URSA MINOR
URSA MINOR
HETTY PLUNGED THROUGH the woods, unable to see the path forward even with sunlight to mark the way.
They’d known it was a risk to continue this route through Virginia, especially as they’d heard gunfire peppering the air.
The fighting must have drifted further west than they’d thought, for they stumbled right into a group of bruised and bleeding soldiers in gray uniforms.
These men weren’t slave catchers, but that didn’t matter. Once they crossed paths, magic and bullets started flying.
“Stop looking back,” Benjy yelled. “It’ll only slow you down!”
“They’re going to catch up eventually,” Hetty said, panting. “And there’s more than usual. We need to do something.”
Benjy slid to a stop. Hetty slowed with less ease, stumbling a bit before she steadied herself.
“Yes, we do,” Benjy said. “Suggestions?”
“Split up. Meet me at the cemetery we arrived at.”
“Good plan.” He nodded.
“Don’t make me wait. I’ll leave without you.”
“I know,” he replied, before veering right into the brush.
Hetty went left, the branches tearing at her clothes and skin. She hadn’t gone far before she felt the ground ripple under her feet. Hetty spun around and saw the sky light up with Ursa Minor.
The sight nearly sent her stumbling.
They never used that star sigil in any of their spells. Much like how they used the Crow or Canis Minor, that sigil was a message—used only to say: Run and don’t look back.
There were too many soldiers who were more than eager to stop them.
There was still a chance to get away. But it was a small, fragile one. Benjy chose to make certain she’d had a chance. Even if it meant he himself likely wouldn’t.
Hetty ran through the woods. She could curse him later—assuming they both lived. For now it would just be a waste of breath.
Running was all she could do.
As so she did, charging forward through the brush and up into trees where the branches were close enough that she could easily jump between them.
Run, she urged her body, trying to keep her mind focused on the branches. Run, keep going forward. Keep running. Don’t worry about the sounds.
Hetty burst out of the woods in a dead sprint, the shock of it surprising the soldier on rear guard enough that he didn’t even react when Hetty slapped the collar around his neck.
Her weight dragging the collar down, she slapped one hand on the gemstones, activating the magic. His body shuddered and arched backwards as the shock ran through his limbs. He swung blindly at her, his strangled cries drawing attention from the soldiers clustered around the bound and bleeding Benjy.
“It’s the other one,” cried out the nearest.
That was all he managed to say.
A glittery arrow struck at the man, and he fell over backwards as the magic exploded. Flicking her magic off her fingers like sticky seeds, she struck arrows at them all. Sowing chaos with each explosion, becoming the embodiment of every whispered terror that filled their minds.
That terror was usually unjust. Guilty thoughts, Hetty’s mother had called it. Guilty thoughts of knowing the harm being done, but trying not to see.
Hetty still didn’t understand it—never would understand it—but she welcomed seeing that fear in their eyes. Because she’d spent the last few years learning magic just for a moment like this.
A shot rang out, a bullet skimming past her arm. It missed, but slammed into the tree beside her, and the shard of bark that flew into her arm in its wake was enough to momentarily stun her.
She looked over expecting to see a soldier aiming his rifle at her, but found instead that Benjy had one arm around the soldier’s neck and kept squeezing despite the man beating a fist on Benjy’s arm. The soldier’s struggling weakened as his eyes rolled backwards into his skull.
Benjy dropped the man. The body hit the ground with a thud.
He stepped over the body, kicking the gun aside as he strode toward Hetty, storm clouds still brewing in his face.
“Why did you come back! What about the plan?”
“You made that plan,” Hetty shot back. “I never agreed!”
“You’re supposed to leave!”
“I did that before,” Hetty replied, “and I will not do it a second time!”
As if she dumped a bucket of water on his head, the fight fled from him entirely and instead he stared at her as if she’d just declared the sun rose from the west.
“Here I thought you only wanted me around to fix things for you.”
“That’s not entirely true,” she admitted. “I—”
Hetty’s words turned into a cry of pain as something wrapped itself around her neck.
Benjy lurched toward her, but a flash of light hit him in his chest, sending him flying backwards into the trees and before Hetty could see what happened her vision shifted upward to the sky.
“That’s what you get putting this infernal thing on me,” a man snarled into her ear. He tightened the rope, cutting into the old scars that lay at her neck. “I’m going to kill you right before your man’s eyes, like the dog you are. I should kill him first to make it the last thing you’ll see.”
“You won’t,” Hetty managed to sputter, and then slammed her elbow back as hard as she could. It took him by surprise, and the moment he loosened his grip, she twisted out of his hold. Half rolling, half falling, she drew Canis Minor.
The magic flared and he was flung back into the trees, colliding with enough force that an entire branch crashed down on top of him.
Gasping, Hetty ripped off the remains of the rope and staggered over to Benjy. She placed a hand on his shoulder. Benjy moved at once, jerking into a sitting position.
“Are you—”
“I’m fine,” Benjy said as he grasped her hand, nearly crushing her fingers. His eyes searched her face before looking beyond her.
Hetty followed his gaze to the man she just felled. “I thought I knocked him out. That’s what happened to me when I was jolted by the collar. I think he’s dead now.”
Benjy let go of her hand. “I’ll check.”
Benjy went over to the soldier. He stood over the body, staring down at the bearded face for a long moment. Then he picked up one of the tree branches that had fallen.
For a wild moment, Hetty thought as he held the branch he was about to perform Sorcery, but instead he brought it crashing down on the man’s skull.
One, two, three times he struck the man, as if wielding one of his hammers, until she heard a sound akin to the cracking of an egg on a pan’s side.
“He wasn’t,” Benjy grunted, dropping the branch. “Now he is. Where to next?”