29 - Ariadne #2
Iona! Ariadne screams through the bond, putting up a hand to shield against the wind and behold, with bone-chilling dread, the monstrous blaze that has overtaken the Drakenstrom’s woodlands. Flames stretch high and bright, like claws reaching up to the stars that betrayed their awful intentions.
“Ariadne,” Leonid runs up to her, then falls to his knees in a fit of violent coughs.
What is it? Iona calls back. What’s happened?
“Where is she?” Ariadne asks, already knowing the answer.
Leonid points to the blazing forest.
“She just…” He coughs and gasps. “I tried to stop her but… she walked into the flames. They parted for her-”
Leaving the portal to Rome open behind her, Ariadne runs towards the forest. The Crone has Euphemia.
“Neró,” she incants, but the water does nothing against the flames except to create a cloud of steam.
She hasn’t much time to relent its ineffectiveness before she sprints into the trees anyway and despite the shield emanating from her staff, the flames lick at her skin and spread across her cloak.
She grits her teeth to keep from screaming as she rips apart the tie at her neck and tosses the cloak aside.
Bringing the neckline of her chemise over her nose, she squints to try and see through the smoke to discern a path between the burning trees.
“Euphemia!” Ariadne cries, again and again, but there is no answer.
You should have awaited my arrival! Iona’s indignation is overshadowed by concern. You will burn yourself!
I couldn’t wait. She winces, unwilling to retrace her steps all over again. I left the portal open.
Yes, I’ve already gone through, Iona thinks. There is a long pause before she speaks again. The flames are parting for me.
Ariadne stops short in her frantic dash through the burning trees to look back where she’d come. They are?
There’s a path made for me but… Iona’s emotions are riddled with doubt. The Crone would not make it this easy without awful consequences. Perhaps I should not enter-
But if you wait, she may die. Ariadne clenches and unclenches her fists.
I’ll go then, Iona decides, but you must find us. I cannot fight her alone.
Where is Marina? Ariadne asks and looks around in all directions for any sign of movement.
She’s here, but whenever she attempts to follow me, the flames converge again, Iona relents. Why did you go without me?
Ariadne huffs angrily, I… I wasn’t thinking. I just-
I know. Iona’s enduring compassion seeps through the bond. Try to make another portal.
Just like when she followed Moira and Iona to Denmark, Ariadne closes her eyes and wills herself to glimpse Iona’s sight and distinguish where the portal’s exit should be, but all Iona can see are swaths of white flames and blackened trees without any discernible landmarks.
The fire does indeed part for her, and though Iona sweats from the unbearable heat, she is not burned.
She takes careful steps through the smoke, holding a damp cloth over her mouth.
Ariadne’s staff glows and a portal emerges, showing flames on the other side, but when she jumps through, she is alone in another empty part of the forest. Black plumes of smoke billow about, burning her lungs with every inhalation.
Ari? Iona calls.
I’m coming. Ariadne closes her eyes again but still finds the trees and flickering flames indistinguishable from anything else, obscured by waves of embers cascading down upon Iona, so that she can hardly perceive anything while her eyes water from the oppressive fumes.
She makes another portal anyway, but she only goes to another empty part of the forest, and another, and another.
I think I see the end. Iona coughs from deep in her chest, and Ariadne brings a hand to her own throat.
I’m… I’ll find you. Just don’t panic.
Please hurry!
Ariadne conjures a small wave of water to drench herself in an effort to stave off the fire, then picks a direction and runs, uncaring of the searing pain against her arms and ankles where her chemise doesn’t cover her and her shield doesn’t seem to reach.
Relenting her grave misjudgment, she crafts a portal back to Euphemia’s manor, hoping to reenter the forest from a different angle or seek help from Aunt Xiomara or Marina, or any of her family members, but the portal opens, and there is nothing but flames on the other side.
Her heartbeat stuttering in her chest, she tries again, but still her magic does not listen.
“Arachne, please,” Ariadne mutters. “I’ll never forgive you. Never…”
A guttural cough brings her to her knees. The distant echo of the Crone’s laugh on the wind makes Ariadne scream with all consuming rage. She cranes her neck to look up into the sky where the haze of smoke turns the moon red, a familiar sight that horrifies her to her core.
I’ve found her! Iona calls. Where are you?
Ariadne sobs with relief. My portals are sending me in useless circles. It’s the Crone, I’m sure of it.
She’s in chains like the others. Iona is careful not to touch them and reassures Euphemia that she’s not alone, that Ariadne isn’t far behind. Euphemia looks up at her, stricken with terror, her sobs unintelligible as she strains against her bindings.
Is there any sign of the Crone? Ariadne asks.
No. Iona looks about to be sure, but there is only fire.
You must cut Euphemia free before she returns, Ariadne instructs.
But how… How am I meant to cut through without causing her pain? Iona asks.
She squeezes her eyes shut, ridden with regret.
Iona cannot stop time, and Ariadne doesn’t know if her unpredictable ability can span the length of the entire forest. Even if she could, there’s no saying whether she could stop it for Iona as well as her, or how long the spell would last, and it consumes too much magic to test it thoughtlessly.
She weaves a hand through her hair, ripping strands from her scalp with the gesture, and sighs in resignation.
You must numb her to pain as you did for Phoebe’s father, Ariadne hesitates. Then you must cut through however you can and heal her as you work, or she will bleed out.
Iona’s thoughts revolt at the idea.
“There is no other way!” Ariadne yells aloud. “ You must do it! Do it now!”
Iona startles at her harsh demand, then jumps into action. She explains to Euphemia what she plans to do, casts the spell to take away her pain, then stands above Euphemia and hesitantly holds out her hand.
“Forgive me,” Iona says, then chokes out, “Izrezati.”
A shallow cut slices across Euphemia’s back, and their only comfort is a lack of a scream in response to the wound, but the blood seeping through Euphemia’s white chemise remains a sickening sight. Iona’s hand trembles, her eyes blinking rapidly.
Only the slightest divot can be seen in the metal link, and Iona is struck by the horrific realization that this will take countless strikes before she can break through.
Good. Keep going. Ariadne encourages.
Iona casts the spell again, then again, each time drawing more blood, until Euphemia’s back is coated with red. Iona’s stomach turns, but she doesn’t relent.
All the while, Ariadne sprints through the smoldering wilderness in search of them, or the Crone. At times she tries again to use a portal with no success. She considers flying above the flames, but the dense smoke would only blind her, and her feathers would surely burn away.
Ariadne looks back through Iona’s eyes and grimaces at the mess of bloody cuts across Euphemia’s back, as if she’s been lashed by a cat o’ nine tails. Iona heals the lacerations, only to make them all over again.
“Hold on,” Iona’s voice trembles. “I… I’m nearly done.”
It’s an outright lie. Her cuts have only made the slightest notch through one metal link. Just as it had been for Ariadne when she’d worked to free Kokuro, the spell is only marginally, infinitesimally effective.
Keep aware of your surroundings, Ariadne warns. She’s out there somewhere and likely watching you right now.
Iona goes rigid, searching the trees again for any sign of black robes or the glint of a dagger.
I don’t see-
She screams as she’s propelled through the air and away from Euphemia, falling hard onto her back and knocking the air from her lungs.
The Crone descends from a plume of angry smoke and floats above Euphemia’s bleeding body to shriek her awful spell, so thunderous it reaches Ariadne as a distinctive echo due north.
The Crone hurls a barrage of jagged silver knives that slice through the air between them, but Iona holds up a hand to turn them from metal to wood.
They instantly catch fire and whither to ash by the time they reach her.
Using the grey cloud of ash as cover, Iona ducks down and darts to the right only to nearly be swallowed up by a wave of fire. She conjures a metal shield to cover her, but her arms and legs are terribly scorched by the intense heat. She grits her teeth through the pain.
Ariadne runs toward the pealing sound of the Crone’s screams. She tries to make a portal again, but it only takes her farther from the sound.
Dangerously close to tossing her useless staff into the flames in her anger, she reigns in her aggravation and runs, runs until she thinks her lungs might give out, until her muscles nearly succumb to her crippling exhaustion.
There’s fire in her lungs, singeing her hair, blistering her skin. She tries to keep watch over Iona through the bond and almost collides into a tree in her distraction, but there is a tug against her back, diverting her just enough to avoid it.
Fragmented images of Iona’s vision flit over Ariadne’s eyes, showing the truly spectacular display of opposing might.
Iona throws every spell in her arsenal without hesitation and without faltering.
She cannot shield herself from maleficium as Ariadne can but instead uses the spells in her favor and evades the ones she cannot withstand.