Awakenings

[This post is from Hecate’s point of view.]

Breath burned in her chest and throat as she flung herself through the rain toward the wall, casting glances up toward the sky, tracking what she’d seen.  Bile slicked the back of her throat and her tongue, stomach roiling.

They were supposed to be gone when it all came apart centuries ago, even before I managed to flee.  How are they here now?  And who are they answering to?

They had been her maids, once, a thousand thousand yesterdays ago in another place, another time.  They had been her heralds and her companions—the shadowed, nameless nymphs of realms beyond and below where she’d dwelt for long centuries under the thumb of her Olympium masters.  Now someone else held their tethers and it frightened her.

What’s their plan?

Her breath hitched.  Would the wards hold?

I can’t know one way or another.  Even Marin wouldn’t have known, she was certain of it.

The rain was frigid and she could barely feel her fingers as she dashed past the watchtower where Paul perched, rifle trained beyond the wall.  She could hear the screams of dying dirae and more now, could hear the echo of drums and the sound of Marin’s voice guiding the archers on the wall.

Steady.  Her gaze swept the rampart, landing on Matt as he stiffened and twisted.  Blood drained from his face even as she scrambled up to join him, the still-healing wound in her side itching and burning at the same time.

“I thought I—”

“Thom saw something,” she blurted, breathless and gasping as Matt and Phelan pulled her up to the top, the latter sliding a little further down the rampart to make space for her next to Matt.  “Said you would need me and he’s right.  They have the lampades, Matt.  The dark nymphs are here.”

“What?”  He blinked rapidly.  She could see the traces of magic in his eyes, swirling and twisting in his irises.  His power was still up and he didn’t even know it.  “Where?  How?”

“Look up,” she whispered, fingers tangling in his sleeve, nails digging into the flesh of his arm through the fabric.  “I don’t know how they’re here, but look up.”

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

The rumble came quietly at first, a faint sound, lost beneath the thunder and the lightning and the screams. Matt felt it before he heard it, felt it because it was his doing. As he poured more power into the lines, the rumble built, the world trembling slightly around them, though the wall held firm.

Phelan put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Matt exhaled slowly, took another breath, and then redoubled his efforts.

Just a little more.

There was a loud crack, then another, and the earth geysered upwards at the far end of the field, sending rocks and dirt and bodies sailing up and into the air, erupting up from within the mists. The screams grew louder.

The drums echoed, louder, followed by the blast of a horn, loud and long.

Matt’s heart shot up and lodged in his throat. His fingers curled, nails and fingertips scraping against the concrete and brick of the wall. He knew that sound, knew it well enough that it made him sick to his core.

Once upon a time.

A shudder shot through him and he swallowed bile.

Steady. Focus.

Breath hissed through his teeth. His hands curled into fists, ragged nails digging into his palms.

The ground exploded again deep in the mists, rolling deeper into them. He could sense someone at their heart, someone familiar. It was hard to breathe all of a sudden and he leaned forward, jaw tightening.

Stubborn through. You can do this. Damn it all, you can do this—you’ve got to.

“Ranged ready!”

His heartbeat roared in his ears, vision growing shadowed at the edges—Matt wasn’t sure if it was from exertion or something else. It could be anything. Anything.

Steady.

Across the field, shadows loomed above the mists, lacking form briefly before they took shape—dirae on the wing, the worst of their kind. Matt sucked in a breath, lifted a hand. It felt heavy, too heavy, as if his limbs were made of water and his hand was made of lead.

Remind them what fear is.

The thought chilled him even as it crossed his mind. He set his jaw, teeth grinding. Was there another choice?

“Aim!”

Matt closed his eyes.

“Loose!”

A torrent of magic shot from his hand, less a warning shot than a final warning, gold and silver and copper and green all woven together in a single, seamless sheet that spread like a banner on the wind over the field, rippling out toward the dirae that had taken wing.

He had forgotten how terrible their screams could be.

[This post is from Matt’s point of view.]

He stared at her for a few seconds, struggling to process what she’d just said. How had she known? Even he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Matt swallowed hard, laying his hand on her arm again, trying to steady himself.

I shouldn’t be this damn shaken—should I? He blew out a breath and squinted through the rain. Marin’s hand covered his, though only for a moment.

“Just do it,” she said, then let go, reaching for another arrow. “Ranged to ready!”

Matt’s hand fell away from her arm and he glanced helplessly toward Phelan, who stared back, looking as abruptly stricken as he felt. Phelan shook his head quickly.

He has no answers. This is on me.

One breath, then another.

Steady. Focus.

“Aim!”

Matt leaned forward, both hands touching the rain-slicked walls. Above them, the clouds twisted, lightning lancing through them, thunder crackling, though only slightly louder than the roaring of blood in his ears.

Focus.

You can do this. You have to do this.

Somehow, he could feel Hecate at the back of his thoughts, felt her as close as if she were there with him, her hand on his shoulder. He closed his eyes.

Steady. Breathe.

You can do this.

His thoughts reached deep, reaching for the lines that lay beneath the surface—not the ley lines his sister always talked about, but something else, other lifelines of the earth and the natural world, ones that he realized now that he’d always been able to feel, had always looked for even when he didn’t know the truth buried in his soul. A search for what he knew was there was what had dragged him down the path he’d found himself on and now it all made sense—or at least more sense.

Just keep breathing.

Metaphorical fingers wrapped around the lines below and pulled.

“Loose!”

The lines snapped taut, like a rope pulled hard against a weight. Matt exhaled a breath, then started to pour his power into those lines.

The screams grew louder as arrows descended into the mists again.