by K. V. Wilson
The forests had only just begun to expand
An’ the winds were rugged and the sands of time had
Yet to materialize
Over their majestic scape of terra
They were born of the ashes
Of the Great Spirit itself
They were tasked with one thing an’ one thing only
To bring balance to the planet
They would ride the swells and delve into the depths of the land
They would risk it all, and once they met their end
They would begin anew
For a spirit never dies
They had no names. Not then
They had no faces, no physical manifestations
Nor a language to call their own
But they would become great in time
The wolf, the raven, and the dragon
Evanescent spirits
Following the ebb and flow of nature
All they had was each other
The Three
It is at this point that I pause and reconsider. Having built me world upon the Three – meself, Nwyfre, and Ru-Yeva, I had gleaned all knowledge of the spiritual world from me two companions and none other.
But there are many more than just us three.
A soldier advances and I knock him aside with a buffet of wind, smiling sadly at the look upon his face when he realizes he was bested by someone with twice his girth.
But it is time to stop livin’ in the past – a difficult feat fer one so bloody old as I am – an’ start thinkin’ o’ the bigger impact of the Earthen spirits. Fer there are not, and never were, just three of us.
All they had was each other, I continue, feeling the heat of flames upon me claws as I rake them across the chest of an enemy, sending him flailing in agony.
The infinite
The Spiritborne
Will again arise
For a spirit never dies
And so the prophecy of the Three becomes the prophecy of the infinite: the true Ballad of the Spiritborne. The spirits of Earth would know no number, fer we are all spirits in essence. All Guardians of Earth in some way or another.
An’ anyone who threatens the balance of our dear planet is going down.
Patty deflects blow after blow, stepping flawlessly around the battlefield to avoid Nessie’s advances.
He is merely toying with her. She has been out of practice fer sixteen years, and it is solely his fault.
I Shift into human form and build up a wall of fire and air, using it as a shield as a flurry of arrows flies at me from above. I circle me hands above me head, extending the barrier to protect Nessie and two nearby Yeva’si. They gasp in surprise as the volley disintegrates before their eyes, nodding at me in gratitude. I give them a quick salute before continuing on.
“Die, already!” Nessie gasps, stabbing at Patercius.
He strikes the tip of her blade with his, using her momentum to guide her weapon away from his heart. Grinning with malice, the saint swings Adhair towards her neck. I mobilize me barrier and leap forward, knocking Nessie aside and causing the sword to strike against me air-shield instead. It nearly breaks through, giving me quite the blow on the shoulder.
Mo chreach! I didn’t think that’d work!
Reaching forward with lightning speed, I snatch the hand that grasps me blade, wrestling with it until Patty takes a tumble upon the sodden ground. I plant me bare foot upon his own sword as I wrench Adhair from his grip.
“I believe ye’ve been keeping something o’ mine, Patercius,” I sneer, aiming the sword at his blackened heart. “An’ I’ve finally returned to reclaim it. Now, ye son of a ruddy goat, it’s time ye truly saw what this blade is capable of.”
Patercius scoffs. “You think you’re stronger than I am? You think yourself worthy of such a weapon?”
I grin, twisting the blade upon his chest so it cuts through his tunic and gnaws at the mail beneath.
“It is true; I am not worthy of harnessing Adhair. The flimsiest of elements cannot be controlled. It has a will of its own. But as with anything on this planet, when nurtured and guided, it can do great things.”
The Loch Ness Monster juts her chin out at me, indicating I should finish the job. “Stop blabberin’ and destroy him,” she whispers.
“As fer your question, Patty, do I think meself worthy of such a weapon?”
Patercius raises an eyebrow at me, not minding in the slightest that he’s got a blade aimed at his heart. He shrugs nonchalantly, but I can smell his fear; I can sense the agitation deep within his spirit.
I chuckle humourlessly. “Aye, that I do. Fer I created Adhair. I forged her. And from the time o’ her birth, she knew her destiny was to end you.”
And with that, I plunge the blade deep into Saint Patrick’s chest.
57
RIGHTEOUSNESS
Skye
I gasp as a blinding brilliance bathes the night. Glancing around, I tentatively search the area in an attempt to locate nearby spirits. And suddenly, as soon as it had arrived, the light is gone.
I blink twice to adjust to the darkness; all torches have been snuffed and the only light comes from the moon and stars. Soldiers and shapeshifters alike cry out in surprise, falling back as they attempt to get their bearings.
But…where is Patercius?
“He’s gone!” Flint roars above the murmurs of nearby souls. “Your ruthless leader, Saint Patrick, is dead!”
The Knights stare at the great dragon, hoisting their weapons as they prepare to fight or flee.
“We have re-taken Conwy!” Aelshen growls, raising Adhair above his head and waving it proudly. “Ye have no place here! Crawl back to yer mammies and tell ‘em ye’ve failed!”
Suddenly, a throat clears and ice seeps into my heart at the sound of a familiar voice.
“A bit premature, don’t you think?”
Whirling around, I meet the gaze of the spirits’ greatest enemy. He stands before us – flesh and blood and very much alive.
“Your freedom is not so easily won,” Patercius remarks, twirling his weapon in front of his face and examining the blade nonchalantly. Flint’s blood drips from the tip, glowing in the brilliance of the moonlight.
“I killed ye,” Aelshen gasps. “Plunged me blade right into yer heart. Why aren’t ye dead, ye maggot?”
“So optimistic,” Patercius says with a low cackle.
His form flickers and I narrow my eyes. He doesn’t appear entirely solid; instead, he exhibits a quality unlike any living thing. His body nearly shimmers with what could only be energy.
I Shift from dragon to human and send my palm alight with flames. “You’re not a vampire, are you? Anybody got a stake?”
This sends Patercius into a fit of laughter as his deep, dark pits stare directly into my eyes. “Seen too many movies, huh, girl? You truly think me evil? You live in a backwards world, demon. Go on; make your move.”
Aelshen snorts. “Tell us. How come ye aren’t dead an’ gone?”
“I embody all that is good in the world. I am Light itself. Pure righteousness.”
“Yer a rogue priest, is what ye are.” Aelshen scoffs. “Capital punishment is nary a righteous deed.”
Patercius glances at his Knights with disdain. Once steadfast and numerous, the remaining men have been sent into corners. They now begin to step out, blades aimed at the shapeshifters. Lycan, Yeva’si, and Ddraig boast drooped shoulders and exhausted expressions.
Patercius survived a death blow and he looks strong as ever.
My eyes widen as I locate something eerily familiar deep within the heart of my greatest enemy.
The energy of the earth resides within Saint Patrick. Not the light
of heaven as he believes, but of the planet itself.
I gulp.
“Hey!” I roar, raising my palm and encouraging the firelight so it illuminates a larger swath of sodden grass. Rainfall still lances down, but my flames are not hampered; instead, they grow stronger with each step I take towards the saint.
Nessie and Flint flank me, just a few steps behind. I gulp, taking note of Flint’s injured forearm; the fight had taken its toll on the young dragon.
Patercius raises his eyebrows at me. “You wish to speak your final words?”
“Saint Patrick. You lived hundreds of years ago. And you live now, reincarnated as a young man. Your soul is dark, but within it resides the energy of the earth.” I glance sideways at him, allowing my lips to curl into a sad smile. “Your spirit feels a lot like ours, I must admit.”
“I am nothing like you,” Patercius spits, raising his sword to point it at my heart.
“Looks like she struck a nerve there, Patty.” Aelshen chuckles without humour for the first time in his life.
I ignore their banter and close in on the foe little by little, aware that all eyes are on me.
“You are everything we are,” I tell him matter-of-factly, “however you are much less. Because you reject the spiritual world. You are unwilling to believe we shapeshifters could be anything more than the way you see us: demons.”
The saint scoffs, narrowing his eyes as he takes a step towards me. I halt, awaiting his advance.
“Violent, merciless, grotesque beings with no love for humanity. Fire and rage burn in your eyes,” he adds, glancing towards Elspeth, who certainly isn’t helping matters. The immense scarlet dragon is scarcely able to hold herself in place. Ramsey – still in dragon form himself – silently pleads with her not to get involved.
Aelshen clears his throat. “We—”
“No!” Patercius holds up his free hand. “You have said enough. You have ravaged our villages since day one. Torn out our throats and murdered our children before our eyes.”
“So have you!” I snarl. “You have done the same to us! When does this end?”
“Now!” the priest snaps. “We must end the demonic bloodlines and eradicate the likes of you from this world. You fly above us on the leathery wings of Hell, bringing about death and destruction. Fire-breathing monstrosities killed my family. Tore them to pieces. I was but a child then, and I swore to bring them down, to drive the snakes from this earth once and for all.
“For generations, for centuries I have endeavoured to bring justice and righteousness to this world. And it will come.”
“You are a spirit, Patty,” Aelshen says softly, catching on to my train of thought. “You have a connection to the earth. Feel that connection, the synthesis of—”
“Quiet, monster!” Saint Patrick roars. “We won’t rest until you are destroyed. Like I said before, you carry yourselves upon the grotesque leathery wings of Hell itself, and I intend to sever such bonds.”
A sudden flash of light – nearly as brilliant as the first – illuminates the night and I attempt to track Saint Patrick’s spirit in the intensity. But to no avail.
“Here,” a voice breathes and as our eyes adjust to the darkness once again, Patercius stands at Ramsey’s side.
With one lithe leap, he lands upon the great dragon’s back, raising his sword. Ramsey cries out and attempts to shake the attacker free, but within moments, the blade is brought down upon his wing, slicing clean to the bone.
“No!” Flint roars, launching into the air and transforming into his favoured form. “Release him!”
Patercius’ laughter echoes across the bailey as Flint lands – less than gracefully – in front of Saint Patrick and his reluctant mount.
The great dragon snarls, jaws snapping as he attempts to rid Ramsey of the parasite on his back. Patercius yawns, twirling his sword and ignoring Flint’s advances.
He’s been playing with us all along. The moment Flint gets a hit in, Patercius will just disappear into a flash of light again.
The elderly dragon cries out in agony, flailing in an unsuccessful attempt to free himself. His wife rears up on her haunches, sending her jaws alight with white-hot flames. But even Elspeth has the presence of mind not to imbue the soldier with fire, lest she harms Ramsey in the process. She swipes at Patercius with her claws, screaming out as the blade comes down upon her foreleg. The dragon leaps back, preparing for another blow, but it’s too late.
Nwyfre launches himself at the saint, but with one last swipe of the sword, Ramsey’s wings fall limp at his sides, the lightweight bone snapping. The elder collapses, roaring in agony, and falls unconscious.
Another flash of light ensues and Flint crashes to the ground on Ramsey’s other side, groaning as he wildly searches the bailey for Patercius.
“One fewer demon to tarnish the skies,” the Knight crows, raising his voice so all can hear. I blink as he reappears in front of the unconscious Ramsey and injured Elspeth. “I have shown you mercy tonight by solely ridding you of your wings. When next we meet, all of your bonds shall be severed. By the light that guides me, I shall see it done.”
Saint Patrick gathers up the broken wings of the elderly dragon, hoisting them up in his arms.
“I’ll say hello to your sister for you, Ru-Yeva.”
I gasp, my heart coming to a standstill as yet another brilliant flash of light ensues. I plant my feet firmly on the ground, preparing myself for another onslaught.
But it doesn’t come.
When the light clears and the moon illuminates the keep of Conwy castle once again, Patercius is gone as if he’d never existed.
The Knights and Covenant soldiers madly scramble towards the exit, whereas the Lycans, Yeva’si, and dragons stand their ground, staring at Ramsey in horror.
“Ramsey!” Elspeth screams as she Shifts into her human form. “What has that bastard done to ye?! Yer wings!” She cries in anguish, scanning his injuries.
“He will live,” Aelshen emits softly, approaching the duo with trepidation. He places a palm on Ramsey’s scaly skin, calling to the spirit world to heal the great dragon’s injuries.
“He will never fly again!” Elspeth roars, rounding upon the Spiritborne. “What have ye done? Ye could’ve stopped him!”
Aelshen gulps but stands steadfast against the wrath of the old dragon. “If I had intervened, Patty may have done worse, Mrs. Andarsen. Now allow me to heal ‘im.”
“True,” Flint adds, Shifting back to human form and grimacing at the depth of his own wounds. “He is ruthless, and he will pay for this. Oh, by the First Guardian, Patercius will suffer,” the great beast whispers dangerously through clenched teeth.
I gulp at his words, ignoring the flames in the sixteen-year-old’s eyes. “He’s certainly got a skewed sense of right and wrong,” I add, scanning the bailey for Conall. I hadn’t seen him since we’d taken down Tyrone together.
Tyrone.
The father of my half-sister.
“Red,” Conall breathes from behind me. I turn to face him, probing his consciousness for signs of injury.
He grits his teeth, cradling his shoulder. Dark liquid seeps from the wound and I draw upon the earth’s energy to begin the healing process. His lips brush against mine but I’m unable to return the gesture. Tears are streaming down my face.
“Thirteen. I’m glad you’re alright,” I whisper and he nods, placing a hand upon mine as I struggle to heal him. My knees wobble with exhaustion but I take a deep breath, intent on finishing the job.
“I’m glad you are, too. And glad that Ramsey’s alive.” He swallows, glancing at the limp
form before us. “But…are you okay, really?” he inquires, eyebrows raised as he attempts to read my expression.
“I have a half-sister. The daughter of my mother and my mother’s killer. And she’s with them. She’s on his side.”
“She can’t know,” Conall breathes. “She doesn’t know what really happened to your mom.”
I gulp, brushing a hand across my eyes to stem the flow of tears. “What if she does? What if she…agreed with it?”
The Lycan’s ocean eyes grow dark as the night reaches its blackest point. “Then she’s just as lost as Patercius is.”
58
BALANCE
Skye
“Where’s my daughter?” my father demands as he stalks across the sodden bailey.
Nwyfre’s flames still rage at the edges of the lawn and I avert my eyes from the fallen bodies that litter the castle grounds. There are much fewer spirits in the vicinity; many of them had winked out in the last hour of battle.
I sink onto the muddied grass, wincing as I work on healing the gashes the soldiers’ blades and arrows had torn into my scaly hide. I’m reduced to a puddle of uselessness, so exhausted from the pull on my energy stores and that of the earth that I can barely sit up straight.
Damn it. Really shouldn’t have Shifted; the wounds have torn open again.
“Leave ‘er be, Matthews. Please. She’s been through a lot.” Aelshen is already fully-clothed and standing his ground as the alpha approaches us.
“No thanks to you!”
My dad sputters as he stares down the Father of Lycans. The alpha’s fangs begin to elongate, causing beads of blood to form at his lower lip.
“Keep away from my daughter, Mac Tíre,” he snarls. “I rushed here as soon as Xunnu told me Skye was in danger. If anything had happened to her while I was gone…”
Litu approaches, hefting blankets and extra clothing that had been stored in Elspeth’s saddlebags. To my relief, she hands me Sejka’s cloak. I pull it over my shoulders, nodding appreciatively at the Yeva’si woman.
