Page 86 of Whisper Woods

My best hope, my only plan, is to attack, create enough carnage to disrupt the ritual until help comes.

I position myself on the edge of the cliff, just out of sight, muscles coiled for action. I can hear Heylor droning in the dead tongues to begin his ritual.

And so it’s time.

I launch myself up and over the edge, landing on my feet in a crouch on the hard ground behind the pillars. There is an audible breath at my shocking entrance, and then yelps and shouts as the guards turn to me.

My eyes flicker to Lia and Brydon, bound to a stake on the altar, but I don’t have time to reassure myself of their safety before the first guard attacks in a devastating combination of brutality and violence.

It’s a blur of limbs and magic as I’m surrounded. There is no holding back, their blows cracking my bones, splitting my scales.

I don’t feel a thing as I charge them back, unleashing my claws and teeth. There is blood, mine and theirs. Powerful hands grab me but I evade their grip, my scales flaring to create thousands of tiny blades on my skin.

It’s brutal—a flurry of fists and blades. The smacks of flesh against scale, the snapping of bones and above it all the horrified gasps of the crowd as they watch. My fury burns hot and fast, but the fire burns too quickly. My energy flags and after a brutal blow to my guts knocks the air from my lungs, a fist smashes into my chin. I’m dazed when my head cracks back with the impact. The sound is almost as loud as the bone that breaks when I kick out at my attacker's leg, smashing their knee causing them to drop with a thud.

Threads of magic pervade the fight, those too scared to enter the fray physically lending their aid however they can. It continues until I can fight no longer, my energy fading, the pain finally piercing my consciousness.

The magic takes over, binding me slowly until I can no longer fight against the hold and it takes me.

Even bound, the guards are unrelenting, their blows rainingon me without mercy. I bite and snap at anything I can reach, almost ripping off the tail of one being, once I’d gotten the swinging whip between my teeth.

“Enough,” Heylor calls, pushing out a waft of control as he does. I hear the crunch of boots then see the faces of his and Grand Master Edris leaning over me, their malevolent smiles almost splitting their cheeks.

I wish, more than ever, in this very moment, that I could spit in this form, so I could do it in their faces.

“Another sacrifice, Sovereign?” Edris asks Heylor, using a title I have not heard since my history lessons as a child. Heylor’s eyes darken, full of undisguised hatred.

“No. I believe his penance is to bear witness. To see the truth and glory and witness the loss of everything he holds dear.”

He stands, surveying the damage I wrought. I am not the only one lying prone on the floor. The others however, are not bound, though I am not entirely sure on whether they are unconscious or if I have killed them. A momentary flash of feelings over my actions flares, the bloody and bruised bodies making my stomach turn and riot, but I immediately tamp it down, unable to face it at this moment. Falyuk, help better be here soon.

“Then, we’ll kill him. Guards hold him.”

Rough hands lift me, holding me up in a vicious grip on my unsteady feet. My head rings with a high-pitched sound, a blow to the head making my vision blurred and stained with red. I can still see them, though, the horrible vision of my friends, the people I love, bound for whatever horrors Heylor plans to inflict.

Lia’s body slumps forward over her restraints, pulling on the rope securing her to Brydon behind her, forcing him tighter against the wooden pole between them. Brydon bears the weight stalwartly, his face like stone, staring out at the ocean beyond the cliffs. Fists clenched at his sides, his tail lays limp by his bare foot, one of his signature Mundane sneakers lost on the journey here.

An angry, anguished sound slips from me. Between a whine and a snarl, I pull uselessly at the beings holding me back. Heylor ignores us, reclaiming his place near the altar and raising his arms to restart his ritual and reclaim the magiccurrently floating loose through the air.

But Brydon’s long pointed ears twitch, and I know he can hear me. My feet scratch at the gravelly ground beneath my feet and my guards, tired of my useless fight, lift me so my toes barely touch the ground and I hang limp and useless between them. The pair tighten their grip, their anger only strengthening them and I have a vague fear that they might snap my bones in retaliation to what I’ve done to their brethren. The one on the left finds a gash in the scales on my biceps, and digs their claws into the wound, laughing under their breath when I hiss at the burning pain.

Brydon turns at the sound, his head twisting slowly in my direction. My vision is hazy and blurred, but the forlorn look in his round, black eyes shatters what remains of my spirit. His head tips to the side, his mouth sagging in a frown. He looks almost apologetic, tears pooling in his eyes before he blinks them back and returns to stare blankly between the pillars.

A furious roar builds in my chest but I choke it down, my body humming with pent up rage.

The ritual continues, a blinding, iridescent rainbow glow pooling around the sacred space, the magic suffocating.

At his place behind the altar, Heylor watches smugly as the magic grows. Continuing his chant in the ancient tongues, he casts bundled herbs and offerings into the vessel bowl burning bright green in front of him, dangerously close to Lia and Brydon. And amongst the magical ritual tools splayed before him is the book. That vylushkiva book I brought back from the mages. And pages of translations. Brydon’s translations.

He signed his own death warrant.

Did he choose this? Did he choose to sacrifice himself for his father?I wonder, watching helplessly. It feels as if I’m watching from afar. My mind and body detaching from each other. I feel lightheaded, sounds echoing through me like a dream. Because this cannot be real. None of this. The pain is almost unbearable and we’ve only just begun.

Heylor calls the beings gathered to join him, to lend him their power for his work and they join the chant. But Heylor’s words change. The magic focuses,manipulates in the air, forming and reforming into clouds ofsomething. It balls and twists, Heylor’s words growing louder and more disjointed, the power of his magic filling him.

It’s over. He’s going to rebuild the walls of Tathys.

And the Gods will punish them all, not that I will be allowed to live to see it.

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