Page 10 of Of Blood and Fire
Yes, it was, because it meant that no matter what fucking spell either the Mareritten or gilded riders’ mages cast our way in the future, they couldn’t hurt any of the kin—and we needed every advantage we could getwhen we were so severely outnumbered.
Why would they be protecting the bodies with magic, though?
Know not. See magic, not understand.
I frowned.Does that mean what we initially saw was the truth or a magic-based lie?
Know not,she repeated.But only see magic when closer.
Meaning that from a distance, I would likely see nothing different to anyone else. It was only when I was close enough that the magic behind the spell would become visible. Which remained a handy skill, given both our foes were adept at casting them, and atthe very least meant all kin should now be able to see any magical snaresbeforewe flew into them, as had almost happened in Hopetown.
Kaia, do another sweep to ensure there’s no one about, then land briefly to the right of the churned-up area so I can dismount and check if the magic is hiding anything.
It holds death,she said. I smell.
I couldn’t, but this high up, in this rain, that was not surprising.Yes, but why hide the bodies magically? It can’t be to preserve them, because the carrion can obviously access them.
Or could they? They’d been circling in great numbers, but none of them had risen from the ground as we’d approached.
Magic stop?
Possibly.And if that were the case, it only added weight to the need to get on the ground and see what actually lay in that shiny dome.
Kaia did her sweep, then quickly landed. I unclipped myself and my sword, then clambered past her wing spine and slid down her leg to the ground. She rose once I was clear of her wings, briefly surrounding me in a whirlpool of mud and debris.
I watch, she added.
Thanks.
I strapped on my sword but didn’t immediately draw it. While I could see the magic, I had no understanding of it, and it was very possible bared weapons might trigger it. As the muddy cloud of debris caused by her rising settled, I walked over to the edge of the churned-up tracks and squatted on my heels. The ground was a muddled mess of hoofprints, footprints, and thick cart tracks that were now filled with water; whatever they’d been carrying was obviously heavy, given just how deep those tracks were.
I rose and carefully picked my way across the churn zone. There was no reaction from the magic, but the closer I got, the more it burned across my senses and made my skin itch unpleasantly. I stopped several feet away; the glow continued undisturbed, and if I slitted my gaze, I could still see the untidy pile of limbs, torsos, and hooves of the dead... but where were all their heads? None were visible, either human or courser. I hoped they were merely buried under all that broken flesh, even as I suspected the truth would be something far more gruesome.
I frowned and went right, following the pulsing dome’s boundary line. It was longer than it had seemed from the air and more oval in shape rather than circular, which definitely confirmed the fact that the magicwasaltering what was being seen.
The question was, why?
There was only one way to find out. Once I was back at my original position, I took a deep breath, then walked into the dome. The magic didn’t react. Before, when I’d gone through the barrier placed in the blue vein tunnel, it had enveloped me, smothered me, making breathing difficult and every step forward hard. There was none of that here; in fact, there was little more than a brief increase in itchiness, then I was through.
The smell hit me first, coating my nose and throat with the heavy scent of death and burned flesh. I gagged and tried breathing through my mouth, but it didn’t really help.
Then I saw the lie. Or rather, the truth.
There were no hacked bodies here, just a charred oval filled with the occasional remnants of human and courser—a bone, a knife, a hoof. It surrounded two further ovals of six-foot-high stakes—which appeared to be cut from the old trees that littered this area, and were oddly untouched by the fire that had burned at their base—with the outer oval of twelve holding the severed heads of the coursers, and the inner eleven our scouts.
In the center of the two concentric circles was a fucking gilded bird—or a Stymphalian, as the gilded riders called them. There was a bloody spear sticking out of its chest and an arrow buried deep in its eye, meaning Cate and her crew had achieved what few others had when it came to these fuckers, and had brought it down with ordinary weapons. The bird’s wings were outstretched, as if it was about to launch skyward, and they were held in place by the shimmering threads of magic that also kept it upright.
And under its right foot, the final head—Cate’s.
Fire erupted from me; fire that was fury and grief combined. I didn’t know Cate all that well, but she and her team deserved a far better ending than this—even if all scouts were aware that if Vahree’s hand ever found them in these lands, their death would not be swift or clean.
I swept my flames across the poles, ashing the remains of Cate’s team before turning them onto Cate. The bird wobbled briefly, then the magic holding it upright flared, and it stilled, one foot still raised, as if resting on the skull that no longer existed. The flames I flung at it were so damn hot they burned blue and white, and the bird’s golden feathers ran like a river to the ground even as its flesh and bones evaporated.
Thankfully, what little smoke my fires had raised remained contained within the larger dome of magic.
I retreated—fast. Once back out in the wind and the rain, I bent, pressing my hands against my knees, spending the next couple of minutes gulping down air. I’d seen horrific things done to the dead before; hell, the Mareritt were well known for cutting off various body parts as “trophies,” then hanging their victims’ remains in trees to rot. In some respects, staking the heads of your enemies wasn’t really any worse than that.
But the magic here wasn’t being used to hide the truth of what had been done or even to prevent scavenger attack; it had been cast to protect the remains of the Stymphalian bird. And the way it had been posed suggested that while the gilded riders used them, they also worshipped them.
