The flames incinerate most of them on the spot, but a few fall to the ground wailing in agony. The surrounding trees explode into flame, a deafening thunder of dry wood hissing and cracking.
Hope battles with the panic inside me, and I clench the device tight and hit the bottom two buttons simultaneously. The creature swings to the right and sends a fireball hurtling into the ranks of men standing there.
Chaos reigns. Men are screaming, running, swinging into trees and leaping for safety. There is no perimeter of swords around us anymore. What’s left of the battalion is scattered, racing for safety while their fallen comrades disintegrate into ash and the lines of trees on either side of us burn fiercely. The Cursed One roars and coils itself to strike again.
“Send it back,” Rachel says, as if I know what I’m doing.
I hit the top and bottom buttons at the same time and the beast slithers away from us, spitting fire. There aren’t any combinations of buttons left except to push all three, and I’m afraid that will send it straight toward us. It’s the only direction left for him to go.
I don’t have much time left before the beast realizes we’re the last remaining prey in the area. My hands still shake as fear pounds through me, but I grasp the device with white knuckles.
Pressing the first button alone seemed to antagonize the creature. Logic would deduce that’s the sound used to call it to the surface in the first place. The second button had no discernible effect unless used in conjunction with one of the other buttons.
That left the third as the most reasonable choice for driving the Cursed One back to his lair at the center of the Earth. I whisper a prayer and press it.
The beast shudders and lashes the forest with his enormous spiked tail, sending a hail of branches and corpses flying, then slides back toward the gaping hole in the ground. I hold my breath as it comes closer, my finger white with the strain of pressing against the third button. The beast never hesitates. It simply slithers back into the tunnel it created and slides once more toward the center of the earth. I keep my death grip on the device until I can no longer feel the vibrations of its movement beneath me.
All around us, sparks hiss and spit as fire chews through the ancient oaks, and the few surviving Rowansmark soldiers moan in pain on the forest floor. They don’t have long before either the flames or the smoke put them out of their misery. The fire is spreading east to west, though that could change at the mercy of the wind. We have to put distance between ourselves and this spot. Not just because of the fire, but because as soon as they realize the Cursed One is gone, the last remnant of Rowansmark’s battalion will return to finish their assignment.
“Help me up.”
Rachel, Quinn, and Willow reach for me. My head swims from the pain in my side, and the scorched skin beneath the bandage on my neck throbs as the heat of the fire scrapes against it. I can’t possibly put enough distance between myself and this place in this condition. I hand the device back to Rachel and reach for the packet of pain medicine. There isn’t much left, and I don’t know what else I’ll have to face between here and Baalboden, but if I don’t obliterate enough of the pain now, I’ll never get the chance to find out. I tip the packet against my lips and let the rest of the powder slide onto my tongue. A moment later, Rachel has the device packed away in her cloak, and the worst of the pain is ebbing. I cast one more glance at the fire now burning between us and the surviving soldiers, then we disappear into the Wasteland, leaving the burning wreckage of Rowansmark’s battalion in our wake.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
RACHEL
We travel as fast as Logan’s injury will allow us, and just before sunset set up camp in a small, sturdy log cabin we find hidden in a copse of overgrown fir trees. A steady rain falls from steel-gray clouds and slides against my skin with cool, soft fingers. The rain is an unexpected boon that will both douse the flames we left behind and obliterate our tracks.
Quinn and Willow are coming to Baalboden with us. Quinn because he feels honor-bound to pay his debt to my father by helping Logan with the arduous journey. Willow because she refuses to leave her brother’s side, and because the prospect of seeing us try to bring down our leader fascinates her on a level I might find disturbing if I had the energy to care.
I don’t. I just want to get moving so we can lay a trap for the Commander. We have the device. We understand how to use it. He doesn’t stand a chance.
The cabin provides a welcome refuge from the rain, and Logan falls asleep almost as soon as we settle inside. I eat a cold dinner, wrap my cloak around me, and sit beside him. We haven’t had a chance to talk privately since fleeing the fire, but his words keep blazing to life inside me with glorious persistence.
I love you, Rachel.
Once, I would’ve taken those words as a romantic, sugar-coated fairy tale and built a castle of dreams on them. Now, they’re a hard-won promise forged in fire and loss by a man who means every word he says. I want to brand them into my skin as proof that I still have something left to fight for.
I wish I had the courage to give those words back to him, but the ugly brokenness inside me holds me back. I’m not the same girl Logan fell in love with. I’m not the same girl he fought to reach. I’m a hollow version of myself, and I have no right to grasp for happiness when I’ve caused so much misery. The thought slices into me, but the silence greedily swallows the pain before I can truly feel it.
I press close to him and study his face while he sleeps. Fading purple and yellow bruises blossom just beneath the skin of his left cheekbone, cuts run across his arms and hands, and a dirty gauze bandage covers a palm-sized area on his neck. I rummage through his pack, find his small first-aid kit, and gather the supplies I’ll need to clean and re-bandage whatever lies beneath the gauze.
Hope battles with the panic inside me, and I clench the device tight and hit the bottom two buttons simultaneously. The creature swings to the right and sends a fireball hurtling into the ranks of men standing there.
Chaos reigns. Men are screaming, running, swinging into trees and leaping for safety. There is no perimeter of swords around us anymore. What’s left of the battalion is scattered, racing for safety while their fallen comrades disintegrate into ash and the lines of trees on either side of us burn fiercely. The Cursed One roars and coils itself to strike again.
“Send it back,” Rachel says, as if I know what I’m doing.
I hit the top and bottom buttons at the same time and the beast slithers away from us, spitting fire. There aren’t any combinations of buttons left except to push all three, and I’m afraid that will send it straight toward us. It’s the only direction left for him to go.
I don’t have much time left before the beast realizes we’re the last remaining prey in the area. My hands still shake as fear pounds through me, but I grasp the device with white knuckles.
Pressing the first button alone seemed to antagonize the creature. Logic would deduce that’s the sound used to call it to the surface in the first place. The second button had no discernible effect unless used in conjunction with one of the other buttons.
That left the third as the most reasonable choice for driving the Cursed One back to his lair at the center of the Earth. I whisper a prayer and press it.
The beast shudders and lashes the forest with his enormous spiked tail, sending a hail of branches and corpses flying, then slides back toward the gaping hole in the ground. I hold my breath as it comes closer, my finger white with the strain of pressing against the third button. The beast never hesitates. It simply slithers back into the tunnel it created and slides once more toward the center of the earth. I keep my death grip on the device until I can no longer feel the vibrations of its movement beneath me.
All around us, sparks hiss and spit as fire chews through the ancient oaks, and the few surviving Rowansmark soldiers moan in pain on the forest floor. They don’t have long before either the flames or the smoke put them out of their misery. The fire is spreading east to west, though that could change at the mercy of the wind. We have to put distance between ourselves and this spot. Not just because of the fire, but because as soon as they realize the Cursed One is gone, the last remnant of Rowansmark’s battalion will return to finish their assignment.
“Help me up.”
Rachel, Quinn, and Willow reach for me. My head swims from the pain in my side, and the scorched skin beneath the bandage on my neck throbs as the heat of the fire scrapes against it. I can’t possibly put enough distance between myself and this place in this condition. I hand the device back to Rachel and reach for the packet of pain medicine. There isn’t much left, and I don’t know what else I’ll have to face between here and Baalboden, but if I don’t obliterate enough of the pain now, I’ll never get the chance to find out. I tip the packet against my lips and let the rest of the powder slide onto my tongue. A moment later, Rachel has the device packed away in her cloak, and the worst of the pain is ebbing. I cast one more glance at the fire now burning between us and the surviving soldiers, then we disappear into the Wasteland, leaving the burning wreckage of Rowansmark’s battalion in our wake.
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
RACHEL
We travel as fast as Logan’s injury will allow us, and just before sunset set up camp in a small, sturdy log cabin we find hidden in a copse of overgrown fir trees. A steady rain falls from steel-gray clouds and slides against my skin with cool, soft fingers. The rain is an unexpected boon that will both douse the flames we left behind and obliterate our tracks.
Quinn and Willow are coming to Baalboden with us. Quinn because he feels honor-bound to pay his debt to my father by helping Logan with the arduous journey. Willow because she refuses to leave her brother’s side, and because the prospect of seeing us try to bring down our leader fascinates her on a level I might find disturbing if I had the energy to care.
I don’t. I just want to get moving so we can lay a trap for the Commander. We have the device. We understand how to use it. He doesn’t stand a chance.
The cabin provides a welcome refuge from the rain, and Logan falls asleep almost as soon as we settle inside. I eat a cold dinner, wrap my cloak around me, and sit beside him. We haven’t had a chance to talk privately since fleeing the fire, but his words keep blazing to life inside me with glorious persistence.
I love you, Rachel.
Once, I would’ve taken those words as a romantic, sugar-coated fairy tale and built a castle of dreams on them. Now, they’re a hard-won promise forged in fire and loss by a man who means every word he says. I want to brand them into my skin as proof that I still have something left to fight for.
I wish I had the courage to give those words back to him, but the ugly brokenness inside me holds me back. I’m not the same girl Logan fell in love with. I’m not the same girl he fought to reach. I’m a hollow version of myself, and I have no right to grasp for happiness when I’ve caused so much misery. The thought slices into me, but the silence greedily swallows the pain before I can truly feel it.
I press close to him and study his face while he sleeps. Fading purple and yellow bruises blossom just beneath the skin of his left cheekbone, cuts run across his arms and hands, and a dirty gauze bandage covers a palm-sized area on his neck. I rummage through his pack, find his small first-aid kit, and gather the supplies I’ll need to clean and re-bandage whatever lies beneath the gauze.
