Page 118 of Minor Works of Meda

I fell forward and caught myself on my hands. Every breath felt like an effort. Drops of blood kept falling from me, smacking onto the marble floor. I drew a deep breath. Then another.

I lifted my head and fell flat onto my stomach, watching helplessly as Kalcedon approached Oraik. His bloody silver sword was out to one side. I was so distant from life that I almost didn’t care. It almost felt like watching strangers. Or figures in a dream.

“No,” I tried to say. “Kalcedon.”

I didn’t make a sound. No breath gave weight to my words.

I had thought death was cold. But death was nothing at all.

Oraik backed away from Kalcedon, who was slowly advancing. The prince fumbled at his neck, grabbing at the clay charm. Then he ripped it over his head.

He threw himself at Kalcedon. As the faerie sword gouged into the prince’s arm, Oraik pulled the charm over Kalcedon’s head.

Kalcedon jerked forward. His hands flexed and dropped the sword. It clattered to the floor.

“What?” Kalcedon’s voice shook. “What am I…?”

“Oh, how dull. It was only a trinket,” I heard the Sorrowing Lord say behind me, his voice bored. Kalcedon turned. And then his eyes locked with my fading ones. He caved over like he’d been punched, his eyes going wide and painful and confused. Kalcedon threw himself towards me, hands twisting into sigils. He slid across the floor, racing to reach me as the spell took hold.

I cried out silently as the wound stitched closed, coming together so rapidly it was like being stabbed in reverse. His hands yanked at me, pulling me against the rapid beat of his heart.

“God, no. What is—”

But I could see Oraik over Kalcedon’s shoulder. One of the prince’s arms was bloody and limp at his side. He bent down and picked up Kalcedon’s dropped sword with the other. Oraik’s dark eyes looked horribly blank.

“Oraik,” I tried to say. No sound—in the pain, I’d forgotten. I pointed instead.

Kalcedon turned to see Oraik coming at him.

“Don’t!” Kalcedon yelled.

“He will not harm you,” the Sorrowing Lord snapped. “Move aside.”

Now that the faerie knew the source of our protection, it wouldn’t help us much longer. Even if I managed to fight Oraik off, he could simply command the faeries to tear us to pieces, or force Oraik to kill himself, and shatter the amulets.

The fae lord had brushed my attack away like it was nothing, ripped my shield to shreds like it was made of gossamer. There was only one thing I could think of trying.

A cannibal shield, like Tarelay’s Ward. A shield that would eat his defenses; would devour and feast on anything the Sorrowing Lord threw. I pushed myself back up onto my knees, sat back, and started to build my shield. It was more complex than a hand casting had any right to be. But I’d spent hours staring at the sigils. I knew its form, even if I still hadn’t made sense of it all. I wrapped it around on itself, doubling pivots onto the same fingers so I could hold it with just my two hands.

Kalcedon kept himself between Oraik and me. Oraik circled, unwilling to stab Kalcedon.

Unable to find an opening, he at last charged and knocked Kalcedon aside with his fist. Kalcedon threw himself back between us, clawing his way in front of me. Oraik lifted the sword, then jerked back. The command not to hurt Kalcedon seemed to war with his need to kill me. Kalcedon’s fingers twisted into an attack spell.

I didn’t have time to wonder if he was really going to hurt Oraik. If I didn’t finish my shield, Oraik was as good as dead anyways. So was I. I drew limit after limit, ending each devouring phrase with tight barriers. A spell like this wasn’t meant to be cast by hand, not by one person. It was too large, unwieldy. The sigils buckled and wavered like plants in need of a trellis.

The caged rock-thrush peered through its silver bars, following every shape I drew.

Kalcedon’s ceramic charm shattered as a bolt of gold light hit it. The spell must have come from the Sorrowing Lord. I watched Kalcedon step calmly aside, his face smoothing as blank as the mask he’d worn on Koraica as the enchantment once more took hold.

Oraik drew his sword back to skewer me a second time.

My cannibal shield was done. I rammed it straight through Oraik. He dropped to his knees with a sob, heaving. His hands trembled as he gripped at the ground.

With my fingers deep in the shield, I felt my spell eat through the Sorrowing Lord’s mind-control enchantment.

Though Kalcedon was enchanted too, I couldn’t use the shield on him. It wouldn’t just strip away the spell on him. It would kill him.

But I could already feel I’d gotten it wrong. The limits I’d drawn weren’t quite right. It was too complicated a spell. Too powerful, and too much to hold by hand.

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