Page 68 of Wind and Water
Rolling his eyes, Ciaran scoffs. “The weakness of these humans is disgusting.” He casts a spell and creates a sheer bubble of breathable air to encompass the three of us while the demons remain outside the protection. “They’re not much different from those creatures.” He points to the demons. “They don’t survive above for long.” The way he grins, I get the impression that he has taken pleasure in watching the demons suffocate.
Wren draws slow breaths and blinks the tears from her eyes.
My stomach lurches. They are horrible and unpleasant, but to torture anyone, let alone a lesser being, is vile. “Where are you taking us, Ciaran?”
Another baleful grin rather than answering the question.
Outside our prison cell, we walk along a precipice. Below, liquid fire boils and spits. A cacophony of wind and fire fills my head. The stench of death mixes with brimstone and sulfur. Sweat beads on my flesh, but dries before it can run. My eyes burn from the noxiousness.
This is more like Wren’s vision of Coire.
She begins to breathe normally, but her skin is gray and pale. Her lips are pulled into a tight line as if holding back pain. Fisting her hands at her sides, she shuffles after Ciaran without a word.
I long to open my mind to her and comfort her, but I keep my thoughts and worries to myself, rather than risk letting anyone here know the depth of my connection to Wren. They would onlyuse it to attack us. The less they know, the better our chances of escaping are.
In some places, the precipice narrows to barely a foot wide. Wren hesitates.
Ciaran grabs her by the hair and drags her across the twenty-foot span.
Wren screams and clutches her hair, trying to free herself.
“Stupid human with all your fears and frailties.”
When he releases her, she stumbles to the hard ground and grips her head. After a moment, she looks at him. There is no fear in her gaze, only rage.
I have seen her fight and win. I’ve seen her anger and joy. This pure hatred is something new. It’s a part of her she has never shared with me, and I can’t say I mind. While I love all of Wren Martin with my entire being, to see her wrath, I’m glad it’s not directed at me.
For one instant, Ciaran’s jaw goes slack and his eyes widen. He might even regret his words and actions. In a flash, he fears this human woman whom he’s shown only contempt. With a hesitation, he shakes his head and puts his mask of indifference in place. “Get up before I do you real harm,chosen one.” The last words are filled with sarcasm.
I wrap my hand around Wren’s upper arm and help her to her feet. It takes all my energy not to use every bit of my remaining magic and send Ciaran into the fiery pits beneath us. Reminding myself that doing so would cause more harm than good, I know this pig’s time will come. If I’m lucky, it will be my sword that slits his throat.
Killing has never been something I longed for, but for him, I’ll make an exception. Watching life flow out of his treacherous eyes will soothe my soul.
Wren and I walk on with the demons surrounding us and Ciaran outside of the bubble. It’s clear he has spent enoughtime here that he’s used to the gases. There’s satisfaction in his preference for putrid air over being close to us.
Leaning in, I whisper, “I think you scared him.”
A hint of a smile pulls at her sweet lips. “Good.”
We reach black doors that stand fifteen feet high. Ciaran pushes the center, and they open. Back straight and chin high, he steps inside.
Hesitant, we don’t move. A demon pokes me with the back of his spear.
Wren’s arm in my grasp, we go inside.
The foul smells dissipate. The bubble around us evaporates. The room is lavish with every inch of wall space draped in red and black fabric. A similarly curtained bed sits against the wall, featuring black bedding and red pillows piled high. At the far side of the room, a chair large enough to be called a throne glows gold with black cushions. It sits on a dais but is empty.
Here, no primitive torches are burning in metal loops, as magic lights the space with the glow of pure white stones. I’ve only seen such creations in the mountain where the oracle lives. It’s not like the magical fires that burn throughout my parents’ home or the rocks heated with magic used instead of open flame. It cannot even be compared to the bulbs I first saw when I went to the human world. The white stones are old magic, and until now, I believed they could only be created with oracle magic or by the old gods themselves.
How did Venora get them? My gut tightens.
At the center of the room glows a rectangular pool with heat rising from its foreign contents, which roil like the sea.
My skin prickles with the vibration of dark magic flowing from the unnatural pool.
Bouncing like giant, deranged fleas about to leap on a new dog host, the demons stay just outside the open doors. Their eyes glow bright red, as if lit from Coire’s fires.
Ciaran strides to the other end of the pool and lays his sword on a table. He removes a dagger from his hip and places it there as well. “You will see that this is the way of the new world my queen has created. You will wish to kneel before her once you learn of her true greatness.” The awe in his voice is nauseating.
