“Okay,” he says, though it twists his gut with unease. Something bubbles between them, fizzling like magic. “Let’s go.”
They stand a few feet away from one another but Ren won’t look at him. “This is a different kind of magic,” she explains. “Not a portal.” She demonstrates how he should hold his hands—fingers outstretched, curved like he holds a large ball. “We’ll create a gust of wind, but you can’t simply imagine it into existence.”
Bass, staring hard at the space between his hands where he imagines the wind to be, grunts a noise of disapproval. Magic is hard enough already, without all of Ren’s rules.
“We must ask the wind for help.” Ren closes her eyes, and blue light begins to whip like ribbons between her fingers. “The forest works together. We won’t have enough magic for both of us without its help.”
Basuin hates asking for help, so he tries to think of it like teamwork. The forest and them, working together to create a gale that will take them to where Ren’s portal has disappeared—back to the bastion. He doesn’t know why Ren’s burned, either, but Basuin knows that Kensy plays a part. Whatever’s happened, it’s because of Kensy, and that’s enough for him.
He tries, but Bass doesn’t know how to call upon the wind of the forest. Staring down at his hands, Bass asks, Wind, will you help us?
The wolf-man barks a laugh, wheezing. One of Ren’s eyes opens, as if she heard the chuckle from inside him.
“It’s like any other spirit,” she says. “Their name is Ki-on. Treat them as you would anyone else—as a living being.”
He huffs a sigh and closes his eyes again. Ki-on, can you hear me?
In answer, a breeze blows through the woods. Ki-on twirls through Ren’s hair, tousling her bangs enough that the moonlight better illuminates her face.
We need your help, he asks it. I still have much magic to learn, so please, help Ren instead of me.
And, in answer again, a lighter gale circles them and makes Ren giggle. All bell tones and knotting shapes out of his belly. But the burn crawling across her skin rots that feeling into something gruesome. There’s not enough time for him to look away before she opens her eyes again. But Ren reaches out, hand to the wind, letting it collect around her fingers.
“See?” she says. “Everything works in tandem here. Together.”
Basuin copies her movement, letting the wind trickle through his fingers and curl up in his palm. It’s gentle, and a little playful.
“Now gather it, and then channel it.” Ren demonstrates, moving her hands in a circular wave, blue light mixing with the blowing breeze.
When the red of his magic hits hers, the gale turns to a bright purple—almost lavender in the moonlight. It reflects on Ren’s face and illuminates all her high-boned features. Softening, rather than sharpening.
Together, they push the wind toward the south. As it rolls through the trees, it seems to pick up, and pick up, until he can hear nothing else but the whistle and rush of it.
“Ready?” Ren calls to him, holding out her hand. He hesitates, only for a moment, a touch of fear turning him cold. If he burned her before, he could hurt her again.
But he takes her hand anyway—they shouldn’t be separated. Basuin gives her a curt nod. Then, Ren pulls them into the gale and he loses his footing. It’s the strong, clutching grip of Ren’s hand around his that keeps him from stumbling as they rush through the forest, riding on the spirit of the wind.
Ren looks back at him, a knowing smile sitting pretty on her countenance. He holds her stare, the way her eyes glow with this childlike glee in them, sparking something in his chest alive. It’s magical. A head rush.
Until it’s not.
Until they fly out from the trees into nothing. Nothing. A stretch of nothing at all.
Ren loses her balance first. Basuin’s never been one to let go. His fingers are fettered around her and when she goes, he goes too. But he dives for her, wrapping his arms around her before they hit the ground. His feet land but the added weight of Ren against him topples him and they roll through the dirt.
Panting, Basuin surveys the area. But there is nothing—nothing here but cleared dirt and the light of the moon above them. It reeks of fire and ash.
Ren scrambles to her feet and Bass grunts as her elbow finds his stomach and her hand pushes off his shoulder. He jumps to his feet and trails after her, but he knows already. Acid crawls up his throat. His mouth tastes like cremation.
“What is this?” Ren asks, head tossing from side to side as she tries to take in the land. In the distance beyond the fog of the night, the bastion stands glorious and untouched. Only a few nights ago they were just here, watching the fireworks from atop a tree that’s been logged now. Basuin says nothing, but Ren turns to look back at him.
Silver tears streak down her cheeks. Even Hwai-ga could call him a sinner for how the moonlight colors her crying.
“What have they done?” she asks him, and Basuin can’t look away from her.
“They’ve burned it down,” he answers. Just as he’s burned cities down, too.
In the name of the queen, Kensy always said. For Queen Ye’suite, soldiers were always taught to say. Because the gods aren’t allowed to be named anymore. Gods have no power in this world anymore. Just like the legion burned their church down, in Ankor, they’ll burn this forest down too.
