Page 122 of Burning Crowns

‘I’m trying,’ said Wren, taking it. ‘Thanks, Celeste. I owe you.’

Celeste pulled her to her feet just as another corpse lunged at them. This one was a skeleton so ancient all its teeth had fallen away. Wren swung Night’s Edge, knocking its skull from its shoulders in one clean strike. It rolled to a stop between them.

‘Gross.’ Celeste swallowed thickly. ‘But nice sword.’

Wren tightened her grip on the hilt, relieved at its lightness in her hand, the ease with which she could swing it and never miss her mark. Then she jerked her chin up, searching the fray. The forest trembled with the clash and clamour of battle, the living and the dead both roaring as blade met bone. She spied Tilda nearby, the young witch hurriedly scaling a tree to outrun a grasping skeleton, while Bryony and Rowena ran another through with their swords.

‘Where’s Rose?’ said Wren. ‘She was right behind me a moment ago.’

‘She’s with Shen,’ said Celeste, firing another gust to keep a towering, thundering corpse at bay. A Gevran, Wren guessed, by its tattered blue frockcoat, the very realization causing her to tremble.

‘Stars above, Wren. They keep coming!’

‘They won’t stop until Oonagh’s dead.’ Wren spied her ancestor at the edge of the clearing, watching the entire disturbing spectacle with wry amusement. Wren hated how she was enjoying herself,how all this pain and trauma only seemed to energize her.

She held on to the spark of that anger, letting it strengthen her as she slashed and fought her way across the clearing, trying not to look too closely at the corpses she felled, not to study their faded clothing or the jewellery that still clung to their greying skin. She caught glimpses of the battle as she went: Grandmother Lu swinging her golden staff so fast she knocked out three skeletons in one go; Rowena and Bryony brewing a gust so violent, it bent back an entire tree and flung an ice bear into the skies; Shen and Rose fighting a ring of beasts back to back while Kai rolled around nearby, wrestling a bear. Then there were the bodies – beasts and humans strewn like leaves across the forest floor, and even more scattered through the trees. Some of the soldiers had tried to run, only to be cut down by quicker corpses, wielding unburied weapons. They lay lifeless in the mulch now, their pristine green and gold uniforms smeared with dirt.

Everything Wren saw stoked her rage, urging her towards Oonagh and the ice bears that guarded her. Eana’s sword buzzed against Wren’s fingers as if to say,I am with you. You are not alone.

When Wren glanced behind, she saw that Celeste had gone to help Tilda grapple with a leopard twice her size. Now there was only Oonagh in her sights and the screams of her people ringing in her ears. The sooner she felled her ancestor, the sooner they would all be free.

But as Wren fought her way across the clearing, Oonagh disappeared, slipping between the trees as silently as a shadow. Wren hurried after her, squinting into the dimness. In the distance, she spied two lumbering shapes – Oonagh’s ice bears.They trailed after their leader as she darted through the forest.

‘Coward!’ shouted Wren. ‘Come back and face me!’

But Oonagh kept running.

Wren stumbled as she tried to catch her. Sweat pooled under her shirt and down her spine. The curse was awake inside her, thrashing with each new step. But every time Wren stopped to rest against a tree or bent to catch her breath, Eana’s sword glowed, urging her on.

Just a little further.

You’re almost there.

Soon, Wren’s eyes streamed from the effort of even walking. She stopped to retch and when she looked up, Oonagh was gone. The forest had fallen eerily silent. Wren looked around, trying to figure out where she was, but the trees all looked the same here, and her head was clouded with exhaustion.

‘Where are you?’ she hissed. ‘Come out and face me!’

But there was nothing and no one, just the sound of her own laboured breaths. Wren was starting to regret her decision to come after Oonagh. She was all alone here, weak and in pain, with only a sword to protect her.

‘Help me,’ she called out. ‘Someone. Anyone.’

A familiar breeze swept through the forest and kissed her cheeks. It smelled like seaweed and brine. Like home.

‘Ortha.’ The word poured from Wren like a sigh. Suddenly, she knew exactly where she was. The Whisperwind Cliffs were just up ahead. And beneath them, along a crescent of brassy sand, the place where Wren had grown up, raised by Banba on the wild shores of Eana. It was here that Wren had trained to be a witch, to be a fighter.

A slant of sunlight filtered through the trees, beckoning her onward. Buoyed by a surge of determination, Wren broke into a run,chasing the edge of the forest just as she used to when she was a child, playing hide-and-seek among these same trees with Shen Lo.

And then the edge of the Weeping Forest was before her, the land flattening as it rolled westwards towards the sheer cliffs, and beyond them, Wren’s homeland.

Oonagh was standing at the edge of the cliff, waiting for her.

Wren tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, feeling the spirits of her ancestors gathering at her back. As she stalked towards her ancestor, she felt Banba’s presence in the gusting wind. Wren raised her sword, sinking into a fighting stance as Oonagh’s ice bears charged. They were huge but clumsy. One veered to the left and Wren struck, skewering the bones in its exposed ribcage. The sword glowed, bright and blinding, and the bear collapsed in a heap, felled by blunt force and ancient magic.

Wren stepped over it.

‘Not bad, little bird,’ taunted Oonagh. ‘But your strength is fading.’

‘Not yet,’ said Wren, through gritted teeth. She felled the second bear in four strikes, the sword guiding her hand as she swung.

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