83

Master Brogal

Impossible! What I saw in the throne room… It can’t be. Not after all these years. Yet there is no denying it. Ash’s bound phantom could break free any moment.

I must act fast. But how?

For a brief instant I’m tempted, like a moth to flame, to let it rise, to watch it burn the enemy to dust. But I know the destruction this anathema is capable of. It is why I bound it in the first place. Some phantoms are too raw, too insatiable in their need for bloodshed. I cannot risk Ash destroying as many innocents as enemies.

“Fetch rune bands from Oba,” I whisper to Nun, who runs up as we approach the Sanctuary. I don’t know how much time there is, but thanks to Marcus, we are not taken unawares. For that, I am grateful. But regardless, I must bind this phantom back down. Before it’s too late. I look across at Ash as she runs with me. Poor girl. She has no idea what is happening. At least I did that part right. But I saw. Marcus’s phantom rose at her behest, not his. He has no idea, either…

My chest tightens. I wonder what other impulsive actions she provoked while they were on Aku.

How did this happen? Her phantom should have grown weaker over the years, not stronger. It should be charred powder by now, but to the contrary, power moved through her like a red-robe’s might.

We turn the corner at full speed. One breath later we are hit with a searing blast.

Ash cries out. Her skin splits open like it’s whipped, and beads of blood well.

“Ouster wind! Close your eyes!”

As I speak, she’s torn from my grip, slammed across the breezeway and into the library wall. Her shoulders droop, and blood seeps through her coat.

Before I can move, another wave hits, throwing me through the air. My head smacks the pavement and I lie on my side, unable to draw breath. The morning light is thin, but in the distance, I make out five orange-robe savants. They push before them five reptilian ousters.

The enemy, I realize. It is already in our midst.

I struggle to my knees just as the ground heaves and cracks, like a forest of trees ripped out by the roots. The tremors topple me over and I fall hard again.

On my side, cheek pressed into the grass, I see Ash, still pinned against the wall, her face in agony, blood staining her clothes, so much blood. But high above her, to the side—I can’t quite tell as my vision pulses in and out of focus—towers a huge phantom’s profile, a crested neck, claws with nails as long as scimitars. Its skin is scaled and blackened, raw in places as if burned, but its action is supple, undulating. The prehensile fingers weave and twist and suddenly the wind tearing at Ash’s body is blocked and sent back as a focused beam of searing light. It cracks like a whip toward the approaching orange-robes, splitting a phantom in two and impaling its savant. The man’s face goes slack and then his entire body bursts into flames.

I swallow hard.

Old gods have mercy, what does she raise?

I blink my eyes and the claw alters into a disk and shoots out toward the next approaching orange-robe. She’s decapitated before she sees it coming, her phantom dissolving into the ground.

Two savants approach at once, increasing the razors of wind their phantoms wield. I struggle to rise, my head spinning as a single golden tendril, the likes that float around the mythic sea dragons of old, coils and springs, hitting the ousters, one then the other, piercing their chests. On contact, the savants cave in on themselves as if every drop of moisture is sucked from each cell, the bodies turning into husks amid horrendous screams. The gold tendril recoils to encircle Ash as she slumps down the wall, the ouster wind gone. A light pulses from the tendril and her crumpled, bloody body sits up, eyes shining, hand reaching to her phantom.

“Dead bones and throwers,” I whisper, but there’s no time to think. I gain my knees and raise my phantom just as the remaining orange-robe draws her sword.

Before C’sen can fully rise in a gust of blue and red feathers, Ash’s phantom calls the weapon, turns the blade, and shoots it straight back into the savant’s heart.

My head slumps. But I must sound the warning. “Spies in our midst!” I tell C’sen. “Scout the Sanctuary! Call the warning bells.”

As my phantom shoots off, I fall back to my side, paralyzed by fear as the huge, luminous eyes search for more threats, and find me. The one who bound it. Regardless of my intentions, I have wronged this girl in many ways. My first thought is to throw all my awareness into C’sen and flee, but what will that achieve? If this is my last breath on the path, so be it. My body shakes as the inner Sanctuary alarm bells toll, but I take another breath.

And another.

Her phantom turns away, uninterested, and I exhale into the grass.

Slowly, I find my feet and stagger toward Ash. When I reach her, I pause at the carnage.

Five ousters.

Five savants.

All gone, destroyed in a blink by a phantom bound and crippled for nearly a decade.

I catch a movement, and I tense all over again. It’s still there, in the shadows, tall as a tree, leaning over Ash. All I see this close is the burned skin, the harm and abuse I caused. Then, a steaming orange and black mane, serpentine body, a wraith of a creature, contorted from the binding. Patches of singed scales fall like tiles from a roof, leaving raw flesh as it ripples in and out of view…a tortured thing seeking comfort from its savant.

Ash reaches up and kisses its massive muzzle, multiple gold tendrils dancing as she presses her forehead into the shimmering scales.

“Ash?” My voice catches and I clear it. “Ash, bring it in, to heal.”

I hold my breath as slowly, like drowning without struggle, the phantom sinks back into the earth.

When it disappears, strange vines begin to grow, climbing up and over the lip of the crater it rose from to twine around the cracked pillars of the walkway, reaching coils toward the growing light. I watch, open-mouthed, as one by one they bloom with hundreds of tiny red blossoms.

A single name forms in my mind—Natsari—and I banish it like a demon as C’sen wings back to me. Nun has everything in place.

“Thank you. Wait for me there.”

I look back at Ash, her face enraptured.

We are running out of time…

“Master Brogal? Did you see? This wasn’t a dream, was it?” Ash glows in the warmth of the memory.

I steady my mind. I can’t risk lying or revealing my intentions while the phantom can hear me. “No, Ash, not a dream. You did it. Against a millennium of likelihoods, you have raised your phantom and saved our lives. Saved the Sanctuary.” I reach out my hand and pull her to her feet. “But you’ve so much to learn. It is untrained. You are untrained.”

She nods, taking in the bodies of those she’s killed.

“This is your first day as a blue-robe savant.” I allow a small smile as she beams. “Such an amazing feat. It makes me so proud.” I press my hands together in prayer and bow my head to her.

Her eyes shine up at me, tears running down her cheeks, and it’s all I can do not to flinch.

It will not harm you now, C’sen bespeaks me.

I waver.

Her phantom will take time to recover. We are safe, but not for long.

“No, not for long.”

“Come, Ash.” I take her hand again. “Let’s get you started on your new path.”