Firestorm (The Sword of Light Trilogy Book 2) (24 page)

Enala shook her head, mouthed the word ‘no,’ but could not find her voice. She kicked at the wooden beams, pushing back against the steady pull of the bracelets. Tears burned her eyes as she fought, determined to resist. The pain of the Raptor injury felt dull compared to the agony of her wrists.

The cuffs drew her to one of the stone pillars. Her back thudded against the cool marble as the bracelets struck. Then they continued their relentless crawl upwards, lifting her from the ground as the metal welded to stone. She dangled in the air, boots scrambling for a foothold against the smooth stone at her back. The cuffs bit deeper as the burning metal took all her weight. Blood ran down her arm from the gash left by the Raptor.

Enala kicked out, furious, desperate to free herself from the entrapment. The stench of burning flesh reached her nose as she bit back a sob. Her chest contracted and she struggled for breath, her weight pushing down on her lungs.

Jonathan walked forwards, raising a hand in mock solute. “We arrive at last, kinswoman!”

*************

Eric flashed across the sky, the white caps of the raging ocean far below. Ahead Witchcliffe Island grew steadily larger, its peaks obscured by a dome of shimmering air. His heart beat hard in his chest, Laurel’s final words still ringing in his ears.

What had Antonia told her? What could the Goddess have said to convince Laurel to take on the demon alone? She had no hope of winning, of that Eric had no doubt.

She was giving her life for his.

The wind whipped away his tears. They had been enemies since the day they’d met, yet she had made the ultimate sacrifice for him. The woman had changed, or perhaps he had simply missed the good within her. He had seen it when she stood alone against the demon though, when she had told him to flee.

Pulling more energy from within, he pushed the winds faster. He would not allow her sacrifice to be in vain.

Light flashed as an explosion tore the sky over the island. Eric dropped like a stone as the shock wave struck him, disrupting his magic and ripping the wind from his grasp. A brilliant light rushed from the top of Witchcliffe Island, casting the ocean below in a patchwork of angry shadows.

Eric shielded his eyes against the glare. Pushing down his fear, he took a firmer grasp of the wind and halted his free fall.

What just happened?

Slowly the light faded to a dim glimmer, then died away. He stared ahead at the island. The veil of haze had lifted, revealing red cliffs stretching up into the sky. Above the peaks he made out a distant building, sun glinting off the brown walls. Another light seemed to come from within, seeping out through the broken roof. Blinking his eyes, he tried to make out the source.

He was still some distance away, but his gut told him it was the place.

Eric just prayed the explosion had not come from Enala attempting to wield the Sword.

My sister,
he was still struggling with Antonia’s revelation. But however he felt about Antonia and her secrets, he was not going to let Enala throw her life away. Not after all she had scarified for the Three Nations.

And certainly not before he broke the news to her.

I’m coming, sis.

“What are you doing?” Enala spat, writhing against the pillar. Anger helped to dull the pain, but there was no breaking the hold of the silver bracelets.

“What I have been planning for months, my dear. You see, this place does not belong to the council, the magic protecting it was not theirs. I created all this long ago, before my magic was lost. I designed it to protect the Sword from everyone but me.”

“Why?” Enala grated. “The Sword is the only thing left to protect us from Archon. And you cannot even use it without your magic.”

“Yes, yes, you are right, of course. Try not to rub it in,” he waged a finger. “But I could not simply pass its power to another. The Sword is
mine!
”

Enala struggled to breathe as her weight pulled down on her arms, constricting her chest. She tried to calm herself, but her heart refused to slow and the lack of air made her head swim. Her feet beat at the pillar, trying to take some weight from her arms.

“This doesn’t make any sense, Jonathan,” she gasped. “Why are you doing this?”

“All will be clear soon, my dear,” he walked round the alter, pulling materials from his pack as he went. “I suppose you deserve some explanation before you die though. You don’t mind if I work while we talk, do you? I imagine the council will have noticed your absence by now. I must be ready for when they arrive,” he flashed her a grin.

His words froze Enala in place. “You’re going to kill me?
Why?
” her shout came out as a weak cough.

She stared at the objects as he arranged them on the alter. A pestle and mortar lay alongside a small velvet bag. Vials of strange liquids joined them, the dark red of one looking suspiciously like blood.

“You have no idea what it is like,” Jonathan’s voice had a bitter tang, “to be born with such a gift as magic, only to feel it slowly shrivel and die in your hands,” he took up the mortar and began pouring in measurements of the different liquids.

“My greatest fear was that one day it would vanish completely. I may have never been as powerful as the likes of
Alastair
,” he spat the name. “Who never once tried to save the magic of my line. But it was mine, and gave me happiness in an otherwise joyless life.”

“So, coward that you are, you hid the Sword away, so no one could use it?” Enala growled.

“Yes, yes, yes, but that is not the end of it,” Jonathan snapped back. “I made plans, you see. Plans that required the Sword, plans for which you are the final piece of the puzzle.”

Enala struggled to think through the pain, battled against her own weight to breathe. She locked her eyes to Jonathan, willing him to die. Her magic bubbled up within, straining just below the surface, until she was gasping from the pressure of its unspent force. Then the cuffs flashed brighter and the power sank back into the depths of her mind. She shrank back against the stone, tears streaming down her face.

“Good girl, Enala. Don’t worry, this will all be over soon,” he moved back to the alter.

Enala spat, wanting nothing more than to tear his head from his shoulders.

“For years I searched for a cure, for a way to break Archon’ curse. But his magic was too great and my own too weak for such a task. So I turned my studies to other matters. Like how to restore lost powers.”

“You are trying to bring back your own magic?”

Jonathan pursed his lips. “Would that I could, but unfortunately such a feat also proved impossible. However, through my studies I did discover that Magickers can link their power, though it is very dangerous. One might accidently suck the very life force from another, or be overcome by the influx of power. It was not much good to me, but the discovery put me on the right track.”

“Finally, I found the spells which would allow me to use that connection to rob another Magicker of their power, and transfer it to me. Or course, it does require the donation of the other Magicker’s life to complete the process.”

Enala stared at the mad king, unable to believe what she was hearing. “But why me? Surely you could have taken any Magicker?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know. But what would be the
point
? It is our
family’s
magic that allows us to wield the Sword. So I had to be patient, had to bide my time and wait for you to arrive,” he grinned, “but I did not lie idyll. As I said, I had this place created, protected so that I could work unhindered. And I moved the Sword here, so when you arrived you would be forced to enter my rabbit warren.”

“You’re insane. Eric, the council, they’ll kill you for this!” Enala pulled against her bonds, hot tears in her eyes. Her arms ached, blood still running from the wound left by the Raptor. She watched as Jonathan continued preparing whatever mad potion his spell required.

Her head pounded, her thoughts growing foggy from blood loss. Straining her arms, Enala hauled herself up to relieve the pressure on her lungs and sucked in a breath. The cool tang of salt carried strength back to her muscles, but she could not hold herself up for long. She collapsed back against the restraints and the pressure returned.

Jonathan finished grinding up his concoction and moved across to her, mortar in hand.

“I need you to drink this.”

No way am I drinking that
, Enala glared back, turning her head and clamping her jaw shut.

Jonathan reached out and grabbed her by the neck. As he squeezed Enala kicked out, aiming for his groin. The king twisted away, raising a knee to protect himself. Then he pressed up against her, his weight holding her tight against the rock. With his spare hand he grabbed her jaw and tilted her head back.

Enala stared into his eyes, mustering every ounce of hate she possessed, and clenched her jaw tighter. Grunting, he pinched her nose, cutting off her meagre supply of air.

Lungs shrieking, Enala squirmed against Jonathan’s hold. Her head spun but she held on, determined to defy him to the last. Jonathan’s grin widened as the seconds ticked away. Her lungs cried out for air, her brain demanded it.

She fought against the urge, but it was unconscious, instinctive. She gasped a lungful of air, and screamed in pain and hatred. Her cry was cut off as Jonathan poured the noxious contents of the bowl down her throat. She choked and coughed, trying to spit it out, but he clamped a hand over her mouth until she was force to swallow. It burned right down to her stomach, leaving a bitter, furry taste in her mouth. Tears ran down her face.

“Good girl. Don’t worry, it will be over soon,” Jonathan said at last, moving back to the altar.

“Coward,” she spat, coughing in a feeble attempt to throw up the awful concoction. She felt half-suffocated. A numb tingling spread through her muscles and she almost wished herself dead, just to end the suffering. “Why don’t you remove these cuffs and we’ll see how brave you are,” she growled. “You couldn’t even stand against your own creature in that maze.”

Jonathan glared at her. “Yes, well, sometimes magic takes on a life of its own. Especially when mine was no longer there to hold its form.”

An uncontrollable tremor ran through Enala. How she wished she’d pushed Jonathan into the shadows of the maze when there’d been a chance. Or off the side of the cliff. But it was too late now. Jonathan had won. Despair grew in her chest, mixing with the burning strain from her lungs.

To her shame, Enala started to sob. “Please, don’t do this. I never wanted any of this!”

Jonathan turned his back and continued his work. “Sorry, my dear. Really, neither of us have any choice in this matter. I must regain my magic and my Sword, and you are the only one who can help me with that,” he shrugged. “Such is life.”

Silence fell, broken only by Enala’s laboured breathing and the grinding of the pestle. The sun crept above the lip of the walls, casting its warmth across the Temple of Light. As it struck the Sword, the blades light grew to match it, blazing across the courtyard.

What can I do?
Enala felt her courage breaking, the insanity rising from within. She prayed Laurel had found Eric – he was her only hope now. Yet there was no sign of him, no hint of his approach. A steady pain racked her body, feeding the madness within.

“Please, let me breath! I’m dying!” Enala choked.

Jonathan chuckled. “Sorry about that. When I made them, I had no idea who I would be using them on. They were designed for a larger person. I’m afraid I cannot control them without my magic. But not to worry, I’ll be sure to fix that right up when I have it back.”

Jonathan’s laughter fed fuel to her fury. Enala gave herself to it, thrashing against the pillar, kicking and screaming her hatred at the king’s back. She strained against the bracelets until it felt like they would cut right to the bone. Still they remained fixed, immovable, and her rage soon succumbed to exhaustion. Collapsing against the cold stone, Enala fell silent, staring at the mad king.

Tears blurred her eyes and her mouth was dry. She could feel the desperate thud of her heart against her chest, the throb of blood in the numbness of her fingers.

Jonathan turned and raised the mortar to his mouth. He drank quickly, a scowl fixed to his face. Apparently his brew tasted no better. Its horrid smell wafted to Enala’s nostrils and her stomach wrenched, but nothing came up. The last of her strength faded away. She began to sob again, knowing each choked breath brought her closer to death.

Then he stood straight and stretched out an arm across the alter. His meaty fingers wrapped around the leather hilt of the Sword of Light. He pulled it to him, smiling as he looked into the glimmering metal. The light of the diamond glowed in his eyes. There was open greed on his face when he looked from the Sword to Enala.

“Almost there,” he walked towards her, blade in hand. “Soon I will be whole again.”

Enala watched him come, limp against the pillar, hanging helpless from her cuffs. There was no more fight left in her.

“Thank you, Enala, for your sacrifice.”

Enala thought he almost sounded sincere. She would have laughed, if she could breathe.

He raised the weapon, the deadly point poised to strike. Enala stared into the glimmering light of the Sword. Time seemed to hang still as dread clutched at her soul. She could find no hope in that fabled light, no power to conquer this darkness. This was the magic meant to save the Three Nations, to save them all from Archon.

Instead, it was about to end her life.

Enala clamped her eyes shut, and waited for death.

*************

Eric raced across the sky, desperate to reach the building sitting atop the cliffs. He squinted against the sun’s glare, unable to make out more than the broken roof. A sick feeling in his gut drove him faster. Enala had only to touch the Sword for it’s magic to overwhelm her; he prayed he was not too late.

What was that explosion?
He asked again, his instincts screaming.

The beach flashed past far below as he reached the island and dropped towards the clifftops. From above he could make out little detail of the building, but as he approached he realised it could only be a Temple of the Light. The broken roof revealed the ruined interior, where a stone alter lay amidst the rubble. A man stood beside the alter, leaning out to grasp the source of light in the makeshift courtyard.

The Sword!
Eric realised as the blade came into focus.
But where is Enala?

Eric dropped lower, watching as the man grasped the Sword and pulled it to him. The man paused for a heartbeat to stare at the fabled blade, then turned and approached one of the standing stones. Eric stared, trying to understand what was happening. The man could only be King Jonathan, but he could not see Enala anywhere.

Drawing closer, he noticed something different about the pillar Jonathan was making for. He squinted, trying to identify the difference, and with a jolt he realised someone had been tied to the pillar.

“
Enala!
” he screamed, but the wind caught the word and stole it away.

Confusion gave way to panic. Discarding caution, Eric plummeted from the sky, racing towards the temple. Jonathan stood poised before Enala now, the Sword of Light extended towards the girl’s prone form. She did not move as the blade drew closer. Light shone from the Sword, its glow casting shadows across courtyard.

“Enala!” Eric called again, closer now.

Jonathan looked up, his face pale in the Sword’s light. His eyes widened at the sight of Eric hurtling towards him and panic twisted his face. His head whipped around and for a second Eric thought the king would flee.

Then Jonathan looked back at Enala, and raised the Sword to strike.

“
No!
” Eric yelled.

With no time to think, Eric grabbed for the closest weapon at hand – the winds holding him aloft – and hurled them at Jonathan. His stomach lurched as the power of flight abandoned him, while the winds shrieked towards the king. Eric barely noticed his body go into freefall; his mind flew with the winds, driving them onwards, directing them with all his strength at the traitor.

The Sword shone as it plunged towards Enala, the deadly tip aimed straight for her heart. The wind howled and there came a muffled thump as the gale smashed Jonathan from his feet. He tumbled across the rubble strewn ground, skimming like a pebble across water.