Chapter Twenty-Six

 

 

Branches and thistles whipped at Iain’s limbs as he barreled through the forest, heedless of potential threats nearby. His lungs stinging from cold, he raced to find help, replaying in his mind Deirdre’s request of him and the parting image of her fearful but resigned face before the felled tree separated them.

I’ll bring help, and Deirdre will be fine. She’s strong. And not just because of her magic.

Deirdre’s greatest strength was the fortitude of her spirit that truly shone. She had not allowed the trials and injustice she’d faced to dampen her spark, beat her down, or harden her heart.

That’s why she’ll be fine. She’s strong. She has to be all right.

There was a figure in the woods ahead, hunkered slightly, glancing around a tree. As Iain neared, he slowed down, his boots skidding in the leaves, and he approached with more caution. He could hear faint but booming gunshots in the distance. The figure heard him and turned around, and there was a flash of silver as the man drew his sword.

“Cai!” Iain ran to meet him.

Lowering his weapon, Cai asked, “You and the faery get all the bells from the trees? Where is—?”

“Deirdre’s in trouble.” Iain interrupted. “She needs help.”

He quickly explained what had happened, but most of the details were a blur. “She fell, and she was hurt. Iron Infantry was closing in. This tree fell, and we were separated—” He let out a breath, his mouth falling open as he said, “Deirdre… She used her magic so I could get away.”

Cold dread seeped into his chest. He was not about to let another person sacrifice their life for him. Especially not Deirdre.

Cai held out his hand for the pouch with the bells, asking for it. Iain handed it over.

“Once I get these back to Singh,” Cai said, slinging it around his shoulders, “I’ll gather some of the militia to go after her.”

But Iain was already shaking his head before he even finished speaking. “We can’t wait. I saw the militia retreating behind the barrier. We need to help them, but they have more time and advantage than Deirdre does right now—”

“Everyone here is in danger, but you’re putting one person above everything else.” Cai leveled Iain with a scrutinizing stare. “Tell me, Iain, are you thinking like a soldier, putting the lives of the many first, or are you thinking with your heart?”

“This time they go hand in hand,” Iain said firmly. “If they capture Deirdre, they’ll drain her magic and use it to break the barrier down. So if her life being threatened isn’t enough for you to act, then think about what the loss of her will bring on all of us.”

Cai blew a breath out of his nose like a bull but then nodded, relenting. “Fine. That’s a fair assessment. Do you trust me to take point?” When Iain nodded, Cai continued, “You watch my back then.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

Not wasting another moment, Iain took off his pack and set it on the ground, covering it haphazardly with leaves so it would not be found and stolen. He didn’t want anything weighing him down, save for the axe he carried at his belt.

Cai drew his sword and started in the direction where Iain had come from. While they sped through the woods, Iain kept a lookout for any soldiers. An occasional gunshot sounded in the distance. And they were getting louder and more frequent.

They had to go around the barricade of fallen trees rather than over it—Deirdre and her magic had done a solid job of blocking the area off, preventing the Iron Guard from coming through.

By the time Iain reached the place where he and Deirdre had been separated, the air had gone still and quiet and there were no soldiers in sight. There was only the aftermath of what had happened: fallen trees and splintered wood littering the ground.

There were no tanks, no trucks, and no Iron Infantry soldiers. And no sign of Deirdre.

Think… Think about it. The Iron Guard’s left the area, probably driving the militia back. They could be chasing Deirdre too, but she wouldn’t be able to get far… That means they could have her…

“Iain.” Cai’s voice broke through the fog of his thoughts. “Do you see anything? Look closely.”

“Right.” Iain studied his surroundings, taking note of the tire tracks from the military tanks and vehicles. He spotted a strange pattern of grooves headed toward the trees, marked by the occasional large footprint.

A realization left him winded, like taking a blow to his gut he was unprepared for. These are drag marks. Someone was dragged across the ground.

“This way,” Iain said, motioning.

Cai went in the direction of the tracks as Iain followed, staying low and alert, his axe raised. The tracks in the muddy ground led him to a more thickly forested area, and he soon saw a truck parked facing the field, its back end to the forest. Cai and Iain hurried through the three rows of trees between them and the vehicle.

As they neared, there was a heavy thud from inside of something falling onto the metal floor. After holding up his hand to halt Iain as he moved toward the truck, Cai said, “I’ll keep watch while you check inside. Those gunshots are getting closer, so be quick.”

The back doors to the truck were slightly ajar, and as Iain stepped out of the forest toward it, his adrenaline-heightened senses were instantly assaulted. Gooseflesh dotted Iain’s skin at the electric feeling of magic in the air, and the smell of iron and burnt flesh stung his nose. A garbled shout came from within the truck.

There was a crash as the doors were thrust wide open, and Iain jerked back in alarm as a tall figure spilled out of the truck and onto the ground a few feet in front of him.

It was his father.

Iain watched, stunned, as his father writhed on the ground, strange white smoke twisting up from the arm he was clutching. He was still after a moment, his groans ceasing. But whatever it was attacking him wasn’t smoke, because the thick tendrils of it didn’t just float into the atmosphere—they were reaching and grasping in different directions like fierce claws.

It’s Deirdre’s magic, isn’t it? She’s fought him off, and she’ll come out in a second. She’s all right.

But his hope shattered at the cold sensation the sight of the magic produced in him. It was not Deirdre’s magic at all—it was something he hadn’t seen before. Something dark.

Cai came up behind him. Before he could speak, Iain said, “That’s General Callaghan. My father.”

“I’ll take care of this,” Cai said. “If he’s conscious, we can take him prisoner. If not, we’ll have to leave him.”

As Cai approached Alan cautiously, Iain rushed to the truck, leaping up the steps and inside. Deirdre was not inside the stark, sterile room of metal. Wires and tubes were snaked across the ground. The machine was right in front of him—the one that he knew could be used to break down the barrier around the Summer Court.

If I hurry, maybe I could try to destroy it. I could stop this, and…

“Cai!” Iain rushed to the open doors. “The machine—you need to break it somehow—”

A cry echoed through the forest. It was a female voice, punctuated with pain.

Deirdre. The sound sent Iain into action immediately, and he leaped outside.

“Go find her!” Cai was leaning over Alan’s body, reaching for his limp arm to check for a pulse.

As Iain entered the tree line, there was a soft, low noise to his right like a sigh. When he turned toward it, he saw Deirdre on her stomach on the forest floor, one arm under her, her pale hand gripping her injured shoulder. The other hand was grasping at a tree root that rose from the ground like a handle, which she was using to help her crawl across the ground.

“Deirdre!” Iain slid to his knees beside her.

She started and snapped her face toward him. Snaking trails of blood were drying down her face. He had never balked at the sight of blood, but seeing it on Deirdre was different.

Deirdre managed to say, dazed, “Iain, I can’t walk…”

“I’ve got you,” Iain told her, keeping his voice steady. “Just put your arm around my shoulder—that’s it, Deirdre. You’ve got this. You’re doing well.”

Each movement was slow, and her face drained white when she tried to move her leg. He was afraid of hurting her further by carrying her over his shoulder like he was trained to do, so he carried her in his arms against his chest.

Just as he lifted her, there was a shuffling sound behind him. He turned around to look.

Cai was leaning over Alan, checking his wrist for a pulse. Without warning, Alan sat up and struck out with his hand, his fingers finding Cai’s throat and locking on. Iain let out a shout.

Cai aimed a punch to his temple; Alan jumped to his feet and then backward to safety.

Alan then grabbed a rifle from the nearby ferny ground, raising and arming it swiftly. Silent, eyes flashing, he pointed it at Cai.

“Iain, get her out of here!” Cai called, coughing, as he unsheathed his sword.

Cradling Deirdre against him, Iain turned and barreled through the forest. A gunshot thundered behind him. He knew that Cai would be fine and not just because of his curse. He had never seen anyone fight like the swordsman.

An instant later, pressure rippled through Iain’s right arm at the bicep. It felt like something had struck him hard with a blunt object, but he felt no pain with it. He realized with strange detachment that a bullet had just grazed him.

Alan was shooting at them, not Cai.

Another bullet struck a tree beside him, sending splinters of wood flying. Iain darted behind a wide, thick tree trunk, sliding to the ground as another shot went off. Then he ducked, shielding Deirdre with his body.

When no more shots went off, Iain got up again. When he lifted Deirdre this time, hot pain pinched his arm where the bullet had grazed him.

Deirdre whimpered at being jostled, her eyes opening wide. “Iain…?”

“It’s okay, Deirdre. You’ll be all right.”

He peered around the tree to see Cai swinging at Alan with his sword. The blade cut through the barrel of the gun with a metallic spark. Alan stepped back but not before the blade gashed his arm open below his shoulder.

Cai went to strike again, but this time Alan blocked it. He caught Cai’s forearm solidly and held it aloft with effort. Cai grabbed his arm when Alan threw a punch with his free hand. They strained against each other, nearly equally matched in strength. But the knight was stronger.

Then, as if summoned, the smoke appeared again. It wisped from his father’s hand and slithered out of the fresh gash on his arm like worms. The man let out a twisted, agonized cry.

As the strange magic appeared again, the air grew colder than ever as if winter had arrived early. Iain could see his quick breaths puffing around him, and the faint swirl of Deirdre’s as she shivered against him. There was a chill Iain could not escape, one that pierced through him like ice.

Not smoke. Frost.

As Alan groaned, his hand shifted and changed into something new. White crystal sprouted and grew endlessly from the flesh and then darkened until it looked less like a hand and more like the shadow of a claw—the claw of a monster.

Cai reared back and struck Alan’s skull with his own, sending his head snapping back. The blow ought to have sent him to the ground. But his body straightened upright again like a marionette’s strings were pulled.

Alan ripped his arm from Cai’s grasp and plunged the clawlike hand with precision into Cai’s side, right where the Red Cap had struck before. There was a snap as the blow struck true. Cai froze and let out a keening groan. He choked as blood began to bubble up from his mouth and dribble onto the forest floor. Face pale, his eyes widened in panic.

“Cai!” Iain bellowed. “Come on! Fight!”

With a shout, Cai thrust back, kicking Alan squarely in his chest. Cai bit off a shout as the claw pulled free of his side, and then he swung out backhanded with the sword, landing a solid blow with the hilt of the weapon to Alan’s temple.

This time his body crumpled, and he stayed down for the moment. But his limbs twitched like he might get up again.

One hand pressed hard to his side, pale and bloodied, Cai retreated. He lumbered through the forest to meet Iain and Deirdre. He was breathing hard, but he urged Iain onward with a grunt.

The sound of guns firing grew louder around them.

“It’s coming from the south.” Cai panted and shook his head. “It must be the spiders. We may run into them, and I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

“The bells,” Iain said. “We can bring some out to scare away the spiders.”

“Good thinking.”

Cai took point again, though he was injured; Iain knew there was no arguing. He had to protect Deirdre. He couldn’t fight with her in his arms. And after the fight he just witnessed, he trusted that Cai could push through the pain to protect them if he had to.

Deirdre…

He looked down at her, making sure she was still conscious.

“Deirdre—?”

Her eyes closed, and her body went limp and heavier in his arms, her head falling against his chest.

Iain swallowed hard, his throat aching, and tried to focus on the path ahead and putting one foot in front of the other

Cai fell back beside him, briefly clasping his shoulder. Though the man said nothing, it was comforting nonetheless. More determined than ever, feeling the weight of Deirdre in his arms and holding her tighter, Iain prayed that she would be all right.

And if she could still be brave, and if Cai could push on, then so could he.