalice and traced a circle upon the ground, outlining four pentagrams and the crescent moon-shaped sigil he stood upon in the center of the circle.
He turned back to look at them. “Ready?”
Anastasia nodded, though the whole thing made her squeamish. Thankfully, everyone else seemed as off-put by it as her.
“Stand in the pentagrams,” he instructed.
They all stepped into a pentagram. Mohan dipped his fingers into what was left of the bloody oil and drew a circle pierced by a triangle on the back of his hands.
The oil in the chalice burst into flames as Mohan chanted, “Ani korah lo, aleelah g’dolah. K’cha et hakurban hazeh uftach et hadelet l’olam habah.”
The blood around the circle lit like a fuse, until the entire circle burned. Mohan snapped his fingers and the bowl of sacrificial items burst into flame as well. Anastasia watched on, fascinated and awed, holding Aagney close.
Mohan called, “K’cha otanu l’mamlechat harochot, aleelah!”
Wind whipped through the trees, extinguishing the flames. As it dissipated, they looked around. Nothing had happened.
Gerrard glanced upwards. “Did it work?”
But then, the wind tore through the trees so forcefully, it knocked them down. Anastasia reached for William, but she was trapped inside the pentagram. The ground rumbled, and then it felt like they were falling, tumbling down to the depths of the earth. A scream tore from Anastasia’s lips; she clutched at Aagney. And then, just as quickly, it all stopped. They slammed into the ground, the air knocked from their lungs.
Gerrard turned and vomited. Mohan groaned, rolling onto his back. William and Ryke staggered to their feet, drawing their daggers. Sucking in a breath, Anastasia sat up and tried to calm a wailing Aagney. Fear radiated from him in waves, leeching into the Nadmilise. Holding him so close, Anastasia felt like wailing, herself.
Getting to her feet, Anastasia took in their surroundings, illuminated by pale moonlight. They stood within the square of a beautiful castle. To her left stood a high tower, but the flag flying wasn’t a Nadmilise one, but rather blood red claw marks upon a black banner.
“Is this the castle in Armol?” Ryke questioned.
But before anyone could answer, a cry rang out, “Fire!”
An explosion sounded, and a moment later, a cannon ball impacted the stone at their feet, flinging them backwards.
Panic flared in Anastasia’s chest. She needed to get Aagney out of there. William was on her in an instant, shielding her and Aagney with his body. She could barely see the others through the cloud of dust, before a second cannon ball hit. She and William rolled out of the way. They struggled to get to their feet.
“Can you see who’s shooting at us?” she yelled over the din.
William shook his head. “No!”
Glancing behind her, Anastasia spotted a walkway. She grabbed William’s arm and pulled him towards it. They squeezed through the narrow space between the buildings and climbed over a low wall. There, it was a short drop to the roof of a building below.
Another explosion shook the ground, flinging them from the roof. They tumbled down to the cobblestones below, Anastasia twisting painfully to keep from landing on Aagney. Through the dust, they could just make out a doorway. They crawled over on hands and knees and pushed their way inside. Getting to his feet, William pushed the heavy door closed with the weight of his body. Anastasia, meanwhile, looked around.
Rows of black iron doors colored the bare white walls. A spiral staircase let up to a second and third level, where more doors stood bolted.
“What is this place?” she wondered aloud.
As her voice echoed, others rose up to meet it, begging her for release. Horror flooded through her as she realized it was some sort of prison. What if this was where the Vatis was being kept, by whomever carried the black flag with the claw marks? It couldn’t be. Who were all these people? And who was living in the castle?
But all thought left her mind as William shouted, “Dani!”
He raced up the stairs, two-at-a-time. Anastasia ran after him, utterly bewildered. “William, stop!”
Reaching one of the doors, William threw himself against it. But it was no use; the door was solid metal. Anastasia held him off, peering through the small window in the door. To her utter surprise, Dani Dinas sat within, covered in grime.
“What in the name of the Gods and Angels?”
A click sounded behind them. “I see you’ve found me, at last.”
Anastasia whirled around, finding Joey standing behind her. Dark indigo swirls covered his skin, while jet black wings jutted from his back. He’d cut his hair short, making him look older, but it was white as snow. And his eyes were ice-blue, as opposed to their normal deep sapphire.
“Joey?”
Her eyes flickered to the crossbow in his hands. She had just enough time to turn her back to him, and wrap herself around Aagney, before he fired. The pain never came, however. Instead, she heard William grunt, and she turned to see him crumpled on the floor, the bolt sticking out of his stomach. Rage flared within her, and she flung herself at Joey. But before she reached him, he struck her with a bolt.
She crumpled, feeling unconsciousness drag her under. The last thought she had was elation that William was merely drugged, and not dead. But then the drugs dragged her under, as well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
E riccen frowned. They’d flown Balan all over the sorcerer kingdom, collecting the strangest ingredients he needed for his potions. They had a cage of birds and rats,
a half-gallon of something he called anointing oil, a couple of bowls and chalices, and a number of herbs and spices. It had taken them a little over a week to find everything, and Ericcen was growing restless. The sooner they got Balan’s sister, the sooner they could find Queen Sona and return to Princess Anastasia.
Rounding the corner of the cottage they were squatting in, Ericcen found Balan drawing a circle in the frozen ground with a carved knife. Seeing as that wasn’t nearly the oddest thing he’d seen Balan do, he shrugged it off and entered the cottage.
Norden sat at the table slicing their dried fish into pieces. Ericcen dropped the water jug on the table with a thud. “Where’s Aelnold?”
“Went to gather some more apples from the grove.”
Nodding his understanding, Ericcen sat at the table. He drummed his fingers on the wood and jiggled his legs. He knew he was irritating his brother, but he couldn’t help it. Every second they sat there was a second they weren’t completing their mission. It might not be much, but it was something he could use to impress the Princess. And he wasn’t so sure he’d get a second chance to do that.
Pushing back from the table, he peered at Balan through the grimy window. The crazy sorcerer was carving the wings off a bird. It was dead, thank the Gods and Angels, but watching it was still unsettling.
“Why don’t you go help Aelnold?” Norden suggested.
Ericcen relented, pushing his way through the backdoor. The apple grove stood a few paces from the house, spreading as far as the eye could see. The apples within were bright and crisp, and tasted like he was eating fresh cider.
A few rows back, he spotted Aelnold circling the top of one of the trees, plucking apples and placing them in his knapsack. Unfurling his wings, he wordlessly joined his brother.
The quiet serenity didn’t last long before Balan came rushing into the grove. “It’s time!”
Aelnold landed. “Time for what?”
“Our travel! Come along!”
Sharing a look with his brother, Ericcen landed and followed Balan around the side of the house. He’d drawn three pentagrams around the circle, and a crescent moon within. Everything was outlined in blood. Ericcen wrinkled his nose. He’d known a couple of sorcerers back home in the realms. They hadn’t been the strongest of magic users, but they’d never needed to resort to bleeding a bird and drawing in the dirt. The Old World was a strange place.
Norden stumbled out of the cottage, toting his and Ericcen’s knapsacks. As he jogged over, Balan stepped inside the crescent moon. They watched in fascination as he methodically checked his chalice and bowl of ingredients. The whole thing was rather revolting. But Ericcen could feel Balan’s excitement grow. He supposed the sorcerer would do anything to get his sister back, as he would for his brothers.
Balan motioned to the pentagrams. “Step up.”
Ericcen and his brothers obliged. Then, Balan cut the edge of his palm, dripped the blood into the chalice, and began to chant in a strange, guttural language.
The circle and pentagrams lit up, and a wind stirred the leaves around their feet. A moment later, they were all falling. Just as suddenly, they came to halt, slamming into the ground. Ericcen groaned; his stomach roiled uneasily, threatening to lose his lunch.
A loud bang propelled him to his feet, however. Dust clouded the air, making it difficult to see anything. What he could make out were enormous stone buildings. Rock exploded to his left, and he shielded his face with his hands. He couldn’t see his brothers or Balan anywhere. But a short distance away, in the sky, were Nadmilise, silhouetted by the moon. Archers were shooting at them, trying to bring them down.
Before he could move, however, Balan raced by him. “It’s time to take on the Soster!”
Ericcen coughed. “What’s the Soster?”
But Balan disappeared into the dust, cackling. An ear-splitting boom tore through the air. Ericcen turned, watching with wide eyes as a cannonball gouged the earth not three feet from him. He fell back, looking around wildly. What in the name of the Gods and Angels was happening here?
Movement to his right drew his eyes. A Nadmilise landed, drawing his wings close to his body. Beside him, some small flying creature shifted into a man with a soft squeak.
This was too much. Ericcen and his brothers were not warriors. And Balan was certainly insane. Sister or not, he’d knowingly brought them to a battle. He needed to find Norden and Aelnold, and get as far away from this place as possible. They needed to find Queen Sona and return to Bahail, their promise to Balan be damned.
A hiss stopped him in his tracks. The man that had been a small creature whipped around and called, “Werewolves!”
In a flash, he was gone, his movements so quick he was merely a blur. His Nadmilise partner hesitated before leaping into the air. Startled, Ericcen just watched as he circled in the sky. He supposed that would be a better place to search for his brothers than down here, where he couldn’t see much of anything.
Another cannonball wracked the earth, sending bits of dirt flying through the air. Ericcen dodged it, rolling to his feet. Drawing a knife from his knapsack, he took to the sky. Unable to see, however, he ended up running into a balustrade. The men stationed there turned to face him and he worked to keep his emotions in check. They were Nadmilise, same as him. Fighting his sister Nadmilise left a horrific taste in his mouth. Especially because they all seemed to be trained warriors, and all he had was a puny knife.
Explosions made his footing precarious as the guards rushed him. One of the warriors managed to clip his wing with an arrow and he hissed in pain, pulling his wings in close. But why in the world were Nadmilise fighting him?
“I’m a Nadmilise!” he called. “Please!”
But they didn’t seem to care. “Aelnold!” he shouted. “Norden!”
It was no use; the cannon fire and explosions were too loud. Backing down the balustrade, he felt the low wall press against his legs. Figuring it was safer to go than stick around the people that wanted to kill him, he threw himself over the side. His wings snapped open and jerked him upward. From this vantage, he could see that he was outside a castle. But he had no idea which kingdom he was in.
Below, he saw the shifting man from before fighting what looked like werewolves, but none of them had shifted into their wolf forms. Other people were fighting, all Nadmilise. But at the far end of the castle square, magic erupted.
“Balan,” he murmured.
Angling himself, he shot downward. When he reached the mayhem, however, he found that it wasn’t Balan, but Prince Mohan.
“Your Highness?” Ericcen called.
“Find Anastasia!” he shouted. “Joey’s here!”
Joey was here, in the middle of all of this? And so was Princess Anastasia? Ericcen shook his head. None of this made any sense. But he didn’t have time to sort it out. He needed to find the princess.
Spinning, he found Chris Woodsman behind him on the balustrade, battling a number of Nadmilise. He leapt forward, spinning a wooden staff over his head. A couple of the Nadmilise lost their footing and fell over the balustrade. He caught an archer in the wrist; she cried out and dropped her bow. As he kicked it away, he launched himself at another archer, using his body’s momentum to drive her to the ground. His fist connected with her chin with an audible crack. As she fell, he whirled around and launched his staff, catching a third archer square in the chest. Flying up to meet it, he grabbed his staff and landed.
Awe flooded through Ericcen. Chris managed to do all of that without his sight! How was something like that even possible? He supposed that’s what separated the warriors from everyone else. They were fighters, through and through, as opposed to him, who hardly knew what to do with his knife.
Turning away, Ericcen ran through the dust. “Princess Anastasia?”
No one answered him. How was he supposed to find her in this mess? Taking the stairs down to the next level, he peered over the side. Balan was down at the front gates, creating quite a raucous with explo
sions. He rent the air with the guttural sounds of his shouts. Ericcen flew towards him, but before his feet could touch the ground, a massive explosion rocked the castle.
He landed in the castle square, blown back by the cannon fire. Everything stopped as a large crack raced up the stone from the portcullis. Before Ericcen had a chance to brace himself, the rock crumbled away beneath his feet. He fell forward just as another explosion filled the air with dust and stone. Though he unfurled his wings, it wasn’t enough to keep him from hitting the ground. He slid through debris, coming to a halt at the foot of the portcullis, bruised but otherwise unharmed.
Coughing, he sat up and peered through the dust. “Princess Anastasia? Balan!”
No one answered him. As he made to move, he found his leg was pinned beneath a large pile of stone. Slowly, he started to pull the stone away, struggling to free himself. No other sounds reached his ears, but he refused to let himself fear the worst. His brothers and the princess had to be fine. He wouldn’t imagine otherwise.
By the time he freed his leg, he heard footsteps. Getting to his feet, he peered around the mound of rock. “Princess Anastasia?”
A figure appeared through the dust, carrying a long wooden tube. When they came into view, Ericcen frowned. They wore a long cloak, obscuring their features. Ericcen squinted, trying to see through the shroud created by the hood. But it was if nothing was there.
The figure raised the wooden tube and pointed it at Ericcen. Before he had a chance to react, the figure expelled a breath into the tube. A dart flew from the end, striking Ericcen right in the neck. He staggered forward, his vision flickering. His movements felt sluggish, as though he was moving through wet cement. Dropping to his knees, he glared up at the figure. What was happening here? And why? What did this have to do with Princess Anastasia?
But all thought left his mind as the ground rushed up to meet him and his vision went dark.
