Page 97 of Runaway Magic
At Cym’s quizzical look, he clarified, “For me, not for you. I’m going to have to go back in there”—he pointed to the scene ahead of them. It had cycled back around to the monster on the moor—“and face my own demons. All you have to do is stay with me. Don’t let go of my hand, and focus on your magic. Imagine it flowing to me, but not into me. I’ll take it from there. Adelle was right to want you here. If you hadn’t dropped into my lap, I don’t think I could have done this.”
“You are planning on explaining these cryptic statements at some point, right?”
“The moment your soldier boy lets you up for air, you come find me, and I’ll explain it all,” Marshall said, with laughter in his eyes.
Cym felt his cheeks go red, but he didn’t protest. He already knew what he wanted. He just hoped it was what Fourteen wanted too.
Gripping Cym’s hand tightly, Marshall asked, “Ready?”
At his affirmative, Marshall squared his shoulders and strode toward the battling figures on the moor. The wind picked up the moment they stepped forward, and soon Cym was holding on toMarshall, not just to support him magically, but to keep from getting blown away. Marshall pulled Cym close to his side and arranged it so he had one arm around Cym’s small form while holding tight to him with his other hand.
Cym burrowed into his warmth and focused all his attention on keeping his magic from invading Marshall’s. It was only slightly less exhausting than pulling it back, so it wasn’t long before Marshall was supporting most of his weight. Marshall was just as big as Fourteen and didn’t seem to notice the added weight.
In fact, he didn’t seem to notice Cym at all. Instead, Marshall’s attention was completely focused on the tall, gangly man throwing fistfuls of raw magic at a creature that appeared to be made up entirely of rock. Random flashes from the battle illuminated Marshall’s now-expressionless face. Cym felt a pull at his center, and he fought hard to keep his magic from mixing with Marshall’s.
They were right at the base of the tree now, standing next to the memory image of Marshall lying prone on the ground. Marshall’s father was only yards away chipping away at the demon, piece by piece.
Marshall bent down to touch the yellow shield covering his memory self, keeping Cym tucked up against his body. Cym felt his body shake and saw tears falling down Marshall’s face.
“Just take it off,” Marshall whispered. Then he stood, dragging Cym with him, and turned toward the battle that was nearly on top of them. “Dad, take it off!” he shouted brokenly.
A massive shard from the monster cracked off and crashed through the area they were standing, leaving them unscathed, but taking out the tree above memory-Marshall. The shield protecting him flared as it absorbed the impact.
A massive pull on his magic had Cym disoriented. After a moment, he felt like the scene had shifted, but he couldn’t placehow. Then Cym shouted, “Take it off!” with a voice that was not his own.
An internal check showed him that, not only was his magic bleeding into Marshall’s, but the two were so entwined there was almost no pink or blue anymore, just a swirling purple that seemed endless.
Grief and guilt swelled in Cym’s heart with an intensity that overwhelmed him. He wanted to curl up in a ball and die. There was no point to them being there. What use were they to anyone? What good was magic if it couldn’t protect the ones they loved? The world would be a better place if they weren’t in it. Surely their loved ones would be safer if they weren’t constantly needing to sacrifice themselves for them.
Cym was lost. He couldn’t tell which thoughts and emotions were his and which were Marshall’s. All he… they could feel was pain. And around the edges of the pain was… joy?
Cym had to fight through pain, anguish, and the unbearable weight of existence to separate from Marshall enough to reach the joy, but once he did, he inspected it and found it was laced with white, cancerous evil. Camped right on the edge of the field was a familiar, monstrous presence.
Sekt.
The demon was feeding off Marshall’s pain with the joy of a child at Christmas time.
Grief-guilt-self-loathing.
Marshall’s emotions reeled Cym back in, but now he knew what he was facing, and he fought his way free faster. Cym couldn’t allow this to happen to Marshall. He’d been marinating in the man’s soul, and the core of it was filled with such kindness and gentleness that what was happening to him made Cym want to cry. There was nothing this man had done to deserve being literally eaten alive by guilt.
What could Cym do? All he had was himself, and that wasn’t worth much in a fight like this. Maybe Marshall had something more offensive at his disposal, but he was trapped in despair and didn’t seem likely to come to the rescue right now… Did Cym dare use Marshall’s power? He was connected so closely with Marshall that he should be able to. But would it be like the cemetery all over again?
Cym shoved the thought away ruthlessly. Overthinking right now was going to get people killed. He would do it because he had no other option. Cym just prayed it would turn out better than it had at the cemetery.
Cym searched for the endless wellspring of purple he shared with Marshall, and—inspired by Marshall’s father—grabbed a handful, and threw it at the demon.
The demon’s joy turned to a rage that quickly ate through the power Cym had thrown. Left with no other option, Cym grabbed another handful of the shimmering purple magic and threw it. Sekt roared angrily, and the purple melted away like a snowball in a fire.
Cym was only irritating Sekt with his actions, and that wasn’t going to get them out of Marshall’s nightmare world. Angrily, he switched tactics. Reaching inside once more, he pulled on their magic, but instead of breaking off a chunk, he pulled on it and kept pulling, treating it like taffy. Once he thought he had enough, he threw it at the demon like a lasso.
Rather than tying it up, once the rope reached Sekt, the magic shimmered and flowed out like a purple blanket and covered the demon, surrounding it and trapping it while continuing to pump what seemed like an endless supply of magic at the demon.
“That’s one way to do it,” a voice said, and Cym realized it was Marshall. The realization sent Cym tumbling back inside his own body, but he could still feel Marshall’s grief like it was hisown. “But unless I can get him out of me, he’ll keep feeding until we both die.”
A wave of guilt nearly sucked Cym back into Marshall’s body, but he managed to hold onto himself. “No more of that, mister,” Cym snapped. “You didn’t do this. None of what I’ve seen here has been your fault.
The scene switched to the gutted house in suburbia, and Marshall said, “This was my fault. If I’d been stronger…”
