Page 133 of Ash and Feather

The burning in my veins became more powerful as I stepped into the yard and faced the walls of anti-divine wards caging me in. This burning went beyond my own power, I thought—like something building just beyond the wards, trying to reach through, just waiting for me to reach back.

Dravyn?

My pulse quickened.

I hurried to the edge of the yard before I could lose my nerve.

The grass along this edge was dead and gone, so there was no kindling to speak of—only the dirt and the rune symbols cutting deeply into it. All of the fire that would burn away those runes would have to come from, and be sustained by, me and me alone.

I recalled the notes I’d taken over the past days, sidestepping my way around the perimeter until I found one of the precise patterns of symbols I was looking for—a grouping I believed to be the most powerful.

The foundational pattern.

“Three rows of four triangles,” I mumbled, trying to keep my mind focused. “Each with a cross in the center…”

This pattern was the only one that repeated multiple times along the entire encircling ward. It also did so with measured, equal spacing—much like the footings of a house.

My skin was already drenched in sweat as I knelt before one of these foundational points and summoned fire into my palm.

The familiar pulling sensation from the runes’ power attacked immediately, making my surroundings spin and my balance sway.

My eyes watered from the growing intensity of it, but I pushed through the discomfort, thinking only of the other side. Of the warmth that had woken me up. Warmth that continued toreach for me in spite of the spinning pressure trying to hold me down.

The embers in my hand sparked brighter, forming a chain that wove deeper into the barrier. The links started to disintegrate as they pushed into the ward’s magic, but I concentrated with all the strength I could summon, pulling the flames back into a line and sending it shooting toward the symbols at my feet.

Like the wick of a candle it burned down, down, down into the ground before surging back up and filling the grooves of the runes with a fiery glow.

The two powers battled, pressure and fire colliding and erupting, strange energy and smoke billowing wildly around me.

The world seemed to close in as I dropped to one knee, bracing an arm against the warm dirt. I bowed my head, focusing my weary, divine power into a more precise strike.

The pressure against my body grew so immense, I felt like I was sinking, the ground caving in beneath me.

But when I lifted my head a moment later, that ground was perfectly level, burned black—and scoured clean of runes and everything else.

Clean.

Tears welled in the corners of my eyes at the sight. I wiped them away, pushed back to my feet, and kept moving.

The opening I’d created was not much wider than my body. I could still see un-burned runes in my peripheral vision, and the anti-magic on either side of the opening felt as if it was pouring in, faster and faster, threatening to collapse in on me.

I pushed onward.

I refused to be denied at this point, even though it was like running through thick mud while thorn-covered vines caught at my body and tried to rip off pieces to keep. Several times it feltlike I’d been caught—like I was suspended in place even as my legs continued moving.

But I kept going.

I kept running until, finally, I fought my way through the last of the barrier.

Blinding flashes of red and orange greeted me on the other side.

Fire.

The fields all around my former home were entirely ablaze.

My mouth grew dry, both terror and wonder battling for dominance in my pounding heart. These were not regular flames. They rippled and crackled with divine energy—energy I had not summoned.

As I staggered over the scorched and smoking ground, a warm wind swirled up around me, circling my body in a tight embrace as if eager to greet me. As if it had been looking for me.

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