Chapter 3 #2
Loping forward, the man called Adwin strode toward them with a matching smirk. His eyes widened at the sight of Imani. “A Norn? Fucking Saints …” He clapped the man on the shoulder. “You outdid yourself here, mate.”
They laughed and dragged Imani toward the woods. She could barely breathe at being taken away from Esa and her trunk, but there was nothing she could do. Her body was locked with the compulsion magic.
Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Esa struggling with a Niflheim witch while another attempted to unclasp Ara’s trunk with his wand.
The Niflheim breeds appeared more fearsome and reckless than the Essenheim patrols had on the other side.
These Niflheim people were desperate to cross into Essenheim.
The three of them moved farther into the shadows. Out of sight of prying eyes, they were only visible to those near the edge of the tree line now, and Imani couldn’t see their coach.
Rising panic took over her body. Her heart pounded in her ears like a war drum as she struggled to move.
If she let these men take her, everything she worked for—everything she’d sacrificed—would be for nothing.
She would die from the binding since she would be leaving the vicinity without orders from Kiran.
Despisement for her breed rose up inside her. She hated the weaknesses it created, the openings for people to take advantage of her.
But hating herself wouldn’t save her.
I can’t let this happen, she thought to herself, panicking to regain control.
However, just like her experience with Malis, she was at their mercy. Unless she could call her magic forward, she would be stuck.
With a surge of pressure flowing from her head down her arms and chest, Imani silently shouted in her head.
It came easier this time, as if the new magic from last night boosted her own.
The men didn’t even notice as her veins filled with inky blackness, spider-webbing up the top of her hand and to the tips of her fingers.
With the magic flowing freely in her blood, the air became charged with the promise of death.
So strong, so real, that, despite the coercion magic, Imani could see her beastly shadows growing darker in the air.
Another scream of fury boiled up inside her.
Black magic twisted around the two men—not as angry and savage as Kiran’s fire or Esa’s windstorm, but cautious, almost tentative.
Little tendrils searched the darkness, probing for their prey.
One snaked by her throat, cold as a corpse’s finger.
She let the tendrils coil and build further until they shrouded the males in confusion and darkness.
Her assailants dropped her arms, quickly pulling out their wands, spinning around to attack some nonexistent witch. Neither of them considered it would be Imani.
She felt the invisible ties binding her body start to loosen.
“Hey! Who’s there?” Adwin shouted into the forest.
“The second they show themselves, we take control,” the other man ground out. “We have a female Norn, and I’m not letting her slip away.”
Her hands flexed into fists, and a slow, satisfied smile grew on her face. Shadows overpowered her captors’ magic. Turning something living to the opposite was a thrill she’d forever revel in if someone deserved death.
Under the cover of the forest, Imani allowed the shadows, now a roiling fog of menacing darkness, to swallow the two men whole.
They screamed for a moment … then darkness silenced them instantly.
Blood sprayed on the ground and her face.
With full movement of her body back, Imani licked her lips, enjoying the coppery taste on her tongue.
She tilted her head up as another conjured storm brewed in the sky.
Like the last one, it moved faster and rained harder than any natural one did.
Kiran and Saevel were nearby, but Kiran was casting his spell too slowly.
She knew it needed time to build, but Imani couldn’t risk more violence and pillaging, more attempts on Essenheim witches’ lives.
It was in her power to stop it, so she would.
Her shadows grew overhead, almost as if they were being further fueled by the storm Kiran created. A dense cloud of darkness rumbled and groaned, pressing forward as it expanded.
Turning her back to the puddles on the ground, she pointed her wand toward the sky, ordering it to devour every Niflheim breed in its path. She knew it would understand—her cunning magic had a mind of its own, but when it came to protecting her and anything else she deemed important, it listened.
Plumes of black mist shot up amongst the crowds of fighting, where their attackers stood.
The dead Niflheim breeds’ remains hit the terrified Essenheim witches. With each shadowed column of death, a mist of blood christened shocked faces nearby faces. People screamed and heads whipped from side to side, trying to discover the source of such a spell.
The fighting ceased instantly as the inky shadows dissipated. Only the souls of the dead and the bloody, ragged Essenheim witches remained.
Everyone looked around, their eyes wide with shock, chests heaving. Kiran’s storm still raged, and it seemed most people assumed the shadows originated from it. All the while, souls floated above the crowd, many of them whispering, calling Imani, swirling around her, begging or even taunting.
It seemed her magic could only be cast within her field of vision because, beyond that, Imani could still hear fighting near the front of the traveling party where the princes were.
Kiran is mine, she thought to herself, furious that anyone would dare hurt him before her.
The thought only fed the surge of power that continued rocking through her body.
She ignored the souls wailing above her, clamoring for her attention, and weaved with purpose through the crowd, feeling like she could destroy worlds.
Gods, she wanted more blood, more gore, more assurance of her people’s safety.
Once they were in sight, she roared Kiran’s and Saevel’s names inside her head and called on her shadows again. Like thunder, like an avalanche, like the war cry of the Saints who had come on wings of fire and freed the demons of the Under, they responded.
Her magic had never been this powerful before.
Waves of magic crashed through her bones and spread across the sky, revealing pieces of the Fabric, or forcing them out.
Pink and green ribbons danced and swirled overhead.
Imani, steeped in shadow so no one could see her, turned to find the pixie hovering near her, staring.
Eyes wide with horror, mouth opening and closing, it was as if Esa was flabbergasted—an unbelievable emotion for the pixie.
At that, something snapped inside Imani, tightening her chest and causing a ripple in her magic above. Was this something to do with the new magic? She wasn’t sure, but she was losing control.
More shadows descended amidst her rising panic at being caught. Looking down, Imani was terrified to see her hands and arms were entirely black now and the darkness seemed to be spreading to her heart.
Hunched over, she grabbed her chest, trying to catch her breath.
The pain was unreal. With a groan, she fell to her knees and tore at her throat and hair, trying desperately to call the shadows back. But the fiery ribbons kept unfurling, claiming more and more of her aching flesh. Devouring and devouring and … oh gods, the pain.
Her vision went dark. Yet even as her vision darkened, some ancient part of her brain took over, fighting for survival.
Only the darkness will save you, she heard Ara whisper before collapsing.