Chapter Twenty #2
But it didn’t. Jenna fought and struggled but was unable to make a dent in the magic of the anchor stone.
Weak, she thought. You’re too weak. You’re going to fail!
But then, just as her strength was giving out, she felt new vigor flooding into her. Arran had his hand clasped to her shoulder and somehow he was feeding her strength. Vitality rushed through her, pushing away the exhaustion, filling her with energy.
With renewed determination, she focused her magic on the stone.
Arran’s strength intertwined with hers, and she used this combined force to haul her net of magic tighter, tighter, tighter, pulling with everything she had until finally, with a retort that shook the cave, the anchor stone cracked.
The top half toppled backwards and crashed to the floor in a shower of dust.
Jenna collapsed onto her hands and knees, breathing heavily, hair falling forward to curtain her face. She felt dizzy but also slightly euphoric. She had done it! Correction: they had done it. She pushed herself onto her knees and turned to look at Arran.
He was kneeling behind her, both hands pressed against the smooth stone floor. His hair was matted to his face with sweat and his chest was heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. He looked up at her, blue eyes bright.
“We did it?”
Jenna nodded, feeling a grin spread across her face. “We did it!”
She felt the strongest urge to throw her arms around him but held herself back. Now was not the time. They might have broken Njord’s anchor stone but there was still a fleet of raiders fast approaching and she had yet to restore Skye’s magic.
From outside, she heard a sudden shout and then the twang of bowstrings.
The air was suddenly filled with arrows and the shouting of men.
The fleet of boats had almost reached the beach and now the occupants were flinging themselves over the side, some to avoid the arrows that were raining down on them, others in a bid to reach the shore.
From either end of the beach, Arran’s warriors came running, a terrible, ululating battle cry coming from their throats.
The beach would soon be soaked in suffering and bloodshed. She had to stop it.
Arran was staring at the raiders too, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, the veins in his neck standing out.
His biceps flexed as he strode to the cave entrance and raised his claymore, ready to fight anyone who tried to get close.
But he couldn’t keep fighting forever. Sooner or later one of their blows would get through his defenses and Arran would get injured—or worse.
No, she thought. He won’t. I will not let that happen.
She had broken Njord’s anchor stone. Now all she had to do was repair Skye’s magic.
She hurried to the back of the cave and went to her knees by the original anchor stone, taking a moment to trace her fingers along the whorls and glyphs carved into its surface.
It was broken, dead. But that didn’t mean that it couldn’t be revived.
Closing her eyes, Jenna tried to shut everything out. The sound of roaring men and clashing steel that now sounded from the beach. The harsh rasp of Arran’s breathing as he guarded the cave mouth. The thump, thump, thump of her own rapid heartbeat.
There was only her and broken stone and the magic inside her.
She reached out and laid her palm flat against the anchor stone. The net of golden energy sprang into her mind immediately and now that the alien magic was gone, it seemed to shine brighter than before, almost incandescent in places.
Yet it was still black as pitch in others. Still corrupted. Still broken.
Gathering her magic, she channeled energy out into the golden net just as she’d done twice before.
And just as before, she reached the holes in the net and paused.
Despite breaking the influence of the alien magic, there was no change or sign of the magic healing itself.
It needed help, and she was the only one able to give it.
She began weaving her power into strands and using them to bridge the gaps in the golden net. There was less resistance this time and she wove the patches with unexpected ease, the magic melding and growing beneath her touch as though eager to obey.
A thrill of elation went through her. Yes! It was working!
When every last drop of darkness had been patched, she drew the magic into the broken anchor stone and tied it off, completing the web.
Then, slowly, carefully, she withdrew her magic.
The golden net thrummed through the very bedrock of Skye, right from its origin at Bail Nan Cnoc, from the darkest cave to the highest peak.
The land suddenly felt alive. She could feel the energy thrumming in every rock and blade of grass, in every tree and flower.
Even the waves lashing against the shore suddenly seemed to hum with a life force of their own.
She turned to Arran. “Arran, I’ve—”
The words died on her lips. Raiders were swarming outside the cave mouth, fighting to gain entrance.
Fighting to get to her. They were only stopped from doing so by Mal and a group of his men and a fierce battle was raging.
The clang of steel on steel, the cries of wounded men, and the stink of blood filled the air.
Arran had not moved from his position by the cave entrance but from the tense set of his shoulders, Jenna could see how much he longed to go join his men, how much it cost him to hold his position while they fought and died.
Jenna’s pulse ratcheted up several notches. Fear coursed through her like ice-water. What was happening? The magic was restored. Any enemy of Skye should not have been able to penetrate its magical wards. So why were they still fighting?
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice hoarse as she stared at the carnage that was inching ever closer to where she knelt. “I fixed it. I fixed it!”
Suddenly, she felt a tremor in the rock beneath her knees, a low rumble like that of an earthquake.
And somewhere she felt something… snap.
She closed her eyes, sent her senses desperately questing out towards Skye’s magic. And then she saw them. Black holes in the web. Unhealed. Corrupted. Broken.
No! she cried silently. I fixed it!
But she hadn’t. She might have broken the power of Njord’s corruption but her healing of the magic hadn’t worked. Despair washed through her, black and suffocating, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t lift her head for the agony of defeat rampaging through her.
The sounds of fighting were louder now, echoing off the walls around her.
The raiders were only perhaps twenty paces from where she knelt, blocked by a line of Arran’s warriors who were fighting desperately to keep them at bay.
They were so close she could make out the tattoos inked into the raiders’ cheeks—the same runes that had adorned the anchor stone.
Her heart began to gallop in her chest, her breathing becoming hoarse and ragged with fear.
Then, even as she watched, two of Mal’s men went down, blood spurting and bodies crumpling. Three raiders burst through the line and sprinted forward with their weapons swinging.
Straight at Arran.
A scream ripped from Jenna’s throat as Arran stepped to meet the first of them. His claymore swung in a blur, taking the first man in the stomach, the second in the thigh, and then catching the third’s blade on his own, shoving him back with a powerful thrust of his shoulders.
But more men were breaking through the line now, first one and then another, and Arran was suddenly fighting desperately, fighting to keep them from her, fighting to stay alive.
“No!” Jenna screamed. “Arran!”
Magic gathered at her fingertips, hot and raging.
Your power must never be used for harm, her aunts’ voices said in her head. Only for the good of others.
It had been the song of her life, the unbreakable rule. But now she didn’t care. Arran was in danger, and nothing else mattered. What good was her power if she couldn’t save him? What was the point of any of this if she lost him?
She raised her hands, ready to send her magic crashing into the attackers and send them flying. But there was no room. Arran was too entangled in the melee, a confusing tangle of flashing blades and tumbling bodies. If she attacked now, she would likely hit him as well.
“Give it up!” a man with a tattoo down his neck snarled at Arran. “Ye canna win! Ye think ye can stand against the power of a god?”
“Njord has no power here,” Arran snarled back. “And neither do ye.”
With a furious burst, he sent a stinging attack at the man, claymore swinging so fast it seemed to be everywhere at once.
The ringing of steel on steel filled the cave mouth as the tattooed man desperately parried the blows, being forced back step by step.
Jenna knew very little about sword-fighting but even to her untrained eye, she could tell that Arran was a master swordsman.
For such a large man, he was as light on his feet as a ballet dancer, and he moved and swayed, struck and pivoted with electrifying grace.
Arran’s blade caught the tattooed man’s and ripped it out of his hand. The man’s sword went sailing through the air and hit the cave wall with a clang. Unarmed now, the man crouched, eyes darting around as if looking for escape.
Arran swung his sword with all his might, a howl of rage and frustration bursting from his lungs. Had the blow connected, it would have taken the man’s head off.
But the blow didn’t land.
The tattoo on the man’s neck suddenly began to glow with a strange blue light. Then he moved so fast that Jenna couldn’t track his movement. One second, he was right in the path of Arran’s sword, the next he seemed to flicker and reappear inside Arran’s guard.