C.E. Murphy - Mountain Echoes

Shields. God in Heaven, but I was dim sometimes. My magic sword was useless, but it wasn’t the only weapon in my repertoire. The wight reached for me with a sizzling fingertip, and I lopped it off with the edge of a small, round, sharpened shield.

Copper, embedded with gold and purple. It was born of the Purple Heart medal Gary had won in the Korean War and had given to me as a protective amulet, and of the copper bracelet my father had given me when I was a teenager. It waeenall, rounsn’t magic like the sword. It hadn’t been forged by an elf king out of silver taken from his arm of living silver. It was a stronger and simpler magic than that: made of gifts from the heart and meant to protect a loved one.

I grabbed one side and swung it, Captain America style. The razored edge sliced through the wight’s throat, and my second blow knocked its head off. I lifted the shield in both hands and brought it down, vivisecting the head, and turned away confident that being split in half was as effective as a bullet to the brain.

The military guy had gotten the upper hand with Ada, but had a look of intense frustration as he held her off. He obviously didn’t want to hurt her, and her shrieks about Aidan being her son explained why she’d attacked him. On the other hand, Aidan was clearly a source of trouble, and military training said to take down the troublemakers. If it weren’t for the fear of leaving Ada totally vulnerable to attack, I might have tried knocking her out with magic just to remove her captor’s quandary. On the other hand, that would probably leave Aidan open to attack, too, which also was an undesirable scenario.

The whole forest was alight with undesirable scenarios, really. Morrison, Sara and Les were back-to-back-to-back, shooting wights from a three-point defensive position. The surviving military guys were, too, all of them concentrating on the ground game instead of looking skyward. Dad appeared to be scrambling around dead people in a panic.

Captain Montenegro was one of them.

I stared uncomprehendingly at her body for a few seconds. I’d just met her. She’d been so alive and so smart, so glad to embrace the world opening up in front of her, and it had killed her within minutes. There was a scar on her forehead, an ash mark left by one of the wights. She had to be burned before dawn, or she would rise as one of them.

Right then I hated magic. Hated it straight to the bottom of my soul, with a blind rage that went beyond comprehension. Right then I wanted to wipe all the magic out of the world, just so shit like this didn’t happen. I had gotten so many people killed. Marie d’Acanto. Colin Johannsen. Caroline Holliday. My mother. Captain Sandra Montenegro. And nothing I did seemed to stop it, no matter how hard I tried. People kept dying, dying because magic interfered with their lives. Because I had interfered with their lives. And I was supposed to be the good guy.

Calm locked into the depths of my fury and said, You could do it, you know. You could take the magic away. The Sight flared up, stronger than usual, and highlighted the animistic power in everything. The purpose in existence, the continuation from then to now, the strength of magic that flowed through everything. It was a vast continuous net running through the whole world, and I was good with nets. My hands clawed, gathering up those threads, ready to yank them all out and twist them dry. Power roared into me, reigniting the deep magic that I’d burned out with the flying car stunt. I wanted to finish it. I wanted people to stop dying. I wanted to stop being responsible. All I had to do was give one impossibly hard yank. I was faintly aware it would probably kill me, but at least everything else would be done too.

Morrison glanced my way, his eyes still bright gold with the Sight I’d set on him earlier. He didn’t hesitate, just stepped away from Les and Sara, letting them close ranks as he left the firefight and came to me.

The threads of life and light that nd epped awayI held ran through him, too. Tugged at him when I yanked on them, like I was pulling him toward me. His aura jounced when I did that, slipping a little free of his body. He stumbled, then straightened and kept coming. Even through rage and frustration, I didn’t like to see him stumble, so I didn’t pull again. Not yet, anyway.

When he reached me, he put both hands against my face and whispered, “Let it go, Joanie. Let it go. This is Kolona Ayeliski, not you. This is Raven Mocker, trying to turn you like he’s doing to Aidan. I can See it, Walker. Listen to me, and let it go.”

Then he kissed me, and my rage turned into tears.

They didn’t last. We didn’t have time for them to last, but they were hot and fierce enough to make me let go of the terrible magic I was holding, to release the dangerous temptation I’d been about to give in to. The net faded, but the supercharge remained: I’d filled up again and had enough power to wield, though I had no idea how long it might last.

The gold faded from Morrison’s eyes and he kissed me again, then put an arm around my shoulder and pressed his lips against my forehead. “I know it’s not all right, Walker. I know it’s not okay, but it’s the hand we’re dealt. Stop the wights. Save Aidan. Show Montenegro’s spirit that you were worth fighting for.”

“The tribe is coming.” I sounded wrung out. “I felt them in the magic. They’ve left the caves and they’re on the way here. They’re going to end this. They’re going to start a war.”

“We won’t let them.” Morrison, in turn, sounded confident, even though I had no clue how he could possibly stop an armed, magic-maddened mob of hundreds.

Instead of asking, I said, “Okay,” because I didn’t have the heart to be told he didn’t know how to do it, either. I tried to pull myself together, looking beyond Morrison at the fight.

It was all going to hell. Les and Sara had run out of bullets and picked up sticks, which at least let them keep the wights more than an arm’s length away. The military survivor had given up and presumably clobbered Ada, and was now standing over her limp form, shooting anything that came near them. Dad, bizarrely, was standing several yards away looking serene. I had no idea what his deal was, and didn’t care enough to find out. And Aidan, who had never hit the earth again after bursting out of it, was still hovering about forty feet above the ground, body arched in an exultation of power.

The good news was there were only about a dozen wights left. The bad news was they were abandoning the fight and rising toward Aidan, spinning counterclockwise around him. I didn’t need the Sight to know that couldn’t be a good sign. The military guy sighted carefully and shot at one of them.

The bullet spanged off it just like Danny’s had done off the helicopter. I Saw a hint of its trajectory as it was deflected into a tree, and watched a puff of splinters explode out as it hit. “Cease fire, soldier.”

I felt very professional, or something, when he did, although his expression was highly dubious: Who was I to be giving orders, especially with his commander dead? I pointed at the drifting splinters. “That one bounced into a tree. If we’re unlucky, another one might hit one of us. Cease fire unless they attack us again.” I no longer sounded wrung out. I sounded preternaturally calm, which kind of worr theee. ied me. It did not, however, worry the military guy, who looked somewhat reassured and stopped shooting wights. If only I had somebody being calm and telling me what to do.

But I didn’t, so I pulled it together and barked, “Dad, report!” Apparently having military people around gave me a brand-new vocabulary. Who knew?