Chapter 3
Max
Screaming, I drop to my knees, body crouching as flames leap over my head.
They surround me, cutting off all my air. The fire pulses with anger, melting windows and scorching beautiful gardens. Women shout for children who wail and men hurry with buckets of water. It’s chaos and it hurts.
It hurts to breathe, to stand still, to see another home burn to ash. It’s my nightmare come to life and I’m paralyzed with terror.
Standing, I turn in time to see a Crimson soldier clad in red dyed leather and a black cloth mask stalk closer to me, sword drawn.
Blood is splattered on his chest. Witches blood, people who live in this Coven, who never asked for any of this.
Fear clamps a cold fist across my throat, forcing short breaths to escape my lips as rage engulfs my belly.
The Crimson Army—the bane of our world—is here. Now.
Raiders who pillage and destroy villages, who take women and children, gold and valuables then burn everything left. They raze entire towns, and sell survivors off into servitude. And they’re here.
Crouching low, I prepare for his attack, heart hammering in my chest.
I remember the red leather, the ash covered blue eyes that glared into my face, as he swung his sword. I may not remember my family, my village, but I know, in my deepest parts of my soul, the Crimson Army destroyed my home as a child.
This army tried to kill me once. I cannot let it happen again.
Before I can think long, the raider races at me, grabbing me around the midsection and we tumble.
Breath whooshes from my lungs and black spots dance in my vision at the impact, freezing me. The raider climbs on top of me, pinning my hands.
Thanking Cella and Ger for Nafre’s limited self-defense lessons, I lift my hips as I exhale, hooking my ankles around the solider’s gut and pull. He falls back and I use the freedom to flip us, me now straddling him.
My fingers hover over his chest as I focus on his blood—his heart.
Pausing, I debate what I’m about to do. I know I shouldn’t—it’s a wretched magic, born from evil. It’s what all the elders say, it’s what Nessa used to say.
She taught me to be afraid of it, to hide it. Only bad things can come from using this magic.
But if I don’t use it, if I don’t defend myself, then this raider wins.
The choice is clear. Exhaling, instinct floods me and my fingers bend.
They move into the air, dangling, pulling imaginary strings connecting me to my unsuspecting puppet.
The pounding of his heart knocks against my skull as the image clears in my mind. It’s panicked, blood rushing around the organ, as his body stills, now under my control. Red and violent, adrenaline making it thinner, I command the blood to slow, force it to surround the heart.
The tips of my fingers turn blackish-red, as if dipped into the substance and they hook, twist and flare. It’s unnatural the way they move, crooked and broken but beautiful. I’ve always thought it was beautiful—but so deadly. The raider convulses, the blood responding to my silent commands.
It’s completely instinctual, how my magic moves and responds. I was never taught to use this power—only to fear it. My hands move, my magic swirls, demanding the heart to stop—to break.
It seeks his death for retribution for daring to hurt me and I let it.
The blood pools into his lungs as he gags, the pressure on his chest too great. I smile despite the terror.
There’s a wickedness in my magic I don’t usually enjoy. But right now, seeing my enemy fall from such a terrible gift, I do.
Fingers flex as he chokes, blood caving into his chest and his lungs stop as his heart gives one final thump.
A death rattle leaves his lips as I release his blood, body trembling from adrenaline and rage. His hands drop to my thighs and my skin prickles at the closeness as I shove off of him, knees rocking together.
Inhaling, I ignore the guilt trying to consume me. It was either kill him, or let him kill me. I won’t feel guilty over that.
A few tears fall down my soot covered cheek as I look to the Coven, surveying the damage. Men run by and the children clutch to their mothers’ legs as everyone flees. My stomach rolls with nausea as the stench of blood takes over the burnt cedar smell.
Gods, it’s too much like my nightmare.
A child screaming to my right breaks my stupor and I turn. Crimson soldiers are cutting down those who would defend against them and standing here, in the middle of a battle, won’t help.
I have to do something.
Shedding my cloak, I grab the sword the soldier dropped and heave it into the air, running to intercept.
The Blackwoods Coven doesn’t have an army - we’re too small, ill-trained to have a force. The guard not he ground is just another Witch who tends to the herbs. He lifts his dagger, a small scrap of metal against the raider’s broadsword and closes his eyes, praying for an end.
I don’t think, jumping into the fray, my sword blocking the attack. The force of the hit vibrates up my forearm, chattering my teeth.
Locking my elbow, I dig my heel into the mud, knee bent. I’m not going to fall now.
“Go,” I command the older Witch. He claws at the grass, scurrying to safety without a backwards glance. Not that I expected one.
The raider pulls back, allowing me enough time to dart right, then left, far from the tip of his blade as he swings. Thank the Gods for my speed—it’s the only real skill I possess.
Gripping the sword with both hands, I try to think back to my lessons with Tay and swing. The tip grazes the soldier’s leather-clad shoulder and I curse. On Ger’s brow, I’m terrible at this.
Sparks fly as we parry our blades. I misstep and the soldier strikes my hip as I shout, the gash long but thin. Turning with him, I strike out with my elbow, catching his nose and raising my sword to pierce the sensitive spot between his armor and chest.
He yowls, the sound animalistic, before fury coats his movements. The cut is enough to infuriate him, not kill. Lucky me.
The raider slashes as pain paints his movements chaotic, sword going from left to right and I barely hang on. A quick block results in a nick on my arm, a jab cuts into my thigh.
Growling, he swings again and I block but he kicks out my knee. I tumble forward, pain exploding and something cracks with the impact. I ignore it, trying to blink away the pain. I can’t think about how my body aches, how everything hurts—I just need to survive.
Swiping out with my sword blindly, I slice his middle as his sword stabs my shoulder.
He shoves forward, intent to run me through and I scream, twisting my blade into his gut.
My blood calls to me as it soaks through my charred nightgown but I spin, pulling free.
Blood sizzles under my foot against the scorched dirt, but I don’t stay to watch the raider drop.
Instead, I glance to a young child who screams, fire raging toward her small body.
My stomach churns in fear as my feet propel me closer. I’m too close to the fire, the heat searing my forehead, but I can’t let the child get hurt.
I was once her, stuck in this nightmare. If I can save her from the same fate, I will.
Skidding to a halt, I grab the child into my arms, her mother frozen next to me as another daughter pulls on her hand.
“Are you hurt?” I ask, looking from her ash covered face, to her wide eyes. Shock. She’s in shock, stuck, unable to flee.
I don’t have time for this. Shaking her, I snap my fingers in her face.
She blinks and I don’t have the patience to wait for her to understand. There isn’t time.
Shoving her shoulder, I hoist her daughter on my hip and point to a path to our left. Through the thick trees, the Witches are escaping, hidden under big leaves and shadows.
“Let’s move,” I direct, pausing for a spilt second as the mother grabs her other child.
Her older daughter wraps her legs around her waist and we take off into the brush. With stumbling feet, we hurl ourselves into the fringes of the forest, seeing Nafre there, holding back branches to a path cut into the woods, frowning.
She catches my eye. “Did you see Tay?”
Shaking my head, I cough, tongue dry from the smog. “No. He’s not here?”
“No, he went to help put out the fires.” Her silver eyes look back into the fray, searching for her brother. “I don’t know what happened to him.”
Biting my lip, I drop the child to the ground beside her mother. She gives me a small smile, and it’s more than I thought I’d get.
“What do we do?” I ask, clearing my throat. “We’re not big enough to fight back.”
“No, but we can survive,” Nafre nods, directing me to the same path. “We get as many of our people out of here and get them to safety. We survive to fight a new day.”
“That’s not surviving,” I argue, running a hand over my brow. My fingers come back sticky with ash and blood. “That’s retreating.”
“You said it yourself Max,” she counters, helping a few more Witches onto the hidden path. “We cannot fight them. We don’t have an army. And our wards have failed. The only course now, is to retreat.”
“Then we need to go back and get our people.”
Nafre’s eyes scan me and she sighs. “They are my people, Max. Not yours.”
“Then you go back and get them.” I glare, crossing my arms, sword heavy in my palm. It’s no secret the Coven doesn’t see me as a part of it, but Gods, the least Nafre could do is fight for them.
My magic swirls in my gut, hungry for more, as it feeds off my aggravation. The heartbeats drum into my ears as an ache blooms across my forehead. Soon, the drums will be too much and I’ll have to get away to calm the tide of power inside me.
She frowns. “I want to, Max. But I can’t.” More Witches come, nightclothes seared. “If I go back to fight, who will get these people to safety? They need a leader and shelter. My first priority is ensuring we live through this and then regroup.”
On Cella’s Crown…
“Fine, then I will.” I stand taller, muscles aching. I’ve barely recovered from my fight with the raiders, body still oozing blood but if she won’t fight for her people, someone has to. “I’ll go back in, direct them to safety.”
Nafre shakes her head, features pulling tight in alarm. “No! You know as well as I do, that this is not your fight. What if your magic becomes uncontrollable?”
I scoff silently. She’s not worried about me—not entirely.
She’s worried about her Witches. What if my powers become too unstable and I attack one of them? It’s happened before, when we were children.
In my defense, that child had thrown a rock at me, calling me a monster, thinking I would run away scared. I would have, if my magic had not reacted, crushing his heart before Nessa had broken my concentration.
I’ve killed two people and Nafre is afraid I’ll do it again. She’s afraid of me.
“I have a sword,” I insist. “I’ll grab as many Witches as I can find and locate Tay. With him, we can get more people back here.”
If I can find him. If I make it that far. If he’s still alive.
Those thoughts stay unsaid.
“Max, no, wait—”
I don’t stop, running back through the shrubs into the burning village. Fear unlike anything I’ve felt before wracks my body, fighting against my need to help—to prove myself.
They think I’m a monster, evil, but I’ll show them. By saving this Coven, by helping these Witches, they’ll see I’m not evil—just different.