Eleven #3
At the final ledge, I shove Marissa over the edge and haul myself after her. I shake the strain from my aching fingers and look back down at the fight.
Alaris and Sorin rush Rask, but he barely seems to notice them. He wields the club again, swinging it wide. Alaris ducks. Sorin tries to deflect the blow with a blast of air, but it’s not enough.
The club crashes into his shoulder, crushing bone.
I can hear Sorin’s scream from here as he drops, clutching his arm. Rask throws his head back and laughs as he winds up for another swing.
I try to shield them from here, but it’s too far. The curtain of light I summon stretches to nothing at this range.
Rask brings the club down, but Alaris puts himself between Sorin and the incoming attack. He tries to block it with his forearms, and I hear the crack of bone as Alaris falls.
I turn to Marissa for a second. “Go and get Lyssandra. Tell her about the wave.”
She is already moving before I finish speaking.
Rask stalks Fen through blasts of air, but stone scales now cover his chest and shoulders. The wind barely slows him.
Behind him, Sorin crawls with his good arm. He jams a shard of dark rock into the side of Rask’s thigh. The wound pulses, and Rask howls, swinging wildly. Sorin’s face is a mask of pain, but he holds on, twisting the shard in deeper.
Rask reaches down and grabs Sorin by the throat. Sorin’s face goes red, then purple, and his body starts to spasm before going slack. Rask drops him, blood spraying from his thigh as Sorin’s body clatters to the ground like a broken doll.
I sprint over to Marissa, who is shaking Lyssandra by the shoulders. As I reach them, Lyssandra opens her eyes and looks up at me, the picture of serenity.
“Have you come to kill me?” she says, as if no other possibility exists.
"No," I say, glancing at the shoreline. "I'm trying to stop you from dying."
The wind surges without warning, whipping hair across my face. Below, Rask is on his knees with both hands pressed to his thigh. Sorin isn't moving.
The Mother Shard pulses dark magenta, and for a second, everything goes silent.
Sorin’s body lifts off the ground, limp as a marionette, and he begins to unravel.
His skin peels away in translucent ribbons, muscles liquefying, bones crumbling to dust as he dissolves into a golden-red light.
The light streams towards the Mother Shard.
She brightens, pulsing as she feeds on Sorin’s essence.
I want to vomit, but there’s nothing in me to expel.
Marissa covers her mouth. Lyssandra watches with a sort of cold detachment.
When the light fades, there is nothing left of Sorin.
Overseers begin to appear, phasing through the ground around the plateau in a ring. Their faceless heads tilt in unison as a low chant fills the air.
Until the count is true.
I look to Marissa, and then to Lyssandra, before glancing over at the other Waterborn who have yet to stir. I can’t tell if they are indifferent or just so deep in prayer that they are oblivious to their surroundings.
Above us, the figure on the Mother Shard has transformed into a perfect, burning number two.
I expect Lyssandra to say a prayer. Instead, her eyes snap to mine.
“I—we, do not wish to be saved,” she says, voice flat.
She stands, unfurling from her position of prayer in one smooth movement. “You are not performing any kind of heroic service here, Luceris.”
Her hair has come loose in the wind, hanging almost to her waist. "It is an honour to die for the Crown."
The words leave her mouth without hesitation, without doubt. "As it was for my mother. And hers before that."
“I—” I open my mouth, but nothing comes out, the words dying in my throat.
"What about them?" I point at the others. "Did they choose this too?"
Lyssandra’s mouth twists. “Who are you to speak of our faith? Of our duty?”
She studies me for a long moment. “You do not know our ways. You have not lived them.”
A drop of blood falls from my fingertips and strikes the stone between us.
Lyssandra's eyes follow it. "The Tourmaline Vein survives because we do not.”
"No," I say. "I can’t accept that."
A faint smile touches her lips. "You must."
“I can’t stand here and watch you die,” I manage, my voice tight. “The next wave will come soon; we have to move.”
“Your words are admirable, Luceris, but they fall on deaf ears.”
Her smile fades. "You believe survival is mercy."
Her eyes never leave mine. "I do not."
She glances at Marissa, who visibly shrinks beneath her gaze. “I am the Willing Water, and I accept my death.”
Lyssandra sinks back down to her knees. "There is peace in that," she says, closing her eyes and clasping her hands in prayer once more.
"Do not take it from us."
“There must be another way,” I plead.
Lyssandra and Theon begin to chant, as though the conversation is already over. As though I was never part of it.
Marissa starts shaking beside me. “What do we do now?” she whimpers.
Before I can answer, the air turns cold.
I turn, and there he is—Kael, flanked by Nyxen and Vaelis.
He stands at the edge of the plateau, his uniform slightly torn around the collar, revealing more tattoos swirling across his chest. Beyond that, his clothing is immaculate.
His hands are jammed in his pockets, his eyes rimmed with the faint purple of exhaustion and something sharper, something hungrier.
“Little rabbit,” he says, voice so low it barely clears the wind. “I’ve been looking for you. You look like shit.”
I can’t help it: I laugh, raw and breathless. “I can’t say the same.”
He crosses to me in long, graceful strides, closing the gap with ease. I expect him to gut me there and then, to rip me apart with his shadows and be done with it; instead he just stares, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the gold in his irises.
“You’re hurt,” he says, touching a cut on my cheek.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper, but my heart is slamming against my ribs.
He catches one of my hands before I can pull away, brushing a thumb across the patchwork of cuts across my palm.
His jaw tightens. "Careless."
Behind Kael, Nyxen and Vaelis scan the plateau, every muscle alert, as though they expect an attack at any second. They ignore the Waterborn; their attention fixed on the horizon instead.
Kael’s eyes flick to Marissa.
"Still doing this?" he asks.
I don’t answer. I can’t. He sees the answer in my eyes regardless and laughs, sharp and joyless.
The moment shatters as a spray of flame erupts above us from the next ridge. Atheron and his pawns appear, outlined in fire. The sun glints off Atheron’s hair, his lips already curled into a sneer.
Kael looks up, expression darkening.
“Here we go,” he says. To Nyxen he shouts: “Fan left, push them back. Vaelis, get behind them.”
Vaelis nods and vanishes into the shadow cast by a stone pillar, while Nyxen steps forward, arms crossed.
“They’re too high,” he murmurs. “We’re sitting ducks out—”
Kael cuts him off.
“We hold this position and push them back from the edge. Do not give them the opportunity to fire on us.” He looks at me again, his voice nearly a whisper. “Stay here, Luceris. Do not try to be the hero.”
“I’m not trying to be anything,” I say.
He grins, all teeth, and for a moment he is beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
The Fireborn make their move. Atheron raises his arms, and a wave of flame whips out, arcing towards the plateau.
Kael pushes me down, shielding my body with his own; the fire passes overhead, torching the air. The Waterborn don’t so much as flinch.
Atheron’s voice booms down. “I see you’ve defied the odds. Not the first to die after all.”
I ignore him, looking around for Marissa instead.
“Not so brave outside of the Embrace, are we? I told you, Prince, I’m going to burn you all, starting with your little pet.”
Kael’s only answer is a snarl. He stands and gestures to Nyxen, who makes a flicking motion with his wrist. Shadows bulge at the edge of the ridge. They twist into writhing spikes and spear upwards, stretching impossibly far towards the Fireborn.
They leap aside, but Maleiros isn’t fast enough—he goes down screaming as the shadows skewer him through the calf.
Kael’s attention never leaves Atheron. “Still paying people to die for you Visconti?” he shouts. “Aren’t you tired of hiding, you fucking coward?”
Atheron laughs. “Coming from you, Prince?” He gestures to Nyxen. “Hypocrite.”
He launches another fireball, this time at the Waterborn. It’s deliberately slow. Threatening, probing for weakness.
I act before I can debate the consequences. I shove myself between Theon and the flame, flaring my shield as wide as I can. The ball of fire explodes against it, bathing me in warmth, but the shield holds.
Kael’s eyes are on me, furious, but threaded with something I can’t name.
Nyxen ducks behind cover and hisses, “We’re too exposed here, Kael. If the wave comes we—”
Kael shakes his head. “Then get on with it. Force them back!”
He grabs my arm, pulling me behind the line of praying Waterborn. Marissa cowers beside Lyssandra, her small face filled with fear, as fire and shadow meet all around us in a clash of power.
“Listen to me,” he says, his grip firm around my wrist. "If the wave comes, run."
"What about everyone else?" I ask.
"I wasn't talking to everyone else."
I shake him off. “I won’t leave them to die.”
He’s standing too close. Close enough that I can smell smoke on his skin.
“You owe these people nothing.”
I meet his stare. “There has to be more than this. I have to do something."
He studies me. For a moment, something in him gives way. Then it's gone. “Then you’re a fool.”
“Maybe,” I say.
His jaw flexes. “None of these people will survive, Luceris.”
“I won’t let this place change me,” I snap. “I won’t do it.”
He closes his eyes, a flicker of real pain crossing his face before he releases my wrist.
A flash of orange whistles down from the ridge, but this time it’s aimed at Kael. Darkness wreathes his hands as he raises them towards the flame, and the fireball dissolves into sparks as it meets the shadows.