P.C. Cast - Burned

“Stark, come back!”

“Can’t do that, Z. I got something to take care of.”

“What? I don’t understand!”

“I’m gonna kick some immortal ass. For you, for me, and for Heath.”

“But you can’t! You can’t beat Kalona.”

“You’re probably right, Z. I can’t. But you can .” Stark threw wide his arms and yelled into Nyx’s sky. “Come on, Kalona! I know you’re here! Come get me. It’s the only way you’re going to be sure Zoey won’t get back, ’cause as long as I’m alive I’m gonna fight to save her!”

The sky above Stark rippled, and the pristine blue began to gray. Tendrils of Darkness, like smoke from a toxic fire, spread, thickened, and took form. His wings appeared first. Massive, black, and unfurled, they blotted out the golden light of the Goddess’s sun. Then Kalona’s body formed—bigger, stronger, more dangerous-looking than Stark had remembered.

Still hovering above Stark, Kalona smiled. “So, it is you, boy. You sacrificed yourself to follow her here. My work is done. Your death traps her here more easily than I ever could have.”

“Wrong, asshole. I’m not dead. I’m alive, and I’m gonna stay that way. So is Zoey.”

Kalona’s eyes narrowed. “Zoey will not leave the Otherworld.”

“Yeah, well, I’m here to make sure you’re wrong again.”

“Stark! Get back in here!” Zoey shouted from just inside the boundary of the grove.

Kalona’s gaze went to her. He sounded sad, almost heartsick when he spoke. “It would have been an easier thing for her had you let the human boy do my will.”

“That’s the problem with you, Kalona. You have that god-complex thing going on. Or, no, I guess I should call it a God dess complex you got. See, just because you’re immortal, it doesn’t make you in charge. Actually in your case, it just makes you wrong for a really, really long time.”

Slowly, Kalona shifted his gaze from Zoey to Stark. The immortal’s amber-colored eyes had gone flat and cold with anger. “You are making a mistake, boy.”

“I’m not a boy anymore.” Stark’s tone matched Kalona’s.

“You’ll always be a boy to me. Insignificant, weak, mortal .”

“Which makes you wrong three times in a row, mortal doesn’t mean weak. Come on down here and let me prove that to you.”

“Very well, boy. Let the pain this causes Zoey be on your soul, not mine.”

“Yeah, ’cause I’d hate for you to fucking take responsibility for any of the messed-up shit you’ve done!”

As Stark knew it would, his taunt pushed Kalona’s simmering rage to boiling. He roared at Stark, “Do not dare speak to me of my past!”

The immortal stretched out his arm, and from the Darkness writhing in the air around him, plucked a spear, tipped by metal that glistened wickedly, black as a moonless sky. Then Kalona dropped from the sky.

Instead of landing in front of Stark, his massive wings swept down and forward, slicing the ground in a perfect circle around Stark. Under his feet, the earth shuddered and then disintegrated, and like hell opening beneath him, Stark was falling down . . . down.

He hit bottom with such force his breath was knocked from him, and his vision grayed. He struggled to stand as he heard mocking laughter all around him.

“Just a small, weak boy trying to play with me. This won’t even be amusing,” Kalona said.

Arrogant. He’s more arrogant than I ever was.

And with the thought of what he had been, and what he’d already defeated, Stark’s chest loosened. He was able to draw breath. His vision cleared in time to see a flash of brilliant light pierce the darkness between him and Kalona, and the Guardian claymore was there, blade driven in the earth at his feet.

Stark grasped the hilt and felt it instantly, the warmth and the pulse of his heartbeat as the claymore, his claymore, sang in tune with his blood.

He looked at Kalona and saw surprise in the immortal’s amber eyes.

“I told you I wasn’t a boy anymore.” Without hesitation, Stark strode forward, holding the claymore with both hands, perfectly centered on the geometrical strike lines that coalesced over Kalona’s body.

The shock I felt when Kalona materialized above Stark was terrible. The sight of him brought back everything that had happened in that last moment on that last day, before my world exploded in death and despair and guilt. Fully formed, his amber gaze met mine, and I was frozen by the sadness I saw there, and by the memory of how I’d looked into his eyes before and believed I’d glimpsed humanity, kindness, even love.

I’d been so, so wrong.

Heath had died because of how wrong I’d been.

Then Kalona’s gaze moved from me back to Stark, as my Warrior taunted him.

No! Oh, Goddess! Please make him be quiet. Please make him run back to me.

But Stark seemed to like taunting Kalona. He wouldn’t shut up; he didn’t run. Horror filled me as Kalona plucked the spear from the sky. His wings cut a hole in the ground and then he and Stark disappeared into its blackness.

It was then I realized that Stark was also going to die because of me.

“ No! ” The soundless scream tore from deep inside me, where everything felt empty and hopeless and restless. I needed to run—to keep moving—to escape from what was happening here.

I couldn’t handle it. There wasn’t enough of me left to handle it.

But if I didn’t handle it, Stark would die.

“No.” This time the word wasn’t a ghostly, soundless scream. It was my voice— my voice, and not that awful not-here crap that had been babbling out of my mouth.

“Stark. Can. Not. Die.” I tasted the words and followed their form and familiarity, listening for myself, as I stepped from the grove and headed to the black hole in the ground inside of which my Warrior had disappeared.

When the hole opened at my feet, I looked down to see Stark and Kalona facing each other in the middle of it. Stark was holding a gleaming sword in both of his hands against Kalona’s dark spear.

I realized then that it wasn’t just a hole in the ground. It was an arena. Kalona had created an arena with high walls, unbroken and slick. Walls that couldn’t be climbed.

Kalona had Stark trapped. Now he couldn’t run, even if he would listen to me. He couldn’t escape. He also couldn’t possibly win. And Kalona wouldn’t be happy with beating Stark up a little—or even a lot. Kalona meant to kill Stark.

The restless numbness started to smother me again as Stark faced Kalona. I let my feet move but forced myself to stay where I could see the adversaries, walking the circumference of the arena as, unbelievably, Stark attacked the fallen immortal.

Laughing cruelly, Kalona deflected the sword with a flick of the spear, and with a movement so blindingly fast there was no way Stark could have seen it coming, Kalona smashed his open hand into Stark’s face with ferocious, sneering disdain. Stark’s forward momentum carried him awkwardly past the immortal, and he fell to the ground, holding his hands over his ears like he was trying to ease the pain in his head.

“A Guardian claymore—that’s amusing. So you think you can stand with them?” Kalona spoke while Stark regained his balance and turned to face him again, his sword held up before him.

Blood trickled from Stark’s ears, nose, and lips, making thin scarlet threads down his chin and neck. “I don’t think I’m a Guardian. I am a Guardian.”

“You can’t be. I know your past, boy. I’ve seen you embrace Darkness. Tell the Guardians about that and then see if they still want you.”