Page 29 of A Blade of Air and Darkness

The mass of the spirit whiplashed away from me, wrapping around my legs and yanking me in that direction as it unwound. I kept my footing and wheezed in a breath, now with both knives bared.

The fog thinned. Moonlight provided enough illumination to see that darkness dripped from it instead of blood. It didn’t try to bite me, either. Where the shadow blood fell, the grass withered and died, touched by frost.

There are moments I wished I had more interest in magic theory. I had no idea how to kill the creature, other than chop it into tiny bits.

I ran forward again. I had one trick left, one way I might be able to kill the spirit rather than be eaten by it. A trick that required the use of magic. I only used this trick when I couldn’t kill something using physical means, even though it would cost me dearly.

Gathering my emotions, I sharpened them like a tool, ready to be used as weapons in this fight. A long time ago, I learned that I could project lust and rage outward as energy, and I did that now. The aura of that energy shrouded my knives. Both knives, crackling with blue-white power, sliced into it. My life, power, and emotion fed through me into the knives. Then, into the creature.

Sick and drained would be a kind way to describe my condition afterward, but at least there might be an after.

The creature’s shriek flattened the trees around us in a wide circle.

Lightning cracked. Ice bit into my hands, hot and cold at once. Shrieks ripped out of the spirit, my own screams blending with it—we made for a noisy fight. Our power flared around us, in fireworks visible to even the naked eye.

The spirit wavered like an illusion rather than a real spirit, and I drove forward for a final stab, putting everything I had into it. The knife sank deep, the creature’s roar rattled my teeth. But the spirit didn’t hit back like it should have.

It fled, the darkness at the edges of my vision blending into its shadows.

My thoughts wavered as I tried to figure out what the hell happened. It must not have been the Wendigo, then. Was it an illusion? A projection? It didn’t entirely explain it, but something was off. If only I had the strength to untangle the truth from the lies. If it was only a projection, that would explain why I was still thinking.

My knees gave out and I collapsed on the cold ground, my heaving breath pluming in the air. What was it? Had the Wendigo reproduced somehow? My head spun as I tried to imagine it.

I attempted to push myself upright, right hand on the ground, left hand still clenched on my knife. Motion caught my eye: a scrap of shadow wriggled on the dagger, impaled. But I couldn’t think about that now. I was just so damn tired. I could barely move. My arms and legs wobbled, warning me I had nothing left. If a rabbit hopped up, it could use a paw to knock me over with no effort at all. My mind was thick, too, unable to form a plan of what to do next, other than stay right where I was.

The crunch of a stepped-on branch followed by a muffled oath kicked my thoughts back into motion. I blinked. No Ridden would be that loud; they stalked like the predators they were.

I turned my head.

“Hello?” called Walker, pausing at the edge of the cleared area. A tall shadow, no details visible, but I knew that voice.

“How do I know you?” My voice tried to be sharp as I stared in that direction. It managed to sound floppy and limp instead, like a waterlogged dishcloth.

His voice was patient and amused. “You climbed me like a squirrel because you were too impatient to wait to be—”

“How did you find me?”

“The fireworks were obvious. I set out to see if you wanted to take the Road with me, rather than go all the way up to Falo. You look terrible, by the way.”

“You should see the other guy. Come into the light.”

My wan campfire hadn’t quite died in all the frenzy, and its light flickered over his face as he approached. His mouth and face remained the same. Not that I could have done much more than die if he’d become a mage-Ridden.

A heavy pulse pounded in my temples. The air gained weight, the burden enough to press me into the dirt and leaves. I sat rather than simply fall flat. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged, easing his pack off his shoulders. “I’m finished with the books. It wasn’t a complicated diversion scheme. When the emergency vehicles showed up, I thought of you, saw you head out in this direction. You’re not strong enough to open a Road, are you? I could get us to a portal, then we could go to Capitol. Or spend some time together.”

The world jerked as I shivered.

Kneeling by me, he reached with deliberate care for the knife still clenched in my hand. I followed his motion and saw a patch of shadow wriggling on it, impaled.

“That’s dangerous,” I said.

Walker nodded, pulling a small white pottery bottle from his bag. He cupped his hand over the discrete darkness stuck to the end of the blade and it latched onto the shadow of his hand. Indigo energy, barely visible, wrapped around the entity. A subtle effect, like seeing an insect encased in amber in real-time. Its struggles stilled. When he opened the bottle, the color and the shadow slipped into the bottle and he sealed it.

I’d never seen a working like that. Before I could say anything, the bottle was tucked into the bag and he was spreading out his bedroll. Thick, well worn, blue blankets, covered with black and white geometric patterns, laid on top of a state-of-the-art camping pad. I mislaid my protest when he swung around and scooped me up, depositing my shivering ass into the soft and welcome warmth.

“You left quite the mess behind you, though. Greene had to be transported to Capitol for surgery. Why did you do it that way?” He pulled a sandwich and thermos from his pack, splitting the sandwich and pouring hot coffee into the lid of the thermos. He offered me the food and drink.

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