Chapter Nine #2
“It means I can’t drown it.” For the first time, I detect a bit of exertion in his voice.
The effort of holding the massive globule overhead while the arachnida fights with all its might is beginning to take a toll.
“It means, once I let it out of this water cage, we’re next in line for mummification. ”
“Perhaps we should pivot to an alternative plan,” I suggest.
“I don’t have an alternative that doesn’t involve water powers.”
“Fantastic.”
“Don’t suppose you can spare some of your lightning?”
My brows arch, aghast. Has he forgotten the utter calamity in Caeldera, when I unleashed my electrical storm on the lake? “Only if you want me to fry everything and everyone in this harbor.”
“That would be less than ideal.”
“Let me run and grab a bow. I’ll find some soldiers, someone who can help…” I trail off as his eyes begin to glitter with familiar calculation; a new plan is taking shape in his mind. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
His pause is full of implications I do not fully understand. Not until he says, “You have other powers, skylark. Beyond the lightning.”
My shoulders stiffen. “Powers I have not used in months.”
“Great. You’ll be fully charged.”
“You cannot be serious.” My heart thumps so hard, I’m surprised my ribs haven’t cracked.
“I can’t control my maegic, Soren. Look what’s been happening with the weather!
You said it yourself, it’s manifesting in dangerous ways.
Even when I do access my powers intentionally, they’re totally out of control. ”
“Probably because you’re too scared to use them properly.”
I cast a glance at the suspended arachnida. Is it my imagination, or is the water cage lower than last I looked? “This really isn’t the time to discuss this.”
“Actually, I disagree. It’s the perfect time.”
“Soren, I can’t do what you think I can.”
“You can do far more than I think you can. Better—you can do far more than you think you can.”
Beneath the thin tunic, my Remnant licks out across the skin of my upper chest, frosty with cold.
It, like Soren, seems to have a mind of its own when it comes to dealing with the situation at hand.
Or maybe it merely wants a chance to come out and play after so many months kept suppressed beneath the weight of mourning.
My fingertips tingle as a chasmic reserve of untapped maegic spirals through me.
A storm is gathering within. One that never goes away—merely ebbs and flows from the forefront of my mind to its deepest recesses.
Most of the time, I do my best to banish it there.
I can count the number of times I have called the wind willingly on one hand, for I know the risks.
Penn has made them abundantly clear, over and over again.
His mantra on the subject is so familiar, I can almost hear his voice inside my head.
You must contain it, Rhya. If you don’t, it will consume you.
Yet here is Soren, so casually asking me to do just the opposite. To summon a power I scarcely understand. A power that, unchecked, is far more likely to kill me than save me.
“You must be mad,” I say, shaking my head rapidly. “I realize you want to help me master my powers, but surely you don’t expect me to start with an impromptu trial by fire.”
“Not by fire. By spider silk.”
“If you make one more jest, I swear to the gods—”
“Now or never, skylark.”
“Fine!” My throat is tight. “I choose never.”
“Now.”
His arms come down—and, with them, the water cage.
It smashes into the deck, through it, to the lower hold, sending up a splash that douses us both.
The arachnida disappears beneath a pile of splintered wood, but I am not fool enough to think it was mortally wounded by the impact.
I stand, tense as a bowstring, waiting for it to reappear with the quicksilver speed I witnessed before.
This time, when it vaults up into the air, I am prepared.
Time slows to a crawl as it springs at me, fangs clacking, forelegs extended, lethal stinger jabbing from its undercarriage.
Beads of water fly off its hairy body in all directions as it sails across the deck.
I take a breath, raise my arms, and blast outward. A shock wave of pure, solidified air.
The arachnida reverses course, caught in the wind current, flipping end over end until it lands in the ratlines that run the height of the mast. Any satisfaction I might’ve felt is snatched away as, less than a breath later, the creature’s spring-loaded legs bend and it launches itself straight back at me.
“Skies!” I yell, diving sideways onto the deck, narrowly avoiding a fatal jab of its stinger.
I tuck my body into a quick roll and spring back up—a move Jac spent weeks drilling into me over the course of our many sparring sessions.
With a normal opponent, I’d be well out of range of sword or fist. Not so when it comes to this foe.
The very instant I find my feet, I’m jerked off them again.
I scream as I realize a thick web has snared me around the midsection.
The giant beast is steadily winding me in as a fisherman might his reel, forelegs jerking the tendril closer and closer to its snapping jaws.
My fingers work to peel away the sticky silk, but it is fused to my tunic. I nearly lose my footing as the creature gives another strong tug, my boots scrambling for purchase on the slippery deck.
“SOREN!”
“Mmm?”
Gods, the man sounds positively bored. Meanwhile, I am staring into the festering maws of certain death.
No amount of advanced healing will save me from this end.
My own horrified expression is mirrored back at me in the collection of dark eyes lodged in the arachnida’s misshapen head as the distance shrinks from paces to handspans.
“HELP ME, YOU PRICK!”
I hear a sigh from somewhere behind me. Then, a thin shot of water sails arrow-like through the air and severs the spider’s web. I fall abruptly onto my ass, then scramble backward until my back hits a pair of black leather boots.
“You’re welcome,” Soren says from above.
Had I possessed the courage to take my focus off the hissing arachnida, I might’ve glared at him.
As it is, I keep my eyes locked on my target, even as Soren’s hands slide under my armpits and lift me up onto my feet.
Across the deck, the foul beast is skittering from side to side, agile legs clicking against the splintered wood.
I get the sense it is evaluating us—or, more specifically, contemplating how best to wrap us in its webs and suck us dry.
When it springs again, I am ready with a counterattack.
My chest flares with ice as I summon another blast of wind that bursts forth in an indiscriminate—and ineffectual—wave.
Not only does it miss the arachnida entirely, it manages to crack the foremast clean in half.
The rigging comes down on the bow in a tumble of canvas and line and fragmented timber.
Before it can be crushed, the creature scurries up the central mast, spewing sticky webs from boom to boom as it ascends toward the crow’s nest.
“Damn it!”
“Are you even attempting to aim?” Soren drawls. “As a reminder, you’re meant to eliminate the venomous spider, not the ship.”
“Feel free to pitch in anytime,” I growl without bothering to look at him. I’m trying to keep the enemy in my sights, but it’s moving so fast I catch only blurry glimpses of black among the tattered sails.
“Oh, I think we’ve ascertained I’m quite useless in this fight.” There is a smile in his voice. “Besides, you’ve got it well in hand.”
Well in hand?
Is he insane?
“Soren, would you just—”
“Incoming,” he warns lightly.
I intercept the spider’s attack by the skin of my teeth, throwing up my arm to blast it backward at the last second.
It gets so close, I can make out the white froth of venom around its pincers, the chunks of desiccated tissue caught in its coarse hair.
I shudder in horror as it is flung into the rigging.
While it is briefly tangled up in the lines, I spin around to face Soren.
I am fuming.
He, on the other hand, is leaning back against the rail looking for all the world like a man at utter ease. His lips twitch when he sees me glaring daggers at him. “Do you always use your powers like this? With the light touch of a battering ram?”
“I don’t use them at all,” I grit out. “Not since Fyremas.”
His ocean eyes swirl with dark currents. “And why is that?”
“Do we have to talk about this now?”
“What else would you like to talk about?”
Peering over my shoulder, I see the spider’s bulbous body dangling from a fresh web near the crow’s nest. No doubt preparing a sudden descent onto my head as soon as my gaze is averted. “Perhaps the giant, unkillable monster intent on exsanguinating us.”
“Oh. That.”
“Yes, Soren.” I send another blunt air blast at the rigging. “That.”
“It’s not unkillable.”
“It seems pretty godsdamned unkillable to me.”
“Try some finesse.”
“You want finesse? Get me a bow!”
“A bow is merely a tool that fires a projectile. You don’t need a tool when you are fully capable of firing projectiles with the flick of your fingers.”
My teeth gnash together. “You are the most asinine—”
“Incoming.”
Swallowing a scream, I again whip around just in time to fend off another assault. The arachnida hisses as it is hurled back into the air, legs pinwheeling like hairy scythes, shredding through sails and halyards as it goes.
“How many times are you going to do that?” Soren asks.
I’m out of breath, my voice hoarse. “As many as it takes to kill it.”
“Ah. Well, so far, you’ve only succeeded in giving it a severe case of windburn. I actually think it’s enjoying itself.”
“As I told you before,” I seethe at him, “I don’t know how to wield my powers!”
“Try harder.”
That is easy for him to say. Too many times in the past, I’d pushed myself too far—my power too far—and paid the price for it with a bout of days-long unconsciousness.
Already, my rib cage is beginning to ache with the effort to contain the gathering wind within me.
The storm inside swirls faster with each passing moment, maegic mingling with fear and frustration and fury until I am a living, breathing maelstrom.
You cannot put yourself at risk, Rhya! Penn is shouting from my memory. Rein it in before you lose control!
Twice more, the spider comes at me. Twice more, I rebuff it with amateurish air blasts that send it spiraling up into the rigging—each less accurate, and less powerful, than the one before.
Despite my best efforts, the creature seems no worse for wear.
I cannot say the same for myself. Blackout looms, the telltale signs too apparent to disregard.
My chest burns with a cold I feel down to my marrow.
My head pounds, static waves pressing in at my peripherals. My breaths shred in my throat.
I cannot keep this up.
Not for much longer.
A web shoots suddenly down from above, snaring me around the head and shoulders, wrenching my braid with scalp-searing pain.
I cry out as I am jerked off my feet, the sound somewhat muffled by the thick film cloaking my face.
The arachnida manages to pull me quite a ways into the air before Soren waves his wrist and frees me with another sluice of speeding water.
I collapse at his feet, breathing hard as my trembling fingers rip the sticky silk from my skin, my nose, my mouth.
My whisper, when it comes, is directed at his boots.
“Are you trying to get me killed? Is that it?”
Two fingers slide beneath my chin, tilting my face up to his. He is crouched before me. His eyes are deadly serious, not even a trace of teasing humor in their depths. “I think the more appropriate question is, why are you fighting like you want to die?”
I jerk my face from his grip. “I am not the one with a death wish here!”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then why do you keep repeating an approach that is clearly not working?” He shakes his head slowly. “If you attempt to fill a cup from a roaring waterfall, you’ll never drink. Likewise, if you attempt to snare a spider with a tornado…”
“I understand the issue,” I say tersely. “It’s the solution I’m struggling with. I don’t seem to be able to summon the wind without…”
“Blasting with brute force? Mmm. I’ve noticed.”
“I’m not in the mood to be teased. I’m tired. I’m—” I bite back the word terrified before it can escape. “I can’t seem to do anything but blast at it, which is clearly not working. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep trying before I—before—”
“Rhya.”
I swallow hard. He so rarely says my real name—and never in a tone like that. Never soft. Never…gentle. “What?”
“You have everything you require to win this fight.”
“How can you say that? I do not possess whatever finesse you use to so easily drown your enemies on dry land and shoot water-arrows and orbit droplets around goblets!”
He stares at me for a long moment. Calculating something. Turning over options in his mind. Eventually, he shrugs with a casualness I do not believe, even for a second. “Then borrow some.”
“Excuse me?”
“You envy my finesse?” Pushing off his heels, he rises to full height. His hand extends down to me. “Borrow some.”
I look from his hand to his face and back, somewhat baffled by the proposition. “What do you mean, borrow some?”
“Channel me.”