Spirit Ascendancy (25 page)

“It’s me, it’s Flavia!” She watched the recognition flare in my eyes and dropped her hand.

“Flavia, what are you—”

“There’s no time,” she hissed, reaching for my arm and thrusting my sleeve up. She pulled a soul catcher from her pocket with shaking fingers and began knotting it around my wrist.

“What is this for?” I asked.

“Saving your life,” she said, and even in a whisper I could hear the fearful tremble in her voice. “They will keep destroying and killing until they find you. This is the only way to stop it. You can’t run and you can’t hide from them. They will start torturing people. This is the only chance.”

“But how will this—

“Shhh! Follow me. Quickly, now,” she said, and took off out of the bushes and around the edge of the clearing. Bewildered and terrified, I followed her, bent nearly double in an effort to stay out of sight.

We darted behind the perimeter of trees, twice skirting around smoldering ruins of tents, until we reached the place where the Scribes’ wagon stood. It was aflame, like nearly everything else, but Flavia ran toward it.

“No, get back!” I cried. “It looks like it’s going to collapse at any—”

But Flavia yanked me forward into the shadow of the wheels, coughing and sputtering. She wrenched back her sleeve and, with a dry, hysterical sob, reached underneath the nearest corner of the wagon. Then she pulled her hand out again and began rubbing it over my face and neck.

I followed the progress of her hand blankly. And then I realized what she was doing. I smelled it before I saw it in the flickering, smoky darkness; that rusty, unmistakable smell.

Blood. Her hand, and now my face, was smeared in thick red blood. She was sobbing uncontrollably, muttering something incoherent as she reached under the wagon again, and her hands emerged, red and dripping.

With a horror that rippled through every cell of my body, I bent and peered under the wagon. Anca lay beneath it, eyes wide and glassy, in a pool of her own blood; the same blood Flavia was still smearing all over me as I stared, unable to take in the reality of what I was seeing.

“She came to help me preserve the scrolls,” Flavia was gasping, so quietly that she didn’t even seem to be saying it to me. “She wanted to save them. And then this ghost… it was screaming, and the glass just exploded, and the stove… I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop it.”

She looked me over, and then wiped her shaking hands on her jeans. She cast one last, agonized look at Anca, and then grabbed my arm again, pulling me away from the wagon and off into the darkness again. We stumbled over the underbrush, falling flat as a flaming piece of debris sailed over our heads and crashed into the trees. A scuffling fight broke out so close to us that Flavia was knocked sideways into me, but I was able to push her onto her feet and somehow we barely missed a step.

I didn’t ask where we were going. I just ran, Anca’s lifeblood burning in my nostrils, until Flavia stopped so suddenly that I slammed into her. We crouched behind a monstrous oak tree a few feet away from Ileana’s tent, which seemed to be one of the few that had not yet caught fire, though one side of it appeared to be torn away from the stakes.

Flavia turned to me, her eyes swimming with tears. “Listen carefully. Every one of them is looking for you. When they see you are dead, I can only hope they will call off the search and return to wherever it is they’ve come from. It’s the only way.”

“When they see I’m dead? Flavia, what the hell are you…” But then logic fought free of my fear and I understood. I understood, because she was holding a small knife out to me. The Necromancers would find my body, and they would think their task was complete. The last threat to their plan would be eliminated.

“Won’t they know what I’ve done?” I asked.

 “No. I’d bet my life on it.”

“But all those spirits. They’ll see me, won’t they? They’ll be able to tell the Necromancers what’s going on.”

Flavia was already shaking her head. “No. They don’t see anything. They don’t hear anything. They’re nothing but empty shells.”

“You mean… oh god. Wraiths? It’s happened already?” I cried.

“No, it’s what you told me about. It’s the Blind Summoners. But instead of messages, they must have been given instructions to destroy the camp.”

“Are you sure? How do you—”

“Didn’t you tell me their essences were trapped in flames?” she asked.

“Yes, but—”

She grabbed my hands, staring into my eyes. “The fire, Jess. Listen to the fire.”

And I tore my gaze from hers. I focused on the wagon, mere feet from us, that was engulfed in flames. I heard the pops, and the cracks. I heard the roar. And then I heard something else, in the very fabric of the sound, at first indistinguishable, and then once I heard it, nearly deafening.

The flames. The flames themselves were screaming.

I looked back at her, and the understanding that passed between us was one of mutual horror. The fire itself was alive with souls, torn away and weaponized. And when the flames at last died out…

“You need to get out into the open, where they will be sure to discover you,” Flavia said. “Or they’ll have no reason to stop the destruction.”

“What will you do?” I asked.

“I will keep watch for as long as I can,” Flavia said.

“No. Get out of here,” I begged. “Please, you’ve got to protect yourself.”

“Just go, Jess. Do it! Now!”

No words I knew could suffice at that moment. I squeezed her hand, looked quickly around to be sure I was alone, and bolted out into the clearing. Keeping low to the ground, praying that the smoke and chaos would hide me, I flung myself into the grass next to the entrance of Ileana’s tent. There was a large rock protruding from the dirt a few feet from the nearest stake. I lay my head against it, praying this would appear to explain all the blood. Then I pressed my face to the dirt, closed my eyes, and shouted the casting inside my head as I sliced through the soul catcher.

The fear and heat and every other awful sensation melted away as I rose, effortlessly, away from my body and high into the air. I embraced the disconnection this time, allowed it to carry me above the stink and the grit of the smoky attack below. I actually enjoyed a selfish moment of bliss, knowing I was safe, knowing nothing below could touch me, before my rationality caught up with me and my fear returned in full measure. Sailing like a bird on the wing, I observed the scene below, and each new detail I saw magnified my dismay. Figures littered the ground below me, some writhing, others horribly inert. Still more figures darted between them, fighting and shouting, or else dragging others out of harm’s way. The flames had spread rapidly, so that the Traveler dwellings looked now like so many torches in the darkness below. In my new state, the voices of the spirits in the flames were even more audible; now I could hear each individual word, at once separate and part of a deafening din that would surely echo in my head forever. The agony of it rippled through me.

Concentrating for all I was worth, I floated lower, through the haze of smoke, so that I could keep my body in sight. I was acutely aware that it was in much more danger than I’d ever dared to leave it in before, and I also knew that I had no choice.

“Jess! Jess, where are you?” A voice was just distinguishable above the anarchy below. It was deep and panicked. It sounded familiar and yet the noise of the attack made it impossible to tell who it was or exactly where it was coming from.

“Jess! JESS!”

As I continued to peer through the smoky air for the source of the voice, two spirits, their eyes blank and staring, drifted over my body and stopped. They approached it warily, examining it. I bit back the urge to fly at them and just watched, my energy buzzing with fear, silently screaming in my head for them to get away, to leave me alone. A third circled above like a vulture, but though it passed within a few feet of where I was hovering, it did not acknowledge I was there.

A moment later all three of them vanished simultaneously, and my body was left alone in the sweltering semi-darkness, looking strangely alive in the leaping, dancing light from the nearby blaze. Barely a minute later, two Necromancers hurtled around the side of the tent and skidded to a halt at the sight of my body.

“That’s it. There she is.”

“They said she was dead. Go check her.”

One of the Necromancers started forward warily, like my abandoned body might leap up and startle him at any moment. He reached out and felt for a pulse in my neck. He lifted my eyelids. There was a long tense moment.

“Well?” the other one shouted, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

“Dead!” the first cried triumphantly.

“And you’re sure it’s her?”

“Yes! See for yourself!”

The second Necromancer darted forward and shoved my hair roughly back from my face. After a moment he raised his head and let out a maniacal sort of crow. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and documented the moment with the click of his camera.

“Call for the others. Abandon the fight. We must tell Brother Caddigan it is done!”

“Jessica! Answer me!” came the angry, panicked voice again.

The two Necromancers stood up just as a lone figure stumbled out from behind Ileana’s tent. He was coughing and retching, his face and chest streaked with soot and ash. His long hair was falling loose from its ponytail and as he pushed it back impatiently from his eyes, he stopped dead.

It was Finn.

His eyes fell first on the Necromancers and then at the body by their feet. The sound that escaped him was guttural, animal. He launched himself forward, and with a ferocity I’d never seen in anyone, he tackled one of the Necromancers. The intensity of his attack obviously shocked them too, for it was a solid few seconds before the Necromancer beneath him could do anything but cover his head with his hands. The second one dashed off into the night, and I could hear him shouting commands in Gaelic, hear his words echoed again and again on all sides.

He was proclaiming my death, and the others were taking up the call, reveling in my supposed demise.

 Finn, meanwhile, was hammering away at the other Necromancer, incoherent sounds spewing out of him. The other man never had a chance. With a final grunt, Finn slammed a fist into the side of the his head and knocked him instantly unconscious. Then he shoved the man’s limp form aside and threw himself forward onto the ground beside my body, and his violently shaking hands passed over me, like he was unsure or unable to touch me for fear of damaging me further.

“Jesus Christ. Please, no,” he cried, and the emotion in his voice choked off the rest of his words. He pressed two violently shaking fingers to my neck, and I knew he felt nothing there. No pulse beat in my body. It was entirely still, no breath, no heartbeat, suspended in time until I returned to it.

“Finn! Finn I’m here! I’m alright!” I called from above, but he did not acknowledge the sound. For whatever reason, he could not hear me.

And he was sobbing now, pulling at his hair, beating a bloodied fist upon the ground, and I could not bear to see him do it, could not stomach the utterly forlorn sounds issuing from his mouth. I had to tell him I was okay. I couldn’t let him spend another moment thinking he was too late. Without thinking, without wondering if it was safe, or if I should wait—just to end that awful, gut-wrenching sound he was making, I stared down at my own body and imagined myself back inside it.

And as I flew home, it happened, as though in slow motion, and all I could do was watch as Finn reached down, cradling my head in his arms, lifting me to rest against his chest, pushing a tendril of my hair away from my eyes.

And at the moment I reconnected, he bent his face to mine, and kissed me.

The kiss filled every cell of my body so that there was barely room for me to expand within myself. My lips, my heart, everything seemed to be on fire, smoldering like the encampment around us. And as I pulled a desperate first breath back into my lungs, I was filled with his breath, his tears, every wild, intense, out-of-control emotion burning in his lips.

All reason left me. No rational thought stayed behind to guide me. And instead of pulling away, my arms shot up, wrapped around his neck, and I kissed him, too, like it was the last thing I would ever do.

I felt his arms tighten around me. A strangled, muffled cry of relief escaped around our locked lips and he pulled away in shock. Our eyes met and our breaths came in sharp, shuddering gasps.

“Why are you kissing me?” I panted.

“Why are you alive?” he said.

“Why are you kissing me?”

“Don’t you think my question is just a little more important?” he cried.

“Not really!” I struggled into a sitting position. “What the hell is going on here? I hope you don’t think this is some kind of Sleeping Beauty moment, because that is so not what is happening here.”

“What?”

“Oh my God, you really are where all pop culture references go to die. What are you doing here? I thought you were gone!”

He ignored my question. He was looking me over with a wildly bewildered expression. Then he looked down at himself, smeared in Anca’s blood. “But, all the blood! You were dead. You had no pulse.”

“It’s not my blood. I was Walking.”

Before my eyes, his own eyes went cold. He pulled away sharply, his face twisted with anger. “Walking? You mean you figured out how to… I actually thought you were dead!”

“That was the idea!” I said. “They were coming for me. There was no other chance to get away from the Necromancers!”

The mention of the Necromancers seemed to snap us both back into the reality of where we were and what was surrounding us. We both looked wildly around, as though a crowd of them were going to leap from the trees and descend upon us in that moment, but there was no one. In fact, the entire camp had gone strangely still. The Necromancer Finn had fought with lay motionless in the grass.

“Do you think the attack is over?” I asked.

“I’m not sure,” Finn said, lifting his chin into the air as though he could scent danger. “It sounds like they’ve retreated.”