Chapter Forty-Five
Samhain.
The air lay heavy with magic and dread. Mists drifted low across the battlefield, coiling like restless spirits above the damp earth. With each one of my rapid heartbeats, midnight drew closer and the Veil thinned.
We stood ready, waiting, the battlefield before us unnaturally still as if it, too, held its breath. The birds had fled the sky.
Shae, Freya, and Shamus stood with fifty-three other Druids in a sacred circle around the Yew.
They wore bulletproof vests, and their faces and exposed skin had been painted with ochre and ash.
Already drawing strength from the Yew, they held hands and chanted, low and steady, as they prepared to channel the tree’s power into battle spells.
I had made a promise to myself: Charles would not die today. I would not let him. Failure was not an option. I needed to defeat Craos.
Spotlights with ultraviolet light lined the ridges on either side of us, illuminating the combined forces of the Canadian and British armies as well as those from the few other countries that had come to our aid.
Mostly silent, the soldiers kept their eyes fixed on the growing night.
Some whispered prayers. Others checked weapons with shaking hands.
A military radio crackled softly with terse orders, likely from Jace, who had positioned himself near the Yew so he could protect Shae.
Many of the fighters wore charms: rowan or yew branches tucked into collars and symbols of protection from every culture tattooed onto skin, whether they believed or not.
All agreed that this battle felt different.
We were a strange alliance forged by even stranger circumstances.
At my side, resolute and battle-ready, stood Owen.
Like the rest of us, he was a striking fusion of modern warfare and ancient mysticism.
Clad in matte-black tactical gear with ballistic armour plating, he drew his sword from the leather sheath slung across his back, the four symbols on the blade shimmering with light.
The Shadowbane were close.
Shifting my weight, I ran my hands along my own bulletproof vest and down my legs, feeling my knife strapped to my thigh. My gear felt heavy and awkward, although Owen had insisted it was as light and streamlined as possible. Sweat trickled down my back.
Owen and I locked eyes, his gaze burning into me as he grasped my hand in his, intertwined our fingers, and kissed my hand in a promise. Then he grasped his sword with both hands and held it in front of him. In front of me.
We stood in the middle of the troops, five hundred deep in every direction.
Every soldier and Druid had been instructed to protect me at any cost and to keep the Shadowbane away so I could focus on fighting Craos.
But Owen would be my final warrior, my protector, my sword.
The last bastion between me and a fire demon from another world.
And the only person I truly trusted to have my back in the heat of battle.
Thunder rumbled across the sky like a war drum. Bodies shifted, weapons clicked, and someone cursed.
“Hold!” Owen commanded, his voice booming over the battlefield, and the troops settled into their positions once again.
As midnight approached and the Veil between worlds grew thin, the sky split into a ragged wound, and Craos’s shadow loomed, half formed, pushing and clawing his way through.
“Fire!” General Grant shouted from above us, and a barrage of artillery shot from the ridges on either side of us, hitting the middle of the gate.
From within, Craos hurled a bolt of fire, and the battlefield ignited.
Fighter jets streaked from beyond the hills, aiming missiles at Craos as they tried desperately to slow his advance through the rift.
When the first shriek of a wraith rent the night air, it felt like the Earth itself had gone to war.
From the tear in the Veil, Shadowbane surged toward us like wildfire, their eyes gleaming with malice and hunger, their forms shifting and writhing as they flung themselves at the magical, domed shield the Druids had cast around us.
I fought to stay calm and reached for my power, which had been simmering just under my skin. My hands shook, my breath came in ragged gasps, and my heart beat much too fast.
“Focus, love. Focus on Craos. We’ll worry about the rest.” Owen’s low, controlled voice cut through my panic, and I drew strength from it.
The dome was already weakening, and a Shadowbane squeezed through a small tear, the shield closing behind it.
A soldier shot at it wildly, desperately, despite our many hours of training, but the bullets passed through its shadowy body.
As the wraith flew straight at me, a single arc of silver steel slashed through it, and it dissolved into ash.
Owen didn’t spare me a glance, already preparing for the next one.
Panic spread through the troops. Although they had prepared for this, seeing the wraiths in person and knowing they were real was a different matter entirely.
Only Owen held a sword that could cut down Shadowbane that hadn’t yet been turned corporeal, and as three more wraiths began ripping at the shield, their shadowy arms slipping through and reaching for me, I had a sudden, horrible thought: If the troops turned on us to get Owen’s sword, the Shadowbane would be the least of our worries.
Around the Yew, the Druids’ chanting grew louder, and with each incantation, glowing concentric rings rippled outward from their feet. When the light touched the Shadowbane who were halfway through the shield, bones formed and limbs took shape. As they solidified, they slowed.
“Now!” Owen bellowed, and gunfire tore through the corporeal flesh of the wraiths.
More Shadowbane broke through the shield, which was in tatters now, and there were almost too many for the light to touch and far too many at which to shoot.
Some wraiths fell on top of the soldiers, who threw them to ground where vines, gnarled and thorned, erupted from the soil, anchoring them in place.
The soldiers butchered them on sight with gunfire or knives or even their bare hands.
Any Shadowbane who hadn’t turned corporeal had the ability to infect a human.
I watched in horror as a wraith’s smoky tendril entered a nearby soldier and he froze, his eyes rolling white before settling into an empty, glassy stare.
Then he turned on his fellow soldiers, killing two before others killed him.
Chaos and desperation reigned, and I could barely think with everything happening so fast. The shield tore apart fully at last, and the troops spread out fighting the Shadowbane however they could.
Squads in dark fatigues advanced through mud and blood, unleashing bursts of rifle fire and shoulder-launched missiles.
Artillery thundered from the surrounding hills, hammering the rift in the sky and shaking the battlefield, while fighter jets continued to roar overhead.
Shae ran to each of the fallen while Jace protected her, shooting at any flesh-and-blood wraith that moved.
With each touch, she breathed healing and life into the fighters’ tired and injured bodies.
When she was too late, she briefly bowed her head before moving to the next.
More soldiers fell, too many to count, and she couldn’t reach them all.
Farther off, Shamus worked to keep the flames from Craos’s realm at bay, and Freya called forth waterspouts from Loch Tay, dousing any flames that escaped.
Beside me, Owen was a blur of motion, his sword cleaving through the air to strike down wraith after wraith.
One Shadowbane slipped behind him, but before I could scream a warning, Owen shifted slightly to the side and, with a backward thrust, drove his sword into the wraith’s chest, the symbols on the blade flaring white.
He never once looked behind him. It was like he fought by instinct rather than sight.
As he cut down another approaching Shadowbane, he caught my surprised expression.
“Sword told me,” he grunted. “Not taking my eyes off you, love, so it has my back. And I’ve got yours. Just focus on Craos.”
Right.
More claws emerged from the portal as Craos, a towering beast of living flame and molten stone, tore at the edges of the opening. His oily voice filled my mind, and I fought to keep my stomach from retching at the wrongness of it.
This world belongs to me now, little flame, but it could belong to us. Let me in, and I’ll let you live.
“Never,” I said with fury and finality.
Craos roared and hurled a bolt of fire through the gateway. I reached for my power, feeling the combined forces of all the Druids at my back, and raised my hand. A barrier of roots and vines surged up just in time, absorbing Craos’s blast of fire with a thunderous crack, but it threw me anyway.
I rolled across the ash-covered ground, coughing while my eyes watered. Then I pushed myself up, my breathing ragged and my armour scorched, my hair matted with soot and blood.
Owen shouted my name, hauling me upright even as he cut down dozens of wraiths. They were attacking in numbers too high to count now, each trying to touch me.
The dark power within me struggled to break free, to join with its master. I tightened my leash on it. If it got free or a wraith touched me, I would be an anchor for Craos to fully enter Earth. And the war would be lost.
Owen didn’t let a single wraith near me, but how much longer could he keep up the gruelling pace? I needed to end this. Now.
I reached deep within myself, calling on Charles and my friends, and a pulse of pure, verdant energy burst outward, aimed at the gateway. Craos roared as the flames along the edges of the rift flickered and hissed, and steam rose as if I had thrown water on them.
But it wasn’t enough.
I did it again and again, hurling countless blasts of energy at the gateway and the monstrous form of Craos. He staggered and roared, but rose again every time, relentless and unstoppable.