It was late when Linnea showed up at the safe house, asking the companions to attend a private meeting. The sudden and clandestine nature of the request was strange but, truth be told, both Jo and Leif were relieved to have a break from Sakrattars’ complaining.
Kisha and Shorga had fully recovered from the effects of the poison gas and yet, days later, Sakrattars still groused about his health and made a proper show of it. He spent hours alternately resting and reading in bed, with Kaja acting as his personal servant. He would send her for water or to feed Bartholomew or to tell the others to “quiet down” when he wanted to sleep. After one such event, Leif grumbled sourly that he should have just left Sakrattars down there—a message that Kaja blithely delivered back. When Sakrattars became quiet and sulky, Kaja figured he was feeling particularly ill again and decided to help by extinguishing his lamp, blissfully ignorant of the fact that he was still using it to read by.
So it came to no one’s surprise that Sakrattars argued that he was too ill to attend. But when Linnea let slip that she had new information regarding Lucretia, his ears perked and he shooed Kaja away from his bedside. “I can’t very well miss such an important meeting,” he declared as he donned his robes and fixed his hair, his feebleness conveniently abandoned in light of his passion for research.
The companions filed into the Ordo Draconis audience chamber, following Linnea behind the banner where she and the Grandmistress had gone during the council session. It led to a hidden hallway that opened into an unexpectedly large room with high, arched ceilings supported by a criss-cross of buttresses. The room was dark and unusually devoid of furnishings, save for an arrangement of chairs by a fireplace. It was there that Grandmistress Anya was waiting for them.
“Grandmistress,” Sakrattars said, bowing his head deep in respect.
She nodded to him in recognition. “Thank you all for meeting me here.” She gestured for them to take a seat. After some short pleasantries, she got straight to the point. “I know that you are not Ordo agents but I have something I must ask of you all the same,” she said. “Lucretia’s being held in the old Castrum Ustarius, which has become a fortified den for the Irkallu. And, as you know, we have not agents enough to cover all our ground.”
“You want us to go instead,” Jo said, guessing her intentions.
“You’ve proven yourselves many times over by helping Agent Flickwhisker and Agent Moonwing. And you already have an understanding of Lucretia’s . . . condition,” the Grandmistress paused. “Agent Moonwing informed me about your meeting. Few have encountered Fallen and lived to tell the tale.”
“So we’ll be accompanying Linnea on a rescue mission?” Leif asked.
The Grandmistress shook her head. “No, Agent Moonwing is needed elsewhere.” She locked eyes with Linnea, who stood unmoved, then turned her attention back to the companions. “I’m asking you to go alone.”
Sakrattars bit his lip and clocked the visible concern from both Amale and Leif as well. Rooting out a weapon cache in Aurea was one thing, but infiltrating an Irkallu stronghold in the countryside was another thing entirely. It was an absurd task for the Grandmistress to ask of mere civilians, even of ones who were already involved. The Ordo had to be truly desperate.
“If we go, you must promise to look after Kaja and keep her safe,” Jo said. Kaja looked up, her eyes wide, her mouth opening in protest.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” the Grandmistress replied. “The Irkallu know that Kaja is in Aurea now. They will be searching for her and I—”
“Can’t spare the agents,” Jo finished irritably. “But we can’t take her with us. We might as well deliver her into their hands.”
“Even still, she remains safest with you.”
Jo and Leif exchanged skeptical looks. Sakrattars pursed his lips but he couldn’t refute the logic. Kaja was in danger no matter where she was. They couldn’t leave her alone and there was no one they could trust implicitly to look after her. The eyes and ears of the Irkallu could be anywhere at any time.
“I want to go,” Kaja pleaded. “I can help.”
After a searching glance at the others, Jo heaved a great sigh. She forced a smile and placed a hand on Kaja’s shoulder. “Well you are getting pretty good at magic,” she said. Though she wasn’t happy with the situation, her praise was genuine. Kaja’s cheeks turned a rosy pink and the corner of her lip curled into a shy grin. “Alright.” Jo stood resolutely. “Tell us where we can find this castrum.”
*
*
The companions left Aurea the following morning and passed through the hamlet of Hale the day after that. Though the roads were somewhat busy with travelers, very few residents of Hale itself could be seen. The companions had to stand at a meal stall, calling for a clerk for several minutes, before one sleepily emerged to take their orders. The inconvenience was soon forgotten, though, as they lay in the cool grass under a grove of trees to wait out the midday heat while eating a lunch of freshly-grilled sausages, figs, and olives. Sakrattars read his spellbook and Kaja stretched out for a short nap. To the passerby they looked to be on a peaceful outing, but in reality each was beginning to feel the pressure. They needed a plan—they only had a few more sun movements until they reached Castrum Ustarius.
By the time they reached the hills, the sun had vanished beneath the horizon and the shadows of the trees were closing in. Kaja trailed behind, a growing unease gnawing at her gut. A faint whisper wafted up from the locket around her neck. Slowly, urged on by something she couldn’t comprehend, Kaja turned towards a distant cliff face. The shadow of a large hound stood at the precipice, burning red eyes boring through her. Kaja froze mid-step and gripped the locket, squeezing until the metal bit into her flesh. Then she blinked and the hound was gone. Did she just imagine it? Shaken, Kaja rushed to catch up, saying nothing of the strange sighting.
They arrived at Castrum Ustarius after dusk. The looming ruins were dark and empty. If the Irkallu were occupying the fortress, they kept their presence well-hidden. Sakrattars, his heart thumping loudly against his chest, watched as Amale trailed ahead. He gave Bartholomew a few comfort-pats, more for his own benefit than for his familiar’s, and occupied himself with thinking about what life was like for the soldiers who once defended the castrum.
The fortress was built in the ancient style, not at all resembling the modern, open air encampments that one might see in Datharia. The eroded, crumbled remains of a great wall surrounded a massive, heavily-fortified castle. At its peak, over two thousand years ago, Castrum Ustarius would have had giant metal spikes over the ramparts, pointed skyward, as a deterrent against dragon-attack. All that metal had either been salvaged centuries ago by nearby townspeople to make horseshoes, farming implements, and the like, or rusted away and turned to dust.
Amale waited, crouched in a grove, his bushy tail swishing in concentration. When nothing happened and all was still, he signaled to Leif by reflecting the full moon’s light off of his kukri. The others were just arriving at his location when his ears perked—
Footsteps from within the castrum.
Amale gestured for everyone to hide. They flattened themselves to the ground, rolling behind scraggly bushes just as they saw motion at the gates.
The castle doors creaked open and several people emerged. There were eleven in all: six humans, two elves, two orcs, and one limping, gray-green ratfolk. Jezzail Toxinrot. She was still nursing the injuries Jo had inflicted during their last encounter. Sakrattars scanned the crowd and found Jax Aster as well, standing devotedly at the side of a severe-looking woman.
“Aroga will accompany you,” said a tall man wearing a bright chest plate and a hooded cloak. He gestured to one of the orcs. She was burly and intimidating in light, padded armor with weapons strapped to every limb. “Try not to get arrested or killed in the process.”
“You’re asking us to search the entire city of Aurea, Lord Alistair,” the other man replied. “Can’t you give us more to work with?”
“You’ve heard all of what Jax and Jezzail have to tell you,” Alistair said. “It’s your job to find them. See that our investment isn’t wasted.”
“My sister is an excellent tracker,” said the other orc who, in sharp contrast to her sister, Aroga, wore an ornate robe. “She will ensure your success.” Aroga, oddly, responded to this compliment with a rueful glare.
The man grumbled. “Right, right. What do you want with the girl anyway?”
“Bring her to me. Alive. That’s all you need to know, Benjamin Saana.”
The man frowned. The use of his full name was clearly a threat. For the Irkallu, information was as potent a weapon as Jezzail’s toxins. Wisely determining that the conversation was over, Benjamin gestured to his team to move out. The two elves, one of the humans, and Aroga followed him. The companions crouched deeper into the bushes as the mercenaries passed uncomfortably close.
Alistair turned to the remaining agents. “None of us leave tonight, is that understood? Bhorovane is coming to deal with Lucretia and I need all of you ready to receive him.” His eyes rested on a tall, thin woman with pallid skin, wrapped in red and black robes. “Especially you, Hester.” The woman did not move nor speak. Sakrattars swallowed but his mouth was dry. He sensed a powerful, malevolent magic about her, one that filled him with fear.
“Why must he come here?” Jezzail rasped, a concerning touch of nerves in her voice.
“I don’t like it either,” Alistair admitted, “but it has to be done. So look sharp, we can’t afford to displease—”
A sudden clap of thunder cut short his words. Kaja jumped, holding back a startled yelp as the clouds tore open and unleashed a volley of hailstones. Jo dove to shelter Leif so that the hail wouldn’t sound against the buckler strapped to his back and give away their position. The precaution may have been unnecessary, however, because the Irkallu agents were wholly focused on the startling deterioration in weather.
“Damn that Lucretia!” Alistair swore over the torrential winds, his cloak whipping about his body. “Everyone inside!” A few minutes after the doors closed behind them, the weather cleared and the companions released the breaths they had been holding.
“It sounds like they’re going to do something to Lucretia tonight,” Leif murmured, “or at least this ‘Bhorovane’ person is.”
Sakrattars crossed his arms. “The Fallen we encountered on the road to Barsicum also mentioned a Bhorovane,” he said, “and so did the kobolds who stole Dominus Praetia’s gold seal.”
“How do you even remember that?” Leif asked, incredulous.
“I have a good memory, always have.”
“But who is Bhorovane?” Jo cut in. “That’s what I want to know.”
Leif rubbed his neck uneasily. “I’m not so certain I agree. I think we should plan to be in and out before he arrives.”
Amale nodded once in agreement, lifting his nose to the wind. “Wait,” he said. He moved cautiously forward, freezing in place whenever his sharp hearing picked up the smallest rustle, his ears turning every which way. He didn’t meet with any resistance. The way was clear. “It’s narrow,” he reported when he returned. His dark eyes fell to Jo.
“I won’t fit,” she guessed.
Amale shook his head.
“This castrum was built to be a fortress in the Age of Blades,” Sakrattars said. “A major design feature of the era is the claustrophobic corridors. Makes it easier to defend and harder to storm.”
“Thanks for the history lesson.” Leif rolled his eyes. Sakrattars opened his mouth to retort but Jo spoke first.
“There is another way,” she said quietly, “but you must swear yourselves to secrecy.”
“Secrecy?” Leif lifted an eyebrow, a joking smile playing across his lips. But upon seeing Jo’s uncharacteristically grave expression, his smile vanished. Sakrattars bit his lip. He knew what Jo’s idea was.
After a brief check to make sure they were alone, Jo stepped back. Her form shifted, her clothes snapping away at special breakpoints, her skirt and cuirass falling to the ground. Leif and Amale watched in wonder, at a loss for words, when Jo stepped forward as a sabercat. Golden hoop earrings dangled from round, black ears and gold bracelets were lost in a sea of orange fur.
“Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly like you any more,” Leif quipped once he recovered his ability to speak. “Can all natiuhans do that?”
Jo huffed. “Yes,” Sakrattars said, waving it off like it was common knowledge. “And if we tell anyone then we’ll all die.”
“Like a curse?”
“No!” Sakrattars snapped reflexively. But then he paused. Jo never explicitly told him why they’d die. “No, that’s just silly.”
“You sounded less confident there,” Leif said, pointing an accusing finger. “Jo, is the fancy elf right?”
Jo huffed again, her ears flattening. Leif had been friends with Amale long enough to know what that meant. Curse or no, the conversation was over. He shouldered Jo’s pack and they made their way into the castrum.
Once inside, they were plunged into the pitch blackness of a windowless foyer. Amale, Kaja, and Sakrattars felt their way along the wall, heading towards the only light they could see. Jo followed and then lastly came Leif. Leif faced backwards toward the entrance. Though he paid little attention to his military training, he remembered enough to know that an eye should always be kept on the rear.
The light on the other side of the room turned out to be a flickering torch ensconced at the top of a spiral staircase. Sakrattars swallowed, his eyes following the outline of the stairs as it plunged into the shadows below. In ancient castrums, most of the complex was underground. It was also where the dungeons would be—where Linnea’s informant had reported that Lucretia was being held.
Upon descending the staircase, the party was fed into a maze of tunnels. The subterranean level was properly lit but, rather than relieve the tension, the easier visibility only enhanced it. The companions could see but it cut both ways: the enemies could now see them as well. The slightest misstep or the smallest sound could be fatal mistakes. They waited with bated breath to see if anyone would step into the muted, yellow glow of the candlelight.
Just when they thought it was safe, Amale’s paw shot out, blocking Sakrattars from going forward. The echo of boots on stone reverberated through the narrow passage as two people passed into view, talking in hushed tones. Amale waited until he could no longer hear their footfalls before he gave the signal to move on.
It wasn’t long until the companions came across a door along the wall of a T-intersection. The door had been recently installed, its sturdy hardwood composition a notable contrast to the worm-eaten splinters of the originals. Stacks of boxes lay on either side, containing supplies that were anything but ancient. The companions exchanged looks, all thinking the same thing: if the room beyond had a new door protecting it, it must contain something important.
But something was wrong. The corridor was barely wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with no place to hide. It seemed too easy, and the hall was too exposed. Something tickled Kaja’s awareness. It was a sensation she had become all too familiar with—there were enemies nearby.
Amale’s ears twitched, then Jo heard it too. Footsteps. Though the guards wrapped their shoes in cloth to make them all but silent to human ears, to Amale and Jo the muffled rasping of their footfalls echoed off the walls like distant shorebreak. The guards were coming in their direction, but their gait was slow and measured. The party had not yet been seen.
Kaja tugged on Sakrattars’ sleeve. “Be ready,” she whispered.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“What—” But the question died on his lips as Kaja signed an arcane symbol.
“Men!” Alistair’s voice commanded from down the hall. “To me!” Sakrattars understood what was happening immediately, and hastily stopped his companions from defensively drawing their weapons.
“Lord Alistair?” called one of the guards, confused. They had stopped in front of the door and had almost turned into the hall where the party lay in wait, but the spell-conjured sound had lured their gaze down the other way.
“To me, now!”
There was a brief exchange of looks, as the guards debated whether it was safer to leave their post, or disobey Alistair directly. The debate didn’t take long. “Yes, sir!” One shouted as they took off in the direction of the voice.
The companions waited until the guards’ hurried footsteps vanished deep into the labyrinth before they slipped through the door. They entered into what appeared to be a records room, lined with shelves stacked high with scrolls and bindings. Wisely, Amale closed the door behind them so that passersby would not notice anything amiss. Instantly, he was hit by the silence rushing into his ears. The room had been soundproofed—yet more evidence that secrets lay within. Sakrattars riffled through the parchments on the table.
“Anything useful?” Leif asked quietly.
Sakrattars bumped something with his finger and shuffled the papers to uncover a memory crystal. He gasped when he saw the document underneath it.
“This is about Lucretia,” he said, skimming the text.
“What does it say?” Kaja asked.
“Shouldn’t we just take it and read it later?” Leif cracked the door and peered outside, looking both ways down the hall. It was clear, but unlikely to stay that way for long. He shut the door again, taking extra care so that it didn’t knock against the frame.
“Seems Lucretia was a bit of an experiment,” Sakrattars continued. “It says here that they were testing whether these so-called ‘outsiders’ could be better controlled through objects rather than allowing them directly into the body. Apparently, she was a disappointment.” He paused, looking at the large block letters at the bottom that read: FAILED.
“Does it say where they’re keeping her?”
“No, but this might help.” Sakrattars held out the crystal. “Kaja, if you please.” Kaja took it and, reacting to her magic, it immediately hummed and flickered to life, casting a rainbow of colors across the room. Slowly, the colors darkened, turning gray, black, and blue. The image of a dismal prison cell coalesced out of the swirling miasma . . .
*
*
Lucretia, gaunt and pale, was kneeling on the cold floor of the dungeon, chained to a wall by shackles on her left wrist and neck. Her right arm, the sword arm, was wrapped in chains and bound to a dozen different anchors, her atrophied fingers still clenching the hilt of the demonic weapon with an immovable grip.
Jezzail came into view. She grasped Lucretia’s chin with clawed fingers wrapped in rotting cloth and squeezed Lucretia’s cheeks, tipping her head back and dribbling liquid into her mouth. Lucretia coughed and sputtered, but Jezzail held firm until she stopped resisting.
“There. You’ll find her more pliable now, Lord Alistair.” Jezzail stepped back, joining the other members of the team—Jax Aster, the severe woman, the orc priestess, and Hester—in the shadows to watch.
“Are you enjoying Jezzail’s formula?” Alistair asked impassively. Lucretia wheezed, saliva dripping from her slackened jaw. Her eyes dilated and she began trembling as the vile concoction started to affect her nervous system. “Oh, Lucretia.” Alistair shook his head. “Your task was so simple, so easy—but you let someone live, didn’t you?”
Lucretia sobbed quietly. “No.”
“Someone else was at the estate.”
“No. There was . . . no one else.”
Suddenly, Lucretia’s head jerked back and her voice split into two: her own, and one deep and malevolent. “She lies. She let the child live! She is a coward and a failure like you—”
Alistair cuffed her across the face, splattering the stone floor with polluted blood. “You still can’t control it,” he said disdainfully. “But does it speak the truth? Did you let the child live?”
Lucretia hung her head, choking back tears.
“Why are you protecting her?” Alistair grabbed a handful of her hair. “You couldn’t protect Feriel and Bandrigan and you couldn’t protect Astinos.”
Lucretia inhaled sharply. “Don’t you ever speak their names,” she snarled. As her anger and grief flared, her body convulsed. The otherworldly presence within her quivered with gluttonous delight.
Alistair’s mouth parted in a cruel smile. He released her hair, shoving her head back down. “Always trying and failing to save them. You told Astinos you hated him, that you couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.” Alistair paced slowly before her, a mockery of her imprisonment. “Such a noble sacrifice—lying to him just to keep him away. How did it feel when you realized it was all for nothing? We still found him.”
She shivered as the malevolence within her fed on her torment. “Stop . . .”
“Feriel and Bandrigan wanted to help you. You tried to burn their letter but the demon saw it first, didn’t it? You can’t save their child any more than you could save them. The sword is wasted on you.”
This made Lucretia’s eyes flash with anger. “This was never about me being worthy,” she hissed. “You just wanted a pawn, someone who you could use to hunt down the Ordo Draconis. And when I think of how you manipulated me, tricked me, used me”—her sword hand strained against the chains—“the rage helps me stay in control. I fantasize about the day that I drive this cursed blade through your gut and watch you die on it.” She spat at his feet.
Alistair maintained eye contact for a few moments longer, noting how Lucretia’s fingers had slowed to a twitch. He turned back to the others. “It’s not working,” he said quietly. “She’s still fighting against the sword.”
Jezzail shook her head. “I don’t understand. The potion should have broken her will and let the entity take control.”
Alistair glanced at Lucretia. She stared back at him, her expression hardened in determination. He sighed. “Accept it. We’ve failed. We can’t force possession this way. So long as she fights it, the entity can’t maintain consistent control. It’s over.” Saying nothing, Hester made a note on a piece of parchment—the same piece that Sakrattars now held.
Alistair turned back to Lucretia, his voice cold. “Bhorovane will be here to deal with you soon.”
Lucretia, blood running down her face, smiled defiantly. “I welcome it.”
*
*
“She’s a victim,” Leif said helplessly after the vision faded. “We need to find her.”
“It only showed us the inside of the dungeon, not where it is,” Sakrattars said, rolling up the parchment and stuffing it into his scroll case. He tried to ignore the tremble in his hands. What he saw had further unnerved him. If the Irkallu had been successful in forcing possession through an object, how many Imperial senators, commanders, even leaders might be given a pretty bauble only to become puppets for the Irkallu? It was a subtle, ingenious plan and, though he was relieved it failed, he was beginning to wonder whether they’d be getting out of Castrum Ustarius alive. “We’ll need to keep searching.”
While Leif and Sakrattars were discussing their next move, Kaja felt a cool breeze brush her cheek. She waved it away absently, as if it were an unseen cobweb, but then a quiet cacophony of unintelligible whispers beckoned her forward.
“What do you want?” Kaja murmured. “Do you want me to follow?”
“Kaja? Who are you talking to?” Sakrattars asked.
She looked conflicted. Then the whispers started again, more urgent than before. “They can take us there,” she said.
“‘They’?”
Jo nudged Sakrattars’ back with her forehead. Her eyes conveyed the message loud and clear.
“We follow,” Amale confirmed.
Kaja took the lead. She didn’t know how but she felt like she could understand the whispers, despite the lack of words. Sakrattars looked at her with a mixture of concern and confusion. She knew he was trying to parse out what she meant but she wasn’t sure she could even explain it. It would be like trying to explain how she used magic—it was something that felt as natural as breathing.
Before long, they came across a stairwell. Kaja gasped. A suffocating evil emanated from the stairs, one so thick and viscous that she found it difficult to concentrate on anything else. Yet, her companions didn’t appear affected at all—they were entirely focused on the path ahead.
It was then, in the moment all of the companions were facing forward, when the agent struck. An Irkallu fighter had been hidden in the shadows of an alcove, guarding the stairwell while remaining out of sight. In a flash, a gloved hand clapped over Leif’s mouth, that same arm sliding under his to prevent him from drawing Oxihiminn. Leif grunted in pain, feeling a sharp impact against his side as a dagger pounded impotently against his chainmail. Frustrated, the agent switched tactics and dragged Leif backwards to stab at the seam where the collar of the chainmail ended. Unable to cry out, Leif used his free arm to shove the agent’s wrist at the last moment. Metal impacted rock with a sharp scrape and a small spark.
Drawn by the noise and flash of light in the near-darkness, the party turned. Before anyone else had a chance to react, Jo leapt around her shocked companions, rebounding off the wall with all four paws. Knocking both Leif and his assailant to the ground, she ended the attack instantly. Any cry of terror or surprise died before it emerged as Jo’s teeth gnashed together in the agent’s throat.
Dragging the dead agent by the neck, she walked backwards, pulling his body back into the alcove where he had been hiding. While everyone else was still recovering from shock, Kaja crouched and breathed a stream of icy air on a pool of the guard’s blood just as Jo’s paw stepped in it—she wouldn’t be leaving any red prints that could betray their location.
“Clever,” Sakrattars said, his voice still thin as he struggled to process what had just happened.
Kaja’s cheeks turned pink at the compliment. “We did that while hunting to keep the wolves from following us home,” she said, turning away to lead Amale and Leif down the stairs. Sakrattars didn’t know whether to be more disturbed by the story or by the nonchalant tone in which Kaja told it.
Jo sidled up next to Sakrattars, peering at him with her yellow eyes. “Uh. . .” He shifted, unsure of what she wanted. “Good kitty?” he tried. She growled menacingly, shoved past him, and disappeared into the stairwell.
At the bottom lay a dungeon, one that the party found to be quite familiar. The room opened up from the claustrophobic passageways so Jo assumed her natiuhan form and dressed before they ventured further.
Upon rounding a corner, the companions finally lay eyes on the one they had been searching for ever since they had left Orium—someone they had never met but felt like they already knew.
Lucretia, strung up in chains the way they had seen her in the memory crystal’s vision, was the only prisoner. Kaja recoiled and instinctively covered her nose and mouth with her cloak. Could no one else see it? Lucretia was the center, the source, of all the malignance hanging in the air. It surrounded her like a poisonous smog.
Kaja glanced at her companions, her panicked breathing getting heavier. All she saw was a collage of relief, pity, and concern on their faces. Even Sakrattars, so sensitive to the energy at Saara’s mansion, remained neutral. As Jo approached Lucretia, Kaja felt the urge to cry out, to stop her, but Jo cut effortlessly through the poison like it wasn’t even there.
Lucretia stirred when she saw Jo, at first frightened, then confused. “Who—”
“Grandmistress Anya sent us,” Jo said quickly. “Do you know where they keep the keys?”
Lucretia sobbed. “Grandmistress . . .”
“The keys, Lucretia, we must hurry!” Leif urged.
“I can’t . . . go back with you . . .”
“What are you saying? That’s why we’re here. To save you.”
“There is no saving me,” Lucretia said. “Every day that passes, I’m less myself and more the demon.” She thrashed, her chains rattling. “Only death,” she rasped through clenched teeth.
Leif shook his head. “No, that’s not an option. We’ll find a way, we’ll—” his voice trailed off as the truth of her words penetrated his heart. Now that they could see her up close, it was evident that Lucretia’s body and soul were broken beyond repair. The cursed sword, torturous as it was for her, might have been the only reason she was still alive in her starved, desiccated state.
“Please,” Lucretia gasped, “please . . . while I’m still me . . .”
Jo set her jaw, accepting Sakrattars’ knife. “Saara’s safe now. You don’t need to worry any longer.”
Lucretia’s eyes closed and a bittersweet smile parted her bloodied lips. “Oh, praise Aegis.”
Jo’s hand tightened around the handle of the dagger. “Sakrattars, see to Kaja.”
Kaja swallowed, pushing Sakrattars’ helping hand away. She stepped forward, braving the malignant haze until she was in front of Lucretia. The sword trembled, straining violently against the chains at Kaja’s presence. Lucretia winced and cried out, hanging her head in torment. Kaja knelt down gently and pressed Astinos’ ring into Lucretia’s good hand. “Astinos said that he understood. And that he’s sorry,” Kaja said quietly, retreating to Sakrattars’ side.
Feeling the cool metal in her palm, a sudden relief washed over Lucretia. For the first time in months, she couldn’t feel the demon’s touch. The constant agony of what it made her do to the only people in the world she had loved seemed like nothing more than a bad dream. Instead, her mind was filled with beauty and warmth: Feriel pulling her off the streets of Orium when she was a child, Bandrigan teaching her how to read ancient Arvisian script, Astinos holding her tenderly in his arms and giving her a ring and promise. She knew that she would never see them in the next life, she was too far gone for that, but it didn’t matter. She would never harm anyone ever again. She was at peace.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Then Jo ended her suffering for good.
*
*
As Lucretia fell limp, the sword quaked ominously, chains clattering. Dark mist poured from the joints in her armor and pooled into her shadow.
Kaja stared as if in a trance, the sound of her own heartbeat drowning out the voices of her companions. Whispers rose from her locket—warning, pleading.
Amale was the first to notice the shift in her demeanor.
Jo was the second.
“Kaja?”
But Kaja wasn’t listening. The mist was gathering, rising into the air above Lucretia. Kaja watched it with the same intensity of a lion staring down its prey. The beast inside of her was growing louder, demanding to be unleashed. She clutched the locket for support, desperately trying to focus on the whispers, but still the monster raged, becoming only more fearsome as the cloud of dark mist expanded.
“Kaja, what’s wrong?” Jo asked. She lifted a supportive hand but it never reached Kaja’s shoulder.
Striking faster than the eye could track, the mist rushed past Jo, aimed like an arrow at Sakrattars. Kaja leapt instinctively in front of him. The beast inside her let out a savage roar: an ancient challenge to its hated foe.
And then Kaja set it free.
There was a brilliant flash of light as the mist collided with Kaja, her body collapsing as her spirit was pushed out. Diving, Sakrattars caught her in his arms before she struck the dungeon floor.
“Kaja!” he cried, guilt and fear crushing his chest. Her body was empty, unresponsive. “Oh Gods, what did you do?”
Yet Kaja’s soul lingered, in a world of shifting light and shadow laced with shimmering trails of magic. She watched her friends moving as if time had slowed to a drip. Sakrattars was still diving to catch her body. Jo was in mid-stride towards them. Time had no effect on Kaja. She was in a new body, one of a dragon with shining white scales and silvery fins. It didn’t feel foreign though, rather it felt as familiar as the body she had left behind.
The beast was nothing to be afraid of—it was her.
A soft whisper reached her ears and she spotted the masked child from the inn on the road to Barsicum. Holding their doll, they were connected to her locket with a thin wisp of glimmering magic.
“You’ve been with me all this time?” Kaja asked, though she had no voice to speak with.
The child nodded, holding up a long, thin finger. The outsider was hovering above them, stunned by the collision with her dragon spirit. In the plane of ghosts and magic, Kaja could see the demon’s true form: an abyssal dragon with a body of storm clouds, lightning arcing and pulsing throughout. It shifted, shivered, and roiled; frustration, shock, and fear rippled through the gaseous darkness of its form. Emotion, more than physics, seemed to define its reality. It paused in its throes, its elongated face turning down toward Kaja. The moment she looked into its searing white eyes, it fled, passing through the stone walls of the castrum as if they were illusions.
A predatory instinct stirred in Kaja’s heart. She roared with fury and spread her wings to give chase. Fighting against her better judgment, she accelerated as she approached the wall where the demon had disappeared. Yet even though some part of her expected to crash into solid stone, she, too, flew through effortlessly and into the night sky above Castrum Ustarius.
Lightning cracked from the demon’s eyes and a hailstorm brewed under its mighty wings. Behind it, a blood red shadow obscured the light of the moon. Kaja soared through the sky, hailstones suspended in time around her. She dove and spiraled underneath the creature to cut off its escape. It crashed into her, biting her neck and lashing her with its tail. Kaja raked it with her claws, bringing up her hind legs to slash its belly.
As the ethereal battle raged, Kaja tore with her jaws, she ripped with her talons, she battered with her wings. The creature began to rapidly shapeshift, desperate to gain some advantage over its adversary.
It turned into a squid, wrapping Kaja in shadowy tentacles. It morphed into a swarm of insects, only to be buffeted by a frozen plume of dragon breath. It turned into a sleek wolf, sprinting upside-down on the underside of the storm clouds. It ducked and dodged around the celestial lightning lancing out of the cloud’s boiling depths, but was still unable to shake its pursuer.
With a final roar, Kaja folded her wings and crashed into her prey like a hunting falcon.
Locked in a deadly embrace, Kaja and the creature fell through the sky towards the fortress below. The demon was no match for her. All of her uncertainty melted away. Instead, she thought of Jo bleeding from corrupted wounds. She thought of Lucretia’s torture and suffering. She thought of Saara living in an empty house stained with the blood of her family.
And, finally, she allowed herself to think of her own home and the horrors that befell the Skolka that fateful winter night . . .
Kaja was no longer afraid.
She was angry.
Kaja gripped the demon hard, plunging her claws deep as it thrashed. She sank her teeth into its throat and savaged it with a ferocity she didn’t think she was capable of. The demon let out a cry of agony and terror as it dissolved in her grasp, particles scattering into the ethereal stream. The clouds parted and the shadow of the eclipse vanished, the moon’s light shining anew. Kaja was stunned. She had killed it.
But as the storm cleared, a different dragon came into view.
Unlike Kaja and the otherworldly entity, this dragon was a mortal of the physical world, slowed by time so much that he appeared to be floating in the sky above Castrum Ustarius. Countless ethereal tendrils flowed into his massive, red body, surrounding him in a blinding halo of magic. His smoldering eyes turned up to glare into Kaja’s own. It was then that she came to the horrifying realization: he could see her! The skin under the scales of his neck and chest glowed a molten-hot white and he let loose a stream of fire.
But the dragon’s malice hit Kaja before his flames did. Overwhelmed by dragon fear, she felt a powerful snap and her spirit slammed back into her physical body.
Kaja gasped awake and tried to stand, but she slipped and crashed back down into Sakrattars’ arms. She had grown used to the weightlessness of her spirit and her mortal body felt far too clumsy.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” Jo asked in a panic.
Kaja wheezed, her voice cracking. She pointed desperately to the ceiling but any words she had were cut off by an earth-shattering crash and the high-pitched scream of fire blasting through stone.
Dust and rubble rained down.
Castrum Ustarius was collapsing.