‘From the fire I rose …’
Gusts of sand clouded the clifftop, the outline of Bear in battle just about showing through, the shine from his weapons glimmering in between the lightning bolts.
Scarlen tried to read the Order, but sand swept across the pages, sinking into the groove of the book. Blinking away the particles blowing in the wind, she moved further into the legion of wyrmocs, her head light, body weightless.
‘I battle to save …’
‘Scars!’ Bear yelled, but his voice was muffled.
She looked his way, then dodged a lurching creature, slamming the book into its face before running. If she could get to Bear, she could use one of his daggers, then they’d both be armed. Stumbling over her own feet, she cursed as the bookescaped her and another beast came. She scrambled forwards, her fingertips deep in the sand, her lips covered in the grains, choking, forcing one hand across her mouth and nose. Grabbing the book, she outran the wyrmoc, then slammed into the sandstone wall that crumbled on impact.
‘Let them die. Let them die,’ she continued to read aloud.
‘Scars!’ Bear’s voice, so near yet so far. ‘Get to the boat.’
Barely able to see as the wind whipped up more golden granules, she turned sharply, holding the book for dear life, and ran in the direction of the rocky steps that led down to the beach, but her footing slipped, and she felt nothing beneath her but air.
Everything slowed as she descended towards the wild waves smashing into the coves below. She could just about see Bear’s eyes wide with fear in the golden mist and hear his faint cry on the clifftop, and she wanted to reach for him, hold him not the book.
The book.
It heated, then started to glow, and Scarlen could do no more than plead as she fell to her doom. ‘Save me. Please save me.’
A spark flew out of the pages, diving beneath her to open up into a large ring of fire, roaring, deafening, its flames intense, deadly, sucking Scarlen through its wide middle, where she disappeared.
35
Terror claimed Scarlen, a strange weightlessness in her bones, a calm vortex around her. The descent was slow and warped, giving her time to think of those she had left behind. What would they remember of her? She was foolhardy for running from privileges? Strong for withstanding such torture? Would there be a royal memorial for the shapeshifter?
After everything she’d been through, she expected her death to be unkind. No ripe old age, drifting off into her forever sleep, snuggled in a soft bed. What could death bring that life hadn’t already exhausted her with?
Inhaling the heat from the swirl of embers, she relaxed into her destiny, a gentle peace bringing respite from the noise of pain. All was well now. She could rest.
Scarlen closed her eyes, allowing her body to shut down piece by piece, welcoming the darkness, the end.
In the quietening of her mind, she hoped she would see her mother again, perhaps both of them. The one who raised her, the one who should have. It was a nice dream to slip into, to remain until no more thoughts floated.
‘To those who loved me. And the ones who truly saw me,’ she whispered.
A buttery hue glowed up to greet her, bringing comfort and the soothing sound of a gentle fire crackling in a hearth.
Mercifully, there was no pain, no regrets, and no desire to fight, just the flight of a feather in a light breeze. Then her backside hit hard ground with a thump.
‘Ow!’
Iridescent lilac eyes came into view, peering down at her sprawled body. She hadn’t imagined Death to look in his forties and so weather-worn, or to smell of stale whisky.
‘Well, that’s just great!’ he huffed, raking a hand through long, straw-like, messy hair.
‘Am I dead?’ was all she could think to say, her heart unsure whether to race or stop beating altogether.
‘No, but you will be when Principal Warren gets a hold of you.’
Tightening her hands to her chest, she noticed the book was gone and so was her flowery dress, replaced by a deep-blue-and-silver uniform. ‘Where am I?’
The boozy breath was back, even the bottle holding the amber liquid was waved before her eyes. ‘How did you even do it?’
‘Do what? Who are you?’ Scarlen peeled herself from the polished wooden flooring, her attention drawn to the many screens lining a white desk, moving pictures in colour on each one. She glanced at the black swivel chair the man dropped into with a huff and a curse word, then looked at the mural on the wall to his side of a big wheel with symbols and the seasons.
