Two of the warriors begin fighting in front of me and their voices are at full volume in my head, their rage, their agony, their thirst for vengeance consuming me.
It’s hard to believe it’s not real when I can hear them, can feel the metal clashing through my bones, sense the warmth of their breath against my skin.
I can’t even be halfway across the lake yet. How the hell am I going to make it all the way?
Willing to try anything, I close my eyes, praying that I don’t step onto any thin ice. But while walking that way removes the images from in front of me, it increases the noise.
The cries. The pain. It all echoes off the distant mountains and reverberates through the very marrow of my bones. They’re dying. They’re dying all around me. And I have nothing to help them. No magic. No weapons strong enough. No way out.
I just need some respite. Some quiet. Anything to give me a moment’s peace.
If I could just stop the sound, would that be enough?
Yes.
Maybe.
Maybe it would work.
But how?
For the first time since I stepped onto the ice, I remember the knife in my hand. It’s not as pretty as the dagger from Dinah, but it should work perfectly. I tip my head to the side and lift the blade.
‘Thorn! Fucking hell! No!’
The pain across my face is completely different from the internal pain I was feeling. The echo of the slap continues to sting my skin as I blink my eyes, suddenly aware that my hand is now empty, though I can barely remember what it was holding before.
All I can focus on is Kyor standing in front of me, fear filling his face.
He slapped me, brought me out of …
I realise then what I was about to do with the blade they gave me. I was going to slice my own throat.
‘I was going to … I just wanted it to stop …’ I whisper. My throat dries as the reality of what I was about to do sinks in.
Kyor stopped me. He saved my life.
‘I know. You’re okay now.’ He bends down and picks up the dagger. ‘Maybe I should hold on to this, though? I’ve got a little more experience than you.’
‘More experience with spirits trying to make you kill yourself?’ I ask.
‘No, being surrounded by death.’
My heart clenches for him.
Our gazes are still locked when a scream jolts my attention away. This one wasn’t in my head.
‘Mattieu, stop. Stop!’ Oke shouts. Her friend is trying to battle spirits clad in the Morathkian uniform, but his usual precision is missing as he hurls blast after blast of fire into the air, with no chance of meeting a target. His magic is worse than useless – it’s dangerous. We are on an ice-covered lake and every blast of fire he sends out weakens the thin layer between us and the icy depths.
‘Mattieu, stop!’ Oke calls again, but he’s not listening.
I can’t move, too transfixed by terror. Not for me, but for them.
Abandoning her screaming pleas, Oke moves towards him. But she’s dressed in the uniform of the very spectres Mattieu is trying to defeat, and it’s very possible he won’t realise that she’s real. She’ll get herself killed.
But that’s on her, isn’t it? It’s not like she hasn’t tried to kill me countless times. My mind is a cacophony of conflicting emotions. Can I let her die? Can I let anyone die when I have a chance to save them?
‘I need to get her out of there,’ I say to Kyor.
