by K. Ferrin
He buried his sword into the back of the Rager closest to him, shoving the blade deep into where he thought its heart might be. The beast whirled fast, tearing the sword from his hands and belting him in the head with one giant, clawed hand. Magicless felt himself being picked up and thrown, and the air fled from his lungs as he crashed against the side of a house and crumpled at its base.
Blackness threatened to swallow him, but he clawed toward the light, scrabbling to get one of his knives into his hand as the beast approached him. The smell of smoke and ozone assaulted his nose, he struggled to draw breath. The Rager grabbed his head in one giant hand, twining its fingers through his hair, and Magicless knew with a cold certainty that he was mere seconds away from having his head smashed to pieces. He jabbed the blade up through the thing’s neck with every ounce of strength he could muster, and felt the hand gripping his head go slack. Without a sound, the Rager collapsed, pinning him between one giant arm and the house. Magicless scrabbled frantically, but fireworks were going off in his head and he couldn’t draw enough breath into his scorched lungs to stay afloat. He caught a glimpse of the back of Alekka’s dark head bobbing through the chaotic crowd, hair coming loose from its knot, before darkness enveloped him.
[ 2 ]
Alekka brushed the loosened strands of hair from her face and coughed, the smoke from the burning building threatening to choke her.
She desperately wanted to flee the death and destruction around her and escape into the welcoming coolness of the wood, but she couldn’t give in to the impulse. She’d known this would happen. From the first she’d heard of Leali’s plea to resist any future attacks she’d been plagued with nightmares filled with blood and fire. She’d always been sensitive to the world around her, knowing the vague shadowy shape of things before they came to being in the world. It was part of her magic—this nebulous and shifting knowing of things. She didn’t understand how it worked; no one did, really. She was an anomaly among her people, possessing a power few had ever held in all of Dorine Lillith’s recorded history. She was well respected for her talents, but the rarity of her skill kept her on the outside of most things. Perhaps that was why she’d always felt a connection with Micah. He was more on the outside than she could ever be, an aberration, something the others didn’t like to discuss or even acknowledge. The prejudices of her people never ceased to amaze and disappoint her. But people always feared what they didn’t understand, and Micah was an enigma—not once as far back as the stories went was there a mention of someone born completely without magical abilities of some kind. Alekka wondered frequently at what that meant, if it meant anything at all. For him. For her. For everyone.
When Micah had vaulted over the railing and sprinted toward the nearest Rager with nothing but a metal sword to fight with, she’d followed him without a second thought. She was impressed he’d managed to kill the thing. Lucky, she thought. It didn’t see him coming and was distracted. So very lucky. But now he was pinned between the dead creature and a burning house. She had to get him out of there.
She heard the thud of steps behind her and turned to see a Rager approaching, staring right at her. The creature roared as it approached, mouth open wide, displaying a set of large, sharp teeth. Before she could look away, Alekka found herself trapped in its gaze. Madness swirled there—a whirling maelstrom of rage and pain and frustration and hate. It was like nothing she’d ever seen before. She could feel it brushing against her own mind, seeking a way in as if it were driven by something—some incomparable intelligence. She shuddered and slammed a barrier into place between herself and the grasping fingers trying to push their way in. She formed an image of a blazing building in her mind and forced the image toward the beast. She had no idea if the illusion would fool it, but it was all she could think to do. To her relief, the Rager stopped abruptly and looked around in confusion. She held the illusion in place as she ran to Micah.
She frantically shoved at the dead Rager lying on top of him, but the thing was far too large. She glanced back at the creature she’d entrapped with her illusion and saw it still standing where she’d left it. She swore under her breath. She had to keep the magic up between them, which meant she could not lift the dead creature to free Micah. She’d have to wake him.
“Micah!” She shouted, shaking him hard. The fire was inching down the wall he was pinned against. “Micah, you have to get up. I can’t move you by yourself. Get up or you’re going to burn!” She slapped him hard across the face in desperation. The fire was too close—they would both burn if she didn’t do something now. She would have to drop the illusion and hope she could carry Micah away before the remaining Rager came after them. She took a deep breath.
[ 3 ]
Magicless woke up to brilliant sunshine streaming in through the window of his room, birdsong twittering outside his window, and the smell of bacon. Bacon! He grinned, shoving the covers back and jumping out of bed. Bacon was his favorite, but it was expensive—they bought it only for special occasions. Any day he woke to the smell of bacon was guaranteed to be a good day.
He darted into the kitchen and slid into a chair at the table as his father loaded his plate up with salty, smoky goodness. “How’d we get it this time, Da?”
His father grinned and slanted his eyes toward his mother. “Why don’t you ask your Ma. It was her doing this time around.” He chuckled and began loading up his wife’s plate.
Magicless looked over at his mother expectantly. “I slept with the butcher, Honey. It’s easy when you’ve got goods like I’ve got.” His parents burst out laughing as his Da finished loading his own plate and sat down to eat.
As the words sunk in, Magicless’ handful of bacon froze halfway to his mouth. Surely he had not heard that right. He looked sharply from his mother to his father, but they only laughed and began eating without another word. A small seed of discomfort formed in his chest.
“Micah!”
The sound came out of nowhere, weighted with urgency.
“Get up, damn you!”
He looked at his parents, but neither of them gave any indication of having heard anything. The small seed of discomfort blossomed into real concern. Was he losing his mind? What was going on here? His parents were talking crazy and he was hearing voices from the aether. He looked out the window and saw nothing but brilliant sunshine. It was a beautiful summer day. But it’s been raining for days, he thought as he watched the sun play off the rustling branches of the large oak outside the open kitchen window.
A gentle waft of air blew in, and on it came the acrid scent of smoke. Magicless looked around in alarm. Fire was bad news in Aclay. Their town was in the heart of a vast oak forest, and everything in town was built from lumber cut from those trees. Fire could destroy everything they had if it were not checked fast. The sunlight flickered oddly—it no longer looked like sunlight at all. The faint smell of smoke thickened and he could see it now in the air.
“Fire! There’s fire!” He jumped out of his chair, ran to the door and began pulling on his boots. He looked to his parents, but they were still sitting at the table eating bacon, relaxed and happy, humor still glinting in his mother’s eyes. He watched in stunned silence as his father reached out and squeezed his mother’s hand. “I love you, Honey,” he said.
“Micah, you have to get up. I can’t move you by myself. Get up! You’re going to burn!” His fear grew into terror as he looked up and saw not the ceiling of his house as he’d expected, but open sky. Open sky with the trees above him engulfed in flames.
“Ma! Da! The house is on fire! We need to get out of here!” He finished thrusting his feet into his boots and ran to the table.
“Ma!” He grabbed for her shoulders to shake her from her reverie and gasped in shock as his hands came into contact with nothing. He reached for his father in desperation but found him just as insubstantial.
A dark and towering shadow appeared behind them, at least eight feet tall, with huge horns curving from its forehead and
thick shaggy hair. “Mother!” he shouted as the figure continued to stalk toward them. He tried to run to them but he found that he could not move. His legs felt wooden, and his arms were bound to his sides. They were going to die, and he could do nothing but watch.
Then the figure walked right through his parents, and they dissipated like figures made of smoke.
The Rager towered above him, its cloven feet set wide in the mud of the road, its shaggy head topped with goat-like horns, long canines sharp and dripping saliva. Around him, Aclay was burning. He looked at the beast’s cloven feet, the mud and blood splattered up its legs, and everything came slamming back to him. With a pang he remembered the Ghosts, their child-sized bodies and head-to-toe cloaks of white. Leali’s plan going awry. His parents rushing out to fight as the Ragers poured into town. Alekka, her face turned away from him as he lost consciousness. He smelled ash and blood and ozone, and the roar of fire around him was so loud he could barely hear anything above it. He closed his eyes against the burn of the smoke.
“Micah, WAKE UP!”
Magicless jerked his eyes open and saw Alekka, face covered in soot, trying to drag him away from the fallen Rager. Finally, his paralysis and confusion broke. He scrambled to his feet, snatching wildly for his sword as adrenaline surged afresh through his system. He felt rage boiling up inside him, catching in his throat and mixing with the smoke in his lungs and what tasted like blood in his mouth.
He yanked his sword out of the creature’s back looking frantically around. The attack had been ruthless. They’d destroyed everything—were still destroying everything. No one was spared. Men, women, and children were all slain with equal indifference. Magicless saw nothing but fire and the corpses of his fellow townsfolk burned and bloody. Centuries of this abuse and the people of Dorine Lillith still understood nothing of how the Ghosts found their intended victims, why they sought nursing mothers or why they sometimes took the infants and sometimes left them behind. Hatred of the creatures and desperation at the realization of how little they knew about their enemy threatened to overwhelm him. Alekka had warned them, the elders had warned them, but they’d refused to listen, and now so many were dead. Their blood was on his hands.
“Where are the others?” he shouted to Alekka, wiping soot and sweat from his eyes. “Where are my parents?” Her wide eyes were all the answer he needed. The two of them lurched away from the dead Rager, coughing and searching.
He was relieved he’d not lost his sword; weapons such as this were exceedingly uncommon in Dorine Lillith. Everyone possessed magic of some kind and had no use for such gauche weaponry. Except me, he thought. He looked at the scale of destruction around him and felt the smallness of his sword and knives. These creatures towered over him, were far stronger than him, and could throw lightning or fire from their palms. What good was a sword against power such as that? His grip on the hilt tightened.
“Let’s split up. We need to find survivors and get them out of here.” Behind them, one of the wood-framed houses collapsed in a thunderous cloud of ash and flaming sparks of burning wood and thatch.
“Two is better than one, Micah.”
“We don’t have time, Alekka. The entire town is on fire, and anyone left here will die. Find anyone you can and get them to the meeting place. I’ll be fine.” He tried to give her a reassuring look, and then sprinted toward the inn. Her expression as he turned away had been clearly disapproving. There had been something else there too, something underneath her knitted brows that he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t have time to stop and think about what it could mean now—he had to focus.
He growled in frustration. He might not be able to search for survivors by magical means, but he still had eyes in his head and years of experience hunting in the Oakwood under his belt—he knew how to look, and how not to be seen if need be, no matter what the mages thought of him. He slipped through town, staying low and as hidden as he could, considering every building in town was either burning or burnt. He tried not to think about his parents. He edged around the corner of Shandy’s Mercantile, and through the smoke and haze, he saw Jobin standing in the middle of the road, eyes wide and staring, hands at his sides.
Magicless froze and squinted, trying to see what Jobin was looking at, but the smoke was too thick. His eyes were burning and his lungs were on fire. He took off his shirt and wrapped it around his face just as a brilliant flash of lightning ripped through the shifting smoke, followed by an inhuman roar of outrage.
Magicless swore as he desperately tried to see what was happening through the shifting haze. Jobin raised his hands and tangled them in his hair. He shifted from foot to foot and his face was twisted in agony as he stared at the black wall of smoke.
“Help, Jobin! There are too many of them!” Lightning sizzled through the darkness, turning the smoke a dark shade of red as it snaked from caster to target. Magicless’ mouth sagged open as he recognized the voice and the scene resolved itself in his mind. Jobin’s brother Locke was in that cloud, and in serious trouble from the sound of it. Jobin hovered at the edge, clearly distressed, but unable—or unwilling—to fight. Panic rose in Magicless’ throat as he sprinted along the road, watching as carefully as he could with his shirt still shielding his face. The shifting smoke made it almost impossible to see what was happening with Locke, but Magicless knew that Jobin would do nothing, and without help, Locke might not make it.
Another bolt of lightning lashed out of the roiling smoke, and Magicless heard an animal grunt to his left. Magicless hastily unwrapped the shirt from around his head and neck, tossing it to the ground. He took one steadying breath and then darted in, sword raised, coming right up against the back of a Rager. Without pause he thrust his sword through the back of the creature’s neck, hoping to sever its head from its body, but he didn’t have sufficient strength to cut all the way through.
The Rager screamed in agony and turned hard to face Magicless, and for the second time that day he found his sword torn out of his grasp. Magicless ducked low, pulling a blade from his thigh. He could see the point of his sword protruding from the front of the beast’s neck, sheets of blood cascading down its chest and belly. It screamed again, its huge mouth gaping wide, spitting saliva and blood and showing its huge boar-like tusks. It came at him with surprising speed and agility for its size.
Magicless dove to the left, but not fast enough, and the beast’s claws scraped a gash down the side of his leg. Magicless rolled, spun, and threw the knife directly into the beast’s face. His aim was true, and the knife buried itself deep in the creature’s right eye. It collapsed just as a very human scream pierced the hazy air. It cut off with a sickening crunch.
A breeze wafted through and cleared the heavy smoke to a haze. Magicless saw a Rager leaning over a crumpled and unmoving Locke with four other beasts standing nearby. He reached for his second knife and sprinted toward the first Rager, but he knew with a leaden certainly in his gut that he would never get there in time, and he could never hope to kill all five of them even if he did.
The Rager closest to Locke picked up his lifeless body and flung it into the flames of the burning mercantile. The fire gouted high as the flames accepted Locke’s body.
“No!” The roar was hoarse with grief and thickened with rage. Magicless turned and saw Jobin’s face, his hands raised and flashing with power. Magicless threw himself to the side, sliding on the dirt and frantically scrambling for cover as an enormous spout of fire exploded from Jobin’s hands and engulfed the entire group of Ragers. He felt waves of heat buffet his face as he ducked behind a toppled carriage. He’d never seen anyone’s magefire reach so far or burn so hot. What they said about Jobin must be true, then. The Ragers screamed in agony, their bodies burning and dancing like a collection of torches. Magicless looked on, panting and spent, the fresh smoke stinging his eyes anew.
[ 4 ]
Jobin’s face was black and twisted, his mouth open wide in a rictus of fury. His arms were raised, his hands cricked
like claws. He continued burning the Ragers long after anything remained to burn.
Magicless huddled as the heat battered him relentlessly. The carriage began to smoke, and then to burn. Desperate, he looked around for another place to hide. He was slick with sweat—the heat was unbearable, scorching his lungs with every breath. His clothes and his body were as yet unburned despite the carriage behind him, but he knew he had to run, cover or not. If he stayed he would die.
As he was readying himself to run for the opposite side of the street, Magicless felt a sudden coolness surround him, shielding him from the flame. Alekka, he thought, whipping his head around. It had to be her. He jumped to his feet and ran while he could—he knew that the ward would only last mere minutes; she had to divert all her power towards Jobin, trying to break through his fury before he killed them all.
Magicless rolled in the dirt feverishly, attempting to dampen any embers that might have clung to him. He turned to watch as Alekka approached Jobin. Every inch of him cried out to help her, but he knew that he could do nothing but get in her way. He could see the shimmery blue shield surrounding her rippling, expanding, and contracting with her movements. Jobin’s magefire split where it hit Alekka’s shield and streamed around her, leaving her safely cocooned in a bubble of clear blue. He could see her lips move as she spoke to Jobin but could hear nothing of what was said. Jobin’s face remained twisted, his eyes hollow and his face blackened with smoke and rage. He gave no indication of hearing Alekka. The flames raging from his clawed hands continued undiminished.
