Chapter 41 #2
The shadows sang, slithering down the crumbling steps and flowing like spilled ink across the pure snow.
“Syra!”
Relief struck so sharply in my chest it almost hurt. My head snapped up just as he burst from the treeline and into the clearing of the ruined temple, his fathers sword drawn. His chest heaved, panic etched into his features.
Bran.
Bran would help, he always did. Always knew what I needed.
The relief was quickly drowned as he raced closer, the blood splattered across his face and streaking his sword coming into focus.
Blood.
Why is there blood?
“Syra!” His breaths came fast as he slipped upon the snow scrambling up the steps. “What in the Nine Hells, your hair—no, that doesn’t matter now. We need to go.” He glanced frantically over his shoulder as his hands reached for me, a curse falling from his lips before he hissed, “Shit!”
Arrows rained from the trees.
The shadows answered my fear before I could even form conscious thought.
The black ribbons—so similar to smoke but darker and far angier—surged from the snowy landscape in a violent wave of destruction.
They swallowed the arrows midair, the snap of the wooden shafts cracking through the night before they dropped uselessly to the ground.
I froze. The shadows were not in my control, sentient in a way that cleared my disorientation, replacing it with a kind of terror I had never experienced before.
“Can you stand?” Bran demanded as he hauled me to my feet, my legs buckling for a moment as I steadied myself and tried again. Slowly I nodded, though a fresh spike of pain had me doubling over and clinging to his tunic.
Bran watched me. Not in fear, never in fear, but urgency burned in his eyes.
“What happened?” I rasped out.
“No time.” His hand gripped my arm as he practically dragged me down the temple steps, keeping me from tumbling face first into the snow. “Solerian soldiers attacked the camp. King Artius is dead.”
My breath hitched, my ears ringing. “What?”
“Kassius has taken regency. He declared Kairen a traitor, claiming he conspired with rebel forces. Sent soldiers to stop us before the quest was completed.”
Nausea rolled through me as the shadows rippled, purring their pleasure at the news.
The only good Soliel is a dead Soliel.
Long has he reigned
wicked and cruel
but even the powerful cannot escape
when death comes to claim.
“Shut up.” My hiss was pained, palms pressing to the sides of my head. “Be quiet for once, please.”
“Bran!”
Roan broke through the treeline in a spray of snow and ice, blades drawn. Behind him came Kairen, fire blazing in both hands, and then Rena with her golden light snaking from her fingertips to her elbows—thin sword clutched tight in her hand and glowing brightly.
Roan’s gaze found mine and everything stopped. The storm around him faltered. That multicolored gaze that had become so familiar locked onto the silver of my hair, tracing the shadows that spilled from my hands and onto the white snow at my feet. There was no denying it, no undoing it.
Disbelief warred on his face, but it was not him who spoke first. It was Rena, her voice quiet and shocked, “Goddess have mercy, how—”
Then the first soldier broke through the treeline.
At least ten more followed and the clearing that had hung in shocked suspension erupted in an instant.
Roan moved without a second’s hesitation, ice spearing from the ground and impaling the first two men in brutal succession. Kairen unleashed a wall of fire that roared through the trees, forcing archers from their cover behind trunks.
Clashing steel screeched through the clearing.
Rena slammed into two soldiers, golden light bursting outwards in blinding arcs just as Bran shoved me behind him. My legs were still shaky, my hands trembling as I drew my daggers.
“Stay close,’ he demanded, “you can barely walk.”
But there was nowhere safe. Solerian soldiers continued to pour through the treeline, at least fifteen, maybe twenty of them. Though they too looked exhausted from the games the magic of the wild wood liked to play.
Two soldiers charged at Bran, weapons drawn. Steel rang out as the first engaged him in battle, but the other faltered as his gaze caught on me.
“Shadow-cursed,” he breathed, eyes widening in horror. Then louder, “Shadow-cursed! Take her and the Prince alive—kill the rest!”
The words ripped through the battlefield. For one terrible heartbeat, I heard nothing but the static in my head and felt nothing but the vibrating intensity of the shadows.
And then, chaos. Pure, unfiltered chaos.
Shadows tore free of me in a violent surge. The ground beneath the soldiers blackened, like a wave of inky darkness. They shot up in tendrils, wrapping around the man's limbs and throat, dragging him screaming back into the trees.
Kairen shouted something I could not hear as my magic moved to the next target. I could not stop it, even if I wished to. It moved through me like a raging flood held back for far too many years.
I saw as a soldier lunged at Bran from behind, my magic moved, but another was quicker.
“Bran!” Roan hurled one blade through the air and it struck true. The shadows converged just as the man hit the ground.
Another soldier tackled Roan from the side and then three more piled on top, pinning him to the ground.
Nononono—
The magic responded instantly to my desperation, my shaking legs taking a step towards Roan as one of the soldiers lifted his blade—the shadows struck, twining around the man and dragging him back.
Roan fought like something feral—ice exploding beneath him, fists slamming into flesh wherever they could hit, teeth bared-–-but they held him for one fatal second. For one second my attention was fully fixed to the man on the ground.
The arrow whistled through the air, my shadows missing it by second as they rose to block it, but it never met my flesh. The wet thunk of it sinking true filled my ears. Time slowed as the breath left my lungs in a violent gasp. Bran stood before me, having shielded me from the hit.
He turned slowly.
My eyes tracked down to the arrow protruding from his chest.
And then my cousin, my best friend, staggered.
A scream ripped from my throat as the battlefield seemed to tilt, the world warping as I took a step forward.
“NO!” Roan roared, shoving free in a burst of ice so violent it shattered armor and bone, but I hardly heard it. The sound of steel and magic was a distant cacophony of noise as Bran collapsed onto the cold ground.
Blood spread hot and bright in a pool of red across the blinding white snow.
I stumbled forward as he coughed—a wet, rattling sound that sent terror spiking through my mind. Crimson painted his lips.
And the world stopped, ceased to exist as I fell to my knees at his side.
“Bran.” I whispered, hands shaking. “Bran!” A low groan came in response.
A faint buzzing filled my ears, like a storm upon the ocean. So loud, so all-consuming that it was reduced to vibrations and white noise.
The arrow was Solerian steel, gold and worn, but sharp as my own sheathed blades. Blades he had gifted me.
Bran.
Hands shaking, I reached and when my fingers brushed and felt the warmth of his cheek, everything came rushing back all at once. The sound of steel against steel, the cursing and grunts that came from every direction. There was screaming—
No, I was screaming. My hands painted in his blood, his blood.
“Rena!” my voice was hoarse, broken. Yet still I screamed. “Heal him. Please heal him, oh Goddess. Bran please, stay awake. You’re okay. You’re going to be—”
His hand lifted, settling gently over my own. His thumb rubbed calming little circles over my skin. The tears began then, blurring his face, his wound, as I tried to stop the bleeding.
“Sy,” his voice was quiet, rough. His breath came in low, uneven gasps, making the words stilted and slow. “It’s okay, look…at…me.”
My hands shook, choking, shaking. “I—I can’t—we need Rena. I’ll get Rena.”
His fingers came up, brushing the strands of hair that fell over my shoulders. “I always…wondered what…you’d look like with your…silver hair,” he murmured, groaning and gasping between the words, though a small smile curved his lips. “I’m glad…I got to see it at…least once.”
“Stop it,” my voice was sharp, pained. Trembling as I clutched his hand. “You’re going to be fine—”
Suddenly Rena was there, covered in blood as her eyes frantically fixed to the wound.
Without a glance in my direction, golden light emanated from her palm, laying over the spot where the arrow shaft protruded from his chest. Her breath hitched and when she opened her eyes, I already knew what I’d find waiting.
“Syra—”
“Don’t.” I hissed, refusing. “Fix him, heal him now.”
“I can’t. My magic is too depleted and the wound is too—”
My scream was one of rage, injustice. Darkness exploded once more, rippling and tearing across the ground. Tears streaked down my cheeks as my body shook with every cry. “Please. I can’t lose you too, Bran. I need you.”
“Syra,” Rena’s voice was soft, careful. “There isn’t much time left, my magic is the only thing holding him—”
“No.”
“Sy,” he was wheezing now, blood painting his lips. “You’re…going to be…okay. Take,” he gasped, shuddering as Rena’s golden light flickered. “Ma, you have to…look after…her.”
Swallowing the rage and the grief I took his hand, squeezing tight. I nodded frantically. “I promise Bran, I’ll look after her, but you need to stay awake.” His sigh came soft then, his face relaxing as another shuddering breath shook his body.
My tears dripped onto his cheeks, washing the blood down his chin. His next words came quieter than a whisper. “Remember the flame…toads, okay? Whenever…you feel…catch them and…know that…if they roam…in the Kingdom of…I’m catching them….with you.”
His next breath was a soft, shuddering rattle. A wheeze, and his chest didn’t rise again.
Time stopped when his heart did.
For a second there was nothing. No sound, no feelings, no agony as my entire body stilled and my mind went utterly, completely blank. Something inside me cracked—
And then the darkness exploded.