22 - Iona #4
“Forgive me.” Phoebe breaks down in tears, and Iona regrets her lapse of control, only slightly.
I don’t trust her not to do something daft. Ariadne glances at her.
We cannot leave her behind. Iona bites her lip.
We could. We should. She will only slow us down or be captured like her father, Ariadne argues. “The longer we wait, the worse it will be.”
Reluctantly, Iona nods and Ariadne’s staff glows as she incants, “Sove.”
Phoebe goes limp, and Ariadne catches her and scopes her up into her arms.
“We cannot save him with her in the way,” Ariadne says, hastening her along. “We must focus.”
Iona nods, but her guilt is a debilitating malaise.
She takes Ariadne’s staff for her before ascending the steps.
At the entrance of the mausoleum, made of aged white marble with two columns on either side of the black wooden doors, they step out into a massive cemetery with row after row of grey headstones covered in bright green moss.
A tenebrous sky hangs over them with thunder booming in the distance, but no rain falls.
Ariadne sets Phoebe down on the steps, careful of her head, but almost picks her right back up when a portion of the ground ahead of them implodes, a few gravestones tumbling down into a newly made pit. Sebastian crawls up from out of the ground with Zephyra not far behind him.
“That was ghastly,” Zephyra says, then notices Phoebe lying in the grass. “Is that truly necessary?”
“Yes,” Iona and Ariadne say in unison.
“The clouds,” Sebastian points up.
Iona follows his gaze and squints.
“They’re moving in a circle,” she says, tracing the swirl of clouds with her finger.
“A cyclone,” Sebastian says.
A flash of bright light makes them flinch, followed swiftly by the deafening crack of thunder. The lightning flashes three times more before the sky darkens again.
“I’d hazard a guess that she is there,” Sebastian says.
“Your powers of deduction are a credit to you,” Ariadne says sardonically.
“Let’s not delay,” Zephyra says, “or we will find nothing but the man’s corpse.”
Ariadne nods, her aunt’s words having a sobering effect on them all. She says, “Stay close to me and my shield will protect us.”
“That shan’t be possible at all times,” Sebastian warns, “The battle will surely separate us.”
Ariadne shrugs, pulling Iona closer to her and they begin their descent into the storm.
They leave Phoebe in the mausoleum, deciding she will be much safer there and leave Wisp behind to watch over her.
Though Iona feels lost without her quiet fox always following behind her, Aster is significantly larger and capable of ripping an enemy to shreds.
Deciding it can’t hurt, Iona also conjures a piece of armor with the spell she’d read about in her grimoires. Opting for a breastplate of steel, sturdy enough to protect her but not so heavy that she cannot move, she imbues it with protective spells.
“That may be useful,” Zephyra says, “but you should not rely on tangible barriers to protect you.”
“What would you suggest then?” Iona asks.
“The best way I’ve found to kill a malefician is through the use of diversions,” Zephyra advises. “While they’re distracted, go up behind them and slit their throat, rip out their heart, slice them in half, what have you.”
“Oh,” Iona says, entirely unsure if she could do anything of the sort. It is one thing to practice with illusions. To cut through flesh and bone, ending a life by your own hand, is an entirely different matter.
“She will aim to distract us, too, until her ritual is complete, but you mustn’t let her,” Zephyra warns. “Even a second’s hesitation could be your undoing. You must remain vigilant and resolute.”
Iona nods, though Zephyra’s every word only succeeds in tearing down her confidence, despite her good intentions. They venture deeper into the cemetery as humid air picks up and the clouds above them move faster still, until they have to fight against wind.
A wall of torrential rain advances towards them, the veil of impenetrable water overtaking them faster than Iona thought possible, drenching their clothes within seconds and obstructing their vision.
The grass turns to mud beneath their feet until they reach floodwaters rushing swiftly across their boots.
A bloodcurdling screech fractures the silence, creating quakes so violent, they are brought to their knees in the shallow water. Ariadne’s shield mutes the noise only partially and Iona covers her ears with her hands, cringing at the awful vibrations accosting her eardrums.
A firm hand grips her shoulder, and the clamor stops. When she looks, Sebastian motions with his other hand to calm herself, and Iona realizes then that he’s removed her ability to hear, just as Ariadne had done in the siren pool.
Sebastian points to his eyes, then to their surroundings and Iona nods her understanding. No longer able to hear any threats that may arise, they will be considerably more vulnerable, but there’s no recourse.
She scans the tombstones for any movement, until something catches her eye and makes her tense, but when she draws her eyes back, there’s nothing but rows of stone partially submerged in black water.
Until she does spot something bobbing in the water, floating right past her, and she screams and clings to Ariadne’s arm. A disembodied leg, the rotting skin grey and covered in maggots, drifts along a slow current that flows deeper into the rows of tombstones.
That’s revolting. Ariadne puts a hand over her mouth.
Bubbles ripple over each grave as pieces of human flesh and bone float up to the surface. The pungent stench of putrefaction fills the blustering air.
Sebastian points to the accreting carnage, denoting the passage of the remains, and beckons them to follow him deeper into the water. Iona truly wishes to do the exact opposite, but she steels herself and holds her breath, stray strands of hair slipping out of her bun and whipping at her cheeks.
Sebastian sinks to his waist in a sudden drop off, then manages to climb back onto solid ground. Ahead of them, the disembodied limbs and bones sink into the abyss and do not resurface.
Iona looks to Zephyra, who doesn’t seem sure of what to do next, so Iona looks to Ariadne instead.
Should we-
An explosion of turbid water erupts, propelling mud, grass, and rock everywhere.
It’s only Ariadne’s arm around her waist that keeps Iona from tumbling through the air, while Aster bites the tail of Ariadne’s coat, the fabric straining against his weight.
The staff becomes an anchor in the earth that Ariadne clings to, while Iona reaches out a free hand to Sebastian and Zephyra, before they’re swept away into the squall.
Within the newly made chasm, Iona can make out the malefician hunched over a man.
When she squints hard enough, she identifies Phoebe’s father, William, chained to the ground but still alive.
His face is contorted in pain as he screams, blood dripping from his ears, and his horror-stricken eyes searching everywhere for some means of escape.
The Crone gestures wildly, the wind following her every movement, as she conducts her ritual. Despite the blustering air, the symbols drawn in the dirt remain undisturbed and burn Iona’s eyes, compelling her to look away.
For a moment she thinks of hurling a boulder or a massive slab of metal at the malefician, bringing down a lightning strike, or creating a wave to flood the chasm, but the risk of hurting William is too great.
Ariadne could make a portal, drop him right next to them, but then the malefician could slip through, too, and attack.
She could conjure a blade, many blades, and send them flying through the air, but the Crone can heal so quickly that it might not make a difference.
There is no element of surprise, no upper hand that Iona can determine.
Their only way forward is to attack head-on.
Iona’s mind races, trying to think of every possible angle, spell, attack in her arsenal.
The Crone stops mid-gesture, her hooded face tilting up to stare directly at them.
Faster than Iona thought possible, she launches an inferno of white fire their way.
It doesn’t penetrate the shield, but Ariadne flinches, her expression betraying her doubt in its continued integrity.
Panicking, Iona searches for Sebastian and Zephyra for guidance, but they are no longer behind her.
They leap into the chasm, converging on the malefician at once.
Zephyra attacks in front, dodging the malefician’s spells, while Sebastian advances from behind and severs one of the malefician’s arms clean off.
Iona watches in horror as the malefician grows the arm back in mere seconds, staving off their attacks with ease and tossing Sebastian away as if she were waving off a fly.
He hits the chasm’s rocky wall and crumples in a heap, dazed but still alive.
Ariadne creates a portal down to the pit and steps through and holds out a hand for Iona to follow, but the malefician tackles her to the ground. Iona screams, and tries to jump across, but the portal closes too soon.
All at once, without Ariadne’s magic to protect her, the wind and freezing rain pelts her, making her teeth chatter. Aster howls and gallops into the fray, transforming by the time he reaches the bottom, his teeth jagged and claws sharp.
Iona can just barely see Ariadne in the distance wrestling with the malefician, who makes a vigorous attempt at trying to take the staff away, but Zephyra pulls her off and pierces her ribs with a dagger, pulls it out and plunges it back in again, before the malefician bucks her off, only to be mauled by Aster, his teeth snapping and ripping at the Crone’s arms, trying to get to her face.