by Alisha Basso
Mistake. As one, thousands of snake heads turned to me. Cold mercury ran down my spine and froze, fusing my very bones.
Hissing, tongues undulating, the snakes slithered toward me, but not naturally. As if I blinked, the tangle moved in a step-zoom—snakes slithering far away, jump, snakes slithering closer, jump, snakes hissing in my face.
My flesh crawled. Scared little whimpers stuck in my throat. One of the snakes rippled down into the ground…and wrapped around my dirt-trapped ankles.
I screamed voicelessly.
But it was Wenkermann’s hand, tugging my ankle. Jones. His growl was muffled by the dirt. You can’t leave. I won’t let you go.
I tried to pull away, tangled with a second hand yanking at my other foot. Sucking me down, into the dirt. Panting, heart banging in my chest, I tried to shove myself up with my hands.
The snakes wound onto me, crushing and biting and stinging, a mass of rattlers and boas and asps. Poison seeped into my veins, burning sluggishly. Before my eyes, sickly green shot down my arms, twining the broken red vessels. My strength faltered. My skin turned muddy brown, then pure gray as death seeped through my body.
Amaia. Rafe’s strong mental voice cut through my terror. Get down. Now. A mental shove accompanied his words, so hard I dropped out of the nightmare into reality.
I fell flat on my belly on hard floor. Gray horror swirled above me. Acid rain spattered, burning, terrible, the pain like being cooked alive… I screamed.
It isn’t real. Rafe, standing strong in the center of the room, started glowing. He was pulling strands of something—so many glittering strands—gathering them in his hand, packing them in one after the other, packing energy into a ball as bright as a blue giant star. My eyes burned with tears. In the afterimage I saw his life far into the future, thousands of years.
He was packing life energy. His life. His irreplaceable life energy.
“Rafe, what are you doing? Don’t. It’s too big a sacrifice.” Too final.
“Nothing can stop them.” Wenkermann, the real one, was still kneeling next to Francie, his eyes shimmering too. “Nothing.”
I can, Rafe said. I can’t fight humans without hurting humanity, but I can do this.
I pleaded, “But the cost—let me help—”
It is most but not all. He flung the ball of his precious life at the nightmares. Most of his life, but not all. I clung to that.
The bright ball penetrated the horrors at their thickest point, where the images writhed with death and war and pestilence. Rafe’s life energy sank in, slowly, like a body sucked into a muddy bog.
And disappeared.
“It didn’t work.” Wenkermann started laughing like a maniac.
I closed my lids against hot grief. Millennia of Rafe’s life force, swallowed up whole. And for nothing. Nothing. Nothing—
High-pitched screams on the ethereal snapped my eyes open. The scorpions and zombies keened as blades of light slashed them to ribbons—from the inside.
Rafe’s life spiraled back out, growing bigger, brighter, whirling faster. The cockroaches and snakes writhed, burst into flame, curled to charred husks. The skeleton vomited bright gouts of jinni life.
Then it went supernova, exploding through the horrors in brilliant rays. It sparkled madly for what seemed like days.
When it was gone, so were the shades of the nightmare gods.
My tears turned to joy. “Rafe!” I looked to where he’d been standing.
His long braid was completely white. He swayed. Crumpled to his hands and knees.
But he was alive.
I struggled to my feet to go to him. I barely made it to my knees before exhaustion collapsed me. My lungs rasped like I was breathing acid. I gasped, lying on my side on the floor. What was going on? The nightmare gods were gone. The cancer? Not now, oh please.
The manacles, Rafe’s voice came, old, tired.
What? Rafe, what is it?
The manacles on the bed—they are permanent.
Yes but… The truth hit me with a horrid sense of déjà vu. How could I have missed it?
On entering the apartment, the burnt odor of destructive magic was so strong even I, a human, could smell it. Not hidden from me; not hidden from any mage. Despite the nightmares being gone, that sick odor was still thick—because it wasn’t recent. This miasma of terror and death had been here a long time, layer upon layer building month after month, perhaps year after year. Long enough that it had seeped into the very bones of the apartment.
The very bones of Wenkermann’s apartment.
With a nasty smile, Wenkermann yanked the knife from Francie’s belly. He swaggered over to Rafe, who was on his haunches, panting. Wenkermann swaggered.
With one hard swat to the back of the head he knocked Rafe over. Rafe fell onto his chin.
“No.” I sucked in a breath, used the press of air to strengthen myself, and managed to scramble to my hands and knees. I tried to crawl to Rafe but it was slow.
Rafe rolled to his side, and hit Wenkermann in the eye with his darkest, deadliest glare.
Wenkermann only laughed. Laughed. “Not so tough now, are you, jinni? What weakened you—Jones? Wouldn’t surprise me. Nice body, but not too bright.”
Rafe got his hands and feet under him and started to rise.
Wenkermann kicked him in the flank. The blow sent Rafe sprawling. Wenkermann stood over Rafe’s prone body, face red and ugly with gloating. “Francie and I tricked your little witch. We made her think I couldn’t be the enemy, and she fell for it. Dumb, but her power’s okay. How much magic could I steal by raping her, do you think? By killing her? By making her want it?”
“You bastard,” Rafe croaked.
“You thought you’d won, didn’t you? But it was both Francie and me all along, with me distracting the Center’s mages from detecting us, and them distracting the rest of the world. I have to admit, the strength of your Venus magic surprised me—if not for that, we’d have torn open the way by now. But that’s battle for you. Have a plan but be flexible.” He laughed. “Oh, I forgot. You don’t know shit about battle. I’m two steps ahead of you. Don’t even bother trying to stop me. All I need now is the sacrifice. Will I carve you?” He pointed at Rafe. “Or her?” The finger swung to me.
Rafe growled. “You touch her, and I will kill you.”
“How?” Wenkermann said. “You can’t even lift a finger right now. And I heard Jones before—you can’t use your power on me without hurting a whole lot of innocents. Even if you could, you wouldn’t. You won’t do a thing if I rape her or kill her…or both. Yeah, I like that.” He started for me.
Rafe’s eyes closed. Wenkermann laughed harder.
“Jinn magic is too broad,” Rafe whispered.
But I felt Rafe stripping away another year of his life. Two years. Three. “Wenkermann,” he said. “Last chance. Leave Amaia alone.”
“Amaia, is it?” The Chief turned to Rafe with a sneer. “You have feelings for her? A jinni soft on a human? Hot damn, it’ll make killing her even more fun.”
“You had your chance,” Rafe said softly.
“Rafe, stop.” I felt him compact the life energies like he had fighting the nightmares. “It’ll rebound on any humans near him on the ethereal plane. I’m dead anyway, but you’ll kill thousands of others.”
“The jinni’s bluffing.” Wenkermann grabbed me, pulled me to my feet—and tore apart my shirt.
It was unexpectedly invasive. I shoved his molesting hand away, grabbed the tatters together over my breasts.
“Am I bluffing? I am millennia old.” Rafe stumbled to his feet. “But even I can learn a new trick.”
“Hoorah for you.” Wenkermann dug under my hands, mauling me until I was sick with revulsion. Wenkermann said, “And I’m supposed to care, why?”
Rafe staggered toward us. “I saw the Earth as a tapestry recently. I saw that wizards were being killed.”
“So you figured out we were sacrificing wizards, so what?” Wenk
ermann pinched my breast viciously.
I shrieked and slapped at his hand. Rafe’s jaw clenched and death entered his eyes. He took another, stronger step nearer.
“Stop right there.” Wenkermann’s hand rose to my throat, threatening. “Too bad your little trick is too late.”
“That’s not the trick. Not the interesting one, anyway.” Rafe stopped inches from me, his face drawn and lined, his hair brittle and white, but his eyes black and snapping.
“All right, I’ll bite,” Wenkermann said. “What marvelous new trick did you learn?”
“This.” Rafe laid a hand gently on my breastbone and closed his eyes.
Power surged through me, sang along my nerves and lit up my sight on the ethereal. Rafe had released jinn magic. A sledgehammer to kill a fly, and I was in its path. I shook with the force of it. It gathered in my chest, bolted into my spine…and suddenly the fierce magic discharged, like static electricity, out my back—and into Wenkermann’s chest.
The Chief laughed. “You’re kidding, right? You can’t stop…stop…” He gasped, released me and staggered back. “I can’t…can’t breathe.”
“Hard to, with a rapid heartbeat.” Rafe wrapped me in the safe haven of his arms. His voice was low and angry. “Jinn magic is too broad-gauged. But human magic isn’t—and Amaia reminded me how to be human. I saw you kill wizards, Wenkermann. Individual wizards. I saw, not a blur of humanity, but unique human lives.
“And what I can see I can target. I hit you with ventricular tachycardia. One bump will turn it into fibrillation. Death, if you don’t…stop…now.” Rafe’s chin fell to the top of my head, and his words degenerated into panting.
“You bastard,” Wenkermann rasped. “You think you’ve won? You’ll never win now. Even if you kill me, the masters will resurrect me!”
I shuddered. Wenkermann as a human was bad enough. Resurrected as an evil puppet? My blood ran cold.
“The nightmare gods won’t raise you.” Rafe lifted his chin from my head. “They’ll eat you.”
“You’re bluffing.” Wenkermann was gasping. “You won’t kill me. Murder sucks energy like a vacuum. In your weakened state? You’ll die.”
“Rafe, he’s right. You can’t do it.” I turned in his arms to pet his panting chest. “You can’t die.”
“I must finish this, Amaia. For humanity. For you.” Rafe set me aside with gentle hands.
His jaw was firm as he drove the heel of his hand into Wenkermann’s breastbone.
Wenkermann’s face crumpled. He fell to his knees, gasping like a fish, his face dead white. Rafe fell next to him, panting almost as hard.
Inches away, I trembled. Part of me wanted Wenkermann dead, with need so vicious it scared me.
But the cost was horrific. Rafe would die too, with murder on his slate. Wenkermann wasn’t worth it.
I needed to save Wenkermann’s life.
Reluctantly, I reached out on the mental plane, forming the start of a rhythm incantation in my head, hoping he wasn’t beyond help, yet hoping he was.
He wasn’t dead, but he was dying.
Suddenly I was awash in pain. Dark, hard pain, like a fist balled in my chest. My head spun, and I couldn’t breathe.
Dying, just like my parents.
The incantation fell from my head. I tried to call it back but my mind was empty.
Failure.
I gritted my teeth. I didn’t have to use an incantation to shock his heart back into rhythm. I could use pure power. I reached into my bucket to spin up an arrow of adrenaline…the bucket was empty.
Failure. This time the accusation engulfed me, my past ringing into a horrible present. I pushed it away, breathed past the fear and reached deep into my personal well of magic. I spooled the bucket down, reeled it back.
Nothing remained.
Utter failure. It flooded me, so thick I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t been enough of a hero to save my parents, and I wasn’t even enough to keep a villain alive. Grief stabbed me, sharp. My heart cried with it. Anguished filled my eyes.
A teardrop emerged, sparkling with magic.
My heart jumped. Hope comes in strange forms—daffodils blooming in the snow, a drop of magic in the desert of sorrow. It’s all around us, but we have to work to see it.
In this case I wondered if it was hope or insanity.
I touched the drop. It twinkled. Holding my breath, I gently drew out its magic. Formed it into a small ruby needle. With a wave, I sent the needle into Wenkermann’s rapidly beating heart.
It slowed to a normal pace.
“Bitch.” Wenkermann stumbled to his feet. “You think you’ve saved me. You’re such a dreamer. The nightmares will win.” He raised Francie’s sacrificial knife—and plunged it into his own belly.
“No!” Rafe leaped for Wenkermann.
For a split second I stood frozen in horror. The Prick spell was still active. If Rafe touched the knife he’d release jinn blood into the sacrifice.
Rafe must’ve realized the same thing because at the last instant he twisted away.
At the same moment Wenkermann threw a blast of magic at Rafe, with a crack so loud it rang in my ears. Rafe was already weakened and off-balance, and Wenkermann hit him in his base chakra, the psychic equivalent of not a knee to the groin but a mortar to it.
In a sizzle of burnt flesh, Rafe collapsed.
Wenkermann regripped the obsidian knife…and slit down. Blood drooled, then gushed.
My feet unfroze. I stumbled to grab Wenkermann’s wrist. I felt the Prick spell consider me, then stay with Wenkermann. I tried to stop him. My palms got slimy with his blood. My heart thundered in my ribs.
He was too strong. He kept sawing until his guts spilled out.
Right before he died, Chief Wizard Arnie Wenkermann looked into my eyes—and grinned.
Sacrifice, pain, and madness. Doom was upon us.
The nightmare gods tore through the membrane of the universe, burst into being fully formed. Real. Far too real.
Pain exploded in my head. Blood trickled out my nostrils. I fell to my face, keening.
The screams of millions echoed in my ears.
** Rafe **
Rafe stared, horror-stricken, as Arnie Wenkermann died. Blood, madness and death—powerful enough to counter even jinn sacrifice. The veil between chaos and the ordered universe tore. Humanity careened irrevocably into sheer terror.
The nightmare gods spewed forth, a fountain of glittering death.
Every part of Rafe’s body hurt, and he was exhausted. But he knew he had only a few seconds before terror and destruction would overwhelm everyone, freeze any decision, any action.
Strip away free will for every being, including him.
Even so, his first instinct was to protect Amaia. She would be frightened, as lost and alone as when her parents died.
It was wrong. Hesitating, even out of concern for her, would sign all their death warrants. He had to use every tool and every second to fight.
He reached out for her anyway. He didn’t question the wisdom of it, just stretched out a mental hand and touched her.
Amaia. I love you.
Her roiling fears calmed. Rafe, I…I love you too.
For the first time in his life, Rafe connected completely. In the soil of that connection, despite the horror of the nightmare gods, a flower blossomed on the ethereal.
A bright golden daffodil.
It shocked him with how right it felt. As if, before this, he’d had lungs, but no air to breathe. A heart, without blood to pump. As if, before connecting with Amaia, he hadn’t really been living at all.
Before, sacrificing his life had meant nothing to him, because his life meant nothing. But in that moment of complete connection with Amaia, meaning came to his life. Now he wanted urgently to live. Giving up his life now meant giving up Amaia, his everything.
In that moment, his death became a true sacrifice. One he made gladly, for her.
Rafe peeled away the strips of his life,
every last one. He smiled as he did it, because he knew finally that he wasn’t like his father at all.
Swirling the strands together, Rafe twisted them into a rope. He fed all his life and power into the rope, expanding it on both the physical and ethereal planes. He twirled that rope of life around the room, around the apartment. Circled the building, the city. The world. He spun the shining lasso of his life until it looped and swirled around the slaughtering, gorging nightmare gods.
When it orbited them like a prison of Saturn’s rings, he poured the last of his power and the very last of his life into the rope—and yanked it tight.
And Rafe died.
* * *
I…I love you too. I somehow managed the sanity to send that thought before the horrors surged anew and the pain that had become my existence engulfed me.
Rafe plucked out the last thread of his life, trying to trap the nightmare gods. I felt it. He worked a magic that encompassed the whole of humanity, the whole of jinn kind. Trying to save us from the end of laughter and sunshine, of peace and love.
Rafe sacrificed the last of his powerful life to free us. I felt him die.
It wasn’t enough.
I screamed screamed screamed until my voice was raw and my mind was numb.
I fell silent, screamed out. The silence in the aftermath was almost like peace, if a cold one. At least the nightmare gods were no longer in my head.
Memory jabbed through the silence at me. Memory of a job, a purpose. Saving…something. Someone. Numb, I worked open my place of magic.
Why bother? Don’t. Doubt whispered, fear deadened.
But thousands of hours of training cracked me through. I emerged into the astral.
The nightmares struggled against the lasso of Rafe’s life. Still in our universe, but trapped, like the monster under the bed or the shadows swirling in the corner of your eye.
Nearby, drifting on the colorless sea of the ethereal, was the astral body of Arnie Wenkermann, and a dirty, moth-eaten soul he was. He grinned at me. “So, you’re still alive. Are you still sane?”
