37

Fear’s Wrathful Wings

––––––––

Bryson had realized his role. However, it would have better served a talent like Simon. Bryson acted as an archer, striking opponents—specifically giants or large groups—with massive waves of electricity. He’d sweep an arm and a voltaic guillotine would descend upon the battlefield. Not hitting allies had grown more and more difficult as the battle lengthened and the two sides converged. At a certain point, he focused only on the giants, for they were big enough targets for him to hit without worrying about errant surges. Besides, they had become the only warriors even visible through the storm.

“Shelly wants you to use more lightning bolts.”

Bryson whirled, giving Vistas the most incredulous of looks. “Do you think that is something I can just do willy-nilly?”

“I’m just the messenger,” Vistas said. “Now she’s laughing at you.”

Bryson rolled his eyes and faced the window.

“She just groaned; said you looked too much like her sister.”

Bryson offered an inappropriate hand gesture over his shoulder.

“I’m not saying that,” Vistas said, likely to whatever Shelly’s response was.

Leaning over the viewing window, Bryson squinted against the storm. “I can’t see anything anymore. I’ve put up with this game long enough. I’m going down there.”

He marched toward the wall and looked for a handle. There was none. He tried pushing against the wall where it had opened before ... with no success. Enraged, he stared at it for a moment before marching across the room and trying his luck with the opposite wall that Vistas had entered earlier.

“What is with this place?” Bryson groaned.

“I think only Stillians can use the doorway,” Vistas said. “Probably has something to do with the weaving of their Still Energy.”

“They’ve trapped me in here?!”

“I’m not saying that either,” Vistas said, once again, to Shelly through the transmission.

Bryson scowled at the wall, as if it had wronged him in some way. He then punched it, cracking its surface in a few directions, but likely doing more damage to himself. He grimaced and grabbed his wrist while shaking his hand. Who did he think he was? Olivia or Vuilni?

He walked toward the window again, peering into the blizzard’s depths. He supposed he could simply unleash random attacks into the unknown, but what good would that have done?

Vistas stepped toward the window. “Shelly wants to know where Thusia is.”

“I don’t need her,” Bryson snapped. “The situation must be dire.”

“Is this not dire?” Vistas asked, gazing at the Jestivan. Something told Bryson that that question had come from Vistas himself. “How many soldiers must die before it becomes dire, Bryson?”

Bryson returned the servant’s gaze for a moment before shaking his head and staring out the window. Perhaps Vistas was right. Bryson’s pride was costing the lives of many. But, in all honesty, how much help would Thusia provide in a battle of this scale?

A screech pierced through the blizzard, and Bryson clamped both hands over his ears, falling to the ground, his agonizing screams silent even in his own head. Blood leaked from his ears and down his palm. Vistas, too, had collapsed with the same reaction. What could have made such a ghastly sound?

Bryson looked up from where he sat. The screech had stopped, but his ears continued to hiss with a constant whisper. He could no longer hear the storm. Vistas finally lifted his forehead from the frozen floor, and Bryson couldn’t believe his eyes. Fear radiated from every pore of Vistas’s body. The normally placid-faced man looked concerned, his eyes wide and mouth open. But Bryson could understand why, for even he felt it.

“This can’t be,” Vistas said, his voice rattling uncontrollably. As Bryson stared at his blood-streaked hands, Vistas muttered, “That was the screech of a Linsani.”

Brows furrowed, Bryson shot to his knees, turning to gaze out the window. Any sign of a blizzard had disappeared. The Diamond Sea was still, bright under the light of the stars and moons. Even the Stillian soldiers had stopped as they stared into the sky. Meanwhile, the Devish and Powish retreated the other way, not wanting to become victims of whatever came next.

Bryson’s gaze slowly veered toward a mammoth beast that soared above the battlefield. He first noticed its skeletal structure. It had no body—not a physical one at least. Its ivory bones were as lucid as the stars, its skeleton enwrapped in a haze of shadows that took the shape of a wyvern. Two shadowy horns extruded from the back of its head, and its eyes glowed red. It was bigger than the beast that had flown Himitsu to Phesaw over a year ago, and infinitely more ominous.

Bryson wiped his cheek, alarmed by the wet streak. “Am I crying?”

Vistas hadn’t even bothered to move. He remained on the floor. “Your body is naturally responding to the Linsani’s presence. You don’t even realize it, but your soul is scared beyond belief ... to the point of tears.”

The Linsani’s wings swept downward, raining shadows toward the sea. The shadows hit the ice and billowed outward like steam from a boiling pot when it hit the ceiling. The darkness spread across the ice at a speed that most soldiers couldn’t outrun. Instead, they were consumed, disappearing in the shadows.

Bryson watched, curious as to what the shadows would do. As they slowly dispersed, different people had reacted in their own ways. Some crawled across the ice; others balled up, convulsing uncontrollably. But most of them turned their swords on themselves, impaling their stomachs and twisting the handle.

“They’re committing suicide!” Bryson shrieked.

“Yes,” Vistas whispered. “Those whose souls are weak are the most vulnerable to Cyn Energy ... but with a Linsani, even the strongest of souls can fall victim.”

The Linsani screeched again, and Bryson pounded his fist against the window’s ledge with a scream of his own. He closed his eyes as a migraine pulsed through his head. The memory of Debo plummeting from the cliff of Necrosis Valley flashed before him, concluding with Debo’s body slamming into the hard crust of the land.

Bryson forced his eyes open, tears spilling out of them. He tried to refocus on the battlefield. Following the wyvern’s screech, it had nosedived. Bryson watched in awe as it dove head-on toward the ice-capped sea. Just as it was about to crash, its skull jerked upward, and the rest of the skeleton followed. The body of shadows, however, didn’t take the same path, instead disappearing under the ice while the skeleton swept just above the surface, ramming into hundreds of Still soldiers in powder blue cloaks.

Moments later, the Linsani’s shadowy body reemerged from beneath the sea, cutting off the skeleton’s path and reconnecting with its other half. Every soldier that had touched the shadow collapsed instantly.

The Linsani took to the sky, releasing a screech that must have reached every corner of the kingdom. This time Bryson felt an empty sensation within him, somewhere in his stomach. It mimicked the feeling of unease on mornings when he knew everything that day would go wrong—butterflies of anxiety.

He grew lightheaded and wavered against the window’s wide ledge. He toppled over Vistas and smacked the floor with the side of his head. Every terrible memory from his past flashed before his eyes: being strapped to a cold, steel table while a blade cut through his chest; the strange light that shielded the closet door in his home, scorching the skin off his finger; the restaurant collapse, and all the civilians who were crushed within the rubble; the massacre of innocents at the Generals’ Battle; Debo’s death; Olivia pounding her fists into his face; his mother’s tragic story; and Jilly’s lifeless body lying underneath Toshik’s hunched frame.

Bryson cried hysterically, his face pressed into the floor. He couldn’t stop the imagery no matter how hard he tried, and the Linsani continued to unleash its wrathful cry across the kingdom.

He managed a peek at Vistas. The Dev servant lay still, only a sniffle escaping him. His eyes were no longer burgundy. Was he seeing his worst memories, too?

Trying to ignore his mind, Bryson pushed himself onto his knees and managed to put one foot on the ground. He leaned over with his hand on a knee, clutching at his temple and holding his golden bangs from his face. I can do this.

As he tried to stand, darkness swallowed the room. He heard the screech, but it sounded like it was directly behind him. Shadows rushed into the room, billowing against the walls and ceiling and filling it whole. Every sensation expelled itself from Bryson’s body, leaving him empty.

––––––––

Bryson lay on the glass ceiling of Princess Shelly’s bedroom, smiling down at her as she slept. She lay on her back, but there was no lump in the covers where her belly was. From this vantage point, it felt like he was watching over her, protecting her. He was in a tranquil state, wondering what she was dreaming about.

The floor opened, the platform from the floor below rising. Bryson narrowed his eyes. Who would disturb the princess during her slumber?

Bryson leapt to his hands and knees, spotting a frozen crown encircling a head of frost-entwined violet hair. Clouds of white expelled from his mouth as his breathing grew heavy. Ice slithered across the ceiling, cracking against the glass as it reached Bryson’s limbs. It crept up his hands and calves, pinning him to the glass. He tried to writhe free, but the ice was too strong. Even his clout couldn’t counter it.

He opened his mouth to scream, but only silence escaped. Apoleia strolled across the room, away from Shelly. Bryson became confused—until he saw the crib. He had forgotten about the baby—probably because he had never seen it. What kind of father was he?

Swaddled in gold silk, the baby’s face couldn’t be seen. Apoleia stood next to the mahogany crib, gazing down at the infant. After a painfully long moment for Bryson, Apoleia glanced toward the ceiling. The sinister smile that Bryson had expected wasn’t there. She cried as she stared at him.

Please, walk away, Bryson thought. Spare my child and come for me instead. I’m right here.

Apoleia’s face disappeared as she looked into the crib again. She reached a hand down toward the silk and clutched at what Bryson could only assume to be the baby’s neck. The bundle of blankets began to squirm. Bryson tried to yank his hands free from the ice with all of his might, but by this point, it had spread up his arms to his shoulders.

This was his greatest fear: not only his baby’s death, but for it to happen right in front of him—to be utterly hopeless. He had never been so scared in his life.

––––––––

“Bryson.”

The sound of his own name startled Bryson. The frozen glass beneath him morphed into a room of ice consumed by shadows. He was confused, until he heard that damned screech, jarring him back to his senses.

“Why don’t you ever summon me when you should?” someone asked.

Bryson turned to see Thusia. She crouched next to him with a hand on his shoulder, tears rolling down her face.

“Why are you crying?” he asked.

“I am not immune to a Linsani,” she said shakily.

“But you’re a Branian,” he croaked.

Thusia closed her eyes and wiped them with her sleeve. “Doesn’t mean anything when confronted by such a beast. Not only is it as powerful as I am, but it’s my weakness.”

Another screech ripped through the sky. Bryson keeled over and covered his bloody ears. “What do you mean?!” he screamed.

“Spirit Energy has the power to negate Cyn Energy, but the opposite is also true depending on the power level of the two sides.” She paused and grimaced, as another screech reached their ears. “My spirit isn’t strong enough to counter the darkness of a Linsani.”

“Then what do we do?” Bryson asked, losing control of his emotions. “I’m too scared to even move!”

Thusia grabbed his arm. “I can give you some of my spirit.”

“No!” he said. “I’ve heard how that story unfolds!”

“Not like with Mendac,” she replied. “I will give you enough to regain mobility. What flies outside this wall is the Linsani of Fear. I can’t dispel the fear it’s instilling in you, but I can soften it to a certain degree. Your soul will leave the dead state that it’s in now.”

Bryson looked down and clenched his jaw. “Fine!”

A bit of warmth returned to Bryson’s core—a surreal sensation. He moved his arm and legs, struggling to stand. Every movement required battling the fear within him. Thusia stood with him, still gripping his arm. As more warmth spilled into Bryson, he began to question his Branian’s tactic. This felt like a lot more than she had explained.

“Can you muster up a lightning bolt?” she asked.

“I’ve been conserving my energy, so I should be able to weave a few of them.”

They watched as the skeletal wyvern nosedived toward the sea. “In this scenario, it’s not your energy or weaving abilities I’m worried about, but your mental state.”

“I think I can do it,” he said. “The visions have stopped.”

Thusia nodded. “Good. That means your spirit is being restored. On the count of three, we’ll attack together. One, two, three!”

A gale burst from Thusia’s chest and blew over the battlefield, catching the Linsani and blowing the skeleton off its path. The wyvern tumbled through the air, its shadows nearly extinguishing around its bones. A bolt of lightning struck the beast, lighting the night sky and making its bones appear black. For a brief moment, the fear inside Bryson subdued. Thusia shot three more gales through the sky, and Bryson began to weave another bolt. Then the Linsani released a scream louder than anything that had come prior.

Bryson’s eyes widened, dread suffocating him. He stepped onto the window’s ledge and gazed down the side of the towering wall, ready to step off ... to end everything.

“No, get down!” Thusia grabbed his wrist and tried to pull him back, but he somehow stayed planted on the frozen surface.

The Linsani recovered and flew directly toward Bryson and Thusia. It continued to unleash its cry, its monstrous wings spread wide and flat. At a certain distance, it pulled up, its bony feet hanging beneath it. Its jaw spread, and a mass of black erupted from its mouth. A powerful breath of fear billowed toward Bryson.

“Let me go,” Bryson said, as empty as a younger Olivia.

Just as the shadows were about to reach them, a wall of ice appeared outside the window. The wyvern’s attack was halted momentarily, but based off the gradual change of color in the barrier from white to gray, it wouldn’t last much longer. Bryson didn’t know who was responsible for the barrier, nor did he care. He only envisioned his body plastered against the ground below.

“Let me go,” he said again.

He felt someone grasp his other arm with cold, clammy fingers. Such a touch did not belong to Thusia. He gazed down to his other side and saw the same crystal crown that had belonged to the woman in his vision—the woman who had strangled his child.

Still Queen Apoleia gazed at Bryson with stern eyes, studying whatever it was concealed within him.

“I know you’ll let me jump,” Bryson said. “At least I can count on you for that.”

“I will not,” she said. “I will not allow you to do more damage to this family than I have already done. I’ve heard there’s a little you in this world now.” Her expression became solemn. “Bryson, you and your friends gave me my father back. I want to make sure that my grandchild doesn’t lose his ... especially one as powerful as you ...” A tear slid down her cheek. “Or as generous as you.”

Bryson stared at her in shock. Had he heard her correctly? He backed off the ledge, placing his feet on the room’s floor. Both Thusia’s and Apoleia’s grasp slid down to his hands. The barrier was now nothing more than a sheet of ice. The Linsani’s screech continued to drown the kingdom, but it no longer affected Bryson—not with these two women by his side.

He feared nothing.

The barrier vanished. A blast of wind emitted from Thusia’s chest and cut through the incoming shadows, clearing a sight line to the Linsani and extinguishing its shaded body. A beam of ice shot from Apoleia’s chest, colliding with the Linsani’s wings and trapping them midair. The wyvern’s skeleton hung there, trying to break free.

“Hurry!” Thusia said while the bones of the Linsani’s wings cracked the ice. “Before it rebuilds its Cynergy!”

Bryson screamed, using all of the clout he could muster up, expelling Intel Energy from every pore in his body while focusing on the weaving needed for what he was about to attempt.

Bolts of lightning struck the sea—a half dozen of them—stringing together the sky and the land like that of a puppeteer and his puppets. For a split second, it seemed as if the sun sat directly over the kingdom. A couple bolts struck the enemy forces in the distance, annihilating mass numbers of those who had tried to flee earlier. Those who didn’t die from the electricity were swallowed by the frigid sea as fissures were carved into the ice.

Most of the bolts, however, converged halfway between the sky and ground, striking the pinned Linsani from several different angles. The beast cried, but it sounded different than anything prior. It was in agonizing pain, its bones beginning to disintegrate.

Bryson rescinded his clout and gasped for air. He leaned over the window’s ledge and heaved, watching as the ashes of the wyvern’s skeleton swirled in the returning breeze. In the backdrop was chaos. Entire sections of ice turned sideways, sinking into the waters. Enemy forces fought to stay afloat before ultimately disappearing beneath the surface.

Thusia and Apoleia let go of Bryson’s hands, and he toppled over immediately.