Page 113 of Frost Like Night
Ceridwen shoved to her feet. The Decay filled every corner of her body so thoroughly, she thought she might burst from the burden of it, full of such endless, glorious strength that the world would stand in awe of her destruction as they would a wildfire desecrating a forest.
She was a flame, and she was the fuel, and she was the light that would blind every sad, weak creature in Primoria.
If all of Angra’s allies felt this good, no wonder they’d sided with him.
Ceridwen shook her head.No; remember all he’s done. Remember who he is.
But this is power. THIS is strength. I’ve never had this before.
Ceridwen found herself running, barreling for the Autumn-Yakim-Summer army ahead. Any retreating had stopped, most soldiers now squirming in war with their minds as Angra’s Decay pummeled for control. He still stood on the battlefield, black snakes of magic streaming out of him, his face swelling with demented joy.
This is power. This is strength. And these people are fighting it. They deserve to die.
No!
But Ceridwen’s protest went unheard by her body, and she felt her legs propel her toward a group of Summerian fighters. They grunted and sweated but held, resisting Angra with more finesse than most, thanks to their years of fighting Simon’s magic.
They need to die for it.
NO!
She leaped at them, and they saw her coming, their eyes registering their leader in a sweep of awareness. But they couldn’t process her attacking them—she, of all of them, should have been the last to fall to Angra, and truly, that was the only reason she had any clarity at all now.
“Run!”she screamed at them, one garbled plea that shot through the hatred burning in her. Flame and heat, she hadn’t even hated Raelyn with this much passion—but she hatedthem, these ignorant, righteous idiots who would keep the world weak.
Ceridwen punched one of the Summerians, who fell to the ground, stunned at her attack. The rest moved to help him, fighting as best they could, but she was augmented like all of Angra’s other puppets now. She was unstoppable, and burn it all, shefeltunstoppable.
Stop! They aren’t your enemy!
A body slammed into her, tackling her on the Autumn side of the field.
“Ceridwen!” Lekan shouted and pinned her arms by her head. Others joined him, helped him hold her to the ground. “Cerie, stop!”
She wailed, thrashing under him. He was weak too. He’d never understand theneedshe felt, how this power came with the responsibility to use it—and use it she would.
“Cerie, we need you,” Lekan pleaded. Blood spread across his forehead, mud caked in a tan-black coat down his neck. “This isn’t you, but you’re the strongest person I know. You can fight Angra.”
That name spoke to the magic in her. Angra deserved this power. Only Angra could wield it.
“He’s the enemy,” she forced herself to say, out loud. Ceridwen dragged those words into her heart, compelling them to stay just as strong and relentless as the hatred that still urged her to attack Lekan and the Summerians.
Lekan nodded, but part of him slouched, defeated. “Bind her,” he told one of the men holding her. “We can’t afford to—”
They lifted Ceridwen, and Lekan continued giving orders, but she bade herself to ignore them. She didn’t want to hear any information that the Decay could make her use against them.
The battle begged for her attention, anyway. What was left of their army had merged around them into a tightcluster of the most persistent fighters, those who could ward off Angra’s Decay by strength of will. Caspar stood nearby, shouting with some of his remaining generals. Less than half of their original numbers still stood, which went beyond tragic—it was an exercise in suicide.
Their soldiers fought, but more fell than enemies. Their soldiers resisted, but every few seconds, one turned on their brethren in the same ferocious hatred that had possessed Ceridwen. Cannons tore through their cluster, leveling half a dozen soldiers at a time.
Angra stood in the center of his army, elevated on a stack of barrels or a crate or maybe the backs of the soldiers he had killed, his arms stretched, the Decay still gushing out of him. His joy had broken, the slightest strain showing, but that didn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him.
Ceridwen realized that now—nothing could defeat him.
Not even Meira.
34
Meira
