Dawn of Ash (42 page)

“Play the game…” Sain repeated, his voice moving into a slow lull as the black faded, the green eyes downcast and broken as he looked around in fear to those who now surrounded him. His hands pulled into his chest in a move that I used to interpret as fear, as a broken man who was made to bend. “Edmund!”

“Sain.” Edmund scowled as if Sain’s shout of feigned terror was nothing more than a greeting. “You saw something.”

Sain moved farther away as Edmund took a step closer, his hand moving to claw at the chair in a desperate need to escape.

“Y-yes…”

“What did you see?”

Sain visibly shook under the weight of Edmund’s question.

My heart, the single thing in my body that could move, increased to a torrent as it thundered within me. Fear and pleasure mixed together in a weird blend of emotion as I watched Sain perform in the play before me, and for the first time, I understood what was going on.

“The girl…” Sain gasped, his voice shaking as he raised a finger toward Míra. The girl stepped back in shock as Sain looked at her, his eyes flashing black for no more than a moment before he looked back to Edmund, his body shaking so badly it looked to be convulsing. “I saw her…”

“You saw her do
what
?” Edmund asked, his voice mixed between a gentle nudge and a snap.

Sain twitched at the inflection, as if he was a wounded animal, the motions so similar to what I had watched him do for centuries while he was my father’s captive that I fell deeper in awe of him.

“I saw her … in Prague … I know how to get her into the cathedral.”

“Wonderful.”

“Wake up!” Her little voice was clear as she yelled in my ear like she had when she was alive, running into Thom’s and my bedroom and jumping on the bed in a mad attempt to rouse us. “Wake up!”

I could feel the bounce of the bed, the rhythmic motion moving over me like blankets being pulled down. I almost expected Thom’s arm to wind around me, pulling me into him and nuzzling my ear in an attempt to gross her out and scare her off.

“Wake up, Mommy! Hurry!” Her voice was more frantic now. She must be hungry. Maybe I could convince Thom to make her pancakes.

The bed kept jostling. There was only the rhythmic movement of the blankets being pulled over my shoulders, over my head, and then back again. I wanted to tell Rosy to stop pulling at them, but the words wouldn’t come. In and out, they moved, the blankets extraordinarily cold and wet, so much colder and wetter than I remembered.

“Wake up, Wyn!” This time, the voice wasn’t Rosy’s; it was Cail’s. The shout was loud and abrupt in my ear as it pulled me back to a red-tinted world. Eyes opening to wet cobbles, I saw the blood red water of the Vltava lapping over my body as the tide rose, inches away from sweeping me away.

I gave a little shout at the realization of where I was, my confusion rising as I moved in desperation to get away from the waters, away from the waves that were trying to drag me under.

Moving quickly, I placed my hands against the soaked cobbles, freezing in pain as a jagged shot moved up my arm from my left hand, from the bright red blade that had impaled my palm. One, blood-soaked point emerged on either side of the destroyed skin.

It was then that I screamed.

Loud and frightening, my pain echoed around the old buildings, off the cracked windows and the abandoned cars. It moved away from me in a wave that, with one hiss, one shriek from a hidden Vilỳ, I knew was a mistake.

My head turned toward the sound, my heart plunging in fear at what I was facing, at what I had done.

In a gasp of terror, I moved, everything aching as I attempted to pull myself to standing, my legs shaking, chest heaving as I fell over my own feet, scuttling over the wet road like an injured animal. I kept my hand cradled against my chest in a desperate effort to keep the pain at bay.

Everything spun as I propelled myself forward, one foot landing in front of the other in a desperate need to escape, not the fanged creature, but any others that would follow.

And they would.

Every move I made heaved through me in broken distortion, like the signal was blocked. My legs twitched as I tripped over them, the unbalanced steps sending me into walls and crashing against cars. The sound of each bang, each sob echoed through the street, creating the perfect path for the little beasts to find me.

It was something that was going to get me killed.

The snarls were moving closer. The gnashing teeth, the beating wings coming up behind me.

Swinging my uninjured hand behind me like a baton, I tried to bring my magic up, ready to drop the filthy thing out of the sky before any more came. Nothing happened. No flame, no spark of magic. I didn’t even feel it swell inside of me. It was no more than a low buzz under my skin, a gentle throbbing that felt like knives against my soul.

Dodging into an alley, my heart thundering in fear and confusion, I leaned against the wall as I listened, waiting for the thing to follow me, knowing it wasn’t far behind.

With a hiss and a snarl, the Vilỳ came around the corner of the alley. I reached for it, wrapping my fingers around its neck and slamming it into the wall I stood next to. My whole body shook as I held it there, staring into its dead eyes as it continually gnashed and fought me. Its little claws scraped against the hand that held it captive, but I didn’t so much as flinch. Those tiny pinpricks of pain were nothing compared to the agony shooting up my arm.

This, I could handle.

This, I was used to.

“I remember you things when you were annoying little peacemakers,” I spat, part of me wondering if he could even hear me. “
We must love everyone. Do not judge based on what you see.
The hippies would have loved you. You were almost as bad as the Drak.”

It continued to gnash and claw at me as it fought against my hold, the motion useless. Even in my weakened state, it had no hope.

With a roll of my eyes, I compressed my hand against its throat, its windpipe closing with a little bit of pressure.

Slowly, it stopped trying to fight me, the sharp point of its claws digging into me less and less.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as its head fell to the side, wings sagging as I let it drop lifelessly to the ground.

I hoped no more found me.

One, I could choke. Two hundred and I would be a goner. I already knew I wouldn’t be lucky enough for that scream to go unheard.

I needed to hide. Not that it would make any difference with Vilỳs, but I wasn’t going to go out into the middle of the street and start waving my arms, either.

Dragging my feet against the garbage-strewn floor of the alley, I moved away, clinging to broken bits of mattresses, chairs, and the wall as I made my way to a large dumpster, the massive thing taking up most of the space of the dingy thoroughfare and providing me with the perfect cover.

Or so I hoped.

Hissing in pain, I slid down the wall, pressing myself against the vile metal box that smelled faintly of fruit. I tried to focus on my surroundings, focus on any noise coming my way—be it hissing or wings or blue-eyed men. There was nothing, nothing except dead air and the faint red glow of Edmund’s barrier.

It was something that should have been relaxing, but I didn’t think anything could be at that point, because right then, sitting behind the dumpster, the panic that had gripped me for the past few minutes became more of a frightening reality. Everything that had happened in the last who knew how long washed over me: attacking my best friend, Sain, and Sain standing beside Edmund, and Rosy and Cail, and Thom …

“Thom,” I said aloud, the frightening memory swimming through my mind—that moment as I fought against Edmund’s control in a desperate attempt to stop myself from killing him.

No, to stop Edmund from killing him.

I had thought I was strong enough to face the demons the blade awakened, to save my daughter. But Edmund was stronger. No, the blade was stronger. This dangerous thing had better not end in Thom’s death.

I needed to get there in order to make sure he was okay, to give this dratted thing to Ilyan before something worse happened. I hoped he could destroy it.

My arm exploded in a jolt of pain as I looked down at my hand, at the blade and the dried blood that clung to it like some kind of scab. I had to take it out before he found me, before he tracked it and found me, before he took control again. For all I knew, it was this thing that was blocking my magic, and I wasn’t conceited enough to think I could make it through the city without so much of a spark, that I could make it through the city without Edmund taking control again. I didn’t have another option. It was too dangerous to wait.

Closing my eyes, I wrapped my other hand firmly around the end, the rock slick with dried blood, warm and uncomfortable to the touch.

I tried not to think about what I was about to do. I breathed, part of me praying I didn’t go into cardiac arrest. It would be like a band-aid, or so I said in my head. I guessed the analogy would be correct if the band-aid was made of massive leeches, barbed wire, and duct tape.

“Five, four, three…” I didn’t wait, just pulled, the action rough and quick as the thing dislodged from my hand with a loud, wet smack.

It took all my willpower to keep the scream inside my throat, keep the agonizing pain hidden, and keep me safe from any other magical flying rats that were about. Every muscle stiffened in mind-numbing pain. My body seized and flailed in a need to stay quiet.

One swift move and my head slammed into the stone wall I sat against, a new pain erupting through my skull at the impact, but even that pain was not enough to compete with what now ripped through me.

Stomach spinning, I heaved, the smell of blood and vomit so strong I could barely breathe through it.

Balling up the hem of my shirt as best I could, I pressed it against my hand in an effort to stop the massive bleeding that was now flooding from the golf ball-sized hole in the center of my hand. I already knew it was pointless. The pain continued, blood flowing in rivers over my skin, pooling against my legs and the garbage I sat on.

Still, I could not feel my magic. I couldn’t feel the warmth. Nothing rushed to my hand in a mad attempt to stop the blood flow, to heal the ragged wound I had created.

If I stayed here much longer, I would bleed out.

I had to move.

I had to find Ilyan before it was too late.

Shaking, I attempted to place the shard of blade in my pocket, trying to focus on a world that was spinning and shifting before me. Everything shook.
I
shook as my body moved into what I was convinced was shock.

Pressing my weight against the wall, I leaned against it as I forced myself to stand, my eyes wide as I looked down the alley, part of me praying Ilyan would magically be standing there.

It remained empty.

At least there weren’t any rabid Vilỳs, I supposed.

Using the wall as support, I moved back down the alley, my eyes darting every direction as I tried to get my bearings, praying I was on the right side of the river, praying I was close to the cathedral.

I couldn’t be that far away after what had happened, not that I remembered much. I remembered running, and if I was running then as well as I was walking now, I had to be close.

I was.

I was on Latenska, the long street that moved over the river and stretched into Old Town, which was less than half a mile from where I needed to be, from someone who could save me. I hoped I could get there in time, or Jos would probably find me in a few days, face down in a pool of my own blood, surrounded by Styx lyrics.

I ran, leaning against the wall, my hands clawing at corners and windowsills as I stumbled forward, keeping my pace as fast as I could, given that my legs still weren’t working right, and the added pain in my hand was making it hard to see straight, hard to think.

Everything ached, each step getting harder to think through, each step draining me. Worse still, all I could really see was red and black as the sun hovered above me, weird shadows moving over the street before me, and the steady drip of my blood as it fell against the street was loud in my ears. The rhythm of each drop perfectly matched the frantic pace of my heart.