Hoarfrost (Whyborne & Griffin Book 6) (24 page)

Whyborne

Rage
trembled through my veins, as above us the umbrae fought. Turner laughed atop
the temple, as though there were some mirth to be found in his mastery of the
stunted thing he’d torn from her chrysalis.

“Bloody
hell,” Iskander gasped.

Jack
took a step forward. “What do we do now?” His voice shook, but he hadn’t yet
run screaming.

“We have
to free her from Turner,” Griffin said. “Otherwise—”

One of
the umbrae dove at us, its eye glaring hellishly. Acid-drenched feelers reached
out, and its chemical stench rolled over us in a stifling wave. Jack shouted
and stumbled back, his arm up as if to ward it off. Iskander’s knives gleamed
in his hands, but he was too far away, and Jack too close.

No. Griffin
had already paid too high a price. I wouldn’t let his brother die if it lay in
my power to prevent it.

I
howled, and the wind howled with me. The city seemed to vibrate in response to
the magic boiling in my bones. High above, the glacier moaned and rumbled.

I flung
out my arm, the scars burning with power. Wind screamed through me, from me,
smashing into the vast wings of the umbra. It tumbled like a leaf caught in a
tornado, until its gelatinous body collided with one of the cone-shaped
buildings with crushing force. Whatever organs lurked deep within its seemingly
homogenous mass ruptured at the impact. A moment later, it peeled free,
pinwheeling down into the depths.

Jack’s
face drained of color, his freckles standing out like spots of blood. “Th-thank
you,” he managed.

Griffin
grabbed us both and dragged us down to crouch in the scant shelter of the low
wall. The umbrae still battled one another in the gulf above the rift. Two of
those under the command of the young queen tore apart one of their brethren,
ripping pieces away until it fell into the rift below, dead or dying I didn’t
know.

“Griffin’s
right—we have to free the queen,” I said, ducking back down behind the
wall. My throat ached and my mouth tasted of burnt copper. “Griffin, you and
Jack try to get to the temple with the Lapidem. If the Mother of Shadows can
use it to communicate, perhaps she can help break through Turner’s spell
somehow, or at least wrest control of the other umbrae back from her daughter.”

Griffin
nodded. “Agreed.”

“Iskander—”

“Kander,
get out the kerosene,” Christine interrupted.

She made
her slow way out of the room behind us, leaning heavily on Scarrow’s rifle. “Christine,”
I said in exasperation, even as Iskander hurried to pull her to shelter, such
as it was. At any moment, one of the umbrae would break free of the fight and
come for us again.

“Don’t
pretend you don’t need all the help you can get.” She nodded at the wall. “I’ll
prop the rifle on this—it should give me a good position to fire at the
umbrae, at least, although the temple’s out of range. More’s the pity,
otherwise I’d put a bullet in Turner’s head.”

“He’d
only set off the gunpowder.” At least he couldn’t do that without a line of
sight. I hoped. “And bullets don’t work against the umbrae.”

“Ha!”
She grinned. “Scarrow enchanted his. Only an excellent shot will kill the creatures,
but I can at least slow them down.”

Like
Turner, the reverend apparently knew more about sorcery than I did. “Fine,” I
snapped. “Iskander, pour the kerosene in a circle to keep the umbrae back if
they come too close. And be ready with your knives.”

He
nodded, and I knew he’d die before he let one of the creatures reach Christine.

“What
about Nicholas?” Jack asked.

I
smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Leave him to me.”

“Ival.”
Griffin reached for me.

I took
his hand and pulled him close. The arcane fire in my blood stirred, a whisper
of power and desire. “Take the opportunity I give you,” I said. “I don’t know
how long I can keep him occupied.”

“We
will.”

I kissed
him fiercely. My plan had to work, had to be enough. If I failed, Turner would
surely aim his sorcery at Griffin and Jack.

I couldn’t
let it happen. So I pushed Griffin away, leapt to my feet, and ran.

“Turner!”
I shouted, and a whisper of magic carried my voice to every corner of the city.

He stood
atop the temple still, but now two of the umbrae soldiers guarded him. He spun
at the sound of my voice. “Decided to come out, coward?” he mocked. “I don’t
know how you managed to destroy the ancient seals, but let me thank you for
doing so. After I kill you, I’ll take my new servant into the nest and gather
an army to us. Then the Endicotts will understand the depth of their mistake.”

One of
the umbrae rose higher, no doubt at his command, and moved toward me. I could
have turned wind against it, but I didn’t. Not yet.

“Do you actually
think they’ll change their minds?” An incredulous laugh escaped me. “They won’t
open their arms to you, won’t let you into the family home and embrace you as
one of their own. They’ll fight you to their last breaths. They’ll die hating
you as an outsider, and nothing you can do will ever alter that.”

Turner
let out a cry of rage. The umbrae thralls peeled off from their attack on their
free kin, all of them gliding straight at me.

Perhaps
my distraction had worked a little too well.

The
umbra from the temple blocked my way forward, the eerie blue glow of the
phosphorescent slime gleaming from its oily black body. To my left lay a series
of irregular windows leading into the cluster of rooms overhanging the rift. To
my right a slender bridge leapt across the vast gulf to the other side. No
doubt Turner expected me to dive into the nearest room, where I’d risk being
trapped without any exit.

So
instead I ran onto the narrow bridge.

There
were no rails, and I didn’t dare look down. Up close, I could see the stone was
badly cracked, only the ancient spells keeping the span from collapsing into
the depths of the earth, as others had before it. My idea seemed worse by the
moment.

“Wrong
move, Dr. Whyborne!” Turner called. “You should have remained cowering in
Widdershins. You’re no true sorcerer, just a fool who thinks he can batter his
way through life with raw magic. You lack the subtlety to do what I have done.”

The
umbrae closed in. The crack of a rifle shattered the air, and one of them
jerked, its psychic scream echoing somewhere in the back of my mind. I stumbled
to a halt, heart laboring in my chest. I was well out on the span, far away
from Christine or Griffin or anyone else who might be hurt by what I was about
to do.

“You’re
probably right,” I agreed. The umbrae rose up around me in a ring, their wings
almost touching, their feelers lashing eagerly for my flesh. Christine fired
again. The tripartite eye of the nearest soldier exploded, and a moment later
it fell, tumbling limp into the abyss. “But I have power to burn.”

I raised
my arm, pain lancing through the scars as I unleashed all the arcane energy I’d
absorbed from the seals. Fire howled through me, hollowing out my bones. The
smell of scorched wool and burning leather filled the air, the sleeve of my
coat charring and flaking to pieces as power blazed along the lines inscribed
in my very flesh.

A great
sphere of fire pulsed outward, with me at the epicenter. The umbrae closing in
burst into oily flames, and the stench of burning chemicals seared my nose. Their
shrieks pounded against the back of my mind.

One
careened blazing into the span, nearly at my very feet. I jerked away from it
instinctively, and my foot came down on the very edge of the bridge.

I fell
heavily to the side. My chest hit the stone, knocking the breath from my lungs.
I scrabbled madly for purchase on the crumbling rock, the yawning abyss below
seeming to try to suck me down into it.

“Damn
you!” Turner shouted. “You’ll pay for this!”

Griffin
shouted a warning, but there was nothing I could do. The rocky span cracked
beneath the force of Turner’s spell, the ancient magic losing its long battle.
I looked wildly for Griffin, and saw him standing at the base of the temple. I’d
bought enough time for him to get closer—but not close enough.

Then my
handhold turned into fractured pebbles, and a scream tore from my lungs as I
fell into the rift.

Griffin

My heart
thudded in my ears as I watched Whyborne run away from us, up a curving ramp. I
wanted to call out to him, to beg him to come back and not put himself in harm’s
way.

But if I
did, we were all doomed.

“Come
on,” I said to Jack. “This way.”

“Good
luck, chaps,” Iskander called after us. Beside him, Christine already sighted
through Scarrow’s rifle.

At least
the temple gave us something to head for amidst the confusing architecture of
the ancient city. The huge edifice straddled the now-dry riverbed, and ramps
ran up all four stepped sides. If we could make it to the nearest, we would
have a chance of reaching the queen, as long as Whyborne kept Turner
sufficiently distracted.

Whyborne’s
voice rang out somewhere above, magically amplified. I tried to concentrate on
finding a path to the temple through the dizzying angles of ramps and walls,
none of which seemed to join at precisely the angle one expected. We had to
hurry, before Turner could strike against him.

The
cries of the battling umbrae scratched at my mind. They mingled with the broken
whispers of the new-hatched queen, just beyond my range of hearing. I gritted
my teeth, determined not to let them distract me.

The
sound of a rifle shot rang through the city. I glanced automatically over my
shoulder, startled to see how far we’d already come. An umbra wavered in its
flight, darting away from the balcony.

Pain
pulsed through my head. A moment later, the umbra shuddered and turned back.
Another shot rang out, but this time it swerved.

“Damn
it, Turner is forcing them to attack Christine and Iskander,” I said.

Fire
bloomed on the balcony as Iskander lit off the oil. The umbra tried to fall
back again, but again there came that twist of pain. It labored forward,
crossing over the burning ring.

Iskander
leapt from the balcony, knives flashing, and came down solidly on its back. The
umbra twisted, its shriek sounding in my head. The cry ended as Iskander drove
both knives into it, just behind its eye.

Some
vital organ must have resided there. It convulsed once—then collapsed, as
whatever property kept it aloft vanished along with its life.

Christine’s
shout echoed through the rift. The umbra crashed into one of the cube-shaped
buildings. Iskander either rolled or was thrown free. As the umbra’s bulk slid
over the edge and tumbled into the rift, he lay unmoving.

The
rifle spoke again. I jerked at the sound and looked away from Iskander’s sprawled
body.

Whyborne
stood atop one of the fragile bridges, umbrae closing in around him. He burned
in my sight, one arm thrust upward, as though he’d shaped his own body into a
sorcerer’s wand. The scars on his arm blazed with arcane fire—and a
moment later, real fire erupted all around him. Umbrae screamed and burned,
turning to ash. Half of me recoiled at their pain while the other half rejoiced
to see him unharmed.

A
burning umbra crashed into the span. My heart stopped when Whyborne fell, one
leg dangling over the rift.

Turner
shouted in rage. We’d made it to the bottom of the ramp leading to the temple,
but he was still far too high above us. Even as I watched, lines of magic
formed around the wand he held in his hand, gathered from the very warp and weft
of existence. At his command, the magic snapped free of the wand, a single
spell thrown at Whyborne. As I tried to cry a warning, it latched onto the
bridge and tore the stone apart.

Even
across the gulf of air between us, I thought Ival’s eyes met mine.

Then he
fell.

A scream
ripped my throat raw. Jack grabbed my arm to keep me from plunging blindly
after in some mad attempt to save my love.

“No!” I
shouted, yanking my arm away. Jack’s hands caught on the pack slung over my
shoulders, and I pulled free of it. “I have to save him! Ival!”

“It’s
too late!” Jack grappled with me. “Griffin, stop!”

I fought
him. A black emptiness opened in my chest, imploding my life, my heart, my very
being.

“Stop!”
Jack shouted again. He bled from a cut on his lip I didn’t remember giving him.
“Damn it, Griffin, Whyborne is dead!”

The word
struck me like a heavy blow. I tried to tell Jack no, he was wrong. My Ival
couldn’t be dead, because how could I possibly still draw breath if he no
longer did?

“No,” I
whispered.

Jack shook
his head, his green eyes haunted. “No one could survive such a fall. I-I’m
sorry.”

“No, you’re
not.” I shoved him, as hard as I could. He staggered back, my pack spilling
from his hand, but I didn’t care. “You wanted him to die! This is all your
fault!”

Blind
rage ignited behind my eyes. The tiny voice that said I was being unjust, that
Jack regretted his mistake, burned away. Pa consigned Ival to hell, and Jack
tried to kill him, and all in the name of love for me.

I ran up
the temple’s ramp, no longer even certain what I meant to do. Turner’s remaining
umbrae were in full rout, attacked on every side by those belonging to the
Mother of Shadows. I would kill Turner, would rip him limb from limb with my
bare hands. And if he killed me with sorcery or umbrae, what did it matter? Let
my bones join Ival’s in this forsaken place.

Turner
spun as I reached the platform atop the temple. “Your lover is dead,” he said,
lip curling. “And now—”

The
words were lost beneath a scream.

I went
to my knees. Turner still spoke, as if no one’s howls of anguish filled the
great cavern beneath the glacier.

As if it
were only in my head.

Pain
splintered my vision, and I tumbled to the stone. Anguish and loneliness and
terror and—

A vision
of Turner, standing over me, the light hurting my eyes, my vision unclear and
distorted, undeveloped.
“What a disappointment. I wanted a Mother of
Shadows, not this abnormal thing.”
A swift kick into soft flesh not yet
toughened from exposure to the air outside the chrysalis that had held me.

Then
pain.

Turner
walked away.

Pa
walked swiftly away, our gate clanging shut behind him.

Letters
burned on a beach, never opened.

Jack’s
look of shock.
“Your…husband?”

Ival
falling, falling…

“Alone,
so alone, these others came, but now they are dead, brief lights gone out, it
hurts, it hurts.”

Alone.

Oh,
Ival.

Our pain
became a single cry, and we rose to our feet. Turner’s eyes widened, and the
hooks of his magic tore our flesh, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered any
more.

We could
see the spell he crafted. So we reached out and grasped the remaining minds,
the soldiers with their simple thoughts, their love for one not ourselves. And
we
bent
them to our will.

“What
have you done?” Turner asked. Then his eyes went past us, to us. “Obey me! Kill
him!”

Glenn
screamed, flesh shucked from his bones.

Ival
screamed, falling into the abyss.

The
soldier loomed up behind Turner. Feelers shot out, wrapping around his body.
The leather of his clothing charred and melted, and his cry of surprise turned
into one of agony. The bones of his hand dripped from the remnants of his
sleeve, and I glimpsed exposed ribs and wet, pink lung.

Eventually,
his screams stopped.

But the
pain didn’t end.

We were
still alone in the dark.