“Hear that?” Norae hissed. She held her glaive tighter.

Jordan shrank back. “Are you kidding? The whole mountain heard that!”

They fell silent, pressed on either side of Thallo in the hallway, drawing comfort from the solid feel of her tensed body. The gryphon growled, and it vibrated through them as they strained to listen.

A second deafening boom rocked the gigantic doors, and the wood groaned in protest. The third collision blasted them open. A flurry of snow howled through the gap, fleeing from the tempestuous night outside. In its wake came a Sorceress, stumbling over the threshold with a heavy burden in her arms and two exhausted horses staggering behind her.

“Calyx!” Norae exclaimed in relief, recognising her.

She leapt to grasp the lead-lines from the Lat’Nemele’s numb fingers. The horses snorted, flattening their ears as they spied the gryphon. Thallo inspected them with interest, but a sharp command from Norae made her sit to one side as they passed, a mutinous expression on her strigine face. Calyx limped forward with the last of her strength, the heavy doors creaking closed behind her. Jordan peered suspiciously at the cloaked figure in her arms.

When Nerys stirred with a groan, turning her head to see where they were, Jordan leapt back in alarm. Calyx murmured quiet assurance, setting Nerys unsteadily on her feet. With an arm around her waist to keep her upright, she looked about for a chair, a stool, anything for them to collapse onto. But Jordan gathered her resolve. She stepped forward, mouth grim, barring their way.

“We’re expecting you,” she said, “But you’re supposed to be alone. She is supposed to be dead!”

Calyx fixed her with a withering expression.

“Nice to see you, too, Jordan. Where is Esadora? I must speak with her.”

“She isn’t here, luckily for you.”

Calyx’s face drained of colour. “What?! Where is she? We’re running out of time!”

“Went to Avacor Reach,” Norae said, overhearing as she returned from stabling the horses.

Nerys listed, mumbling incoherence, and Calyx adjusted her grip with an effort. Avoiding Jordan’s unsympathetic expression, she turned to the Callkin instead.

“Norae Dre’Cor,” she appealed, her voice soft, wavering with fatigue, “Please... we need to rest.”

But Norae folded her arms, jaw set. “Normally, obligated to assist, Lat’Nemele. But have brought mortal enemy with you. Nerys almost killed Jordan – not welcome here.”

“Didn’t,” Nerys slurred, stirred by affront, “Not my fault she got in the way.”

“You were supposed to get rid of her!” Jordan seethed, “Not bring her to us!”

Calyx drew herself up, eyes flashing. Her ire drove away her weariness. She twisted her mouth to respond, but a flash of smoke silenced her.

Esadora strode forward before she’d even cleared the Betwixt, closing in on Calyx like a hurricane.

“What is the meaning of this?” she thundered.

With iron fingers, she wrenched Nerys from Calyx’s grasp, but released her with a snarl. She recoiled, and Calyx dived forward to catch Nerys as she slumped down.

“Is the Fire Witch completely mad?” Esadora hissed, “She will kill us all!”

A muscle in her jaw twitched as she glared at the pair of Lat’Nemele. Her eyes narrowed to slits, but she gave a curt nod.

“Come,” she commanded.

She spun on her heel and marched away, and Calyx hurriedly hoisted Nerys into her arms to follow. Nerys’ gasp of protest was lost to a whimper of pain, her conscious mind lapsing in its wake.

Jordan and Norae trailed at a safe distance.

“The hell is going on?” Jordan muttered.

“Something bad,” Norae guessed, grim. She looped an arm over Thallo’s whither, drawing comfort against the unknown. The gryphon pressed protectively against her side as they walked.

“...I don’t think she knew the full extent of the curse she cast,” Calyx was saying as they entered a small room, “I imagine Galva was behind the suggestion. She would have taken the opportunity for revenge.”

Esadora’s eyes glittered. “You’re right about that. Galva adored Asbeth, even when she was just a little girl. And Fayne never was her favourite Witchkin...” She strode towards a table, conjuring a blanket to cover it. “Here, lay her by the fire.”

Calyx did as she was bid, settling Nerys as best she could in her unconscious state. Esadora loomed over her to inspect the shard buried in her chest.

“Amazing that she is still alive,” she observed, acid dripping from her voice.

“She’s a Lat’Nemele,” Calyx offered tiredly, “We’re not easy to kill.”

“Indeed, unfortunately,” Esadora cocked her head at Calyx. She muttered to herself as she examined Nerys’ still form, and then stood back with a sharp nod.

“You’ll help us, then?” Calyx asked quietly. A faint lilt of hope eddied through her voice.

Esadora’s lip curled. “Us, is it?”

“Us, as in Andoherra,” Calyx shot back. She bristled at the implied accusation, a faint shadow of her temper welling despite her fatigue.

Esadora rolled her eyes and caught sight of Norae and Jordan hovering in the doorway.

“You two, come here.”

Sharing a glance, they obeyed – Norae flashed a command at Thallo to remain at the door. The white gryphon folded her paws with a yawn, feigning complete disinterest in the proceedings, but Norae knew she would watch like a hawk, and her vigilance always made her feel better.

As they reached the edge of the table, Esadora held up a hand for them to stop. She fixed them with a frank stare, and Jordan shivered; she knew that look – it never portended anything good.

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“Next lesson, Jordan,” Esadora clipped, “This-” and she waved a distasteful hand at Nerys’ prone form “-is what a curse looks like. There are many varieties, of course, and of varying degrees of destructiveness. This one is particularly nasty. Banned, in fact. It's called the Fetters of Chaos, and,” she leaned over Nerys once more, “By the look of it, has been exceptionally well-cast.”

“Majesty,” Calyx voiced a soft objection, “Is this really a time for education? Nerys grows weaker by the moment-”

“It is the perfect time for education,” Esadora snapped. “There will never be another opportunity to see the Fetters of Chaos in tangible form, and Jordan should know the full extent of what’s possible on Andoherra.”

Calyx bit at her lip but dipped her head in acquiescence. Esadora motioned the young women closer, stepping aside so that they could look down upon the unconscious Witchkin.

She pointed to the embedded shard of crystal, though she did not touch it. “Do you see, here? This is the tying key for the Fetters of Chaos. It holds the essence of the spell, and it’s this that we have to remove. In all of Andoherra’s history, the Fetters of Chaos has rarely been cast, much less reversed. Also, I don’t believe it has ever been implemented with such... magnitude of intent.” She shook her head with grudging respect. “Honestly, I can’t believe this woman is still alive. Her will, her magic, is incredible...”

Her hands hovered above Nerys for a moment, and then she looked sharply up at Calyx.

“That… is not just her magic I feel. Is it?”

Calyx held her gaze, unapologetic. “No. I shared mine with her, to keep her alive.”

“Impossible...” But Esadora closed her eyes, felt for the strands, “Dear Malevelyn, you really did, didn’t you?”

The Lat’Nemele raised her chin in defiance. “I couldn’t let her die, Esadora. She would have taken the whole bloody world with her – you and Jordan included.”

Esadora pressed her lips into a thin, white-tipped line. A tense silence fell, stretching well into the realms of discomfort as the two women stared each other down.

At length, Esadora clucked her tongue. “Too late to do anything about it now,” she motioned Calyx brusquely to Nerys’ other side, “You will help me with this.”

Calyx responded with a caustic bow. “My power is yours to command.”

“It’s going to hurt,” Esadora said, unsympathetic.

Calyx called to her magic with a contemptuous snort; it answered in a heated shimmer. Satisfied, Esadora turned to Jordan and Norae.

“Keep well back,” she warned, “And don’t touch anything. Especially you, Jordan – if your power gets involved and you lose control, it could very well be the end of us.”

Wide-eyed, Jordan nodded and clasped her hands together behind her back. Norae bumped comfortingly against her shoulder.

“Right, then,” Esadora flexed her fingers, rubbing her hands together, “The Fetters are tethered to the soul. We will have to extricate her magic at the same time as we remove the physical key. Containment is also vital.” She looked to Calyx. “Do not let go until it is done.”

Calyx gave a sharp nod to indicate she was ready. Esadora rolled her shoulders to limber them against the influx of magic, and reached over to take one of Calyx’s hands in hers.

In unspoken accord, both women assumed intense expressions of concentration. Jordan watched in awe as a vibrant glow bloomed around Calyx, ebbing and flowing in time to the movements Esadora made with her free hand. The air grew hot around them, fizzing and snapping with sparks of power as Esadora hovered her fingers over Nerys’ damp brow. She murmured unintelligible words over the brunette, reaching for the soul of her magic, calling to the dormant power in her blood.

Nerys’ form turned icy; a pale, pearlescent shimmer weakly answering the Worldkin’s call. Beads of sweat dripped from Esadora’s brow, and her lips pinched tight around her words. Her face held the only hint of fear Jordan had ever seen her display.

Calyx cried out suddenly. Her face twisted in agony as savage bands of energy rippled across her skin, burning where they touched. Tiny lines of blisters raised themselves like gooseflesh along her arms, and Jordan stared in horrified fascination as Esadora bled power from the Lat’Nemele in whipping arcs of golden light. A cage of gilded lightning enshrouded them, containing the rising magic. Calyx’s shoulders caught rigid, her breath exploded as she braced, but she held fast to Esadora’s hand as she had promised.

Esadora forced her fingers down from Nerys’ head to her chest, to float over the shard. Her arm appeared to fight the movement for all it was worth. The stone screeched as Esadora’s fingers drew near, and Jordan clapped her hands over her ears against the piercing pain that shot through her head. Esadora’s hand shivered with exertion; she pressed it down, fighting the repulsion of the agitated crystalline evil. The elder woman panted, forcing numb fingers to shift and weave, undoing the knots that bound the spell. The whining intensified to ear-splitting. The shard trembled, grating against bone as it fought to stay in place. Nerys’ back arched, her own screams rising counterpoint to the magic’s wail. Jordan found herself shivering, crying – overwhelmed by the traumatic magic hanging thick in the air. Norae clung to her arm, fear like she had never known crashing through her, and Thallo creeled her agitation from the doorway.

A sound like a heartbeat thrummed, heavy in baseline silence. They felt, more than heard, its resonance. Jordan’s hair stood on end, an icy wash of dread sliding down her spine.

“Brace!” Esadora cried.

The magic imploded, sucking into the crystal in a screaming rush, tearing at clothes and hair with tangible claws. The force pushed the crystal up, out – mere millimetres, but Esadora was ready. She threw out a whip of magic, borrowing force from Calyx, and lassoed it tight.

“Pull!”

Esadora’s voice cracked under the strain, but she and the Lat’Nemele both leaned back against the savage, bucking force, driving it to obey. They cried out as one, in pain and fury, and the shard pulled free on a tide of loosened magic. The ripple it expelled knocked Jordan and Norae clean off their feet, but the wave crashed against the lightning bars of the magic cage and went no further. Esadora snatched her hand out and captured the crystal. Its sickly, yellow-green light abruptly extinguished in her palm, and her fingers slipped loose from Calyx. Her shoulders drooped. She stood trembling, catching her breath, while Jordan and Norae picked themselves up off the floor. Calyx slumped forward, barely supporting her weight with both hands braced on the side of the table. Her skin was raw and burned, and she shivered uncontrollably. Tears flowed unnoticed down her pale cheeks.

Esadora watched the laboured breathing of the unconscious Lat’Nemele. She lifted her gaze to Calyx, something unfathomable in her storm-grey eyes.

“It took its toll,” she murmured. “She is slipping away, Calyx. It is your choice – share your magic once more, or do not. I will not interfere.”

She turned and shuffled away, catching an arm around the shoulders of Norae and Jordan to steer them from the room. The gryphon followed, eartufts pinned flat against the hum of magic that hung in the air.

Calyx watched them go, before turning stiffly to Nerys. With one trembling hand, she reached up to wipe her tears away. The brunette lay in dreadful silence after the screams, unmoving, barely breathing. Her skin was ashen, her face hollowed by days of unrelenting pain. Calyx gathered herself, hissing against the agony of movement, and carefully shifted her seared flesh to perch on the edge of the table. She watched as Nerys’ magic hitched in its last moments of life – erratic, weak, broken. The faint echo of her own shadowed it, fading fast. She reached out to brush a damp strand of hair from the brunette’s cheek and whispered her name, but received no response.

With a quiet sigh, she sat up a little straighter and rubbed her palms together. The burn of her magic across the angry blisters on her skin made her wince, but she called to it regardless. It pulsated in her hands, vibrant and eager, expanding with shivering force as it rose to her command. Clenching her teeth, she lifted the ball of liquid light and offered a quick prayer to Malevelyn for strength. She plunged her hands down, to the centre of Nerys’ chest, where the shard had been. She cried out as magic roared forth once more, carving power from her very soul as it chased itself across the breach and into Nerys’ still form. Nerys’ body arched beneath her fingers, illuminated as borrowed magic surged beneath her skin. She convulsed, and a savage cry tore from her lips, but then it was done. Calyx fell forward with her hands on either side of Nerys’ head, supporting herself with trembling arms as she stared down.

For a long moment, nothing happened. But then, slowly, Nerys’ eyes fluttered open. Her warm gaze alighted on Calyx’s drawn face.

“Calyx…” she murmured, wincing, “Gods…being around you hurts.”

Calyx managed a tremulous laugh. She collapsed beside the Dark Sorceress, and Nerys turned her head to face her.

Her voice trembled beneath the effort of her rebuke. “You’re out of your mind… you could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” Calyx murmured back, eyes closed already as fatigue claimed her, “And neither did you.”

Nerys half-nodded, tucking her chin against the softness of Calyx’s hair. She sighed, and within seconds had given herself to sleep. Too tired to move away, Calyx followed her into silent oblivion. The link in their magic lulled her, and she spared no thought for tomorrow.