Chapter 48 Arwyn
ARWYN
There was a storm inside of my bones, begging to be released.
So, I gave it freedom. As I ran through the streets of London, I painted the symbols of air, water and fire in my mind until the shape of them was as familiar as Hector’s body.
I spewed out my intent, gathering dark clouds at my back, singing for rain to lash against the cobbles and lightning to crack against the sides of buildings.
No one would stop me. Not if they wished to live.
By the time I reached the White Tower, the sky rumbled viciously, as if the dark smudges of clouds hid a demon within them. Fog rose around me in a wave, engulfing my body as I cut past the police guards stationed at every entrance and exit.
I was a madman, sprinting through the heart of London with nothing but a hospital nightgown falling off my broad body.
But it was better this way. As long as no one had the chance to get in my way, everyone would survive. At most, they’d come out of this unscathed but very wet.
The White Tower was a maze of corridors, stairs and rooms. It was mostly deserted, as if all evidence that the Coven had ruled here had been stripped away. If it wasn’t for the demanding, yet far off, chanting of voices, I would’ve believed I was truly alone.
I followed the noise, using the chorus to guide me to where I needed to be.
The deeper I got into the bellows of the White Tower, the more my anxiety grew. The bud of flame inside of me became an inferno when the noise sharpened, and I could make out the words.
“Hekate, Goddess of witchcraft, Queen of magic,
I call upon thee to join us.
I honour your guidance, seek your protection and ask that you show us back on the path of thy wondrous leading.”
It was the same invoking chant we’d used before the third trial. Except it wasn’t four voices calling to the void, begging our forgotten Queen to aid us. No, it was many. Countless pitches overlapping one another, the volume growing louder and more demanding the closer I got.
I threw myself down the last few stairs until the air was heavy with moisture and mould. The taste of damp brick clung to the back of my throat. Dust strung at my eyes. But I didn’t stop… not until I ended this.
Deep beneath the White Tower, an army of witches stood in rings around a familiar gate, power rolling from their bodies in undulant waves.
“Stop!” I screamed as hard as I could, but to no avail. Not a single witch broke their rhythm, not a single one looked at me. “Stop this, stop!”
I pushed through the room, tearing apart the clasped hands of witches. If they wouldn’t listen to me, I would make them.
My focus was on the gate. Its once proud shape was crumbling, falling away as though the stone was returning to sand. Across its face, the worn rune-marks spluttered with light, trying to resist the call of the witches’ power but failing at it.
They were not closing the gate, nor opening it.
They were destroying it.
Hands grasped at me. I fought against them, using every ounce of my ebbing strength to get as close as I could. I’d given up begging them to stop; it was pointless. Instead, I would use tooth and nail to break this ceremony if it killed me.
I drove a fist into a face, broke a nose. My bandages took the brunt of the force, but I still felt the pain. It kept me going, kept my mind sharp.
“Hekate, Goddess of witchcraft, Queen of magic,
I call upon thee to join us.”
I got as close to the gate as I could. There were so many hands on me, bodies falling onto my back until I was forced to the ground. My eyes never once left the gate, knowing who still dwelled beyond it.
“Hector!” I screamed until his name tore my throat to shreds. “Hector, you need to leave!”
Could he hear me? Even if he could, was he still in a position to leave even if he wanted to?
Hector and Kai had agreed that this was how the story would end. Regardless of the success, Hector would be locked within a realm with Bahmet, forever saving witch-kind from the demon’s influence again.
A part of me, the quiet part, couldn’t comprehend that Hector would leave me without saying goodbye.
Whereas the louder part, the part that kept me fighting as if I could get close enough to the gate to pull him back to me with my will alone, told me that this had Hector’s command written all over it.
“I honour your guidance, seek your protection and ask that you show us back on the path of thy wondrous leading.”
Chunks of stone began to fall away from the gate, rolling across the floor and coming to stop in heaps. There was nothing I could do but watch. Watch as my world was taken away from me.
I was on my stomach, my hands held behind my back as other witches knelt on me. Someone was apologising, but I couldn’t care enough to see who. Instead, my focus was fixed on one spot only, and that was the middle of the gate.
Soon, it would be no more.
“Hector!” I bellowed, willing the dark body of this cavernous place with my grief and panic. “Come back to me. Come back. Come back… Come. Back.” My lungs ached and I tasted blood in my mouth. It was enough to give me pause, but I still forced out one final plea. “Please.”
“Hekate, Goddess of witchcraft, Queen of magic,
I call upon thee to join us.
I honour your guidance, seek your protection and ask that you show us back on the path of thy wondrous leading.”
The chanting reached a new height, and then broke. Silence reigned. I blinked, making out what had stopped everyone from continuing.
Dust clouded the air, so it was hard to make much out beside the now ruins which had once been the gate. Barely a single brick was left.
But stood in the midst of that cloud was Hector. I couldn’t see much more than his outline, but I knew it was him. I could’ve painted his form with my eyes closed, even with my hands bandaged and fingers ruined.
Relief burst inside of me, giving me the energy I needed to break free of the witch’s hold. I clawed at the ground, pulling myself to standing and stumbling over to where Hector was.
“You called.” His voice was soft, almost too quiet. He blinked heavily, because of the dust in his eyes or something else, I wasn’t sure. “I came.”
The second my hands grasped for him, Hector’s body folded into itself. He crumpled to the floor, bringing me down with him. I’d hoped it was from relief of being reunited. I was wrong. So very wrong.
It was up close when I saw the blood spreading like a black lake across his stomach. How his pale hands shook as he clutched at the gaping wound. The colour that flooded his cheeks draining like a fresh painting left out in the rain.
“No,” I spluttered, unsure what to do with my hands. “No, no, no.”
Hector’s skin was sticky, and as white as a sheet. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and his hair smelled of charred flesh and fire. I searched for more wounds, but it was pointless. There was only one that mattered, and it was the open hole in his gut.
“Help me,” I whispered, watching the light leave his eyes. Hector’s stare became distant as he looked at me, as if he was searching for something lost far behind where I knelt. “Someone help me! Help! Now! I need a healer.”
Witches rushed around me. The dust settled. And Hector loosed a breath, harsh and gargled, which would be his last. It wasn’t like in the movies, or the books I used to read. Death wasn’t slow and steady, giving time for goodbyes and grief. It was sudden. Over in a blink.
Hector Briar died in my arms, blood spilling out until it began to create rivers amongst the ruined gateway.
I leaned my forehead against his cold one, tears rolling down my face and splashing onto his skin. To anyone else it would look like he too cried, but I knew he was beyond that now. I felt no pulse, no brush of breath against my cheek as I pressed my mouth to his unresponsive one.
Helpless. Once again, that was exactly what I was.
Except, I refused it. I called upon every tool in my arsenal, magic and mortal means, and used it. I blew air into his mouth, hoping to fill his still lungs. I pushed at his chest, giving him compressions in hopes that I’d feel his heart splutter back to its normal canter.
They tried to stop me. It was useless as I growled at them, like a lion over its young.
I called upon magic, old magic… great magic, and used it in every sense I could think of.
“You’re not leaving me,” I said between compressions, fixing my furious gaze down upon Hector’s sweet, peaceful face. “You’re not fucking leaving me! Do you hear me, Hector Briar. Do you? Fight. Come back to me… I’ll call for you again, and you better listen. Please, listen. Please, just don’t go…”