Chapter 13 #4
“That’s not helpful!” I shouted in response, my mind already buzzing with the sharp whispers of my pursuers.
I kept moving, keeping my gaze trained forward on the encroaching mass.
There were hundreds of them now. They nearly filled the entire chamber.
How was I supposed to overcome such an overwhelming force?
Even with the Source’s blessing, I was at a loss.
I could only do what I knew. Extending both hands out, I loosed bolt after bolt of lightning into the churning shadows, evaporating shadow after shadow as the air around me filled with the ash of the fallen.
Sweat dripped down my face as I lost count of the number I’d obliterated, yet still more rose to take their place.
But over the exhaustion that quickly built, that sorrow in my chest seemed to grow with every expenditure till it squeezed me so tightly I couldn’t breathe any longer.
Ceasing my attack, I backed away further, only to find the cool touch of the chamber wall meeting me. I had backed myself into a corner, a sea of shadow spreading out before me, seemingly focused on drowning me in their numbers.
“The light is not a weapon. You must return it to them.”
The words echoed through my mind once again, and I let out a grunt of frustration. What did the Source expect me to do? If I didn’t defend myself from the approaching horde, then they were going to rip me to pieces. Did it so sorely lack self-preservation?
“The light is not a weapon,” I spoke aloud, hoping to better drown out the whispers.
If it wasn’t a weapon, then what was it meant to be used for?
I reached for the magic brimming under my skin, ready to defend myself once more.
I held it there, trying to intuit what came next.
The magic thrummed through my veins till the resonance matched the fever pitch of the whispering voices.
A shadowy figure broke through the shambling ranks, swinging a blade of ichor wide.
I caught it at the wrist, stopping the blade just short of my cheek.
Their flesh was cold to the touch, but I could feel my magic react, tugging at my insides as if begging to take action.
But what could I do? Besides offense, my magical abilities were restricted to healing.
Would that have any effect on this creature?
If the light wasn’t a weapon, it would have to be a salve.
I muttered the incantation I’d learned as a child, gasping as the warmth under my skin bloomed into a searing heat.
I exhaled sharply, and the creature opened its terrible maw, ichor dripping from fangs of pure shadow, and bellowed like a wounded animal.
From the point of contact, I watched as the shadows peeled away, revealing pale flesh underneath.
Within seconds, all of the ichor had evaporated from its body, and a woman with fair hair that hung in her face stood before me.
I recognized her as she opened her eyes, the veil of her vestments having fallen back from her head.
She was one of Sancha’s attendants, though her name evaded me in the haze of battle.
Gods above. These creatures weren’t just abominations summoned by the Umbral. Could they be all of those missing from the Cradle’s halls? And if that were the case… what had I done to those whom I had reduced to ash?
I pushed the thought from my mind. There would be a reckoning for my actions later. Now, I had to focus.
“Cirian?” the woman’s fragile voice sputtered, eyes widening as she took in her surroundings.
“Behind me,” I ordered gently, tugging on her wrist to put myself between the woman and the approaching shades. “Stay alert. When I say the word, you’re going to make a run for it. Understand?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I-I thought I was dead. Thank you.”
I shook my head, watching the ranks of shadowy figures inch closer. “Do not thank me yet. Our circumstances are not much improved.”
The warmth in my veins surged again, and that still voice filled my mind.
“Show them, Acolyte. Show them what is possible.”
But how was I to revert each of them? There were hundreds of shades, and while the Umbral may not have noticed Sancha’s attendant yet, I doubted they would stand by and allow me to cleanse each of their thralls.
I needed another strategy. The Source had told me to show them what was possible. I was no longer confined to the limitations of my own magical abilities, so I could only assume that meant I could attempt feats beyond my wildest dreams.
The idea struck me like a bolt.
Could I heal someone without ever touching them?
It went against everything I’d been taught since I was a child. The act of healing was merely the transference of energy from one to another. It required a physical connection. But the Source itself had never been physical, and now its magic was at my command.
Squaring my shoulders, I stood tall against the encroaching masses.
A sea of darkness waited ahead, the shadows of those who walked these sacred halls twisted into beings of chaos and fear. I had no certainty that I would be able to save them, but of one thing I was certain.
No longer would I be Acolyte to the Source. From this moment on, I accepted the role that Sancha had spent thirty years preparing me for.
I was the Source’s Vessel, and no amount of darkness could stand against me.