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“Bandages, I need more bandages!”

Leela hustles past a bed occupied by a screaming amputee to answer the nurse’s call. She stumbles in mid stride as the ground shakes from the detonation of another round of bombs.

She wonders not for the first time if there will be anything left of the city come daybreak.

Finally she reaches the side of the nurse who holds down a thrashing woman covered in blood.

“I’ve got your bandages,” Leela says. She wraps the woman’s gashed and bleeding neck as best she can but it seems like it may be too late, even with all of the preparations she’s made. The bandages have mystic seals on them to stop bleeding and every bed has been enchanted to promote rapid healing, the floors beneath the beds each have yet a third pattern of magic circles drawn to prompt the rapid production of red blood cells. She’s painstakingly drawn each of these circles herself in preparation for this terrible night. But even the best preparations can’t save everyone.

“Leela,” the bloody woman rasps.”You have to finish it.”

Icy recognition freezes Leela instantly. Beneath the blood and the dirt is a very familiar face, Gala.

“Rai...jin...” Gala’s trembling hand reaches for Leela before falling limp, never to reach for anything again.

“No.” Leela says quietly as the death of her master settles like dust. Then Gala’s words smack her in the face. “No!” She shouts, how can this be?

She almost falls to the ground as the earth shakes with passion as another series of bombs explode.

Gala lays still, unmoved by the quake or by the weight of her failed mission. A metal rod sits with her bags on the floor. Leela picks it up and hands the bandages to the nurse.

“I have to go,” She says. The mission must be completed. Too many lives depend on it,

“Go where, Leela?” Doctor Crawford asks, looking up from his patient. He’s a decent sort of man, good looking and still fairly young. She knows he fancies her and in a different world she would die to marry him. But this world, with it’s savage war has no place for romance, not for a mage.

“That woman who just died is my master, she had a mission and it’s up to me to complete it now,” Leela says. She picks up an enchanted crossbow from a young man whose need for weapons of any kind is over. It’s the kind with the crystal in the front so she knows she won’t need ammo. The gear on the side indicates it has maybe four shots left in it. Not ideal but good enough.

“Now, just hold on a minute,” Crawford says. “You can’t seriously be planning on going out into that warzone.”

“We all heard the stories from Tanirport,”Leela replies. “These bastards bombarded it until there was barely a building standing. We can’t expect better treatment here.”

Crawford’s crystal blue eyes beg her to stay in the bunker.

“If you go up there, you’ll be killed.” He says, clearly trying and failing to hide his feelings for her.

Leela pulls her hand from his, shaking her head.

“If there’s a chance I can stop even one bomb from killing our people I have to take it,” she says. “The raijin may be our last hope.”

Crawford bites back his response, turning his eyes to the six new patients being brought down on stretchers.

“You do what you have to do,” he says coldly. He’s pulled up his defenses, gone into full medical mode. Leela sighs, wishing she didn’t have to turn her back on this man who so clearly loves her but it doesn’t stop her from throwing on a trenchcoat and heading up the steps.

“How far far do you have to go out there?” The nurse asks as she reaches the door leading to the surface.

“We drew the raijin circle at Caddigon Hill. My cousin must have gotten hit on her way there.” Leela pushes open the door, it’s a lot worse out than she could have imagined. The rumble of unending bombardment shakes the air as the sky flashes with lights of many colors. The scent of smoke and ash and burning meat hangs heavy.

“You’ll need a horse,” the nurse says. “Caddigan Hill is in Bradberry Park, nearly a mile from here and I don’t like your chances on foot.”

The nurse looks at the damage to the hospital courtyard. The main building has pretty much collapsed in on itself but the old morgue is deep underground and solidly built, so it works amazingly well as a bunker. She disappears around a corner and comes back with a great beast of a black stallion.

“Our stables were built during the war with Arcania more than a hundred years ago,” The nurse says cheerily. “I figured anything designed to survive against dragons should hold up against these damned balloon bombardments. I picked you one who won’t get spooked.”

Leela nods her gratitude as she mounts the warhorse.

“Teresa, you should get back down into the bunker before more bombs come down,” she says.

The nurse shakes her head as two more nurses come past carrying a bleeding child down into the bunker.

“It’s my turn to risk my neck hunting for the wounded,” she says.

“Then may both of our necks stay safe.” Leela says, kicking the horse into a trot.

***

The smoke is everywhere, clogging Draken’s lungs. He coughs profusely, staggering between the blazing trees. Sorcery seems useless, every time he pushes the smoke aside with his mind to get air, more billows in, not ever granting the courtesy of time for a single breath.

“I refuse to die here!” He shouts inside his mind. “There must be a way out.”

He has to do something fast before the smoke overcomes him.

He remembers a detail and pulls the map out to check. Sudden drafts of hot air almost take it from his hands but this time his grip is firm.

Holding the parchment close as to counter the blurring effect of the noxious smoke swirling all around him, the boy spots a stretch of blue cutting through a patch of green on the map before bending in a fit of coughs.

Closing his stinging eyes, he remembers the words of the goddess.

“My gift to you is the element of water, yours to command wherever it is found.”

“Please let this work,” he thinks.

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Beyond the deafening roar of flame he hears the faint trickle of a creek. His eyes open and he dashes, knowing the direction he needs to run.

He’s thankful for his thick pants and robust boots as he leaps over ankle high patches of fire.

“Left.”

“Right.”

“Jump.”

“Duck.”

“You’re almost here.”

An unknown voice in his head seems to guide him every step of the way.

Who is it?

The goddess?

Somehow it doesn’t fit. When she spoke she spoke with awful beauty, her voice resonating to his very soul. This voice, while female enough, doesn't quite carry the weight of the universe in it’s every word. It’s definitely not the voice of the goddess, nor is it the cold and commanding voice of mistress Tamrin.

It could, he considers be another member of the coven whom he hasn’t yet met, in which case he’ll owe her his life.

“Jump,” the voice commands just as a mighty oak collapses. Tumbling through bushes as the ground shudders he faintly hears a splash and feels a wetness touching his hand. He blinks his eyes, the stream is right in front of him.

“Quickly, concentrate!” The voice shouts. “Follow my instructions.”

“Wade into the creek,” The voice commands. Draken bends to take off his boots.

“No time for that, just jump in, the fire is right behind you!”

With a bone freezing sploosh, Draken leaps into the icy waters and wades stomach deep in the slow moving creek. Goosebumps cover his skin as he sloshes towards the opposite shore.

“Where are you going?” The voice asks.

“Away from the fire,” Draken says.

“And let the rest of the mountain burn I suppose?”

Draken shrugs. “I’m looking out for number one.”

He feels an invisible hand slap him hard in the face.

“Ow!”

“There’s more where that came from, you selfish prig. Stand still and do as I say.”

“Why do I keep attracting these bossy women?” He asks himself, shaking his head. It doesn’t seem like there’s any way around listening to her without getting an earful and a lot of abuse.

“Raise your hands over your head and repeat after me.”

Draken feels ridiculous standing in the middle of the creek, his arms raised up, simultaneously coughing from the smoke hanging in the air and shivering from the cold water all around him while trying to rasp out what could only be described as bad poetry.

“Goddess, my goddess please I beg you. Let the elements flow true. Water, water all around me, ebb and flow and surround me and let my borrowed power bound thee!”

The creek rises from it’s bed and pounces on the burning forest like a snake springing from the grass. In a single, explosive instance the woods are inundated and all hint of fire is swept away.

Draken climbs out of the muddy creek bed onto a grassy field and lays for a while.

“Who are you?” He asks, but there is no reply. The voice in his head is gone. He closes his eyes, intending to nap there in the grass but an odd sense of foreboding nags at him

***

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“Look for survivors!” Someone shouts as Leela’s horse approaches yet another grizzly scene. This time she’d seen the bombs hit, felt the ground leap beneath her and seen the flash in the distance. She has to admit that her horse must be made of steel because in spite of the chaos plummeting all around them it hasn’t panicked once.

She coughs as the roiling cloud of smoke and dust overtakes her and the beast. A great many men and animals lay bleeding and dead in the streets, most of whom are in militia colors.

They are all young, any one of them could be her brother, Shia.

Then her eyes stop on one body in particular, head bashed in by a falling brick he lays with sightless eyes open in a pile of rubble. She dismounts, certain that it could be any young man with short red hair. She bends down to look at his face and there’s no denying it anymore. Her brother is dead.

“They ordered us out of the city,” a young man says. He wears the same militia uniform as Shia but he’s a bit taller and a bit blonder. “They didn’t want us to die here for nothing and now look at us!”

Leela looks, they’re a ragged bunch of survivors. Not many, maybe less than thirty but they all have something in common, they are young and afraid,

“Alright gentleman,” she says, assuming an air of command as she points to the stripes on her nurses uniform. “I’m a lieutenant J.G. and that means I probably outrank the lot of you boys. ”

There’s some light grumbling but she has their attention. She points to a big old church half a block away.

“I’m no expert in architecture but I can tell that was built during the war with Arcania, a hundred and two score years ago. Which means it’s the safest place for you until this shitstorm ends.”

“Will that old relic really hold up to these bombs?” One of the lads asks.

“That old relic was built to hold up against a dragon,” she replies. “Ain't nothing these bastards can throw at us that holds a candle to that kind of destructive power.” She says it with so much conviction that she almost believes it herself. She hopes she’s not wrong about this.

“You and your men hunker down in the crypts and bring as many of these fine lads down with you as you can,” she looks at her brother’s body with meaning. “They deserve a proper burial and I don’t see those devils from Valis giving it to them when they roll in.”

The militia boys nod their agreement. She mounts her horse and looks north as the sky fills with lightning. She sees the silhouette of Caddigan hill, Bradbury Park is close enough to spit on.

“You should come with us,” one of the lad says. “I think your brother would want you safe.”

“I’ve got duties to attend to,” she replies.

“What duties does a nurse have this far from the hospital?” He asks, a little impertinently. Leela lets it slide because she knows that he’s worried.

“I’m not out here as a nurse, I'm on a mission as a mage.” She kicks the stallion into a gallop. She’s going to get the bastards who killed her brother. She’s going to blast them right out of the sky.

***

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Eventually Draken opens his eyes, he just can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

Between the spray from upending the creek and the steam from colliding it with a forest fire, the meadow lies under a veil of mist. All is quiet, not a single living thing can be heard. As Draken soppingly stumbles through the grassy clearing, he seems to see some shape in the distance obscured by the haze.

A crunch beneath his feet makes him stop and examine what he stepped on. It looks like some kind of stone carving of a field mouse. As he bends to pick up the strange statue he sees another perched on a dandelion, a butterfly. On the ground is a column of stone ants. He stands bolt upright, something is very, very wrong.

A gentle breeze clears some of the fog. The shape in the distance is a person.

“Hello!” Draken shouts, his voice echoing in the hills, repeating far into the seemingly endless distance. There is no response. He quickens his pace.

“Are you alright?” He asks but his words are met with deafening silence.

With each step the figure becomes more visible, with each step his heart pounds harder.

He doesn’t want to believe what he’ll find but in his guts he knows what he’ll see.

An adolescent witch just a little older than himself turned solidly to stone. She sits cross legged as if meditating and her eyes are open in surprise, an expression of sudden fear frozen on her face.

“Did this happen because of me?” He asks, not expecting a response.

“That’s not important,” a faint voice whispers in his mind.

“Tell me what to do,” Draken pleads. “Tell me how to fix this, you saved my life. I owe you that much.”

“It’s too late for me,” The girl’s voice catches. “I’m already dead and I have a feeling there’s no coming back. The only reason we can talk is that our minds were linked when this happened, a small part of me is still alive in you but it’s fading.”

Draken feels like he wants to cry. “So it is my fault,” he says, feeling the weight of a crushing guilt falling. “I started the fire and because you helped me you ended up like this.”

“I told you it’s not important, you stupid prig, ” the girl says. “THIS is important!”

An image of a house sized white cobra with quill like scales flashes through his mind. It’s eyes glow a blazing green and as it slithers it makes an uncanny sound like crunching bones. He feels a primal, sickening hatred for all life radiating from the thing like some loathsome odor. All of this in an instant quicker than a single heartbeat. Then there is nothing but those terrible eyes and then nothing at all.

“Stop the basilisk.” The voice goes silent.

She’s gone and Draken feels suddenly very cold.