SONG of EMBER

61

RETRIBUTION

PART III

🙜

Colorful fey spirits encircled Ky as she glided across the lake, brushing the water’s surface as she disappeared into the depths and whirling around her gleefully when she emerged near the shore once more, hair and water and weeds spilling over her shoulders. Several of the orbs darted to Ember, flashing brightly between him and the looming sirena.

Ky halted when she was nearly ten short paces away, defiance ridging her stance as she lifted her arms above her head, eyes wide, a bluish flush creeping across her cheeks as she called upon the wisps. The many-hued lights shimmered her pale skin, moonshine silvering her outline and the frayed strands of her hair.

Half-enchanted himself, Ember had scarcely any warning before Fishbiter whistled over his head, missing him by a finger’s breadth.

He was invulnerable to the sword.

The sirena who approached them was not.

He grabbed Sil’s arm and—driven by forces of emotion and instinct beyond his conscious awareness—slammed forward, yanking her off her feet and wrenching at the magically dulled sword with his other hand.

Her teeth crunched into his shoulder.

“Aaagh!” he cried out, his strained sinews grinding between her powerful jaws.

Pain arched through his spine, his neck—

He snarled, muscling the sword away—their arms taut as twin bowstrings—and shoved his other hand behind her neck, grabbing a fistful of thick hair, embellished with knots and stones and little braids more felt than seen, adornments lost to the unkept tangle of it. For a moment he felt her heart beating hard against his.

She released him, her cheek brushing the edge of his jaw.

The scent of her eroded his will to fight, dredging up other wills, other wants—

Fishbiter buzzed like an irate wasp beneath his fingers and Ember wrenched her head back with a strangled groan, baring her rigid throat.

Blood—his blood—trickled from the corners of her mouth.

The sight infuriated him.

Her lashes fluttered hard, eyes rolling sightlessly as she licked her crooked nose. A guttural demand sprang forth from her chest—he felt it rise up like a living creature, and suddenly they were both suffused by a thousand whirling lights.

He released her, and the sword was ripped from his grasp, tendrils of red hair swishing away.

“NO!” he roared and splashed forward, flailing in a blind panic.

Most of the orbs scattered and he blinked rapidly. Nothing was clear anymore, though he could still discern the blurry figures of the two sisters. One of the lingering orbs bobbed before him like a lantern, lighting the way to the dark-haired sirena. It glowed a familiar bluish-green, a reminder of the night that Ky had painted the sea for him with her words.

As he splashed across the lake, she closed her eyes, murmuring again. The multitude descended upon the water, some of them dipping so low that they became one with their reflection. Now they encompassed Sil, thrumming and humming so vibrantly that he was tempted to shut his eyes again.

Ember…

Echoes bounced around his mind, whisperings and mutterings from a forgotten age.

He reached toward Ky, drawn by some distant memory.

A memory that was not his own.

For a moment he was back in the demon’s lair, the grateful chorale of forgotten souls crowding out his youthful thoughts and desires, impressing their lonely knowledge upon him and lending their meager courage to his mind. Strange sensations rushed within, deep and wild: like a river tumbling frantically down a rocky embankment.

If he could only touch Ky, he could join that gushing power with hers—if, somehow, she could lend him her voice—no one would be able to stand before their combined wrath, least of all her sister.

It will be glorious, the chorale rejoiced, a melding of magic the likes of which have never been seen nor heard nor felt in this forest since the elder days of men.

This would have seemed the height of madcap folly mere hours ago, but Ember was no longer of a mind for questioning his instincts. He knew only that he had come to his senses at last, or was on the verge of coming to them, and had only just begun to resonate with his truest, deepest nature.

His tongue pressed against his teeth, to speak some ancient phrase which might unleash the welling tide of jealousy and rage—

BOOM.

A hollow thud resounded across the lake and Ky’s eyes flew open, her jaw slack in a defeated gasp. The fey power slipped through his fingers like water and the light surrounding them flickered and went out…

As Ember turned, he glimpsed Sil alone in the darkness, black smoke wisping off the water around her thighs. Her chin lifted, eyes sunless as the night. Threads of dying light wafted away on the breeze where the many-hued orbs had once gathered in a living wall of color, and the few which remained were scattered to the far edges of the lake.

Only one green wisp lingered, glimmering weakly in protest.

The imperious sirena snapped her claws shut around the orb, like a frog snatching a fly, and squeezed her fingers into a fist. With a burst of dim light and a puff of white smoke, it vanished. Her mangled features fell into shadow once more.

There was a heartbeat of stillness.

Her head turned slowly in their direction.

The eerie emptiness within that veiled gaze skittered up the back of Ember’s neck.

Droplets danced in the air as she dashed the lake with Fishbiter, snapping the weapon away from her rigid body.

The blade quivered, subdued.

“Ky,” Ember whispered, touching her shoulder; she shuddered weakly beneath his fingers. Her skin had gone ashen, dark eyes sunken into her skull, and her pale lips trembled. She held aloft one hand as her sister advanced, but the specter in red drifted closer despite her silent plea.

And Sil muttered as she came, twitching the ancient weapon back and forth.

First in small movements and then wide arcs, flicking her wrist and constantly readjusting her fingers on the hilt. With each step she became visibly more accustomed to the weight and balance of the sword, and no matter how it buzzed and shimmered, she never once loosened her grip.

It flashed around her head and shoulders in a whirl of enchanted steel, brilliant in the moonlight.

Ember cast about for a shield, splashing sideways into the reeds. A floating branch caught his eye and he leaned out to snag it. Water dripped from the sodden wood, but there was nothing else within reach—it would have to do until he could devise a way of reclaiming Fishbiter.

His sudden motion seemed to wake Ky from her stupor, for she retreated into the deeper lake, wringing her hands and swaying from side-to-side. Even without words, her entreaty was clear.

Before he could gather his courage, Sil was upon them.

Ember lifted the branch, the lake streaming between them like a waterfall, and Fishbiter easily cleaved the wood in two and streaked toward his face.

Sil’s face contorted as her arm jerked back, wrenching her injured shoulder. Her blow had been powerful enough to rebound. She stood before him for a moment in stunned apprehension—and then turned her furious gaze upon her sister.

Ky was pointing with one white finger, pale and drawn, lips pursed in a shrill whistle which rose to a pitch beyond Ember’s muffled perception.

The air trembled.

He made a frenzied dash for the sword, but Sil had already lunged for her sister, screaming siren curses. His fingers closed on empty air and he tripped, falling face first into the lake. When he came up again, spitting muddy water, Ky had ducked below the surface and Fishbiter was singing through the air again, sparkling like a blue torch in the night.

As the smaller sirena resurfaced, mouth open in a gasp and drenched hair clinging to her face, Sil was ready for her—and brought the sword down hard on Ky's neck.

Ember's gut wrenched.

For an eternity of suspended anguish, Fishbiter hovered, flashing with light and fury. A pulsating hum became audible, thrumming faster and faster and faster. And then—with a tremendous blast of light—a ripple of wind went out from the point of the blade, rushing over the lake in all directions and whispering through the trees.

The sword shattered to pieces.

Ember bent low as a shard of metal whipped past his head and nicked his ear. The broken fragments scattered across the lake, most falling into the water and a few disappearing into the woodlands.

All three of them stood in silent shock.

Ky cowered before her sister, her face white and still not recovered from the approach of death; Sil towered before her, clutching the hilt of the ruined sword and staring in disbelief at the length of jagged metal which remained, dark and lifeless and devoid of magic; and Ember watched them, struggling to understand what had just occurred.

Before he could arrive at any conclusion, Sil’s finger twitched upon the swordhilt. Ember shouted as Ky floundered backward, a half-uttered spell upon her lips; had she been but a moment later, her throat would have been gashed. Instead, it lanced her arm, releasing a trickle of blood.

Sil drew back for another merciless strike.

Ky was too close.

Ember took a sloshing stride and leapt between them, his elbow bashing Ky away. She fell behind him with a splash, and he experienced a momentary rush of triumph as Sil sprang forward.

She stared at him with her stone-black eyes, emotionless.

Everything fell strangely still.

Ember glanced down.

Her fist and the hilt of the sword nestled snugly below his ribs—the broken blade had disappeared, and a bit of dark color seeped into the fabric. Even then, he did not comprehend it.

His body convulsed.

She yanked the sword away, blood and water scattering across the lake.

A wretched scream tore from his throat. He clamped both hands over the wound, dimly aware of Ky wailing nearby. It had no effect on him, though the mud and clay were mostly washed away, for the pain was absolute and all-consuming and he knew no other language, heard no other cry.

Two bony hands pulled him down below the waves.

Cold water trickled into his throat as Ember heaved a vain gasp for air. Their bodies collided, sharp anguish twisting through his gut, and down, down, down they dove, where only the brightest rays of moonlight pierced the murky depths.

He kicked weakly as his shoulders smashed against the rocky bed of the lake.

Cruel fingers pinned him to the stones, a merciless grasp. She loomed above him. Moonlight rippled through her wavering hair, pitted eyes dark with delight. One hand tightened on his shoulder. The other slipped beneath his neck…

Pulling him closer.

She smiled serenely, tipping her head to one side.

Lips peeled back in a hungry grin.

Ember let out a silent cry, bubbles rushing past Sil’s face.

He floundered along the lake bed with both hands.

Searching for something, anything—

A shard of metal sliced his fingers.

He felt no pain.

His hand closed around it and he surrendered, lofting into Sil’s deathly embrace. Her grin widened and she tilted her head further, jaw unhinged like a coiling snake as she tilted her head, her fanged mouth near to his in a violent, twisted mockery of affection…

Close…

…and closer…

A cold lip grazed his cheek.

Ember summoned all that remained of his life force, gathered up the tattered knowledge of the echoes from his dream, plunged his hand into that tumbling river of wild magic for one crashing moment of exhilaration, and stabbed the broken blade so deeply into Sil’s neck that it sprouted out the other side, bone snapping beneath the severed impact.

Her jaw snapped shut, echoing in the water with a resounding clack. Blood clouded the lake—siren blood and human blood together—and he choked as the tainted water filled his lungs.

He gave the shard a savage twist and let go, throwing a hand across his throat.

But Sil was already drifting away, lips parted in a dying scream or a half-spoken spell. Her claws remained hooked in his tunic for a moment before a shudder shook them loose. She floated upward as he sank, her mouth still gaping and her black glare clouded by the sight of death.

He wanted to shout for Ky, but his lungs were too heavy, so he settled among the pebbles and rotting wood and closed his eyes to blot the horror from his sight. His body twitched and shuddered, fighting for air.

Now and then, when he was a simple fisherman’s son whiling away his indolent days alone in the woods, Ember had entertained himself by pondering what heroic demise might await him in the very distant future. The satisfaction of saving Isabel from a goblin in the deep woods, or the heady rush of coming face-to-face with a bear in the thickets. This was not the end he would have chosen for himself—although, he supposed, all such roads led to one end. What way was really better than another?

Dry land, he cried within himself, despite himself. I can’t breathe… I wish that I was breathing my last… ashore…

He pressed his bleeding fingers over the hole in his tunic, as if that would keep the water out and the life within himself, but with each beat of his fluttering heart more warmth washed over his fingertips. Could he stand tall beneath the Maker’s gaze, which Lundr’s grandmother had told him blazed like a thousand suns? Or perhaps his soul was too much a fool to ever find purchase in the afterlife, and he would be doomed to wander the world as a misty wraith like Willifrey feared, cloaked in the shadows of night to haunt the living.

Would he see his mother again?

Would he meet his father?

I’m too afraid! he sobbed to the Maker. Air… life… please…

A little thing stirred in the silence.

A song which lulled his name.

Ember, it sang simply.

As the lake leeched the heat from his body, a current lofted above him and a shadow blocked out the distant light of the moon. He reached up weakly, praying to feel another living hand in his, fearing it was the bloody sister returned to wreak her wrath.

Slender fingers caressed his face.

Ember, it sighed serenely.

A familiar touch.

He blinked, hoping to see her face once more before his seizing body slipped into the next life, but the murk of the lake and his stinging eyes denied his dying wish. His mouth opened and he exhaled water and a garbled moan.

Ember, it sorrowed, softly.

Strong arms encircled his waist, pressing him close.

He ascended.