by David Estes
Chaos. It’s the only all-encompassing word to describe the scene I find myself in. Suddenly my sword isn’t my only weapon, although I’m still forced to slash it from side to side constantly, until my biceps and forearms are screaming for respite. No, my most important weapon becomes the innate Resistance I have to the magic swirling around me. Pyros launch fireballs and I turn them back, sending them crashing into the animals, lighting their fur on fire. The Volts’ lightning bolts suddenly change direction when I want them to, angling off harmlessly into the ground or frying the insides of one of their allies. When a Destroyer tries to send a petrification spell at a young child curled in a ball crying for her mother, I reverse the spell back at him, turning him to stone.
When adrenaline pushes my body to its absolute limits, I dive between two Pyros advancing on a trio of humans, sending their well-aimed fireballs spinning away, erupting into flame when they hit the broadside of a black bear that’s in the process of mauling a group of Reanimates clawing at its face. Turning toward the threesome, I immediately recognize them as Cameron Hardy, his wife, and their daughter. The girl is in tears, and my heart seems to fold in half. On this day alone, the poor girl has had enough terror for a lifetime. “God,” Cameron says, his face contorted with horror.
“God hasn’t abandoned us yet,” I say. “And neither have the magic-born.”
Two more fireballs bounce toward us and, raising a hand, I stop them in midair, letting them hover, casting orange flickering light on the Hardy family.
“Why are you helping us?” Cameron says, the politician stripped from him, leaving an earnest, scared man.
“You already know the answer to that question,” I say, thrusting the fireballs back at the two Pyros. Although they’re immune to the magical fire, the force of the impact rocks them back, sending them ten feet into the air and twenty feet in reverse, where they crumple to the ground amidst an eruption of flames. “Go,” I say to Cameron and his family, and they run, retreating behind the wall of Necros and their creations, who are doing everything in their power to protect the humans that hate them, willing to die if necessary.
And many of them are, succumbing to the brutality of the attack, killing and being killed in at least equal number.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and I whirl around, slashing my sword toward my attacker, stopping inches from his neck. “Xave?” I say. “I could’ve killed you.” My chest is heaving, a Category 5 hurricane, my heart smashing itself to pieces in my chest.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I need your help.”
The battle swirling around us, we snake our way through the melee to a massive pile of flesh. Humans stacked on humans—a pyramid of death. I recoil at the sight, not in disgust—although I feel that, too—but in anger, hot biting rage pounding through me. Anger at Hardy for putting our people in this situation. Anger at Flora and her army for carrying out her plan of destruction.
I grab Xave’s shoulder and pull his face close to mine, my eyes boring into his. “What are you doing?” I demand. Why did you bring me here?
“Please,” he says. “I have only one weapon. Protect me while I use it.”
Right away I know what he means and I know that this, above everything else, is my real test. I’ll accept help from the Necros but I don’t want to watch them use their magic, don’t want to understand it. I’d rather be oblivious and ignorant.
The funny thing is, the first thoughts that come to mind are the lessons Mr. Jackson taught me about Necros, back when Laney and I were imprisoned in the Necro dungeons. It takes a week for every year of life of the corpse you’re trying to raise. Building an army of Reanimates takes time. “You can raise them immediately?” I ask, already knowing the answer to my question. Xave is a prodigy even amongst his own magic-wielding people.
He nods. “Defend me.”
I spot Floss and a small group of her witch hunters fighting nearby. I call her name and she turns their course toward us, losing a handful of her warriors along the way, but eventually reaching our side. “Help me, help him,” I say. She nods quickly, immediately understanding, shouting orders to her troops, who immediately react like a well-trained army.
The magic-born attack in droves, throwing themselves at us with considerable force. But we’re not alone. The Reaper appears with dozens of Necros by his side, and along with the witch hunters, we form a ring around Xave and his pile o’ corpses, fighting off the enemy. I glance back whenever I have the chance, something drawing me to the spectacle I’ve typically avoided ever since witnessing Xave’s reanimated version of Beth.
It’s not what I expected. Although it starts kind of creepy, as Xave hauls the dead from the pile, lining them up, closing their eyes, and smearing dark paste on their eyelids, the next thing he does surprises me. He kneels before them, almost as if in prayer, laying his hands on each of their heads, whispering words that seem intended for each individual body. And when he does, a light appears, starting from their eyes, which flash open, and running down the lengths of their bodies, as if bringing each muscle, each tendon, each bone, and each limb back to life. The glow from their flesh is heavenly, like the light from the sun, moon, and stars combined into a single perfect moment of convergence. Vibrantly colored mist swirls around them, seeming to infuse itself in their skin. While I suspect the magic of the other Necros is dark and creepy and crude, I realize in this moment that what Xave is able to do can only be described as beautiful. Fear of the unknown and misunderstood will almost certainly lead to prejudice. Sometimes being open-minded is as simple as opening your eyes to that which you don’t understand.
The Reanimates push to their feet, no longer bloody and broken but whole again, and are quickly provided with weapons, facing Xavier Jackson, who stands before them, completely in control. There are children and fathers and mothers, young and old, strong and weak. They may have lost the fight, but now they have a chance to fight again, to defend their people even after death. And there’s no doubt who their master is, who they’ll follow. “Fight for me!” Xave says. Their mouths gape open and they roar their assent. Our circle of protection dissolves, and the new troop of Reanimates pour out and into the battle, hurling themselves with reckless abandon at the enemy, tearing and slicing and killing anyone who dares oppose them.
Xave’s eyes meet mine between the press of reborn bodies, and I fight my way to his side. “Thank you,” he says.
I nod. “It wasn’t what I expected,” I admit. “It was…beautiful.” Xave can’t hide the pride on his face, nor should he. I know the battle is waiting for us, but there’s something I have to know, just in case one or both of us doesn’t make it through the day. “What do you whisper to them?” I ask.
He grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. “I give their souls a choice,” he says.
“What choice?”
Xave’s eyes seem to suck me in. “Whether to give their bodies to me. If they say no, then I bury them whenever I’m able to. You gave me the idea.”
I’m flabbergasted. “But they all rose,” I say, referring to the group of Reanimates I’d just witnessed.
“Yes,” he says, releasing my hand. “They all said yes, as they usually do.” He pulls away, striding after his Reanimates, raising a curved silver dagger.
That’s when I realize how wrongly I’ve judged the Necros. How wrongly I’ve judged Xave, the one person who I should have been open minded about. Feeling a fresh burst of energy, I lose sight of him as we dive back into the fray, stepping over bodies and cutting down our foes.
And yet, despite the unbelievable control I suddenly feel over the situation, we’re slowly being overpowered, the bodies of Necros and Claires piling up amongst re-dead Reanimates. I spot the Reaper amongst a pitifully small group of Necros and Reanimates. His sword is blazing, even as I see his lips uttering spells to control his undead warriors. Behind him, Xave is bent over a corpse, smearing black paste on its eyes, preparing it for reanimation. An elephant, its skin pocked with bullet holes
and stuck with blades, blasts through the group, trampling them like crap under its enormous hooves.
Mr. Jackson narrowly escapes being crushed, grabbing Xave by the collar of his cloak and diving to one side. When Mr. Jackson looks up, his eyes find mine and he waves me into retreat. I shake my head no, and turn away. They can run—in fact, they should run—but I cannot.
Flora’s fanged grin meets me when I turn. “Going somewhere?” she says, waving the few magic-born away when they stop to watch. They scurry off, following the battle, which is moving away as the humans, Necros, and Claires flee toward the other side of the field, in full retreat now. Our only chance is to kill their leader and stop this insanity.
“No,” I say. “Never again.”
A bright form streaks from the side, pushing me behind her. Tara blocks my path to the panther. And she screams.
I feel a moment of pure exhilaration, where I know our enemy’s leader is dead-freaking-meat, but it passes when I hear the panther’s haunting laugh. Tara turns to me, her eyes wide, crystal blue springs on a summer day, her cherry red lips parting as she says, “I’m sorry I failed you.” A trickle of blood drips from her mouth and she falls, disappearing in a cylinder of blinding white light.
Blinking away the spots dancing across my vision, I’m stunned, motionless, trying to figure out what the hell could’ve possibly happened, who could’ve stopped the Claire’s scream from reaching its target.
My vision clears and I see her, strong and fierce and determined.
Rain Carter.
My sister.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Laney
We push through the thick tufts of brittle grass just in time to see Rain Carter step forward, face to face with Rhett. And Rhett can’t possibly know she’s his sister, that she’s more than just the third Resistor working with his enemy.
I have to tell him before he does something he’ll regret later. I start to move forward, but Hex paws at my leg, stopping me. “What is it, boy?” I ask.
Bil Nez says, “I think he wants you to follow him.”
I shake my head. Although I trust Hex with my life, there’s no time for this. Someone has to warn Rhett. “I’ll go to Rhett,” Bil says quickly. “It’s my responsibility.”
Bil’s willing to throw himself into the heart of danger? I force the shock off my face. In the short time I’ve known him, Bil’s changed for the better. “Be safe,” I say, squeezing his shoulder. “Hex and I will come when we can.”
Without another word, Bil strides from hiding, raising his voice. “Hey, buddy! You miss me?”
Hex doesn’t waste another moment, plowing through the undergrowth, wending a path that somehow keeps us away from danger, but close enough that I can hear everything that’s said.
Flora’s screeching voice says, “Bil Nez, how nice of you to join us. Have you come to your senses?”
“Bil? Thank God,” Rhett says, and I feel a swell in my chest. “Where’s Laney?”
Here! I want to scream, but I remain silent.
“Safe,” Bil says. I can’t help peeking through the grass again, although Hex paws urgently at my leg once more. Bil turns to Flora, who’s prowling back and forth, her tail flicking around Rain’s stone-cold face. “And yes, I’ve come to my senses. I’m going to help Rhett kill you.”
I linger for one moment longer, just enough time to take in Rhett’s face, which is strong and defiant—the face of a hero. A hero who’s most likely about to try to kill his own sister. C’mon, Bil, I think. Let the cat out of the bag before it rips it to shreds!
Flora laughs, and it sounds like she’s genuinely amused. I pull myself away from the scene to follow Hex, who’s found a clear path that circles around to the opposing corner of the main battleground.
The world seems to open up as the tall grass disappears. I shrink back, trying to hide from the enormous wizard we saw earlier, who is standing as still as if he’s been petrified by one of the Destroyers, his arms over his head. But no, he can’t see us, his eyes rolled back in his head, only the whites showing, like twin cue balls on a pool table.
Is this our mission? I wonder. To kill the dark wizard? Why us? Why him? My eyes search Hex’s, and he motions with his head, not to the wizard, but past, beyond, to where Rhett and Bil stand across from Flora and Rain.
Rhett says, “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” his words clearly directed at Rain.
“The world must be reborn,” Rain says, her voice distant, like the echo of a thunderstorm.
Rhett points his sword at her. “I’ll kill you if I have to,” he says. His wording is strange, as if he doesn’t really want to do it. But why? Because she’s human? I don’t know why it would matter to him if she’s helping Flora. Unless…
“Rhett,” Bil says, “there’s something you need to know about her.”
…he already knows.
“She’s my sister,” Rhett says, confirming my guess. Bil fires a surprised look his way, but Rhett’s concentration is completely on the girl he somehow knows to be his sister. Mr. Jackson, I realize. He must’ve told him. It’s the only way he could know. Would he really kill her? Even if it helps us win this battle, this war, will he be the same afterwards? Will he be able to live with himself? All of these questions rush through my mind in a shattered instant, sparkling like shards of glass under direct sunlight in my mind’s eye.
The questions are obliterated when Hex barks, pulling my attention back to the wizard.
The truth hits me like a slap in the face. Why the wizard is always hovering nearby Rain Carter. Why her voice sounds so robotic and distant. Why Rain is doing what she’s doing. It seems impossible because she’s a Resistor, but being a Resistor doesn’t mean you’re invincible to magic. Bil Nez taught me that, when he told us his story of how he was nearly enslaved by a Siren.
The wizard, finally sensing our presence, turns, his emerald green eyes sparking as they seem to cut me to the core. Human filth! Betrayer! You disgust me! You are the vomit that spews from the mouths of the guilty!
Although I’m dimly aware that his sharp rebukes are in my head and are meant as some kind of an attack, sending daggers through my skull, I can’t move. I’m frozen, powerless against his dark magic. I try to move my lips, to shout a warning to Rhett, but they’re frozen, too. I can move my eyes, but only barely, twitching them to the side to watch Rhett take a step forward, his sword glittering menacingly in the moonlight.
“Yow’d kill yowr own sister?” Flora asks. “And you call me the sick one.”
Rhett’s teeth are grinding, and I’ve seen that look of determination before. It’s the one where he can’t be denied, where he’ll do whatever he has to do. He’s going to kill his sister, not knowing that the dark wizard is controlling her.
Remembering one time when Rhett described how he’s able to Resist magic, I strain against the wizard’s spell with my mind, with my soul, with every muscle and bone and blood cell in my body. My body feels as if it’s breaking in two, snapping like a twig—I’m no Resistor. I’m just a weaponless, pathetically weak human. An ant to be stepped on. A fly to be swatted.
My lips quiver and then move. My tongue rolls from side to side. And then I scream.
“Rhettttttt!” And again, even louder. “Rhetttt Carterrrrr!”
The wizard’s eyes widen with surprise at the same instant that Rhett’s head snaps around, finding me. I fall to my knees, no longer frozen but exhausted, my arms and legs like rubber. “Laney?” Rhett says, and I manage to blurt out, “The wizard is controlling your sister.”
“What? No?” Flora says, but it’s already too late to deny it.
Rhett drags his gaze from me to his sister. “You can fight it,” he says to her. “You are strong.”
Flora bounds forward, claws flashing, but Rhett swipes his sword and she’s forced to dance just out of reach, snarling.
“The humans must die,” Rain says, her voice like ice. Rhett’s efforts are futile—the wizard’s
grasp on her like an iron fist compared to the mere pinch he used to control me for a moment.
“Rain, please,” Rhett says, continuing to hold Flora off with his blade. “Look at me.” The concentration on his face is so complete it’s like a mask, as if he’s sending her his own strength, his own Resistance. Slowly, her eyes seem to zone in on his, and her face twitches slightly.
“I—I—” she stutters, her voice sounding confused. Confused but normal. Like a teenage girl and not a brainwashed psychopath.
“You are strong,” Rhett repeats.
The brief flash of light in her eyes dissolves and she says, “The Master is the only strong one.”
Flora howls with laughter and victory, but then suddenly stops, her mouth contorting in surprise. “Yow!” she says. “Yow should be dead!”
I drag my tired eyes in the direction of her gaze. No, I think. Please, no.
Martin Carter limps toward us, using a gnarled branch as a cane, leaning heavily on it. His appearance is even worse than when I left him sleeping, like he’s a hundred years old, his skin sagging from his face, which is covered with dark, tired bruises. His hair is completely gone. He looks half-starved, his once strong arms and legs as thin as the knobby stick that’s supporting his weight.
“Dad?” Rhett says, his face filled with horror. “You’re—you’re—”
