by S A McClure
She cast the bones again. This time, she didn’t ask a question. She commanded whatever force controlled the bones to reveal the curse. There was nothing for the bones to fall onto, and she didn’t know how she would read them in the dark. All she knew was that this felt right.
The air thickened all around her. It vibrated with an energy she found both strange and menacing. It was as if the abyss were frightened of something she couldn’t see. As if it were trying to warn her to get out while she still could.
She closed her eyes, listening for any sound of danger. She breathed in deeply, anticipating the stench of a beast trying to kill her. She’d faced them before and won.
She could do it again.
When she opened her eyes, the bones were glowing brilliant white as they twirled in the nothingness. They didn’t land. They just spun and spun and spun until finally, they stopped.
Iris gasped as the pattern revealed itself to her.
There was no curse for her to break. But there had been an awakening. She sensed that the Darkness had gained momentum. The Light was fading. Images flashed in her mind that she didn’t understand. A girl with dark auburn hair reading from a book. A lone mermaid, the last of its kind, clutching a glowing hammer to her chest. A man with many faces battling with himself.
None it made any sense. She didn’t know these people and she didn’t understand how they were connected to the Silver Skull coven.
She reached out to scoop the bones up again. The instant her fingers grazed the jawbone of a larger animal—she wasn’t which kind—the air around her vibrated with such intensity that she had to close her eyes to stop herself from vomiting.
When she opened her eyes, six figures clad all in black, their faces hidden, stood before her. They clasped hands as they began chanting a spell. Warmth spread from her fingers to her toes as she realized what kind of spell they were casting.
It was a death spell.
And it was aimed at her.
Chapter Seven
Emma
Although the purple flames licked at Emma’s skin, they did not burn her. She coughed as smoke filled her lungs, and her eyes watered from the stinging soot that landed in them. But she did not burn. Not even her clothes were singed as Chiara exited the wall of flame.
“And you were worried,” Chiara said as she sat Emma down upon the ground.
Emma panted, sucking in the cool, moist air of the forest. She closed her eyes and wiped the soot from her face.
“Is it over?” she asked, when she’d caught her breath enough to speak.
Chiara tossed her a silver ring with a black jewel in its center. In the light of the purple flames behind them, it almost seemed to ripple with ruby fire.
“It’s over,” Chiara said. “He’s dead.”
Emma gaped at the ring.
“Where’s his head?” she asked.
“It burned in the flame.” She twiddled with her fingers before saying, “as long we have his ring, he won’t be able to come back.”
“Why didn’t you do this before?” Emma asked.
Chiara shrugged. In the light of day, violet and blue bruises were visible all over her arms. Puncture wounds scarred her neck.
“What did he do to you in there?” Emma demanded. She immediately felt bad for asking. If Chiara wanted to share her story, she would. She certainly wouldn’t want to talk about how she couldn’t remember the days leading up to Grandmother Rel abandoning them. In her dreams, she sometimes wondered if the battles she fought in had been real. She also wondered if she had imagined the wolf who had been through it all with her.
She shook her head and smiled at Chiara, trying to let her know that it was okay if she didn’t answer.
Chiara wiped away a single tear that slid down her cheek and returned the smile.
“I’ll tell you when I’m ready,” she said. “For now, I think we need to return you to your people.”
They walked in silence for several paces before Emma asked in a tentative voice, “Where are you from?”
“I was raised in Forale before my wildfire became too unpredictable. My parents sent me to the Habith Academy for training, but even they couldn’t help me.”
Emma reached out her hand and clasped Chiara’s in her own. “I’m sorry.”
She knew what it was like to be shunned by the people who were meant to care the most. In her whole life, only Iris had been a constant. She didn’t know what she would do if anything happened to her.
Her pace quickened at the thought of her sister. She wondered if she was awake yet. She prayed to the Light that she was.
She trusted Micah had taken care of her. Although she would never admit it to him—not yet, anyway—he was starting to grow on her. Still, she wanted to ensure her sister was safe. If the coven found her, even Micah could only do so much.
Part of her wished they had stayed at the manor house. They had been safe there for over six months. They had no reason to believe that they could ever be found or hurt in that place. Whoever had placed the protection charms had been one powerful witch.
“What about you?” Chiara asked, “Where are you from?”
Emma shrugged. She no longer remembered the name of the village she and her sister had been born into. “A cottage in the woods. My sister and I were raised by a witch.”
“Oh?” she asked, “Not your parents then?”
“No.”
Chiara shot her a glance but didn’t press her for more information. For this, Emma was grateful. She didn’t feel like shutting down the conversation, but she also didn’t want to explain who Grandmother Rel was to them.
“What powers do you have?” Chiara asked. She smiled and said, “All I have is the wildfire. I wish I had something else, but that’s all I’ve ever been able to manifest.”
“Until just a few weeks ago, I didn’t think I had any powers,” Emma admitted. “The reason we were raised by a witch was because my parents left Iris and me to die.”
“Yours didn’t manifest until you were older?” she asked.
“Our parents tried everything to get our powers to kindle when we were young.” Emma’s lower lip trembled as a memory she thought she no longer had passed through her.
Her parents had let small fires smolder beneath her and Iris’s feet as they begged to be let down. Iris had cried when her skin bubbled and the blisters popped. Neither of them had been able to walk for days.
She closed her eyes, forcing herself to remember the good memories instead. The ones of her mother reading to them at night and taking them to the creek to play. Still, the sour taste of a childhood riddled with trauma filled her with the need to talk about something else.
“I’m sorry!” Chiara clutched Emma’s hand. “I didn’t mean to bring up the past.”
“Well, you kind of did,” Emma said, forcing a smile. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”
“True,” she conceded, “but if I had known about your past, I would’ve asked about something else.”
Emma’s smile deepened and then she began to laugh uncontrollably. All the tension she’d been feeling over the past few months bubbled to the surface. They’d changed so much. And now, here she was walking with a woman who could summon fire powerful enough to destroy a horrible, monstrous beast.
To her surprise, Chiara joined in on the laughter. They shared a look, each recognizing the trauma the other had experienced and moved on from the conversation. They bantered and laughed the rest of the way to the village.
Micah greeted Emma and Chiara at the tavern door. He didn’t say anything as he led them into the dining area and motioned for them to take a seat at one of the long tables. No one else was in the room.
Emma attempted to ask him where Iris was, but he silenced her with her a single look.
“Later,” he mouthed before slinking out of the room.
Nothing but the ticking clock on the mantel and their own breathing broke the silence.
A door creaked from behind
them and Emma spun around in time to see Fooks stride into the room. The same men from before followed him. They formed a line across the entrance to the dining hall.
Emma rolled her eyes. After all she’d been through, she’d had enough of the theatrics.
“So, did you slay the beast that cannot be slain?” Fooks asked as he sank into a chair. “Or have you come to tell me that you failed?” He looked around the room, as if searching for something. “I don’t see its head anywhere.”
Chiara held out her fist and dropped the silver ring onto the table with a loud thud.
“We have something better than his head,” she said. She snatched the ring back up and slid it onto her finger. “This was the source of all his power. Without it, he can’t reform.”
Fooks scowled at her. “Do you honestly think we’re going to take your word for it, girl?” He turned his hard gaze towards Emma. “I told you I wanted his head.”
“Which do you want more?” Chiara asked. “His head or for him to not be a nuisance to you anymore? Because you can’t have it both ways.”
“Who the void are you?” he responded. His cheeks flushed red.
Emma could almost feel the tension radiating from him. He didn’t like Chiara talking back to him. Well, good for her. She deserved to know how it felt standing up to bullies.
“I am the only person alive who was kidnapped by that beast, tortured by him, and lived to tell the tale.” She picked at the dirt beneath her nails as she nonchalantly said, “Did you even know he’d infiltrated your men? He enjoyed wearing the faces of the men he’d tasted. Sometimes, he liked to tease them. Drink them so that he could wear their face and then terrorize them. It was like a game of cat and mouse for him. He was always the cat.”
She held up the hand bearing the ring. “This ring gave him that ability—and more. He told me how it helped him focus his magic. How the stone in its center had been forged by the countless lives he’d taken throughout the ages.”
“Enough,” Fooks commanded. He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
“Why?” Chiara asked. “So you can attempt to wield his power? Sorry, but he I must tell you, he hexed the ring so that only he could use its magic. Everyone who tries will end up dead.”
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Fooks said, leaning forward. He jutted out his had. “Just give me the ring.”
Chiara shrugged.
“Fine,” she said as she dropped it into his palm. “But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”
Fooks stroked the ring as if it were a precious item he couldn’t bear to part with.
“We’re settled then?” Emma asked.
He glowered at her.
“Yes,” he said, then shooed them away.
Emma didn’t bother asking for horses or supplies. She was just relieved he’d taken the ring in place of Arwawl’s head. She pushed to her feet. All she wanted to do was see her sister and confirm that she was alright.
Micah gripped her elbow and pulled her to the side. He shot Chiara a furtive glance and then leaned in close so that he could whisper in her ear. His breath tickled the sensitive skin on her neck and earlobe, and she shivered. She fought the urge to step away from him.
“It’s Iris,” he said. He held her hand firmly in his grasp as he continued. “I haven’t been able to wake her since you left. Her condition has worsened.” He leaned into her slightly, as if his words were too much of a weight for him to bear alone. “I’m sorry, Emma. I don’t know how to revive her.”
She pulled back far enough that she could look him in the eye.
“Maybe she’s trapped in one of her dreams,” she said. It was the best she could hope for.
“Anything is possible.” His brow furrowed. “We’ve always been able to pull her from her dreams before, though. This time feels different.”
Her blood turned to ice at the thought of Iris slipping away from her for eternity. She was the only family she had. Sure, she’d made friends with the people Iris had rescued from the dwarf, Balkeen. And Micah was going to be difficult to get rid of. She liked Chiara, too. But they weren’t her sister. Nothing could replace the bond she felt with her.
“Take me to her,” she said. She shot Chiara a glance and shook her head. She wanted a moment alone with her sister.
Micah led her up the stairs and into a small bedroom. Two narrow beds were shoved against the walls with a table between them. Micah’s bed was made, the sheet smooth and taunt over the mattress. Despite herself, Emma smiled. Although he’d been trapped in animal form for almost three hundred years, his military training was still so firmly ingrained in him he couldn’t tolerate messiness.
Her gaze landed on Iris, and her smile vanished. Iris’ hair was plastered to her skull. Her cheeks were sunken and her skin ashen. Her eyelids fluttered as if she were about to open her eyes, but she never did. Although she had always been slender, her bones stuck out from her body, her skin stretched across her frame, giving her a ghoulish look.
“How long has she been like this?” Emma asked. Rubbing her hands together, she tried to bring warmth back into them. It didn’t work.
“A few hours after you left, she began shaking uncontrollably on the bed. Foam spewed from her mouth. I thought she’d been poisoned. I thought she was dead. But then the shaking subsided. She’s been laying like this ever since.”
Emma pressed the back of her hand to Iris’s brow. She was cool to the touch, but clammy. She met Micah’s gaze and saw her fear reflected back at her.
“We need a healer,” she whispered.
“I don’t think that will help.”
She closed her eyes, knowing his words to be true.
“I can’t just give up on her,” she said. “We’ve come so far, together.”
Micah caressed her shoulder. She gripped his hand and squeezed. She still didn’t know if she trusted him, much less liked him, but he was the only one here who loved Iris.
“What else can we do?” she asked.
“We wait.”
Emma collapsed onto the foot of Iris’s bed and curled up next to her sister. She clutched her hand and whispered a prayer to the Creators that Iris would be healed. Her instincts told her something was wrong, but she knew there was nothing she could do to help. There were some battles Iris would need to face on her own. This was one of them.
Chapter Eight
Iris
Iris didn’t know how she summoned the shield that blocked the death spell from hitting her, but she did. Golden light crystallized before her. Runes appeared in the solid wall that flashed brightly before absorbing the strike. The light extinguished as cracks formed in the shield before shattering into thousands of pieces, leaving her defenseless once more.
The cloaked figures advanced towards her in unison.
“Who are you?” she shrieked.
They didn’t respond to her as they continued forward.
She didn’t know many spells. Grandmother Rel had never taught her. Why would she? Iris hadn’t exhibited any magic until six months prior, when she first began entering the dreamworld. Since then, her powers had grown exponentially within the realm of dreams. She’d once clawed her way out of a trap laid by the Elilda’s coven.
She breathed in deeply. She didn’t know who this new threat was and, in some ways, it didn’t matter. She was a Spellbreaker. A Dreamwalker. She wasn’t going to stand here and let them kill her without putting up a fight.
She imagined the golden shield of light reforming before her. Shards from the broken shield zipped through the air and melded back together. More golden light appeared, runes emblazoned within the structure as the light solidified into something impenetrable.
She delved deep into herself, searching for the heart of her power. It appeared as a small spool of undulating thread. Its color shifted as she tugged on it. It unraveled slightly but then caught. She coaxed it forward gently. She needed this. She needed to figure out what spell the cloaked figures were us
ing to kill coven members. She needed to stop them from ever being able to do it again.
Opening her eyes, she saw that her shield of golden light had multiple holes in it now. Soon, it would shatter just like the first one had and leave her defenseless.
She stretched out her hand and began concentrating on finding the thread of power emanating from the figures.
A black, oily substance oozed from them. It reminded her of the way snow turned after too many days of people walking through it, little more than sludge. Although the substance felt foreign to her and made her skin crawl, she focused her attention on it.
The six figures used their collective strength to bombard her protective wall. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated on teasing out the threads of the spell.
She inhaled, letting the sense of it fill her.
She gasped.
It was a spell designed to trap dreamwalkers in this realm. To slowly weaken them.
She saw how it stretched out like a spiderweb, turning the world grey.
She’d been caught, she realized.
She saw how the six figures used the enchantment to track the witches unlucky enough to stumble upon the trap. She saw the layers of it. How they stacked upon each other. How her attackers could stop the witches from awakening.
She focused on uncoiling each thread of the spell. They were coated in the sludge-like substance. Shivers ran down her spine each time she mentally touched the spell. It felt as if poison were being injected into her as she teased out another layer of their spell. It was intricate. So intricate that she didn’t know if she had enough time to unravel it. To break it.
She cracked one eye. Her shield was little more than a thin sheen of light now. Fissures crisscrossed over the hardened light. She knew it would shatter soon.
She redoubled her attention on unwinding each piece of the spell. As she broke different elements of it, particles of black goo separated from the spell’s core and floated into the abyss.
Her attackers hissed as the last of the entrapment spell ripped away from its core and disintegrated into black dust.
