The skeletons were moving. The archers were raising their weapons. Arrows flew through the air. One struck the wrist of the hand that held the dagger, pinning it to the wall. The hand convulsed and the dagger fell from nerveless fingers. Finley caught it. It felt right in his hand. The hilt was so perfectly balanced. It fit against his palm like it was always meant to be there.
“Kill you! Kill you! Kill you!” It wailed. “Bleed you dry! Carve your flesh! Eat your soul!”
The skeletons came and pried Finley out of the creature’s remaining hand. But gently. The book, too, fell on the ground. One of the skeletons picked it up and handed it to Finley. He dusted it off and tenderly tucked it under one arm.
The creature struggled in the skeleton’s arms. Finley regarded it calmly. He felt so very calm. The dagger in his hand felt very anchoring. He knew that some part of him was looking on with horror and disgust and fear. But another part of him–the part the dagger brought forward–understood that this had to happen. That there was a price to be paid for magic. And really, this creature would have killed him and countless others if given a chance.
I only protected myself. Nothing more. Nothing less.
“No! NO! Only one!” the creature shouted.
“Yes, only one,” Finley agreed. “And that one is me.”
The skeletons began to pull the creature apart. Limb by limb. It shrieked and babbled. Promising revenge. He’d have to burn the body. Whatever was left of it anyways when his skeletal protectors were done. Just to be sure. After all, he couldn’t have this thing coming after him and his friends. This was the first monster he had destroyed with his magic.
His magic.
Worthy, his professor said with quiet satisfaction. Worthy.
Past Or Future
Declan was falling into darkness. Even his night vision couldn’t pierce the velvety blackness that filled the crater. Wind whistled past him, blowing back his jacket and hood. His arms were spread wide. His legs were, too. He had taken on the position of a skydiver, except that he didn’t have a parachute. When he hit the bottom, he was going to hit hard. If he had the great magic Vex claimed he did, he should be able to slow his fall or stop it altogether or, better yet, fly. But no magic bloomed in his chest despite his desperate wish for it to. Just like at the Venomthorn, magic was beyond him.
He continued to fall.
He was going to die.
He had jumped because he believed he was going to die anyway. He’d hoped that the crater curved in sooner than it evidently did so that he could slide down to the bottom. A few bumps and bruises, maybe even a couple of broken bones, but he’d live and he’d hobble away as fast as he could. But he could not see the bottom and when he did... He didn’t want it to come. He wanted to live. His friends… his found family… Aquilan…
Aquilan…
His eyes closed. He swore he could feel the Sun King near. His warmth. His smile. His laugh. The sound of his voice. The way he looked at Declan as if everything Declan did secretly delighted him. The strength of his arms. If only Declan could feel those arms around him now… cradling him… holding him… keeping him from death…
The whistling in his ears dipped in volume.
The wind was slowing.
No.
Not the wind.
He was slowing.
Something cold flowed around him. It felt as if he was being held in a giant’s hand. He had been facing downwards–a swan dive of death–but he was suddenly standing upright. He opened his eyes and blinked. He was no longer falling. He was held aloft. Levitating in place for a moment, but then he was slowly lowered to the ground. His boots softly touched the stone floor of the crater. Without thought, Ardreth was in his right hand and he was swinging around to face his father.
But Vex was not there.
He had not come after Declan.
He craned his head as far back as he could to catch sight of the Night King still poised at the very edge of the crater. And indeed, a silhouette of Vex–black against the red of the magma waterfall–was there.
Rahven, the voice in his mind again.
He trembled. Adrenaline made him feel like a live wire. Death had caressed him. But he was still alive. There was still hope.
Father.
They stared at one another across this great dark gulf. Declan felt nothing over their mental connection from Vex. No anger like before. No grief either. And certainly no love. There was simply nothing there, but emptiness. Was Vex hiding his emotions or did he simply not have any? The Kindreth had seemed so emotional before that seemed unlikely. So it meant he was cutting Declan out of his emotional side.
