Wilde's Meadow

by Wade, Krystal

  “What? Brit, no!”

  My legs unfreeze, and I run to her. I grab her shoulders to pull her back, but she jerks free of my grasp then raises her arms over her head, clasping her right hand around her left wrist.

  “You know you want to take my life. Do it! Now!”

  Dughbal points his index finger at her, giggling … like a child. “A ghlacadh a.”

  I charge forward, but the bats hold me back with their sticky hands, their claws digging into me, preventing me from stopping this madness, preventing me from saving my sister. “No!”

  Brit’s body goes rigid, and the daemons release me just in time to slip my arms under hers, then we drop to the ground. Orange firelight flickers in her watering eyes.

  Steady tears flow, blinding me to anything but my sister’s blood caked lips.

  “W-why did you tempt him?” I ask, trembles rolling through my chest.

  She smiles, revealing a mouth full of red teeth. “Note in my pocket … mo shaol an pháiste,” Brit whispers.

  “What does that—?”

  “Kill him, Kate. Whatever you do, kill him.” Her eyes roll back in her head, leaving only the white for me to see.

  Two thin currents of golden light rise from her open mouth, spiraling in front of my face, then one of them darts behind me. I look over my shoulder. The light surrounds Arland. He drives his sword through the rib cage of a tairb, seemingly unaware of the magic encircling him. His left arm glows, revealing the golden braids we received when my mother cast her Binding spell.

  “Ow!” I look down at my right hand; it’s burning with the same braids.

  Did she protect us?

  “I love you, Brit,” I say, lightly brushing my palm over her eyelids, searching my thoughts once more for my sister, for the connection we share, but she’s gone.

  Gone.

  My sister is dead, because of him, because of a selfish god, a selfish, bored god.

  I glance at Dughbal and see a smile on the face of the boy I’ve known my whole life. “You did this.”

  He smiles. “I did, and I have to admit, I much prefer those who fight … people like you who actually believe you make a difference.”

  I don’t care if Brad’s soul is trapped in there. I don’t care if killing him hurts. Griandor promised Brad new life. That’s something my sister will never have again. Dughbal must die, no matter what it costs me. Fire rages in my core, begging me to release it, and I see no reason to hold old magic back. Bats or no bats, I will find a way to kill them all. My body burns bright and hot, evaporating the thin veil of Darkness encompassing me. I grab my sword from the grass and storm toward Dughbal.

  “You can go now, boys. I want to see what Katriona has to offer.” He waves off the bats, then returns his attention to me. “How would you like to do this? Swords or magic?”

  Remember. Griandor speaks to me, infuriating me even further. He should kill his brother himself, not put innocents up against a god. This war is not mine to bear. My sister’s life shouldn’t have ended here in this burning field.

  I am sorry. His voice tingles my skin, caressing me, adding to my fury.

  I turn my face toward the Heavens. “Sorry doesn’t make up for this!”

  Dughbal snorts, bringing my gaze back to him.

  I’m going to kill him.

  Now.

  “Both,” I say, willing the flames onto the iron blade. Traveling down my arm, old magic covers my sword, rippling and stretching out further and further, pulsing with each rapid beat of my heart.

  Dughbal nods and snaps his fingers. A sword rivaling mine in length appears in his hands, burning in black fire. “Give it your best go.”

  Screaming, I run for him, sword drawn in front of me. I stop my advance, swing with all my effort and strike his blade. Forcing all my thoughts onto Brit, I allow her loss to empower me. I press harder against the hilt until our weapons slide off each other, metal zinging off metal.

  Dughbal yawns. “My turn.” He points his finger toward the others, Darkness racing from him.

  Flanna screams, shrill and terrifying. “Kill him, Kate. Kill him fast.”

  “Bhru,” I shout, sending a blue flame from my chest, something Arland taught me a long time ago.

  Dughbal stumbles back, caught off guard by my sudden burst of magic. “Oh, I cannot wait to possess your powers.”

  Trap him, hold him down, immobilize him. This will end now.

  Sprites rise from the earth, peel themselves from trees, descend from the sky and swirl around the dark god. They transform from their representations of nature, covering him in blue and gold fire.

  Dughbal’s skin bubbles and turns a bright shade of pink. “You only waste time. I will always heal.” He laughs and points another finger toward the others. “I am so glad you chose swords and magic.”

  A howl and shriek mixed with a muffled cry of a woman tear through my concentration.

  My heart skids to a halt. “Flanna … .”

  “No,” Arland shouts. “Perth, get on the other side and stab that coscartha.”

  “Tarik, the Leaders fall,” Huffie yells above the noise. “You kill the gray ones, and we kill the bull-creatures.”

  “We need more Bheagans in the middle,” Arland commands.

  Dughbal shakes his head. “Oh, this will not do. Your lover must be killed.”

  Not Arland. He will not die, too. I didn’t choose just magic; I chose swords and magic. I changed the visions … I had to have changed something, didn’t I? Brit died exactly how I saw.

  Oh God. Protect Arland. Don’t let him die.

  I swing my sword with both hands, landing a blow against Dughbal’s head, but not stopping him, not even impacting his intense focus on the scene behind me.

  “Kill Dughbal, Kate. You cannot protect me. Fight! No matter what, I love you. I will always love you.”

  “You will not die,” I think, tossing my sword and raising my arms above my head. Use me, Griandor; send your powers through me and drive through Dughbal with your fire.

  Lightning strikes a tree behind the god, making him jump. The Darkness in the sky above me parts, shining a beam of bright, white light down upon my head. The power flows into my fingers, radiating heat into my arms, into my shoulders, warming my scalp and filling me with confidence—

  “Your confidence might be shaken by what goes on behind you,” Dughbal says, a wry smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

  The power from above evaporates, and I turn around and see Arland stab his sword into the spine of a hound hovering over Flanna’s lifeless body.

  No … . I ball my fists and prepare to punch Dughbal, to kick him, to run him over any way I can.

  “Have I mentioned what a wonderful choice magic was?” Dughbal’s sinister voice is right next to my ear again. He reaches his hand in front of me. “Mharúgrá.”

  Black fog stretches from him and engulfs Arland’s body, making my love invisible against the night.

  “No, no, no … .”

  He cries out, muffled but gut-wrenching.

  Chest aching, I run toward him. This is almost exactly what I saw in my vision. How can this be? “Save him. Save him and kill Dughball. End this now. Please. Please. He can’t die.”

  Light transfers from me, spiraling around the billowing fog. The closer the magic gets, the dimmer it becomes.

  Drive the sword through his chest as you do his daemons. Griandor’s words replay themselves in my mind. I think of the sword I just tossed aside and stop halfway between Dughbal and the empty space where Arland stood only moments ago.

  I have to kill the god.

  It’s the only way.

  “Shall I stop using magic?”

  Marching toward him, I pick up my claymore, draw it back, and think of Arland’s love, of my sister’s smile, of Flanna’s sarcasm, then focus all my pain and anger into my heart. This will not continue. I will not lose anyone else. Not that there’s much of anyone left to lose.

  Dughbal holds h
is arms out to the side and tips his head back. “Go ahead, child, strike me with your sword. I have tried to explain to you that you cannot kill me, but if you wish to try … .”

  It can be this easy.

  I sprint to him then ram the blade straight through his sternum. Thick, black fluid oozes from his wound.

  He looks down at himself, stumbling back a bit, his forehead creasing with confusion, the white around his black pupils more prominent than normal. Dughbal’s weapon falls to the ground with a thud. Using two hands, he pulls my sword from his chest, then drops it. The metal clanks off his blade, and the wicked god drops to his knees. “I do not understand.”

  Picking up my claymore, I lift it over my head, then drive it into his chest again, straining every muscle I have. “Your father took away your immortality a long time ago. You can be killed, and you just let me.”

  I twist the hilt, ensuring his death is painful, making his bones snap and crack under the pressure of my weapon.

  He pulls his hand away and stares at it, eyes widening. “Kate?”

  “If you can feel this, I’m sorry, Brad.” I kick his chest, and he lands on his back. Over and over I remove the sword, plunge it into him, and watch as more of his evil seeps along his sides and onto the earth.

  Red sprites hover nearby, not fighting, not helping, not doing anything other than watching me punish Dughbal, casting a horrific glow on everything around us. I wonder if they were somehow a part of him, like the yellow light belongs to Gramhara and the blue to Griandor.

  Howls, screeches, and shrieks rise into the night, tearing my attention away from the colors. Dughbal’s minions just realized their leader is dead, and they sound devastated. Serves them right.

  Carry my message to Willow Falls, to Wickward, to any location where a Draíochtan resides, tell the Morans, sing it to the Mharans, deliver the news to the Bheagans: Dughbal is dead, but his daemons live. Fight, and fight hard.

  Sprites race into the field and drive through daemons, aiding overwhelmed soldiers who are barely hanging on. A few of the beings remain floating by me, hanging their heads full of golden curls, whispering words too faint for my ears to understand. I ignore whatever the beings are trying to say and stare at Brad—at Dughbal—expecting some miracle to occur. Would Griandor give my friend his life back right now? Will Brad remember what happened? Will he hate me and want to go right back home, or will he cry with me over Brit?

  Brit … I look at my sister lying on the ground with a field of blazing wheat grass behind her, then back at Brad.

  When will the sun god make good on his promise?

  Shoulders slumping, I leave my sword in Dughbal’s chest, go to my sister, then kneel beside her. She’s pale, but there’s no fear in her face, no terror. Her eyes are closed, and the corners of her mouth are turned up into a faint smile. She looks like a beautiful, sleeping woman. I carefully lift her leather armor and reach inside her pocket. Plastic crinkles under my touch. I pull out the sandwich bag and find it contains a piece of folded paper.

  Squeezing it in my grip, my body shakes. I lie on the ground and rest my head on Brit’s chest. The war around me … unimportant. Tears fall from my eyes, dripping down the length of my nose, onto her armor, and the muscles in my throat constrict. “Why, Brit? Why’d you have to die? Why’d you let him kill you? You stupid girl. Don’t you know I love you? I need you! Who am I supposed to talk to? Who am I supposed to laugh with? You left me alone! Flanna is dead and Arland is … .” I can’t say ‘too’. I refuse to believe he’s gone, dead, or left me alone like everyone else I love.

  A hand clamps my shoulder, causing me to burst into blue flames and jump to my feet. I turn around and see Perth, sword drawn.

  I drop the mysterious paper.

  He lowers his weapon and hangs his head. “I am so—”

  “Don’t be sorry for me, Perth. Whatever you do, don’t say sorry.” I pick up the paper, then shove it into my armor pocket.

  “We need to go,” Perth says, offering me his hand.

  “What are we going to do with their bodies? They deserve funerals.” I spare a glance toward where I last saw Flanna; she’s lying just as still and peaceful as Brit, but a large chunk of armor and flesh is missing from her hip. Cadman, Huffie, Tarik, and Humu rush around the field, jumping over the dead, battling the remaining daemons.

  Lip trembling and knees ready to give out, I look back at Perth. “And A-Arland … ?”

  Perth wraps his arms around me, drawing me close, making me miss Arland and his warm, calming presence. “He is gone, Katriona. We will have to send someone to collect Flanna and Brit—and all the others—when it is safe, but for now, you are in no condition to stay here and fight.”

  “No. Please, Perth, please tell me this is just a dream. Please … . He didn’t die. He just disappeared. We can save him. He might still be here. Please … ?” My vision clouds, and all I see is that veil of Darkness surrounding him, blotting out all the magic I sent his way.

  “I am sorry, Katriona,” Perth whispers.

  Sorry? He’s sorry? I don’t know where my stepdad or Mr. Tanner are, and I just lost everything: my best friend, my sister, my Arland.

  My screams fill the darkness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Mirain walks with her head and tail down, and I keep my eyes focused on my saddle horn to avoid eye contact with Perth, to avoid bursting into tears. Everything that happened, every death, every scream, every stupid, limp piece of grass, I’d seen before. In my dreams. In my visions. I prevented nothing. I saved nothing.

  Bowen follows close behind us, matching the depressed body language of me and Mirain. Perth rides Flanna’s horse and leads us along a well-worn path.

  We’re heading to The Meadows’s town square. Perth says now that Dughbal is dead, all the Leaders will return there, and it is where we should wait.

  “Will Cadman and the other soldiers know to come here?” I ask, breaking the cold silence.

  “If any of our people survived that battle, they will know to come here.” He glances over his shoulder and squints as if searching for something in the distance … or someone.

  Rhoswen.

  My mouth floods with salty liquid. “You’re worried for Rhoswen? Why didn’t we stay and help them, Perth? Why did we leave? We could have protected her. Let’s go back. We can find her and look for Arland.”

  Perth turns to me, drawing Luatha to a halt. “He is gone, Katriona.”

  Mirain stops as well.

  “You already said that.” I purse my lips.

  He sucks in a sharp breath, and the pity in that sound breaks my anger.

  “There wasn’t a b-body. He’s alive, Perth. He has to be,” I say, shaking my head. Arland’s agonizing scream replays in my memory, causing every nerve in me to burn and ache for the man who brought me to life, who created life inside me. I cradle my arm across my belly, tears hindering my sight. I look up at Perth, but all I see is a warbled outline of his pale face. “I can’t lose hope. Please, let’s go back?”

  He wipes away the tears with his thumb, but more continue falling. “I promised Arland I would bring you to safety if anything happened to him, Katriona. I will not fail him. I will not fail you. You have changed me, saved my people, and killed Dughbal. Your safety is important. You know he would want it.”

  “That’s the promise you made to him at the Crossing Caves?”

  “Yes.”

  I nod. Arland would want me to go to safety, and I’d fight him tooth and nail, and then he’d smile at me and get me to do whatever he wanted. I gasp. I’ll never see his captivating smile, never see myself in Brit, never hear Flanna’s sarcastic laughter. This is so cruel, so unfair. To hell with respect, I turn my face toward the sky and scream. “Why? Why the hell did you do this to me? What did I ever do to deserve losing everything over and over? Am I not allowed to have a good life? Am I not allowed to be happy? Was Arland right, loving me is punishable by death? Well your brother is dead! Where is Brad
? Can my sister, Flanna, and Arland have their lives back, too, or do they mean nothing to you?”

  The wind picks up, kicking dust and leaves into the air and blowing the tops of the trees. Bright, white moonlight peeks through a break in the shroud of looming Darkness, shining upon us.

  “K-Katriona?” Perth grabs my hand with his sweaty one. “I do not think it wise to yell at the gods.”

  I stare at him, open mouthed, fury rippling through me. “They took everything from me! I did all they asked, but do you see Brad here? Do you see anyone? It’s just you and me, Perth. What if Rhoswen is gone? How would you feel? I’m pregnant! My child won’t have a father, won’t have an aunt or a crazy cousin. So excuse me if I’m mad.” My body bursts into flames, and Mirain rears.

  Bowen lifts his head and Luatha sidesteps, blowing out huffs of steam from her nostrils.

  Perth sighs. “I am so—”

  “Don’t you dare say that again. Just don’t.”

  “Okay, but please calm down. If you are pregnant, you need to take care of yourself—and I know Arland would agree with me.” He squeezes my hand. “You will make it through this.”

  His words match those spoken by Arland so many times over. So many times I believed them, but not anymore. How can I make it through this? How will I explain these events to my child? How will I do anything when all I desire is to curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep?

  I’d love to tell Perth to take me home, but I don’t even know where home is anymore. I don’t know if I’ll ever have a home to go to now. I want my husband, my fear céile, his comfort, his laughter, his strong arms, his smile, his warmth, his love.

  “Katriona?”

  There’s so much I want, but is it really that much to ask? I want the life I was beginning to have. I want family, friends … this is all a dream. It’s just a dream, and I’m going to wake up any moment. None of this is real. I smack my face, hoping to snap out of this, to open my eyes and be in my dorm room at Virginia Tech, or in bed at the farm, staring up at the stars Brad and I put on my ceiling all those years ago. Again and again, I bring my palm to my cheek, pinch my hand, punch my thigh, but I’m still trapped in this dreadful place, still sitting atop a beautiful horse, still face to face with a man I don’t want to be face to face with, no matter how far we’ve come. I have to turn around. I have to find Gary and Mr. Tanner. I have to make sense of what happened to Arland. Why did my sister give her life away? There are too many weird questions for any of this to be real. Too many … .