She could even control the weather. She cried out, laughing with amazement, "I can make storms!"
Storm clouds formed, created from nothing by her magic. The night turned black, lit only by the tornado of fire holding the demon.
WE ARE FIRE. YET WE ARE ALSO THE WIND, THE ELEMENTS.
Angie understood now. She was a part of the black storm clouds. The connection was as natural as breathing. A brilliant lightning bolt arced down and struck inside the fiery tornado, its thunderclap shaking the earth. The air sizzled with ozone, and Angie's hair floated about her as if she were underwater. Her skin glowed with eldritch fury. Another lightning bolt followed the first, and then a third, all landing inside the tornado, all striking the trapped demon. More lightning followed, a nonstop barrage of energy that pummeled the demon.
Even its screams had ended.
DONE, ANGELA. DONE, SOURCE MAGE. NOW YOU MUST LET GO.
But such power flowed through her, such majesty. She was the fire, was the storm. If she kept going, she was certain she could transform herself, become more than just a woman. She'd truly become a being of fire and wind.
LET GO!
And then Tec's face flashed before her eyes, followed by Char's, her brother's, her mother's, and then her father's.
She lowered her hands, physically spent, her heart pounding and her skin drenched in sweat. The fire tornado grew weaker and then sputtered out in a cloud of sparks. The storm clouds drifted away, revealing the stars and moon once more.
Sudden Bloodletter was gone. Where the demon had stood, nothing remained but blackened ground and ashes—and Lodin’s spear.
The clansmen, those who hadn't fled, stared at her. Sandman approached, limping, awe on his features. "How?"
"Are ... are you all right?" she asked him, panting with exertion. Even now, she felt more alive than she ever had.
And then she heard a pitiful, squeaky chirp, and she spun to see Moonwing lying on his side, blood pouring from gashes across his chest, one wing badly injured. The griffin was dying, unable to even raise his head. She ran to him, throwing herself to her knees beside him, her hands trailing over his savaged chest. His blood flowed, an unstoppable rush. A part of her was amazed the noble creature was even still alive.
"I'm ... I'm so sorry, Angie," Sandman said from behind her. "Those wounds..."
She cried out in anguish as she placed her cheek against Moonwing's bloody chest.
And then she remembered the Shade King’s words, "I have forgotten more of the arcane arts than any Fey or human mage has ever known." The epiphany struck like thunder. Char had healed a wounded lion with magic once. And Rayan Zar Davi had healed Angie's broken ribs with a touch. Elenaril had healed Tec. Please. Help me again, she asked the Shade King. Can you show me how to heal?
THE ONES THAT CAME BEFORE YOU USED ME ONLY FOR SLAUGHTER, BUT MEMORY REMAINS, EVEN AFTER ALL THESE CENTURIES. PLACE YOUR HANDS ATOP THE WOUNDS, AND I WILL SHOW YOU THE PATTERN OF MENDING.
Once more she worked the flows of mana, working in tandem with the Shade King. Her weaves pulled Moonwing's torn flesh together and fused his broken bones. At first, the griffin had thrashed, but then he calmed. When she was done, the mana she had taken from the Savage Sons was almost gone, but it had been enough. Just. She sat back, exhausted, as Moonwing raised his head and rubbed it against her shoulder. Angie stared in disbelief as the griffin's chest rose and fell. His wing was still hurt, still bent at an odd angle, but he would live.
She had healed him. And she had defeated a star demon—her, the woman Nathan and the others had thought too weak to serve as a combat mage. No Fey grandmaster mage could have done what she had. Not Ephix, not Elenaril, not even Char.
Not even Lodin.
The Ferals—no, the We Clan. She’d never call them Ferals again—had come back and gathered about her as she had healed the griffin, watching in silent wonder. Now they softly chanted something.
Angel. They were chanting Angel.
Chapter 36
Rayan Zar Davi gasped in astonishment atop the temple of Zolin. Something’s happened to the demon.
Because she had been the one who performed the ceremony that summoned Sudden Bloodletter, she was the one who felt the demon's sudden absence from the world. Somehow, the demon was gone, banished from this reality, just like its brother, Gouger of Faces, had been. Which meant someone had defeated it.
"What?" Itzpapalotl demanded. The black dragon lay with her horned head resting atop one of her forelegs, her massive head at an angle as she fixed her serpentine eyes on Rayan, the slit-like pupils narrowing.
"I..." Rayan's lips were thick, her tongue dry, as she tried to explain the impossible setback to a mistress who would burn her to ashes for anything—or nothing. "Sudden Bloodletter, Beautiful Mistress. The demon is ... gone."
"Gone?" The dragon's voice never rose, but Rayan shivered. "Gone where?"
"It's no longer on this world." She couldn't meet the dragon's gaze, so she looked at the dragon's long, swordlike claws instead, imagined them pulling her apart with no more effort than if she were paper. She shivered uncontrollably, knowing this time she must die for her failure. But who could destroy a demon as powerful as Sudden Bloodletter? It was impossible.
Yet someone had.
"The demon is gone," Itzpapalotl's deep voice rumbled. "And Aernyx is missing? I smell betrayal."
"I ... I don't have answers, Beautiful Mistress." Rayan's fingers shook so hard she had to grip both ends of the scarf around her neck to stop them from shaking. All the other Tzitzime servants had slithered away, leaving her alone to face the dragon's wrath. And so it ends.
The dragon closed her eyes and remained like stone for long, dread-filled minutes. When she finally spoke again, smoke trailed from her nostrils. "Everyone keeps telling me victory is at hand, that everything is going exactly according to plan, yet we still do not have the changeling. Our enemies hide within Sanwa City. This strange mage, Angela Ritter, is missing. Aernyx is missing. And now the most powerful demon we could have summoned has been defeated. There are hidden forces at play, Mother Smoke Heart, secrets that might bring down even me. I will not stand for it, not one moment longer. My mercy makes me weak. Go. Go to Sanwa City. The time has come to launch the final assault."
"Beautiful Mistress, they have no water. They must surrender or die. At best, they will run out in days, at most a week—"
"I will not wait for them to surrender. You will take the changeling now and bring her here for sacrifice."
"Yes, Beautiful Mistress." The implications dawned on Rayan. The dragon had given her a task. That meant she'd live.
"Go. Tarry not a moment longer. Bring me my sacrifice. Bring ... bring me the elf bitch so we can spill her blood."
The barest hint of … something in the dragon's voice gave Rayan a moment's pause. It had been so slight that she had almost missed it. "And ... and the residents of the city?"
"Kill them all."
Rayan Zar Davi spun about and stalked down the stairs leading to the interior of the temple. She lived to fight another day. Now she had a city to crush. Excitement coursed through her, energizing her. But her mind pondered that strange tremor in the dragon's voice.
It had been almost like...
Fear.
The demon was gone. We Clan members approached the black smear where it had been and spat upon the ground. Angie climbed to her feet from where she knelt beside Moonwing. Overcome by exhaustion now, she swayed in place, and Sandman surged forward, wrapping his arm around her, holding her upright. She was more tired than she had ever been. She had used so much mana—all the mana.
What had she become?
Moonwing rustled, his injuries no longer life-threatening, but clearly still hurt.
"Angie," said Sandman, holding her against him. "Perhaps you should sleep."
"I ... what?" It was so hard to think clearly. Could she curl up against Moonwing? Would he keep her safe?
"My sister’s tent. She no
longer needs it. Come."
Each step became a battle to keep her eyes open as Sandman led her to the tent. She saw the other woman, his aunt, Silver Katana, as well as the worried face of Miss Fortune. Both took her by the elbows and guided her inside. Moonwing remained where he was, but his eyes followed her. Then she was within the dark tent. Before she realized what was happening, they had bundled her under the furs.
No longer able to keep her eyes open even a moment longer, she fell into a deep sleep—
Angie walked atop the battlements of the corrugated iron wall surrounding Sanwa City. Below her, the city burned and died. An army of Aztalan warriors surrounded it, a sea of death. The walls were breached, and Aztalan warriors surged into the city, slaughtering everyone they came across: men, women, children. The screams of the dying assailed her. Even from this high, the stench of death rose like a fog.
"No," she whispered. "It’s not real. Just a dream."
The dream shifted, and she now stood in Veteran's Square in the city's center, where criminals were hanged. The city no longer burned; the fires only smoldered now.
But the stench of death had grown so much worse.
She was barefoot, still wearing Sandman’s sleeveless green vest and tattered blue jeans. A mountain of corpses sat in the center of the square, each with its heart cut out. On the other side of the pile of dead, someone raised a huge cross. She approached the cross. The blood from the mound of dead sucked at her bare feet. It was like walking in glue.
Angie stared at the corpse pile, overcome with horror—with shame. This was her fault. She didn’t know how, but she knew she should have stopped this but didn't. A million flies buzzed madly, feasting in the gore. Dead eyes watched her as she crossed the square, skirting the mound of dead. With every step, the enormity of the crime that had taken place here scoured her. The Aztalans had sacrificed all of them. Every. Single. Person.
Her city.
Her home.
Her friends.
She turned, staring in horror at the one person who hadn’t been ritually sacrificed. Tec hung crucified from the cross, naked and covered in blood but somehow still alive. She gasped in horror, reaching out to touch his bare feet, blood dripping from his toes. The moment her fingers touched him, he opened his eyes, soul-wrenching sorrow in his gaze.
"It called." His voice gurgled through smashed lips, missing teeth. "Why didn't you answer?"
"I ... who called?"
Tec's eyes remained open as his life ended.
Angie screamed.
And found herself in darkness, a complete absence of light or sound. She spun in place, seeing nothing, but she was standing on rocks with the bones of dead animals all about her.
She was back at the edge of the Black Pool.
Then a golden glow surged from the depths of the waters, quickly growing in radiance and illuminating the entirety of the vast underground cavern. The light in the water throbbed...
Like a heartbeat.
—Angie woke. She was sore, tired, but alive, the sunlight shining in through the tent flap and blinding her. It had just been a dream, another nightmare. Tec was alive. Her city was alive. Her friends were alive.
But they wouldn't be for long.
Dream or not, she knew something was calling to her from the Black Pool. She had to go back to Mount Laguna.
Chapter 37
Angie stood before the elders of the We Clan, four men and three women who had survived the battle with the Savage Sons. The early-morning sun was already turning the day warm, but the elders sat cross-legged under the shade of trees. Despite his youth, Sandman sat among them. He wore his own clothing again, and Silver Katana had given Angie her own clothing: hand-stitched leather pants and a sleeveless fur-lined vest. On her feet, she wore short, handcrafted leather boots that were so soft they felt almost as good as old combat boots. Nightfall was thrust through a leather belt.
She considered the stoic faces of the elders, knowing that if she wanted to return to Mount Laguna, she’d need their help. From what she understood, the Aztalan army now controlled the countryside, and they were rounding up everyone they could for their unholy sacrifices. She might make it on her own—especially now, with the Shade King’s help—but it would be a risk.
And she felt she owed these people something … anything.
They were all in their fifties or sixties—and one was almost certainly in his eighties—which meant they had been born before the Awakening and would remember the old world, a world in which they didn't have to live like wild animals. Their skin was like worn leather, their postures stooped, but their eyes shone with intelligence—and more than a trace of suspicion.
They have every right to their suspicion. For years, we’ve treated them like animals. Because there was no room for them within our walled cities. Because they didn’t have skills that people like Marshal felt were needed. Because they were just more mouths to feed.
Because we didn’t want them.
Her face grew hot with shame under their eyes. We hunted them, treated them like beasts, and killed them every chance we had. But they attacked us as well. Maybe they weren't all cannibals—weren’t all like the Savage Sons—but they weren’t entirely blameless either. Maybe it's time for a new beginning.
She cleared her throat. "I need your help." She paused, meeting their gaze. "Actually, I think we can help each other. A clean start in this new Awakened world."
The grizzled octogenarian snorted. He was bald, his round skull covered with age spots, his ears and nose too large. A long gray beard fanned out across his frail chest, and his thin fingers shook as he pointed his hand at her. "Name's Earl, Missy," he said in a voice like sandpaper. "Seems like you and yours have done enough evil since the world fell apart." He turned and spat, some of the spittle falling short and landing in his beard. He didn't seem to notice or care.
A shocked murmur rose among the others.
"She ain't no angel!" Earl railed, glaring goggle-eyed at them. His chin rose in defiance, and his eyes blazed with anger. "She's just another shaman, what the wallies call a mage, no different from him and the others." With that, Earl tossed his head at Sandman. "She brought monsters to us, that big ol' fuck-off bird-thing and..." He paused, his face going pale with fear. "That … other, the fiend from hell." His head whipped about. "Tell me it ain't! I know what I saw."
"You're not wrong," Angie said. "It was a demon. And you're right about another thing. I'm not an angel. But neither am I just another mage."
"Well, Missy, what are you then?" Earl asked, squinting.
"Something new."
His smile was gap-toothed and insincere. "Your walled cities are something new, and you and your kind been killing us like animals. Well ... that ain't all that new, truth be told. Them with guns kill them without. Always been like that. Even when we thought we were civilized. You say you're new, different, but I don't see it."
"The world changed on A-Day," she said. "I didn't make that change. Blame the dragons if you want, but the world changed, and we changed with it. Not for the better, I guess. We put up walls. Forced you into the wilderness. We didn't share what we had. I won't offer an opinion on whether there was ever enough to go around or if everyone would have starved had we tried to share. We didn't share, and that's that." Some bobbed their heads. "We hunted you, but you attacked us. Doesn't much matter who did what first."
Their postures stiffened, and more than a few faces darkened with anger.
"She's right," Sandman said. "We all know what the Savage Sons did. How they survived the first few winters. It wasn’t a secret. We knew they were heels, but we just looked the other way."
Angry protestations passed among them, but Earl sighed and ran his fingers over his face, stretching the wrinkled skin. "Weren't right what they did. Even if they believed they had cause. Those early winters ... when the dead lay in mounds, they were starvin' years, hard times, but it weren't right." He spat once more, shaking his head. "Kept doin' it, to
o, even years later, when there were plenty of animals to hunt. I think ... I think maybe they hated you wallies so much they couldn't stop. 'Cause you had so much and wouldn't share. Or maybe ’cause you reminded 'em of the old world."
"Savage Sons are gone now," Sandman said. "Those that survived the fighting last night have run. And good gone I say."
The elders found cause for agreement, even Earl. "Good gone," they repeated.
"But it ain't sunny times now either. These new ones, the ones from the south with all the guns and soldiers, they're killin' us too," Earl said, glaring at Angie as if it were her doing. "An' they ain't just killin', they're cutting out hearts. We all saw the bodies they left behind. Who does that? Just as rotten as the Savage Sons. How many of the We Clan they took already? How many they be takin' afore they're done?"
And now we come to it, Angie thought, common cause, her only chance. "You're right. The Aztalan Empire is worse than the Savage Sons, much worse. If they aren't stopped, they'll kill everyone, all the We Clan, us wallies, the farming communities, everyone." She shivered, seeing again her dream of the mountain of corpses.
"Seems to me," said Earl slowly, "that you wallies deserve a bit of an ass-kicking. What goes around comes around."
"But it won't stop with us," Angie said. "They want human sacrifices—the Nortenos, the Commonwealth ... you."
The elders exchanged worried looks.
"But if you help me, then maybe we can help each other. You can stop hiding."
"Hidin’, Missy," said Earl in a weary voice, "is how there’s so many of us still alive so many years after A-Day. We move about. We hunt. We never stay too long in one place. We don't plant nothin’—much as we may want to—’cause when we do, you and your friends come flying in with your quiet choppers and start tossing rockets at us. Every. Single. Time." He spat once more, this time hitting the ground in front of her feet.
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