Page 11 of Of Wind and Terror

Literally tosses him, like he’s nothing but a rag doll.

Aleksander bounces off the cave wall, rolls a few times, and then lands in an undignified heap on the floor. Blood pools from a wound on his head.

The fear I felt before is nothing compared to what’s scorching my veins now. This is the type of terror that puts every other emotion to shame, that eclipses reason or logic. My heart thunders against my breastbone, the noise so loud I wouldn’t be surprised ifthe entire world could hear it.

How could Patric—a weathered, old priest with a hunched back and cane—throw Aleksander—a seven-foot elf stacked with muscle—aside as if he were nothing? The black virus doesn’t bring about primordial strength.

The priest pauses when he’s only a foot away from me. He cants his head to the side, those obsidian orbs locking on my face. He opens his mouth, and his teeth are yellow and dripping with some unknown substance. The smell of rot and decay permeates the air, and it takes everything I have not to gag.

Then, Patric speaks, but it’s not his voice I hear.

“Kassandra, Child of Gaia.”

The only word I can think to use is…musical. His lilting voice sounds like bell chimes in the dank, suffocating enclosure of the tunnel.

Patric takes another step closer.

“We’re coming for you, Kassandra,” he continues in that lyrical, eerie voice.

Patric’s expression doesn’t change—remaining impassive and blank—but I detect something akin to amusement underlying each word he speaks. A twisted sort of amusement that raises every hair on my arms.

“We’re coming for you, and this time, we won’t allow you to escape.”

We?

The princes?

The kings?

Someone else entirely?

Panic claws at my guts.

“The black virus is only the beginning,” he continues. “The world will burn.” A low, raspy chuckle escapes him. “The world will burn. The world will burn. The world will burn.” With each consecutive statement, his amusement lessens, until he sounds monotone. That lyrical voice turns brittle and scratchy. “The world will burn. The world will burn. The world will burn.”

Those words seem to echo off every wall. There’s no escaping them. No running from them. No hiding from them.

The world will burn.

The world. Will. Burn.

His hand closes around my bicep, just where my glove ends, and I still as a strange pain reverberates through me. It almost feels as if my skin is burning. Fire lights up my nerve endings as a tiny whimper escapes me.

The dead-eyed priest opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. Midnight-black blood drizzles from his lips and down his chin.

Then, to my absolute horror, his body topples to the ground in one direction while his head falls in the other.

Aleksander stands behind Patric, out of breath and blood-stained. He holds a wicked-looking dagger in his right hand.

“Well…” His broad chest heaves as he flicks his gaze between me, the priest’s body, and the decapitated head. The second decapitated head I’ve seen in the last few ticks. Gaia. “That was fun.”

But I barely hear Aleksander. My eyes are glued to my upper arm.

Where Patric touched me, his skeletal fingers creating an iron vise I couldn’t escape from, there’s now a strange red mark unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s slightly raised, and the edges seem to be highlighted with pink and white.

Did he…brand me?

What in Gaia’s name just happened?

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