The Fickle Winds of Autumn

A piercing, vicious yellow light crackled and shook the dark night.

Kira screwed her eyes to its startling brilliance.

Was this death?

The shocked priest cried out; anguished pain etched across his face; he thudded to the platform; the Quillon rattled free.

Kira’s frantic mind raced and flooded.

Had she killed him somehow?

Even when she hadn’t wanted to?

Was she truly the awful monster that Aldwyn had predicted?

The fizzing glare of another blast of energy hissed into the crowd of Reevers on the crater’s floor.

That definitely wasn’t her.

A fierce storm of glowering bolts rained down through the dim unsuspecting air; they ripped through the helpless gathering; their biting odour cut through the muggy warmth of sulphur.

She knew that smell.

Her traumatic memories spiked back to the panic and carnage of the Sacred Grove.

The witches!

Was there no escape from these wretched terrors?

She strained her eyes high up into the steep walls of the gloomy crater - a group of shadows hovered and darted, moving swiftly with a deadly menace as they speared down a torrent of brutal energy.

The Reevers thundered out vehement howls of anger; they scattered for cover at the perimeters of the hollow arena.

The two priests, who stood over Kira, turned and tried to run. One was struck immediately by a thudding blast and crumbled to the platform at the side of her bench; the other barely got a few steps away - even with the dazzling speed of his blurred movements - before he too was destroyed by a crushing shaft of magik.

Were the witches here to kill her?

Had they come to finish what they had attempted at the Grove?

A number of the Reevers charged up the steep sides of the crater and leapt out at those witches who had flown too low over the crowd; they hacked with swirling axes; the fierce barrage of magik pummelled down; its sharp, crashing deluge reverberated and blurred into the hideous screams and howling shouts of battle; the sulphurous air grew thick with the stench of charred remains.

A dark, shimmering shadow hovered near the platform; the violence of her spells cascaded and forked down, flashing and crackling against the dim night. A set of heavy footsteps charged forward past Kira; a Reever sprinted to the edge and leapt at the witch; his bulky weight dragged her down into the baying fury of the crowd; her dying screams ripped and echoed across the hollow belly of the crater.

Kira’s terrified mind scrambled; she writhed against the brutal chains; a second witch landed on the platform and slithered towards her.

Her horrified skin recoiled; the foul creature came closer. Kira shuddered and tried to back away; the rough chains refused to allow her retreat.

She wanted to shut her eyes - to blot out the evil apparition - but the tormented memories of her dead classmates haunted her thoughts and forced her startled eyes wide.

A stark fear crawled across her skin. The grotesque witch loomed over her; she was certain to die - to be killed cruelly in tormented pain like the Harmonist and the others.

She winced; her body convulsed to be up so close to one of the repugnant things for the first time. How savage and inhuman it looked, this shimmering coiled vibration of female form - its flat face so cruel and distorted; its cataract-blinded eyes, so unfeeling and lifeless, without the flickering movements of a pupil to animate them.

No - Aldwyn was wrong!

She could never be such a creature!

The chaos of the battle blasted and shook all around, echoing across the vast crater, but the witch remained eerily calm and still, apparently lost in its own concentration; its blanked eyes stared deep into her, as if searching and uncertain for a brief moment.

The blood pounded through Kira’s ears; the harrowing, tangled images of her classmates stabbed through her tortured mind - their agony, the twisting screams of their deaths - the cold evil that had extinguished their lives, their hopes, now glowered over her.

She was certain to be killed in the same cruel, insidious way.

The creature’s eyes cleared and glowed a deep, menacing yellow; it reached out a slow, spindly hand towards Kira’s face; the living markings within its arms shifted and circulated, radiant against the dark chaos of the night.

Kira gasped and tried to catch her sharp, frightened breath; she jerked her head back, desperate to avoid the poisonous touch of the evil predator - determined to clutch at a few more seconds of precious life.

The lank hand stretched further, closer, and snaked towards her eyes. An urgent thudding horror pounded through Kira’s helpless body; she twisted and contorted her neck, but the burning fingers slithered closer; a dank smell of decaying forests and venomous toadstools overtook her; she could not move, she could not get away; the fingers crawled across her vulnerable face; a bleak terror convulsed through her.

The distant noise of the battle fell away, meaningless.

The slow breath thumped through her hollow chest.

She waited for the Surrounder to welcome her - she was ready.

Let this unnatural monster kill her - her hopes for a future were gone anyway - she would finally be with Ellis.

Let it just be over with.

Let it not be such tormented agony.

The languid fingers calmly stretched past her eyes and wormed into the stout chains around her head. The links snapped and rattled down to the platform; the oppressive, constricting weight around her temples disappeared. The witch’s eyes glowed with a deeper, more vibrant yellow; her sinewy arms extended and touched the cruel metal bindings around Kira’s arms and legs; the coiled chains cracked open and cascaded away.

Kira’s thoughts tumbled and shocked; the restricted blood tried to alleviate the numbing cramp in her legs; the firm, wiry arms of the witch wove around her and lifted her up, clear of the bench.

Kira struggled, but floated upward, away from the platform - away from the chaos and din of the attack - away from Ellis.

Ellis!

She wrestled against the vine-like grip of the witch.

She must get free.

She must help Ellis

The fibrous arms grasped her tighter and refused to let go; the malicious witch floated higher and dragged Kira up - clear of the platform; her vulnerable legs dangled above the furious heads of the Reevers.

The cruel blood trickled from Ellis’s wound down below her.

Perhaps there was still time?

Perhaps there was still something she could do?

Something to save him - to staunch the flow of his blood - to stop his precious life from ebbing away.

If she could just get to him.

She kicked and struggled, but the witch continued to rise smoothly, higher above the platform.

A Reever leapt up and clutched at one of the witch’s legs in a strong, unyielding hand.

His sudden jolting weight halted their progress.

The Reever swung a huge battle axe with his free arm; a swift metallic flash arced terrifyingly through the night air towards Kira; she flinched and feared for her life; the keen-edged weapon thudded deep into the shimmering body of the witch; they plummeted back down to the hard, jolting surface of the platform.

A sharp, jarring pain stabbed up from Kira’s ankle as it twisted with the shock of her landing.

The infuriated Reever crashed to the platform close by; the tangled, lifeless remains of the witch thumped down on top of him and trapped him beneath a heavy, sprawling web of coils.

The stinging waves of pain stole Kira’s heaving breath - but Ellis was just a short distance away at the other end of the platform.

She dashed towards him, shutting out the fierce confusion and noise; the piercing stench of sulphur, and the dimmed chaos of the night.

The howling war-cries blurred into the screams of the dying; brilliant flashes of magikal energy shook and echoed across the melee and carnage of the crater - but Kira could focus on only one thing - Ellis.

She scrambled towards him, his occasional blood still dripped to the bowl below, his skin seemed grey and cold.

She pushed past the skulls and knives of the ceremonial table; her desperate fingers stretched out to touch him; a fierce grip from behind closed around one of her arms and jerked her back roughly a short, cruel distance away from his pallid body.

She turned and recognised the snarling anger of the Prince; his savage hands clenched brutally around her arm and dragged her back - away from Ellis.

She fumbled for one of the ceremonial knives on the table; she grasped it and slashed hard at his hateful face with all the angry strength she could find.

The Prince howled an agonised roar; his hands flew to the bitter wound; he staggered back blindly a few paces and tumbled from the edge of the platform into the heaving swarm of fighting Reevers and witches below.

Kira refused to hesitate - the fate of the vicious Reever was of no concern; she darted back to Ellis - her sole focus - the only thing that truly mattered in all the clamouring death and confusion.

His limbs dangled limp and motionless in their chains; his exhausted greying face was empty and wan; his lips tinged a pale blue; and his eyes - those eyes which had shone up at her with such life and promise above the sheer deadly cliffs of the mountain pass - were now closed and formed a bleak, desolate barrier to his warmth and friendship.

The slow blood oozed out and splashed down into the vessel beneath him; every drop robbed him of his life; every drop robbed her of a future, of hope, of happiness.

She grasped his arm; his skin was still warm; perhaps there was still hope?

She shook his motionless body but could not rouse him; she slapped at his cheek.

Why couldn’t she be a healer like Aldwyn?

What was it the old man had taught her?

Observe, diagnose, apply a remedy?

But her scrambled thoughts refused to gather.

How could she focus calmly at a time like this?

How could anyone?

What was the use of having the power to destroy the world if she could not use it to save the ones she loved?

And Ellis was dying there - right in front of her - and she could do nothing.

She threw her arms around him and pressed her head to his stomach and hoped that this might somehow staunch the flow of his blood, or perhaps offer her the comfort of his pulse.

His skin was cool against her cheek; the last vestiges of warmth and spirit drained from him.

There must be something she could do to save him?

If only she could think, if only she could focus.

A set of strong, vascular fingers grasped her from behind and wound themselves around her arms and body.

She felt their urgent tugging pull, but refused to acknowledge their grip and clung desperately to Ellis.

The arms hauled her upwards.

She held on tighter and dug her stubborn toes down to anchor herself; to be with him, to save him, or at least be of some comfort to him when the Surrounder took him.

But the powerful, insistent force lifted her up, clear of the platform.

Her legs dangled uselessly.

She could not hold on.

His wilted, unresponsive fingers slipped through hers.

She stretched out a despairing hand, determined to remain with him; she kicked and tried to wriggle free, but the tight wiry grip clasped her hard and pulled her up into the air.

“No! Let me go! I’ve got to save him!” she shouted.

She extended and strained every sinew; perhaps her fingers could latch onto him; or her toes; or her eyes could hold her in place near him, but the witch lifted her higher, further away from Ellis, further away from hope.

She fought to wrestle free.

They could take her if they wanted - they could kill her like they did the other novicellae - it didn’t matter anymore.

But save him, save Ellis.

Her distraught eyes gazed down at him; her ears imagined they could still pick out the feeble flutter of his heart, but the callous arms of the witch pulled her up higher into the unfeeling chill of the night sky, as Ellis receded cruelly away beneath her dangling feet.

The flaring glow of the lava and the ferocious noise of the battle spiralled distantly below her. The bracing wind billowed into her face and tangled through her hair.

A fall from here might kill her - but she was prepared to risk it, to risk it all.

“No! Go back!” she shouted. “I’ve got to help him!”

She writhed and twisted.

“Stop struggling, fool,” the witch hissed down at her and snaked out a fibrous hand to her forehead.

A searing coldness stung across Kira’s mind and body.

Her limbs fell useless and limp; her focus in the world slipped away and was lost in the deep swirling blur of an all-encompassing darkness.

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Coming Next:

Beneath the Melancholy Stars Book 2 :

The Bitter Kiss of Winter