Chapter 18 The Writhing Sky
FINISHING HER LAST mouthful of roast grouse, Lara threw the bone into the fire. The hungry flames devoured it within moments. Her appetite had been poor of late, yet now that food was scarce, it had returned with a vengeance. She could have eaten twice what she had.
The Gaulas whispered and eddied around them. Later, Ren would take her turn at warding their camp, but for now, they’d clustered close around the hearth tonight, for although The Gaulas wasn’t cold, its horrid lament had gotten to them all. Around the fire, everyone’s faces were strained.
She was vaguely aware then that the others were talking. Catching herself, Lara blinked. There it was again. She’d just drifted away. Her pulse fluttered, and she clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. Focus!
“We’ll travel the mountain path tomorrow,” Alar announced then, taking a deep draft from a waterskin.
“The Hog’s Back is the fastest route to Darkmere.
The rough terrain of The Uplands will slow us down as we head north.
We likely won’t make it in time for the full moon, if we don’t take this path.
” Lowering the skin, Alar met Cailean’s eye across the fire.
To Lara’s surprise, the two men shared a long look.
Her pulse quickened. What was that about? Turning her attention to Mor, she found the Shee queen observing Alar, her gaze narrowed. “Have you traveled The Hog’s Back before?” Lara asked her, disconcerted by the glint in the Shee queen’s eyes.
Mor shook her head, cutting her attention to Lara. “We usually move about Albia using barrows.”
“Aye, well … prepare yourself,” Cailean replied, picking up a stick and poking at the fire. “The road across The Goatfells isn’t for the faint-hearted.”
Vyr snorted. “Just as well none of us are cowards then.”
“Are you worried the Lothin will cause us problems?” Roth asked.
“They could,” Alar answered warily. “But they aren’t the only thing to watch out for.”
“If you’re worried about The Hog’s Back, we could take another route?” Lara suggested. His behavior, and Cailean’s too, was starting to unnerve her.
Alar shook his head. “There isn’t any other … not one that will get us to The Shattered Crown before Gateway.”
“The Hog’s Back it is then,” Vyr said, with a hearty tone that didn’t quite match his expression.
Uneasiness rippled through the air.
At that moment, Lara noticed something had changed. “The Gaulas has stopped,” she murmured. Around her, the others glanced up at the star-sprinkled heavens.
“Thank the Gods,” Ruari huffed. “Some reprieve. I was beginning to—”
The seer never finished his sentence, for a piercing shriek cut him off.
Lara froze. The Slew.
Next to her, Bree spat out a curse.
“They’re late.” Alar rolled to his feet. “Dusk fell a while ago.”
Heart hammering, Lara struggled up and fumbled for her cairn stone. As she did so, she twisted west. Winged dark shapes moved fast over the face of the waxing moon.
Mor craned her neck, staring up at the sky. “So many.”
“Aye.” Alar’s voice cut through the darkness somewhere to her left. “Dozens. Maybe a hundred.”
Silver light erupted around the fireside, Cailean and Ren calling their magic. The sudden brightness seared Lara’s vision, turning the Shee into shadows. Her companions stumbled backward, weapons scraping from sheaths.
Ren’s voice ripped through the night, raw and primal; a song that raised every hair on Lara’s arms. The tethered clag-doo answered with a terrified howl.
“We need to light more torches!” Sablebane shouted.
“It won’t be enough!” Cailean snarled back. “Ready yourselves!”
Lara’s gaze snapped upward. The Slew were diving now, arms outstretched. Long hair and tattered cloaks swirled around them.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs. The cairn stone in her right hand had gone slick with sweat. She raised her left hand, fingers snapping straight.
Fire shot skyward.
Screams answered: thin and terrible, like iron scraping bone.
Heat slammed into Lara’s body, a wave that stole the breath from her lungs.
It blistered across her skin, scorched through her veins until it felt as if her blood were boiling.
The fire wanted more. Finding that quiet, still place inside herself—the place where she could wield flame without fear or fury—was impossible when the air itself was screaming.
She sucked in a breath that tasted of ash and forced her fist closed—and then opened it again.
Flame erupted from every torch, a wall of light and heat that painted the night in shades of gold and crimson. The cairn stone pulsed against her palm, burning now, and the Ord-ree seal on that same hand blazed like a fresh brand.
She sent tongues of fire skyward. Again and again. But the Slew kept coming, wave after wave of them pushing against her barrier. For every wraith that wheeled away, screaming, two more dove through the gaps.
Her breath came in ragged pants now. The pressure of holding the flames steady was an iron band crushing her chest. Her raised arm screamed, muscles locked in place, trembling with the strain. Her legs shook so badly she wasn’t sure how much longer they’d hold her.
Movement flickered at the edges of her vision.
Their small band had fractured: Shee fought on one side, and Marav on the other.
Even now, even with death diving from the sky, they couldn’t unite.
Bree’s blade flashed as she cut at grasping hands.
Roth bellowed something Lara couldn’t hear over the roar of flames and screaming.
Cailean moved in a silver blur of speed.
Skaal’s teeth snapped at shadows. Behind them, smaller figures—Annis, Ruari, Eithne, Duana—huddled, iron daggers clutched in white-knuckled grips.
Alar fought alone, no one at his back.
The Shee formed a protective circle around Mor, their blades singing.
A cry—different from the others, higher, tinged with real terror—cut through the chaos. A Raven lifted off the ground, a Slew gripping each shoulder, her legs kicking uselessly at empty air. Two figures leaped, grabbed her ankles, and yanked her back to earth.
Lara forced her focus back to the fire. She couldn’t help them, couldn’t afford to let her concentration slip even for a heartbeat. They’d have to save themselves.
The flames surged higher, so bright they turned night to noon.
Light gilded the surrounding hills, painted the scree-covered slopes of the Goatfells in shades of copper and gold.
She’d never burned this fiercely before.
Never pushed this hard. The fire sang in her blood, wild and exultant, and hungry for more.
But it still wasn’t enough.
Dark shapes burst through her wall of flame. Some burned, collapsing into columns of black smoke. Others made it through, wings spread wide, mouths open.
Fighting erupted around her—shouts, grunts, and shrieks. She didn’t dare look. Didn't dare break the thread connecting her to the flames.
Wings filled her vision, leathery and tattered like storm-shredded sails. The wraith dove straight for her.
Suddenly, Alar was there, blades flashing. The Slew recoiled, its face twisting with rage. Then Cailean appeared on her other side. Then Bree. The three of them moved as one, driving the wraith back until it fled, wailing, into the smoke-choked sky.
Relief crashed through Lara's chest, so intense it nearly broke her concentration. Together. They could do this together. They could—
Something massive dropped from the sky like a stone, landing a few feet away with an impact that made the ground jolt.
Then it rose. Unfolding. Growing. Taller than any man. Broader.
Fear hit her like a fist to the gut.
The flames around her guttered. Died.
Slew poured through the gap above her head, but Lara barely marked them. Her gaze had locked onto the thing standing before her, and she couldn’t look away.
Hair like knotted kelp. A melted face that might have been Marav once. Empty eyes. That gaping maw full of splintered teeth. Smoke coiling around black-clad limbs.
She knew this one.
It had come for her at Gateway in Duncrag, had nearly killed Alar to reach her. The other Slew had been smoke and fury, but this one had been solid. Her fire had barely driven it back.
And now, it had found her again.
Mor tore free from her warriors, blade singing through smoke-thick air.
The steel bit deep into the massive Slew’s shoulder. The wraith snarled, the sound bestial, and one sinewy arm whipped out. Long fingers fastened around Mor’s throat.
The Raven Queen’s mouth gaped. Her free hand clawed at the fierce grip crushing her windpipe while she drove her blade in again, deeper, the steel disappearing into shadow-flesh.
Alar flew at the Slew, twin blades flashing. Its head snapped toward him—that was all it took, that shift of attention—and it flung Mor aside like a discarded poppet. Shadow coiled around Alar and the wraith as they clashed, dark tendrils writhing.
Lara locked her knees, even as her legs threatened to buckle. Sweat soaked through her tunic, cold against her skin despite the heat still radiating from her raised hand. Her vision blurred at the edges. The exhaustion wasn’t just tiredness, but a weight dragging her down toward the ground.
But she couldn’t fall. Not now. The others couldn’t fend off the restless dead. Without her fire, they had no chance. Especially not against this Slew.
She had to regain control.
Her gaze dropped to the fire pit still burning a few feet away.
Usually, she coaxed the flames, whispered to them, let them flow through her like water finding its course.
A partnership. A dance. Everything Ruari had taught her about stillness and control and the quiet place inside where fear and fury couldn’t reach.
Gone. All of it. Unraveled.
Desperation hammered against her ribs. Her usual way wasn’t working. The fire was slipping from her grasp. That Slew was going to kill Alar, and then it would come for her.
She had no choice.
Her left hand clenched tighter, nails biting crescents into her palm. She stared at the flames in the pit, not asking but demanding. Now! The word tore through her mind like a blade. Incinerate them all!
The fire bucked against her will like a wild pony. She slammed back, threw the full weight of her desperation and rage against it, forced it to bend. Her fingers snapped straight.
Fire exploded from her fingertips.
A roar filled the glen—not from her throat but from the flames themselves. Triumph and hunger. Golden light seared away every shadow.
Screams answered. Not just the Slew’s thin shrieks but voices—Shee and Marav both crying out in terror. “Get down!” The words ripped from her throat. “I can’t control it!”
She couldn’t. The fire had stopped listening. It poured through her, consuming her, burning her from the inside out. Heat blistered her skin. Her blood turned molten in her veins. Copper and ash stung her tongue.
She wasn’t wielding the fire anymore. She was just the doorway it rushed through, the conduit, and it didn’t care what it burned.
The flames slammed into the Slew. They recoiled, arms wheeling, mouths gaping.
Alar wrenched himself free of the massive wraith and rolled, his body a dark blur. He flattened himself as the wall of flame roared overhead and crashed into his opponent.
The huge Slew twisted and writhed, trapped now, its milky eyes fixing on Lara. Those clawed hands reached for her, grasping at air, but the fire held it pinned.
Lara staggered forward, her legs moving of their own volition. Heat pulsed through her with every heartbeat—and with it came something else. Something like joy. Like power. Like invincibility.
She was unstoppable. She was a Goddess of Fire who’d set the world alight, and everything would burn if she willed it. Everything would bow or break.
“Burn!” The scream tore from her throat, raw and wild. She unleashed another torrent of flame, this one so bright it hurt to look at, so hot the stones at her feet began to crack.
The fire drove into the Slew like a spear. Even the massive one couldn’t withstand this.
They broke. All of them. Screeching, the Unforgiven scattered into the darkness, their cries fading into the night until only silence remained.
And the fire burned on.