Chapter 33 #2
My gaze caught on the rune-caster closest to me with long, matted hair the color of a rusted tin can, bony shoulder blades poking through a filthy, threadbare shirt.
“Hello?” I called softly, a sudden sense of panic clawing at my throat as the Dwimmer stiffened. “I would like to help you. C-can you hear me?”
Time seemed to stop, and my lungs seized up, squeezing every last molecule of air from them as I padded closer, praying for the Dwimmer to turn and face me.
And praying that they wouldn’t. It was like my soul knew what I was about to see and could hardly bear it. Did I know this Dwimmer?
Black dots swam before my eyes as I stepped closer and reached out a trembling hand to touch that bony shoulder and –
“Ah!”
I was thrown back like I’d stuck my finger into an electrical socket, losing my footing as the vortex swept me up again. I was flying through the ether even as I tried to fight it.
“No! I need to go back!” I cried into the wind. “Those people . . . they need my help!”
But it was no use.
I blinked and was back in the circle, now on my belly, sprawled out, dirt in my eyelashes drifting as I blinked, and my tongue felt thick, throat dry.
The need to help those Dwimmers sang under my skin, but here in the circle, I knew I couldn’t.
I had to finish this and then . . . maybe I could figure out what was happening to them, and where.
The last two drinks were in another set of matching containers, only these ones had been placed on a set of scales. And the containers were not chalices, or mugs, but cracked bowls hanging from thin chains.
I couldn’t see what was in them with my chin on the ground. One more set of drinks, one more choice, and I was done.
Dragging myself upright, I went to my knees in front of the two bowls. One swirled with gray shadows, as if fog had been condensed into a drink.
The other was a deep red Cabernet if I didn’t count the flecks of light dancing within it that sparked upward, like reverse lightning bolts.
Neither drew me.
I sat there looking from one to the other. There was no guide here either which meant . . . really, what choice did I have?
“Drink them both.” I said out loud. But did I pre-mix, or snap them both back like shots?
I could have used someone’s help here, even Calypso but . . . this was my choice. It had to be and my initial feeling was to mix them both. Before I could change my mind, I dumped the red Cab into the foggy elixir, did one swirl and tipped it to my lips.
Calypso’s request echoed as the liquid hit my lips. Storm and fire, magic and steel, it hit the back of my throat like a hammer and I gasped, lungs closing, the world around me disappearing.
I should have been more concerned about dying.
But there was no stopping this trip. I was along for the ride, however long it might be.
A sea of color flooded my vision on all sides and, an instant later, the light began to stretch and pulse, forming a chaotic scene in front of me as I slowed to a stop, stumbling as my bare feet hit solid, cold ground.
A myriad of sounds attacked my ears. Swords clashing, screaming and howling, an explosion rocking the air, and then the twang of an arrow only inches from my face. I spun to the side as the soldier who stood behind me nocked another arrow.
He didn’t react, keeping his eyes fixed on some far-away target on the other side of the battlefield. I was back in spectator mode again. But even though the rational part of my brain knew that I wasn’t really here, the thumping in my chest told me the not-so-rational part had yet to get the memo.
Focus, Harlow. You’re here to learn something. Figure it out and be done with this!
I forced my attention back to the battlefield, as two armies clashed in the middle of the sun-kissed valley. Medieval garb. One side wore crisp red uniforms, and the other was dressed in ragged black . . . pirates, maybe?
Now that the world had stopped spinning, I realized they weren’t only fighting with swords and bows. Jets of fire and blasts of magical energy streaked across the battlefield – that was the explosion that I’d heard.
Wherever this was, whenever this was, magic was used freely here.
And most of the pirate army was using the rune-less kind. Their hands not casting runes, but magic firing from them regardless.
Fae.
They must be part-Fae . . .
Like me.
A strange sense of longing mixed with pride welled up inside me, but I had no time to consider it as a glowing figure emerged from the red army, his fingers flicking through a quick rune as he raised his sword into the sky.
“Kneel before your king!” he commanded, his voice thundering across the battlefield like a physical force as golden light poured from his fingertips.
I squinted against the blinding light, but when it faded, the entire pirate army was kneeling.
All except for a lone, defiant figure. Her black coat and dark hair whipped in the wind, and her expression was one of defiance rather than fear.
The Morrigan herself.
I knew it as sure as I knew my own name.
A chill crept up my spine as the puzzle pieces clicked into place in an instant. This wasn’t just a battle, it was the battle. The greatest of all ages, if the legends could be trusted.
King Arthur and his men on one side, the Morrigan, Fae Queen on the other.
I crept closer, goosebumps prickling at my skin.
“Surrender, Morrigan,” Arthur commanded. “We both know how this ends. I cannot be defeated.”
“Correction,” she said with a harsh laugh. “You could not be defeated, Arthur. But it’s a new day and the world changes.”
She didn’t move that I saw, but magical power exploded out of her, nonetheless. Where Arthur’s spell had been precise and controlled, hers was wild and free like an untamed horse. It surged across the battlefield as a fog, slowly twisting into a single mass as it leaped toward the wide-eyed king.
My jaw dropped. Not a fight between the two strongest Dwimmers of all time, then. For Arthur, the description fit, but she was another story. Seeing her magic just once, there could be no doubt; the Morrigan was pure Fae.
Thalienne had been wrong, pure Fae could cast silent runes. Or maybe, just one of them could.
Arthur charged to meet her attack, roaring as he slammed into it with his longsword. The magic fizzed and pulsed for a long moment, then went out. As if the sword had eaten it.
“Excalibur,” I whispered.
Arthur shook his head. “Haven’t we been through this enough times, Mor? When will you see . . . you cannot . . .”
A low rumble rolled through the valley, cutting him short as she broke into another laugh. “I almost feel bad for you, Arty. You haven’t got a damned clue what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
They were both so confident. There were stories about the battle, but according to lore, there was no true winner. They’d both ceded their too-powerful weapons and agreed to a truce. Now, here I was, with a front row seat to see the Grym Dunaras in action.
Anticipation roared through me and I dug my toes into the loamy soil. No matter that I knew I had to hurry, I didn’t want to leave without seeing this through. Not now.
I moved closer, putting my full faith in the belief that nothing here could hurt me.
The Morrigan raised her arm as the rumbling grew louder, building toward something huge – something I desperately needed to see – but the vision began to blur and shift around me.
“No! I need to see it!”
But as I took another step toward her, her face contorted into a look of pure, unadulterated horror as her head snapped sideways, her gaze locking with mine. Somehow, despite the thousands of years and as many miles that stretched between us, she had seen me.
The rest of the vision ground to a halt, as darkness and fog began to envelop me. My heart skipped a beat as the Morrigan opened her mouth, her voice coming out in a desperate hiss, as if with her last breath she spoke three words that were the worst she could have uttered.
“Opie’s in trouble.”