by Ross Turner
She had created Alistair.
She had turned him into what he was.
A Storm Born.
And as such, he was akin to Her in much the same way that Marcii and Malorie were.
He moved through the violent storm, so wild and ferocious, like a shark cuts through the turbulent waters of a rough sea.
Decisive and purposeful, he had only one target in sight.
In that singular moment, above all others, he was very much the wolf that he had spent so many years becoming.
He stalked through the whiteout, silent and invisible.
There was no way they could have seen him coming. Marcii and Malorie were so focused, caught up in maintaining their concentration, that he slipped right past them.
Fortunately, or then again perhaps not so, they weren’t his intended victims.
Instead, as the man who was more of a wolf, and the wolf who was less of a man, stalked through the blinding storm, he smiled cruelly as the enormous, demonic, wounded figure of Reaper materialised before him.
Stooping down he stole a long, curved blade from the twitching fingers of a slowly dying woman, coughing up spurts of thick, black blood as she tried desperately to breathe against the storm.
He fingered the bloodied blade loosely in his palm he tested its weight with a few light, silent swings.
The cold steel felt good in his grasp.
It would do, he decided, as he moved in to claim his prize.
Chapter Forty-Nine
The ghost of a woman Raven could only stand by and watch grimly as the entire sight unfolded before her. She was unable to intervene, and the mere knowledge that that in of itself was her own doing tore at her conscience.
As Reaper turned, straining his perfect, coal eyes against the storm, Alistair’s strike was swift and unseen, catching the enormous demon completely off guard.
With strength and precision and speed that no mortal man could ever hope to possess, especially not one with so many years behind him, Alistair leapt from the hard, frozen ground. He cleared over a dozen feet in that single stride, and in two hands as he flew he raised the stolen, gleaming blade high above his head, angling it down towards the monstrous demon below him.
Had he been just a man, even if he’d managed to somehow get atop Reaper, he wouldn’t have had the strength to do what he did next.
Unfortunately, being what he was, his soul was infused with much more than that of a mere mortal human, and as they had all already witnessed, it gave him power beyond imagining.
It was with that most unnatural strength, gifted to him in ways that should not have been possible, that he struck down upon the enormous demon Reaper.
He buried the long, curved blade of his stolen sword up to the hilt in Reaper’s skull, smashing it down with all his dreadful might.
A hideous, disgusting sound echoed out through the night like a furious thunderclap, unmistakeable even above the screaming of the blizzard.
Raven’s ghostly heart stopped.
She didn’t need to be able to see what had happened to sense the awful significance of it.
Reaper’s colossal body shuddered and twitched as Alistair stood with one foot upon each of his shoulders, still clutching the handle of the blade buried deep into Reaper’s head.
If it were even possible, his already black, coal eyes went blank and vacant, staring into nothingness, never to see so perfectly again.
An enormous breath fled his colossal lungs and upon it escaped the last remnants of life and fight from the demon.
“NO!!!” Malorie screeched, deafening the entire battlefield. “REAPER!!!”
In an instant the blizzard ceased and died, vanishing just as quickly as it had begun, and all fell immediately silent.
The fighting did not resume.
The troops and the wolves hardly even dared to breathe.
Instead, all eyes fell upon the sight of the monster Reaper as he toppled slowly and ominously to the ground.
Alistair leapt from his shoulders right at the last second, just before the enormous demon’s lifeless body clattered to the floor with an almighty crash.
Still nobody moved.
Even Tyran’s troops were all too shocked even to cheer.
It was probably a good job.
If they had, Malorie would likely have struck them down where they stood.
The mysterious witch, murdered and then resurrected, had been through so much more than merely death in her short life.
But in that single moment, above all others, she lost more than she ever had before.
With a mere sleight of hand Alistair had once again brought Malorie’s entire world crashing down around her, this time taking both Mallorey and Reaper from her in one fell swoop.
Overtaken by emotion, stricken grief coursed through Malorie’s veins like wildfire.
Marcii sensed the danger even before it took hold. Nonetheless, there wouldn’t have been enough time to stop what came next had she known about it for an eternity.
Malorie severed the bond between them.
The connection that had been holding strong the storm split on her command, throwing Marcii out.
Consumed by her own anguish, just as she herself had warned Marcii could happen, Malorie fell into overwhelming, uncontrollable floods of emotion.
And indeed it had happened before, to Raven even, her own mother.
When Mallorey was taken from them, Raven had allowed her grief to consume her, and cast out all those around her. She’d lost a life and soul that she’d brought into this world, but in turn, Malorie had created Reaper, bringing joy out of sorrow in a time of desperate need.
Malorie’s grief in that moment was matched only by that of her mother’s before her, for now they had suffered the same trial, having both lost someone that they’d brought into this world.
Suddenly, just as unexpectedly as it had stopped, the storm returned.
“No Malorie…” Marcii tried helplessly. “Don’t…”
But it was already too late.
The storm intensified and grew and evolved, swelling and expanding and becoming much more than just a simple blizzard.
Marcii felt Malorie literally become the storm.
She was the hurricane.
She was the driving sleet and the snow.
Malorie had become the maelstrom, just as her mother Raven before her had become the curse set upon Ravenhead.
The young Dougherty knew in that moment how much danger they were all in, as Malorie tore at her body and hair and clothes with her hurricane winds and lashed at her exposed face with sleet and hail and snow.
Strangely, despite all that had happened, Marcii did not feel her emotions surging out of control in the same way Malorie’s were.
They remained resolutely level and in check.
She raised her hands to shield her eyes from the icy onslaught, racking her thoughts for a way to help her fellow witch Malorie.
Again she was blinded by the snowstorm, only this time she had no control whatsoever.
All around her even still were Alistair’s enormous wolves, and Tyran’s hate filled troops, and her dear friends, or at least those of them that remained.
They were all in such terrible danger, both friend and foe alike, more so now than ever.
The lines between allies and enemies were blurring further and further by the moment.
And the storm only worsened as Malorie sunk deeper and deeper into her endless grief, swallowing them all within her infinite fury.
Chapter Fifty
Marcii felt Malorie everywhere, spreading and growing and intensifying.
Threatening to kill them all.
The fighting raged no longer.
Amidst the furious, rage filled storm, the already ruined Ravenhead suffered yet even further. Buildings that were already damaged were reduced to mere rubble under the icy barrage.
Those that had still clung to a roof now didn’t. Any that had still had doors and window
s and furnishing were now left bare and hollow, filled instead with ice and snow.
And Malorie’s wrath only continued to worsen.
Though they were blinded by the storm, as hailstones almost a foot across began to cascade down both man and beast alike were forced to find what little shelter they could. They sought protection in the littered remains of the town, scraping together whatever they could manage.
A good number of them even sought shelter beneath their fallen comrades’ corpses, for there were few other places to take refuge.
Needless to say, many didn’t make it and were struck by the deadly hailstones. Some were lucky and were struck upon the head. The sheer force of the blows killed them instantly.
However, some were not.
A goodly number of Tyran’s men, and indeed Alistair’s wolves too, were struck on their legs or backs. The impact threw them violently to the ground, paralysing many of them, leaving them out in the open and vulnerable to yet more of the witch Malorie’s dreadful wrath.
Snow and blood whipped about so fiercely that Marcii could taste it on her breath.
She knew she needed to stop this, else it wouldn’t just be the end of Reaper and Malorie, but of them all. And aside from all of that, she couldn’t let Malorie suffer the same fate as her poor mother Raven, living forever with the regret of the suffering she had caused at the hand of her own grief.
Marcii simply would not allow it.
Opening her mind and her every intricate, intimate thought, the young Dougherty pleaded for the storm to cease.
She found herself pleading, not to her dear friend Malorie, but to Mother Nature Herself, for there was no force greater in this world that could help her.
Not that she knew of anyway.
Her imploring thoughts were soaked with an altogether new emotion of their own, desperately trying to counter Malorie’s dreadful grief.
Love.
As if they were one and all her family: Reaper, Raven, Malorie. She felt a connection with them, just as she felt one with Mother Nature.
It wasn’t just something that they all shared with Her, but indeed something that they all shared together, even if they hadn’t at first realised it was so.
Mother Nature breathed in deeply and sighed upon the screaming wind. The sound was most sorrowful, for She was utterly heartbroken at what She once again needed to do. Such a thing is never undertaken lightly, nor without regret, even for a being as great and as vast as Her.
Silent, cautionary words reached Marcii’s ears even amidst the terrible storm.
Their sounds warned the young Dougherty that what she was asking might cost her life. Though she could likely free Malorie from what she’d created, it was Marcii who would have to take on the burden of the rage filled storm.
The young Dougherty considered Mother Nature’s words amidst the sound of the screeching maelstrom all around.
Naturally, She was right, Marcii realised.
The storm was already in full flow.
It had to centre somewhere.
With a heavy heart, but at the same time without regret, Marcii silently agreed.
Mother Nature on the other hand, as timeless as She is, would never forget the young Dougherty’s selfless acceptance of such an enormous responsibility. Her hand, forced by the nature of even Her very own world, would haunt Her until the end of Her days.
And indeed, such an end would undoubtedly be the end of everything.
Marcii felt her love grow and multiply, merging with the storm once more, and even with Malorie herself.
She might not have been blood, but they were indeed family.
Mother Nature spoke again then, only this time, Marcii didn’t hear Her words amidst the chaotic storm.
The silent sound reached only Raven’s ears.
Her gentle, guiding words offered the ghostly figure of Malorie’s mother a chance at redemption: a single opportunity to set right all that she felt so guilty for.
Naturally, prepared to go to almost any lengths for such a thing, Raven accepted without question.
At first, the instructions were quite simple.
Raven obeyed without question and walked immediately through the storm and over to her daughter. Guided through the blinding maelstrom by Mother Nature’s precise direction, she navigated the littered carcasses of both man and wolf with relative ease, though she battled the fierce, unnatural winds all the way.
Then, when she eventually reached Malorie, and was close enough even to see the contorted look of despair upon her daughter’s face, Raven’s heart was stricken.
The whispers upon the winds breathed to her words she already knew: that her daughter had just lost her entire world, again.
Out of all of them, only Raven truly knew the feeling that engulfed Malorie so dreadfully.
Her next instruction from Mother Nature, though once more simple, was by no means an easy feat.
It was to end Malorie’s suffering, whatever that required.
At first, thrown into such a task, Raven was unsure exactly what to do.
Was she to be forced to take from her own daughter everything that she still had, in order to save everyone else?
The needs of a few to be sacrificed for the needs of many, even if those few include your own children?
But then, what did Malorie have left?
Nothing, Raven suddenly realised.
She’d lost everything, and not for the first time.
A familiar, searing pain struck at Raven’s heart.
In an instant, she knew what she must do.
What she didn’t know however, was whether it was even possible.
Chapter Fifty-One
The storm centred entirely around Marcii, shrinking and collapsing in on itself to surround her, intensifying more and more by the second. Soon enough, removed entirely from sight, Marcii was engulfed by what looked like a solid mass of sheer, brilliant white, only four or five feet across, as the maelstrom shrouded her completely.
Though the onslaught had ceased, revealing the bloodied, ruined battlefield, neither man nor wolf resumed the fight.
Instead, they simply looked on in both relief and awe alike, captivated by what they saw.
The screaming of the storm vanished and the blinding white bubble that encased Marcii spun and writhed in wild, barren silence.
Then, all of a sudden, the white mass engulfing Marcii disappeared completely, leaving her standing all alone, looking very small and insignificant in its place.
For a few moments even the tiniest sound of a scraping boot or tapping claw echoed endlessly around the devastated scene. Buildings lay in ruin, as did vast numbers of Tyran’s men and Alistair’s wolves, and of course half of all the friends Marcii had left in the world.
Everywhere the snow had been churned into thick slush stained black and brown and red, covering everything and clinging in disgusting chunks to clothes and fur alike.
Marcii kept her arms by her side and her hands balled into tight fists. She’d spread her feet wide to stabilise herself against the thrashing winds and had barely even noticed that the storm had now vanished.
Her breaths came quick and sharp, each one panging icy chills in her lungs.
But even though the young Dougherty might have looked alone and filled with fear, she was far from it, and never again would she be.
She felt Mother Nature’s touch most firmly, though that was not all.
She felt Malorie and Reaper, Raven, and even Midnight too, all so close now that they were virtually a part of the very earth itself.
Her fellow witch Malorie and the enormous demon Reaper were free. They had been guided away from the living and spirited off to their newfound sanctuary by the ghostly woman Raven, for out of all of them she was the only one who had already known the way. Even the old man Midnight’s presence felt lighter and less burdened than Marcii had ever sensed before.
None of them need any longer fear a destiny spent in distraught, guilt ridden exile
.
To think it would remain that way for the rest of their lives would be wrong. But, to say instead that for the remainder of their days they could live in peace, in between lives and worlds, was much more feasible, and much closer to the truth.
They might have been lost in limbo, still amongst the world of the living, but that in of itself was a comforting, lifesaving thought.
Somehow Marcii could feel that Reaper was with them, and indeed at the same time Mallorey too.
There they would remain, in the protective arms of Mother Nature, forevermore.
She wondered if this was how Reaper felt: if this was how he had always perceived the world.
Perhaps now Marcii was finally feeling the world and the earth in the way that Reaper always had.
All eyes remained strictly upon the young witch, filled almost entirely with sheer disbelief.
If they had understood the full extent of what had just happened, they would surely have found themselves in even greater awe. As it was though, their mere mortal gazes, be them man or wolf, scratched only the mere surface of all that had taken place.
Scattered all through the slush filled streets, Tyran’s men and Alistair’s wolves lay side by side. Many of them were wounded and bleeding. Many more lay very still and would likely never move again.
Exhaustion clung to each and every one of them.
Their fatigue was mixed with fear as they watched Marcii seize control of the blizzard that had swept over them all.
Out of everyone in the hordes of onlookers, if anyone had any idea what had just happened, it was perhaps Alistair. Of all those who still remained, he was, in his own way, the closest to Mother Nature.
But even he could see now that the young Dougherty was not to be trifled with.
So he was biding his time, waiting.
He knew what would soon follow.
Even if she was as powerful as she seemed, there was no way she could sustain that level of control over someone else’s rage for very long.
And sure enough, as if on cue, Marcii suddenly collapsed to the floor.
