Page 88 of Minor Works of Meda

I turned in a circle, scanning the city to figure out where the commotion had come from. It became clear when a large, winged shape burst into the sky two streets over, then turned and dove back down. It was dark brown and heavily feathered but moved so quickly that I could not make out more detail than that. I felt a thrum of wild, untamed magic, similar to the drake’s but somehow different. Thicker; heavier without being hotter.

Whatever the beast was, it was fae. Kalcedon sprinted forward, searching for an alley to the next street over. I hitched my skirts and followed. Oraik loped beside me.

More screaming. Not a non-stop flood of it, but waves, as if in reaction to the creature’s movements. We spotted the alleyway we needed, visible from a distance because a half-dozen people suddenly flooded out from it, eyes wide with panic. I felt another rush of strange magic. If I could run and draw runes, I’d take Kalcedon’s power and throw a shield over him to keep him safe. But he was getting too far ahead of me, and I couldn’t move my hands with any precision. So I just ran as fast as I could.

I cut through the alley and emerged on a broad avenue only a little out of breath. We were close to the gorge. The street turned into a bridge abruptly some twenty feet to my left. Kalcedon was only a few feet in front of me, having stopped when he reached the street.

In front of me an elderly woman fell over and screamed. I started towards her to help her up. But she froze mid-scream, her features unnaturally still as magic crashed through her. Even her wind-tossed white hair paused, suspended in the air. A swift grayness came next, obliterating the color of her flesh and clothes alike. I gasped and turned.

Stone figures peppered the street, statues in perfect full detail, crouched or running. A mother huddled over an infant. One man’s arm was thrown out to the side, shielding another man. A girl’s arm was cocked back, holding a stone as if ready to launch it.

“Goddess,” Oraik breathed.

“Stay back,” I told him.

The creature swung towards us. Its front limbs were wings, the midpoints taloned claws that it dug into the ground as it moved. Even on all fours the thing was taller than Oraik. Its owlish face held wide golden eyes framing a short beak. Long feathered ear-tufts rose from the top of its head.

It opened its beak to shriek. I felt the build of magic thrumming hot in the creature’s throat.

“Kalcedon!” I shouted, sketching the beginnings of a defense.

He understood. A torrent of familiar magic slammed into my sigils, powering a glistening wall in front of all three of us. The creature’s spell crashed like a wave over the shield. I wished I could reach out and steal its magic, but it felt different than Kalcedon’s, different even from the pureblood faeries. Utterly wild, mindless, raw.

I couldn’t see Kalcedon’s hands move; his back was to me. But something shot from his fingers, a bolt that rammed through the creature’s wing and left a gash. Blood dark as plum syrup sprayed. The creature keened and reared back on its haunches, lifting both taloned wings up then lunging in with its beak. It met my shield, then shrieked again.

The shield shattered. The shriek didn’t make it through, but it shattered it. I’d never seen that happen before, never realized it could. If I were as good as Tarelay, I could make a shield that would absorb the magic, bend to it. I started sketching sigils again, desperate and fast.

The creature spun away. The good wing clipped a statue, knocking the frozen man over the ground. His stone hand and nose shattered.

“Forget the shield! Take it down!” Kalcedon bellowed. “Before it gets anyone else!” He threw another bolt. It missed the beast and cracked the wall of the building behind it.

Something to stop it screaming, I thought, and twisted out a choke-attack that could, supposedly, strangle a victim.

The beast writhed. The big dark wings flapped, carrying it a few feet into the air before it crashed forward and down. I dove out of the way as the creature slammed past me into the building, showering dust down onto the street. It twitched once before falling still.

Chapter 39

The statues were all around us, frozen and pale. Oraik leaned against the wall, breathing hard from the run. Kalcedon crouched slowly in front of the creature, so close my skin crawled, and studied it through the slits in his mask.

“We have to go,” I said. Of all the things that would make us easy to scry, I could think of few as risky as being part of a spectacle.

“I think it’s a golfu,” Kalcedon said.

“Is it dead?” Oraik asked.

“We have to go,” I repeated, more loudly.

Kalcedon straightened slowly and turned, taking in the street.

“We aren’t leaving these people,” Oraik said.

“You just want to stay,” I told him.

Kalcedon approached one of the statues, then slowly reached out to touch it.

“I still have nightmares about the people we left on Montay. I’m not doing that again,” Oraik said.

“But we can’t hide here any longer. Not after this.”

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