Chapter 59
Vann finally returned as preparations were being made.
His first and only words had been a hurried, “A word. Bring the Fae,” in her ear, before he marched his way out of the great hall.
He stood before her now, staring down at Fern’s likeness on the slab, more serious than she’d ever seen him. “Is she here?”
“Maybe.” Lunara resisted the urge to glance at the actual Fern where she hovered nearby, examining Vann with a furrowed brow. “Are you ready to tell me what you’ve been hiding?”
“Yes, and no.” He straightened, unperturbed. “How much damage would forced remembrance do?”
Interesting.
“Hard to say. Depends on the person, and what they’re ready for. Under the circumstances, I would suggest that less is more. I don’t have the time to fix anything you muck up.” Without looking away from him, she said, “Do you mind being revealed, Fern?”
The Fae arched a sardonic brow. “What do you think? I didn’t want go through with all this pissing foolery in the first place.”
Right.
Breaking the spell barely required thought. The well within had ceased being such a paltry thing the moment she’d taken Illamiata. She wasn’t even sure sea was an appropriate description. It was far more vast than that. Than any physical thing she’d ever beheld.
Vann sagged with Fern’s appearance at his side, her image disappearing from its faux repose. “Thank the Sisters.”
His relief irked Lunara. “We’re needed elsewhere, so make it quick.”
“Yes, I’m aware.” He tossed the pillow on Fern’s sickbed aside, plucking up a small, bumpy thing from beneath it.
“What is that?”
Vann held it up between pinched fingers. “A storm seed. I’d hoped it would help her before, to have one close and feel its familiarity. It didn’t.” He tossed it at Fern. “Swallow that.”
Fern caught it, eyes narrowing. “Why do I trust you?”
“We’re friends.”
More interesting.
“Hmm.” She shoved the seed in her mouth without so much as a blink.
Shite.
What is happening?
Excellent question.
Before she could ask it, Vann was pulling something else from a deep, inner pocket of his long jacket.
Lunara recoiled. “Is that a mace?”
“Yes.” Fern stepped forward like she’d been hypnotized, fixated on the plain, battered weapon in Vann’s grasp. “It is.”
“Give her some space, Luna.” The tone in his voice brooked no argument.
Her back hit the wall as he handed it over, joining her in a blur.
The second Fern’s fingers wrapped around the handle, the mace transformed.
Bronze bubbled up from beneath the steel, morphing it into an ornate monstrosity.
The spiked end lengthened as a grey, stormy cloud gathered around it, and yellow sparks shot down to strike the tip and flanges like a lightning rod.
Everything about Fern was magnified. Her curls defied gravity to float around her face and shoulders in a lavender halo.
The gold dust in her skin twinkled above and below the edges of her bandeau dress.
The green of her wings deepened. And, when she looked up at them with wicked eyes, there were roiling clouds in her dark gaze as well.
“Yes,” she hissed through her teeth, grinning as electric arcs danced over her skin. “This feels right.”
“Behold the Spring Rain.” Vann spoke under his breath, barely a sound. “I’ll be traveling with you. She needs me nearby to use her powers.” He shrugged. “Cost of Fae magic, which I’ll happily pay since we’re going to need all the help we can get if the rumors in the Tempusrealm are true.”
Too much information to sort through.
“What was the seed for?”
“To help her body remember what she is, without having to explain anything.”
That… sort of makes sense?
“Wait—”
“That’s all I can say, for now.” He gripped her shoulder, his mismatched eyes earnest. “I didn’t like the secrecy, but it was—is—necessary.
Just know… You have found yourself with an extraordinarily powerful ally.
The rest of her truths are hers to give, when she finds them again.
For now, keep her close and trust her intuition. It is unmatched.”
According to Araxis, memory was its own sort of realm toll for those who could mist, and there were few places Lunara remembered more emphatically than Glynmor.
Being back sent a shiver down her spine. She’d come alone, hidden in the space between, to see first by herself what awaited them before delivering the Demon host to its cursed soil.
In the month since they’d been there, the fields between the village and chasm had failed to heal themselves. Veins of black spread out from the ruts through the land, and—where the dreadbeast’s blood had spilled—festering decay was slowly eating away at the grass and flowers that dared to remain.
Solyrian mocked her from above, casting its warmth on a scene that didn’t deserve it.
Invisible within the shimmering ether, Lunara stood atop the rocky incline Brand had made and watched the swarm of Forgotten wandering aimlessly below, seeping shadow and towering like trees.
White and bony, cracked and gangling, they trampled the ground with their careless, clawed steps.
Their brittle moans crackled through needlepoint teeth and shattered the silence in intervals, like branches as they snapped and fell.
As far as the eye could see. In every direction.
Good thing Hedda had thought for her to come. There’d be no time to gather themselves. No time for finding their feet.
Magic floated in on the soft breeze, running familiar fingers through her hair. The Sorcerit were coming.
This is it.
They just had to get to the steps at the chasm’s edge. Sisters willing, they would lead her to Brand.
That thought burned away any lingering fear. Lunara would have only moments once she acted. She had to make them count.
“Sisters, bless me. I am yours, as I am his, as I am mine.” She urged her fangs to lengthen and took a shaky breath as she recalled the details of Hedda’s instructions. “And I am not afraid.”
She sank her fangs into her wrist, ripped the flesh away, and stepped through the ether to the far side of field below, outside the forest’s edge.
Her blood hit the dry ground in a waterfall of red as the dreamlike quality of her hiding place dissipated. Heads snapped to the air, sniffing, and she smiled as the droves of Forgotten took the bait and surged towards her
“Come and get it, you fucking filth.”
Just before the first claws could rake across her torso, she misted back to the Montrealm.
When Lunara reappeared in Straelon, everyone was already joined in any way they could manage while keeping one fighting hand free. Fern stood right at the front, Magnus and Vann’s hands on her shoulders, Faldir behind with a hand on each of theirs.
And so it went, the towering Demons of the Montrealm holding fast to their brethren, their numbers staggering as they filled the courtyard and spilled down onto the road.
Hedda was waiting, asking quietly, “How was it?”
“Exactly as you thought it would be. Your idea worked.”
“Then we have no time to waste.”
Before leaving for the Westglen with Lyriat, Araxis had hastily guided her through what to do.
How to feel the connected bodies and join them with her own.
After a couple of practice runs, and with Illamiata guiding her, it was the most natural thing in the world to grasp Fern’s outstretched fingers and grab onto every particle of every creature.
It was amazing the things one could learn in a matter of hours when fueled by desperation.
Hedda gripped Lunara’s nape as she turned to the gathered horde and raised her battle axe. “Be ready! We follow the mist into mayhem, to the Forgotten awaiting on the other side. Rip them apart!”
Gritting her teeth, Lunara wrenched them into the ether.
Their voices were still blaring, “Limb from fucking limb!” in answer to their commander when they emerged in Glynmor as one.
The violence was instant.
Demons roared as they swung their weapons, descending upon the throng of Forgotten where they were still crawling in a seething mass over her pool of blood.
“Get us to the incline!” Hedda shouted over the chaos.
With a nod, Lunara misted again, bringing their core group with her. Hedda had tasked warriors from her First Legion with leading the battle here. The chasm, finding Brand, was up to them.
Releasing Fern, she brandished her whip… talon… things, ready for the final trick Araxis had shown her. Well, mostly ready.
Magnus pointed at the spot where the grass and dirt at the chasm’s edge were drooping. “Brand’s steps, and our destination.”
“Do we await the Nachthellians?” Hedda asked.
“No need.” Magnus stripped his robe away, keeping his eyes trained below. “They’re here.”
Lunara pushed past him, panicked, as Sorcerit spilled from between the longhouses of Glynmor, magic leaving their hands in bursts as they joined the fray.
She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry when she spotted Cordelia already in the midst of single-handedly beheading one of the Forgotten and setting it on fire. “I didn’t know she still had it in her.”
“Ach, I fucking did,” Magnus scoffed. “There’s a gleam in the eye there, witchling. Cordy will be just fine.”
…Cordy?
“Mist down,” Vann asked, “or fight our way through?”
Faldir twirled his axe. “I say we butcher as many of these bastards as possible.”
“Agreed,” Magnus growled.
Lunara’s breaths came shorter, nerves ratcheting.
A hand on her shoulder. “No fear, Sorcerit,” Hedda murmured. “Stay close, follow your instincts, and let your body remember what it knows now to do.”
Fern grinned. “You’ll be fine, eh? I can feel it.”
Trusting the feelings of a Fae with secret powers who couldn’t even remember her own name was—
Your only choice. Let it happen. For Brand.
Right.
“At my word, jump and make for the steps.” Hedda toed the drop, glancing down. “We’ll clear our path, but that has to be good enough.”
“Aye. See you on the other side.” Magnus spared one lingering glance at Fern before he shifted, howling to the sky as he settled.