Page 88 of Storm of Blood and Shadow

The Mordvorren has never been able to fully control my body for more than a few minutes. If I can keep my purpose clearand lock down my emotions, I should be able to triumph over it one last time.

“I don’t know how this will end,” I tell Jessiva as we mount higher and higher into the sky, above the split peak of the Twin Fangs.

“I’m prepared for whatever happens,” she says. “I know what’s at stake, and what we’re risking. This is something you need to do, and I’m with you.”

She doesn’t say anything else—no flowery words, last goodbyes, or further vows of love. That’s not who she is. Her confession to me earlier was more than enough, and I cherish those words in my heart as I flap my wings harder, climbing the wall of the dark sky.

I’m glad my wings are at their full size now, although flying in my human form, with its smaller wings, was an interesting experience. I’d like to replicate it sometime when we’re not about to die.

The Mordvorren is fighting me, clawing at my consciousness with guilt and self-hatred—but I let it rage. Now that I know where the ancestral voratrice is, I can set aside the emotions connected to my mother’s death, and I can focus everything on this singular goal—to avenge her. It feels strangely fitting that true vengeance isn’t fiery, after all—it is cold, cerebral, and vast as the void in my soul.

“That’s high enough,” says Jessiva faintly, and I dip a little lower, knowing she’s probably beyond her limits. That’s the kind of person she is—pushing herself to the edge for those she loves.

The Mordvorren batters the inside of my skull, but it’s weaker now.Pathetic, I tell it coolly.

Holding myself steady with rhythmic wingbeats, I stretch my neck down toward the island, aiming at the hollow I created when I was out of my mind. That’s my target, and I blast it, not with a single huge orb, but with a pulsing stream of void orbs,carefully timed. I shoot them one after another, and they barrel into the ground, sucking up earth and rock, each one penetrating deeper than the last.

A crater forms, widening and deepening as I continue to pelt the island with void magic, tunneling into its center. I can feel myself approaching the limits of my energy.

I’ve been focusing so hard on holding the Mordvorren inside, restraining it, and limiting its control of my thoughts, that I never tried releasing some of it. I was afraid if I tried, the entire storm would come pouring out of my throat. That risk still weighs on me, but in this hour of cold, unerring purpose, I am brave enough for the attempt.

Instead of repressing the Mordvorren, I turn on it, draw from it, and cannibalize its energy to fuel my own. The switch in my head, from holding it back to siphoning its power, is so swift that it has no time to stop me—not with our current altitude weakening its consciousness.

With its energy harnessed to my goals, I continue to pummel the island with void magic.

The forested slopes of East Fang are nearly gone, and in the island’s center is a round, deep hole. I’m careful not to break the edges of the island. I don’t want the ocean pouring in and ruining everything. I want to see the creature when I uncover it.

A voratrice den usually has telltale signs—openings in the earth, burrows from which its necks and mouths emerge every night. But if Jessiva and I are right, this great voratrice has no need for such openings. Its roots extend far beneath the ocean, running all the way to Ouroskelle and the surrounding islands. Every voratrice we’ve ever encountered, every core that has ever formed, is part of this one. They absorb the food they capture, but they also funnel nutrients back to this giant locus, this vast stomach, this malevolent brain that orchestrates it all.

If I destroy this one, all the voratrix will die. They will no longer take our prey, and no dragons will fall into their clutches, ever again.

But the hole in the island is below sea level now, sinking ever deeper, with no sign of any creature. It’s just a tunnel into the ground, its sides smoothed by the devouring magic of the void orbs.

I hesitate, but Jessiva says fiercely, “Don’t give up. Go deeper. Keep digging.”

My body shudders with the effort, but I manage to summon another void orb, and then another.

As the second one strikes, sucking in soil and rocks, its implosion exposes a huge, gnarled mound, like the shell of a gigantic nut, wreathed in bristly ridges. What’s left of the East Fang mountain trembles, and the ocean quakes as the creature rumbles in its hole, disturbed by the impact. My void orb wasn’t strong enough to dislodge it, even a little, but it’s exposed now. It’s real.

“Yes!” screams Jessiva, bouncing on my back. Her excitement spurs my own, and with renewed resolve I send a series of smaller void orbs along the edges of the crater, digging the creature out a bit more.

I underestimated the scope of the monster. Judging by the curvature of the part I can see, ninety percent of its body remains hidden below the ocean floor.

“It’s like a huge round turnip buried in the earth, and we just brushed a bit of dirt off the very top of it,” says Jessiva.

“There’s no way to unearth the whole thing,” I reply.

“You don’t have to. Like I said, you just need to crack it open. It looks tough, but it’s been covered up and protected all these years. It’s not used to being attacked directly. Try the lightning.”

My void magic might be running dry, but thanks to the Mordvorren, I have access to plenty of lightning, and it’s the strongest kind that exists in this world—strong enough to pierce a dragon’s hide—or perhaps a voratrice’s shell.

I open the channel of my magic wider, deeper, into the heart of my personal darkness where the Mordvorren dwells.

Its consciousness is still linked to mine, but it’s unsettled now, fragmented, its voice coming in bursts of unintelligible nonsense. It has lost its power over me, its leverage. When I confessed to Jessiva and cried in her arms, when she told me she loved me and said my mother forgave me, that wound healed. There is a scar that will never vanish, but it is not deep enough to offer the entity a foothold.

The Mordvorren howls as I drag it forth, as I tear away its lightning, unspooling its winds and its thunder for my benefit. Shadows flow from my jaws and throat, a great column of pitch-black cloud streaming down into the crater on the island. At the center of that smoky column is a piercing beam of pure, searing light—lightning condensed into a ray sharper than any blade.

My sister Vylar wielded such rays of focused light. I have never produced one before, and my heart races at the sight. It’s as if she’s here, guiding me.

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