Reap the Wind (51 page)

One landed in the dust outside the archway, but I didn’t look at it. I was looking at Pritkin, who was staring at the remains with the shell-shocked look of a guy who hasn’t seen that sort of thing before and would be okay with not seeing it again. And then he was grabbing me and I was tackling him back, because no, no, no, the forest was not where we needed to go.

“The portal,” I gasped, because he wasn’t underestimating me this time, and tired or not, he was stronger.

“We’re never going to get to the portal!” he yelled, not bothering to lower his voice this time, because the wind was already so wild, it didn’t matter anymore.

And then neither did Pritkin’s escape attempt, which was suddenly moot in a major way. The whirlwind that had destroyed the fey had spread out, ripping through the forest as it began circling the old stones like a cyclone and moving inward. It was like being at the eye of a hurricane, or more likely, the center of a noose that was quickly tightening.

Somebody else didn’t like the Svarestri going to earth, and they weren’t playing.

I tightened my grip on Pritkin, who had jerked us back inside the arch, the only cover available. But it wouldn’t make a difference in a minute, and his expression said he knew that. He was staring in disbelief at the wind, which was already uprooting huge trees and turning them into flying shrapnel, which was sending the outlying boulders bouncing around like pebbles, which was turning the whole perimeter of the ruins into a whirl of black and green and, increasingly, red.

“Hold on!” I said as dust rose up like clouds to choke us.

Pritkin didn’t reply. I doubted he heard. I couldn’t even hear myself. But I could feel my power reaching for me, as desperate to touch me as I was to go to it, but not quite able to make it. But that didn’t matter as much anymore, because I knew the score now. I knew that, in faerie, I couldn’t touch it, but I could ride the ripples caused by trying.

I just didn’t know if I could do it fast enough and take someone else along for the ride.

But it was the only shot we had, and the one I’d been playing for ever since I made that scream, because I wasn’t leaving him behind. I wasn’t, even though my new trick didn’t seem to be working this time, the waves it generated not strong enough to lift two. But it was
going
to lift two; it was going to if it ripped me apart in the process, and it kind of felt like it might. The strain had me gasping and panting and then screaming in pain, to the point that I barely understood that we were moving again, that Pritkin was dragging me even as I did my best to drag him. Only he was taking me somewhere physically and I was trying to access the metaphysical tide that wouldn’t . . . freaking . . .
come—

And there were Svarestri now, running all around us. I noticed them the way you’d notice a nurse entering a room where you’re being operated on without anesthetic. They didn’t matter . . . didn’t matter. And I guess they felt the same way about us, maybe because the storm was hard on our heels.

But it didn’t matter, either. Nothing did except for that portal, but if it was where Pritkin was trying to take us, it wasn’t going to work. Because the Svarestri had the same idea and were crowding against it, a mass of formerly rigidly controlled creatures who had suddenly become a thrashing, tearing, yelling mob. And we weren’t getting past that; we just weren’t.

And we didn’t.

We went through it.

A second before the storm ripped us to pieces, another sort of storm grabbed us. And I wasn’t sure it was much of an improvement, because my power had ceased to be ripples in a swimming pool and was now lashing at the barrier between worlds like twenty-foot seas in a typhoon in response to my increasingly frantic calls. I didn’t know if I could control it anymore, was pretty sure I couldn’t, in fact, but it was too late because it
had
us—

And then I lost it.

I lost it, and we fell to the ground.

Or maybe
into
the ground would be more like it, as a tsunami of dirt was suddenly thrown up like a wall, all on one side. I looked around desperately for the portal but didn’t see it. I suddenly couldn’t see anything except another wall of dirt erupting from the ground, like a mountain being created out of nothing.

Only it wasn’t nothing. It was the debris from a crack in the earth big enough to drive a car through. It was trying to swallow us while another mountain was trying to bury us and we were sliding and climbing and running and falling and getting back up, because the crack was gaining.

Someone screamed as he was swallowed, just behind us. Someone else went flying through the air as a cyclone grabbed him. And the wind was roaring and dust was flying and I couldn’t see anything, not anything—until another dirt wall shot up, blocking our path. Or it would have, except we were already on top of the ground it seemed to want, and we shot up along with it.

For a second, we were flying, the sheer force of the swell flinging us up and then over before we hit back down, hard enough to leave me rattled. But Pritkin pulled me to my feet and we ran some more, blind and choking and with no idea, no idea—

Until we suddenly cleared the cloud and I saw it, out of whatever was left of my vision. I smeared a mountain’s worth of dirt across my face to stare at it in disbelief, before Pritkin all but threw me down the grassy incline and into—

Water.

Sweet, cool, familiar.

Because there was the bank and there were the trees and there was the goddamned
mill
I’d honestly never thought to see again and—

And it had worked.

It had worked!

We were back.

The water ran over my filthy hands, like something out of a dream, clear and cold and almost miraculous after the pound of dirt I’d just swallowed. I just sat there a minute, listening to Armageddon taking place somewhere in the distance and looking at Pritkin looking back at me. He’d gone from forest sprite to commando: blackened face and body and hair slick with the mud we’d made when our dirt-covered selves hit the water.

I probably wasn’t any better, and my shoulder hurt like hell again, probably because I’d hit it a few dozen times. And it felt like my left ankle might be sprained or possibly broken. And my lip was swelling up, like I must have bitten it at some point, and it was hard to breathe.

And I didn’t care.

I grinned tremulously at Pritkin and got a flash of white teeth in return.

The moon was full and visible through a haze of dust, filtering down on an incongruously peaceful scene. We couldn’t see over the high bank, but it sounded like the battle was trending away from us. And the water felt like balm on my bruised body. And I still couldn’t quite believe it.

It seemed like a miracle.

Well, sort of a miracle, I thought, as a Svarestri leapt down the bank at us.

And, before I could blink, was torn off his trajectory and slammed into a nearby tree, still burning from the bolt through his heart.

But I didn’t let out the breath I’d been holding, because someone else was there a second later. Someone new. Someone with golden armor incised with designs I didn’t know, and golden hair, and a face more human than the other fey’s, so human it might have fooled me except for an otherworldly beauty so great that even here, even now, it made me stop and stare in wonder.

Sharp green eyes played over the riverbank where Pritkin and I lay, motionless. Pritkin’s hand clenched on my thigh, but I didn’t need it. My hand had been outstretched on the bank in front of me. Had been, but wasn’t now, because now we were in water and back on earth and the illusion Pritkin had crafted was so pure, so perfect, that for a second even I didn’t believe we were there.

I guess the fey must have agreed, because the next time I blinked, he was gone.

And I collapsed against the bank, gasping for breath.

“Sky Lord,” Pritkin whispered, almost inaudible despite being right in front of me.

“No shit!” I whispered back, when I could talk.

And then, slowly, slowly, we crawled to the top of the muddy incline. And peered over the top. And saw . . .

A battle like nothing I’d ever witnessed or dared imagine.

What looked like entire mountains were being ripped out of place and thrown at beings who threw them back, aided by cyclones of power that tore at my hair and threatened to send my body flying, despite the fact that the main battle had to be half a mile away now. Lightning tore at the sky, and then through a column of Svarestri, crackling over armor that, for once, mostly held. Except for one guy at the end, who must have already had his weakened, and who was knocked back twenty feet or more.

But the others kept fighting, and a column of golden warriors suddenly disappeared into a fissure in the earth, which immediately closed over them. But they burst back out of it a moment later, not all of them but most of them, in the middle of miniature cyclones that allowed them to tear through the air and flank the Svarestri. Who were slowly being beaten back, toward the portal hovering in the air where there had once been a hill and was now a blown-out cavern.

The warrior we’d seen a moment before with the fancy armor seemed to be directing the fight, but he kept looking back this way, as if something puzzled him. As if he couldn’t see us but nonetheless knew we were there. Pritkin must have gotten the same idea, because his hand tightened on my shoulder, and we started slowly backing down the slope—

Started but stopped, in my case. Because the next second, a boulder the size of a house bounced across the landscape, having been thrown from the fight. And right in front of it, screaming his head off, was—

“Rosier!”

I yelled it before I thought, relief springing the word to my lips before I could clamp them shut, but it shouldn’t have mattered. Not with the symphony of destruction taking place all around. But despite the fact that the wind tore my voice away, three heads swiveled instantly toward mine. Rosier abruptly changed course, running hell-bent for leather in our direction; the golden fey, who had just turned to look at the combat again, jerked his head back around; and a woman I hadn’t seen, because she was right behind Rosier, lifted her chin and looked straight at me.

And then
was
right at me, pointing finger and flashing eyes and that damned cherry-covered parasol and all—

And then three things happened at once: the golden fey threw an energy bolt, Cherries threw a time spell, and I threw myself at Pritkin and shifted. But not far. Because we had to find Rosier, and where the
hell
was—

Shit!

I shifted again as another bolt slammed down where we’d been standing. And then another, and another, like the damned fey could
feel
us or something. We’d no more materialized somewhere than he swiveled and threw again, deadly accurate and so fast that I was dizzy in seconds, just trying not to die. And then—

And then I wasn’t fast enough.

We slammed into existence on the hillside right next to the mill, because, Rosier or not, I was trying to get farther from beautiful death over there. But whether through chance or some kind of weird fey ability I didn’t know about, a bolt was there almost before we were. I had a chance to see it flash, to feel the heat, to think—
no.

And then to think,
oh, crap
, because the bolt just stopped, frozen in the air, inches away from my eyes. Which would have made me fairly close to ecstatic, except that I hadn’t done it. And the person who had was just behind it.

“I—I can explain—” I told Cherries, whose face was currently almost as red as her favorite fruit.

“Explain?”

Okay, maybe not. And then a time wave tore through the air, which didn’t make much sense, because if she wanted me dead, she’d just had a perfect opportunity. But I shifted anyway, before it could hit, and a second later we rematerialized on the roof. Because I needed a goddamned vantage point.

“Who are you?” Pritkin asked, voice full of wonder. “
What
are you?”

“Fucked, if you don’t shut up!” I said shrilly.

He shut up. But his eyes were wide and he was drinking in the whole scene, from the battle still raging in the background, to the half dozen girls in white fanning out in all directions, to the half-naked demon lord headed this way, until he saw the girls. And abruptly turned and pelted the other way instead, flashing pasty buns as his speed kicked up his shirttail behind him.

And the golden fey, who was suddenly right on top of us.

The only hint I had was a flash of gold to the left, but my nerves were so keyed up that it might as well have been a neon sign. I rolled and threw at the same time, and froze one of those damned energy bolts three inches from my chest. And then tried to scramble out from under it and almost fell off the roof.

Pritkin caught me, his mouth hanging open in shock, and God, this wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t the plan, this wasn’t the goddamned plan! It also wasn’t the sort of thing you just forgot, sixth century or no. But dealing with what Pritkin had seen was going to have to wait because I was having a crisis and couldn’t seem to breathe, and then I was gasping and choking, and scrambling back, away from the damned flaming spear and the bastard who had thrown it and even Pritkin, because fuck this! Fuck
all
this!

I grabbed the decorative curlicue on the front of the roof, and held on, my chest heaving. I honestly thought I might be having a heart attack.

Pritkin reached out for me again, after a moment, but I batted his hand away. Which was stupid; we might have to shift again, assuming I was able, which frankly didn’t feel too likely right now, but sooner or later somebody was going to look up. The only reason we hadn’t been found already was the amount of magic flying around, which was raising my hair like electricity and shaking the air around me and making my little contribution seem almost irrelevant.

Or maybe I was the one that was shaking. I couldn’t tell; I couldn’t tell. Reaction was setting in, and no, no, no, Cassie! You don’t get to do this yet. You get to do this
after
. But my nerves had decided to take a vacation early and, oh yeah, now I was shaking. And crying, not for any reason, not because I was hurt—well, that badly—but because I had to do something and that was what my body seemed to have decided on.

I bit my lip and looked away from Pritkin, who seemed kind of at a loss, which, yeah. And stared around, tears making tracks in the dirt on my face and splashing onto the dirt on my hands and God, now my nose was running. I put up a hand to wipe away that indignity at least, all while telling myself to think, to think, to get it together and
think
—

And then I stopped.

Not frozen, not spelled, but feeling sort of like it.

Because the golden fey was watching me.

I stared at him, and he stared back. I thought at first that it was just a trick of the light, the golden glow of his frozen spear gleaming in his eyes. But no. The pupils expanded as he looked at me, and then
they
slid over to the side
and looked at Pritkin.

And no. No, he didn’t get to
do
that. I’d just frozen him, and in my panic I’d thrown everything I had, which was a lot, which was a whole lot, because I was still hyped up on an entire bottle of the world’s rarest potion. That was why I was sitting here shaking with fear and exhaustion and bawling like a baby. It was the reaction that usually came with freezing time, times a couple of exponential points because of
my life
. But while that little trick might wipe me out, it does something else, too, and
stops goddamned time
.

So how was he looking at me?

And then he wasn’t just looking.

A finger twitched.

I stared at it, trying to convince myself that I was seeing things, that it was a trick of the light being reflected off the burning trees.

But then it happened again.

“G-give him the staff,” I told Pritkin.

But Pritkin was shaking his head.

“Give him the damned staff!”

“I can’t.”

“Just
give
it to him, and maybe this will all be over. Maybe . . . he’ll let us go?”

I made the last into a question, and looked back at the fey, who was definitely following this. But he couldn’t move, not yet, so I didn’t know if he agreed or was just waiting for another chance to kill us. But I knew how I voted, ’cause all the light fey seemed to be crazy, murdering bastards, but it was still worth a shot.

Only Pritkin didn’t seem to think so.

“I can’t,” he repeated, his fingers closing on it.

“Would you like to explain why?” I asked pleasantly.

Pritkin swallowed. But his eyes were steady on mine when he replied, “The Svarestri were taking this to court. They must have been. There’s no other reason they would have been on that road.”

“So?”

“So I have to find out why—”

“No, you don’t,” I said, still pleasantly. And that was despite the fact that I hadn’t been hallucinating. The fey’s finger had just twitched again.

But my nerves did not appear to be responding this time. I wasn’t even crying anymore. I thought maybe they’d burned out.

Which, all things considered, would be kind of a plus right now.

“The Svarestri were taking it to court, the
king’s court
,” Pritkin repeated, like maybe I hadn’t heard him the first time.

“I know that.”

“Then you know they must have had a plan for it. I have to find out what that plan was—”

“So find out without the staff.”

“I need the staff to draw out whoever they were planning to meet. Nobody is going to pay any attention to me without it. I won’t be able to find out anything—”

“You’ll live!”

“But the king may not! We’ve discussed this. What if they plan to hurt him—”

“Hurt him?”
I asked, and, okay, maybe my nerves weren’t as dead as I’d thought. “Hurt him?” I threw out a hand in the direction of the freaking clash of the Titans over there. “Do they look like they need any
help
?”

“Listen to me,” he said urgently, taking my hand. “That just shows how much of a risk they took stealing the staff in the first place. They didn’t do it on a whim; they
need
it for something—”

“And you don’t think that the . . . these other guys . . .” I waved a hand at golden boy, because I couldn’t remember all these names and alternate names and damn the fey and all their freaking names!

“The Blarestri,” Pritkin said helpfully. “Also known as the Blue Fey, or the Sky Lords, or the—”

“Whatever! You don’t think these Sky Lords are able to find out what their counterparts are up to? They’re all fey—let them sort it out!”

“If they were in faerie, I would,” Pritkin said earnestly. “But they don’t know earth well; even the Green Fey are rarely here and don’t know as much about us as they think they do. But I
know
the court, and most people in it; I have connections they don’t have, an identity already established that will allow me to move about freely, to ask questions without inciting suspicion.” He glanced at the frozen fey, and why did I get the feeling he wasn’t just talking to me anymore? “I can find out what the Svarestri wanted with this, and then convey the information to the Sky Lords, who can deal with it.”

“And with you!” I said, openly glaring at the fey. “You’ve seen what they’re like—all your life. They left you to rot before; do you really think they’ll hesitate to kill you now? If you don’t find out anything, they’ll kill you out of anger, and if you do, they’ll kill you to shut you up, and either way they’ll kill you! You can’t
trust
them—”