Dawn of Ash (22 page)

She had seen something.

Something that scared her.

No.

She was scared of me.

“Wyn?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What did you take out of Ryland?”

I froze, everything in me tightening and shaking as the alarms inside of me went off.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I knew the shake in my voice was a dead giveaway, but I didn’t care. Right then, it was all I could do to keep me from attacking, from running away.

“Wyn?” she asked again, and for the first time, I could tell how scared she was. “What did you do?”

I could scarcely look at her. All I could think was that she wanted to take away my daughter, and that she wanted to hurt her, too.

I wouldn’t let that happen.

Not this time.

“Wyn?”

I barely heard her. I couldn’t focus past my panic. I couldn’t focus past the break in reality. All I could feel was the fury and terror blending in an angry wall of emotion that was making it hard to think, hard to see straight.

I could think of one thing.

I only knew to do one thing.

Attack.

Power surged through me, speeding right to my best friend as she reached out for me in what I was sure she thought was an act of support, just as her hand wrapped around my wrist and our magic reacted the same as it had before, but this time, it surged and erupted. What was worse, this time, because I had already been ready to fight, it exploded.

It exploded in a wave of blue ice and flame, the eruption like cannon fire, the world around us shaking from the impact. The wall of power burned through the air as it sped over the cathedral, barreling down the tight space on its way to intersect with the barrier Ilyan used to protect the old space.

I braced for the sound of the collision, braced for the explosion of sound and the shake of the space as the barrier absorbed the power.

But the barrier didn’t stop it.

Instead, the attack continued to move through the protective bubble with a powerful pop. I watched the shimmer of the translucent barrier fade around us, watched the attack slam into the ancient stonework of the gothic chapel with yet another explosion. Everything around us shook so violently I expected the whole building was going to come down on top of us.

“Oh, Ilyan is going to kill me.” And I had thought a few loose tiles would be bad.

I was dead.

Disembowelment was in order.

It was the solitary fear I had until I looked down at Joclyn, to where she hung from my arm, her eyes of the deepest black, her body convulsing violently.

“Joclyn!” I yelled, fear rampaging through me at what I was seeing. “Joclyn?”

I had seen her have sights before. I had watched her eyes fade into the sight of future. I had watched her slide off tables, writhing in agony and crying over what she had seen behind the black of her eyes. But there was something different here. This was terrifying.

Hands fluttering around her, I tried to find a way to help, tried to find a way to get her to snap out of it, something. She was jerking around so much, so fast that I couldn’t even get a good grip on her.

“Joclyn!” I yelled again, but she kept writhing.

Her black eyes stared toward the sky, her face haunted and broken as if she was looking into her very own death.

“Give me,” she said. Her voice was deep and hollow as I had heard from Draks before, the sound terrifying when I came from her. “Give it to me,” she moaned again, her eyes darting to my pocket, her hand like claws as she moved to reach for it.

The fear from before slammed into my back in an uncomfortable agony. The worry I’d had over Joclyn moments ago evaporated in the boil of my blood, the heat of my magic. The need to run, to escape, to attack encompassed me.

I tried to fight it. I couldn’t leave Jos. She was my friend, and I knew what these sights did to her. I needed to help her.

I tried to convince myself of that, but the loyalty was wavering as she kept convulsing, as the words kept coming.

It was all I could do not to attack her.

“Wyn—” The word seeped out of her before she fell to the ground in a heap, her joints twisted in ways that made her look broken, like china that was trying to repair itself.

The panic subsided as I watched her, the worry taking over. Then she heaved, and then she screamed. And her head turned toward me with the same black eyes, even though I was convinced she could see me.

“Wyn,” she gasped, her voice twisted between normal and the hollow Drak tones. “You need to give me the blade. You don’t know what you’ve done.”

I looked at her, into the black of her eyes, into the fear that came right back to me.

“No!” The word was a snap of broken ice as it cut through me, every instinct I possessed begging me to rush my best friend, to kill her, to keep myself and my plan safe.

It was all I could do not to attack her.

It was all I could do not to run and leave her screaming after me.

“Wyn, please.” Her voice was normal now, but her eyes had not changed. They were the same dark depths of nothing staring at me as if they could see me, but more than just me, as if they could see my future, too.

Mommy!

I jumped at the terror in her voice, the tenor of it taking me right back to that day when Rosaline had lain on that table, Edmund hovering over her, Ovailia laughing in the background. And Sain … Sain chained in the corner, his eyes as black as hers.

His eyes as black as hers.

Just like that, something in me flipped, the switch moving so fast I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t stop the anger, the pain. I couldn’t stop from coming alive.

“Wyn,” Joclyn gasped, her voice broken and scared, so much like everyone else when they had begged for life, when they had begged for their end to come.

And so would she.

“No!” I screamed, the vile anger exploding out of me in a wave of aggression that made her flinch again, the warning met, though I knew she wouldn’t back down.

I could see it.

I
knew
it.

And if she wasn’t going to back down … I wasn’t going to give in.

Mommy! Please!
Her voice shot through me as my magic did, the attack speeding through the air and right toward Joclyn to stop her, to end her.

Joclyn screamed as the light erupted, the blazing flash impacting against the stone as she moved, her body sliding over the floor so fast I was in no doubt she was possessed.

My heart tensed at the thought, part of me screaming in fear as it begged me to stop. But I couldn’t hear it anymore. I couldn’t think past the sound of Rosy’s voice, past her fear.

I needed to save her, and I wasn’t going to let anyone stand in my way.

I would stop her first.

Another attack, one right after another shot toward Joclyn, but again, she moved. Again, she shifted away right before the attack would have made contact.

I could see the pain on her face. I could see how much moving was costing her. She couldn’t outrun me forever. Besides, if she was just going to dodge, then I would have to anticipate that.

“Wyn!” she screamed as she tried to back up over the stone, her black eyes looking into me, digging into me. “You must give it to me … you can’t—”

“No!” I didn’t even let her finish; I attacked, expecting her movements.

This time, I hit her. This time, the magic hit against her leg, the denim jean burning away.

Closer.

I needed to get closer.

“You can’t have it!” I screamed as I attacked again, volley after volley flying toward her as she tried to move away.

She wasn’t fast enough. She never would be. I was more powerful than her. I had the fire magic, and now … Now she was going to feel it.

“You can’t have my daughter!”

Mommy? Save me!

One last powerful ribbon of fire and death streamed away from me and right into her, seeping into her gut, spreading through her, destroying her.

Mommy!

“You can’t have her!” I spat, ready to attack again, ready to end her, but then Rosaline’s voice filled me, her sobs shifting from that of fear to that of loss, the change in the sound cutting through me.

Mommy,
she pleaded, the sound so clear that I was momentarily positive she was speaking directly to me.
Mommy, don’t hurt her.

Shock filled me like warm water as I watched my friend writhe, watched my magic attempt to end her, watched her scream.

I knew I should do something. I knew I needed to. I had attacked her. I had hurt her.

I needed to get out of here. I needed to save my daughter. I needed to leave Ilyan in order to save her.

I turned, running away from my immobilized friend, away from whatever she had seen, away from what I had done like the coward I was deep down inside.

I ran because it was the only way to save her. It was the only way to save me.

I ran, no longer certain where I was running to, confident Joclyn was wrong.

I knew what I was doing. No matter what the contradictions of my past gave me, I
did
know that.

I knew I needed to save my daughter, and I knew I needed to keep moving toward that, no matter what I ended up running away from.

Her screams for help echoed around the hall as she yelled after me. I could hear the tremble in her voice, the terror behind each word. I could hear her desperation.

I didn’t care.

I needed to get out of there. I needed to get away from her, away from where I would hurt her, away from where she could take everything from me. Away from the black of her eyes and the terrifying way our magic had reacted.

I needed to run.

Part of me—the sane, logical side that was never loud enough when I needed it—was screaming at me to run back, to help her, to give in and trust my friend.

But I couldn’t, not with the way my daughter was screaming inside of me, her voice as loud as the terrified pleas ringing from behind me.

I had turned another corner, picking the pace up into a run as I tried to decide what to do, what course of action to take, when I ran right into Sain.

He had been walking through the dimly lit hall around the corner from me, unseen, before I slammed into his back like a freight train, sending us both off balance—he, into the wall; me, to the ground.

“Wynifred!”

I cringed at the level of his voice, the sound a violent, feral screech as he turned to me with raging hatred in his eyes that was stronger than I had ever seen.

My heart beat louder, the knot in my stomach tightening as I met his gaze. I was convinced I had as much rage and anger as he did right then.

Seeing him there, in front of me, brought back the image I had seen moments before of him … in that room, watching my daughter die, as though it was nothing.

I swallowed, my brain already tallying him up as another casualty. Then my spine aligned as I rushed him, afraid someone would hear him. Someone would find me.

Joclyn and Ilyan had some kind of a strange connection, thanks to their bonding; as a result, for all I knew, he was already looking for me.

“Shhhhhhh!” I hissed, thrusting the old man into the wall, my magic spreading away from me, searching through the immediate area for any signs of magic, for anyone who might be looking for me.

Sain glared at me with a combination of fear and interest as I held my hand over his mouth, his body pinned against the wall. Beams of light spread into the dark space from the distant windows, giving everything around us haunted, red shadows.

I expected to calm down, being so close to him. After all, we had been through enough together. Instead, my panic increased, the reality of what I was feeling, or rather, what I wasn’t feeling, become alarmingly clear.

There was nothing other than Joclyn’s magic, the force of it made louder by her desperate screams.

The absence of magic should have been calming, but it wasn’t. There was no trace of anyone, not even the man I currently faced.

“I can’t feel your magic,” I hissed, my fear vanishing for a minute, drowned by the shock of the abnormality before me.

Sain mumbled something in response, the words garbled by the hand I had forgotten I had smothered him with.

Removing it, I let him catch his breath as I fixed him with a sharp look, the distress pounding through my blood stream again.

“Is that what’s got you so spooked?” he asked. Part of me did not even care he was dodging. “You looked like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mommy, don’t let them take me.

More like I heard one. Between Joclyn’s pained please and Rosaline’s cries, I was starting to think
I
was haunted.

“I’m fine,” I lied, sucking in air through my teeth with a sharp snap that sounded more like a smack against skin. Sain flinched at the noise, at the anger and violence that rushed through me, at the heat bubbling across my hands.

“Fine compared to what? Compared to before in Imdalind? Choose light, Wyn, because murder doesn’t really qualify—”

“What do I look like, Sain?” My voice hissed in clear warning as it had done for centuries.