41. Kami

41

Kami

I n a split second, I'm transported to another place.

There is darkness and light, shadows that coalesce into a series of images swirling faster and faster, until the blur becomes its own story.

I have something important to do, and I'm not about to die here, in front of hundreds of fae who want nothing more than to oppress the entire world under their psychopath of a god's thumb.

"Exactly," Sebastian says as he lies on the ground next to me, staring up at a frozen version of Dalien trying to kill me, spittle and tears frozen in a spiral from his mouth. "This is not worthy of you, Vessel."

"With a capital V?" I quip, not sure what the hell is going on. Vessel? But then, that alludes to me carrying something. As opposed to Malkar referring to himself as my better, which make me worse.

All in all, I kind of prefer bitch-bag, come to think of it. But then …

I lose my train of thought as the sliding pictures behind the half-ghoul's head take my attention once more. They're full of interesting ideas that filter into my mind.

Of sacrifice and trial, suffering and loss. Of Life and Death. And Time and Love. Yet everything is nothing because After has His hand in the end right now.

"Capital V," Sebastian says.

I turn my head to study him. "You look human, but you're not."

"No. Humans are just another scheme in the grand ritual that is existence and chaos and cyclic eternity." Sebastian sighs and puts his hands behind his head. "I'm tired. I've been working pretty hard, cleaning up mess after mess."

"Mess?"

He scowls. "Ahza was too distracting. But he's gone now."

My heart races. "What?"

"He was already gone from your world, Kami. You know this."

I do, but…

"You have been tasked with stopping the war god. But all you've done is delay his conquest. Right now, you are less than nothing. A future victim to this pathetic mortal who's already half dead."

Sebastian huffs with disgust.

"Then why did you pick me?"

"I didn't."

I'm so confused. And while I'm able to move and Dalien isn't, I should escape and?—

Time resumes before I can finish that thought.

The half-ghoul's blade pierces my chest but stops against my sternum while he continues to apologize.

"So sorry. I'm sorry, dryad. So sorry. "

"Fix it or I'll pick a new chosen," Sebastian whispers.

I don't know what he means. But the agony of the blade pushing through flesh and muscle as he scrapes bone is overwhelming. I suck in a breath to cry but can't make a sound.

Around me the crowd roars. My companions scream in denial. The enemy yells in excitement.

The energy around me is overwhelming. The howl of misery, the sound of fighting, and the crackle of magic power the air.

Don't be a bitch-bag. Get. Up, Mancy! I swear I hear Ahza screaming in my head.

That shakes me out of my stupor. He's right. I might be weak and small and a piss poor necromancer. But I'm not a quitter.

I've always been a real fucking bitch-bag when I'm wronged.

This half-ghoul has just attempted to murder his last dryad.

Full of rage, I feel my flesh and blood harden into hardy wood and scream in vengeance as I allow myself to stretch and grow.

I'm not sure how I'm doing it. Before being shoved into Rilitar's cell, I'd never turned into a tree before.

But now, my fingers form wooden spikes I use to plunge into Dalien's eyes.

He pulls back, screaming, and drags me up with him.

I withdraw my spikes and let them shift back into regular-looking fingers. Then I yank the blade out of my chest and stab the half-ghoul with it before remembering you can't kill them that way.

"A beheading it is," I mutter, pull back, and swing at his neck.

But I'm not strong enough to cut through his vertebrae. The blade gets stuck while a black, ichor-like substance oozes down his neck and face.

He tries to remove the blade. If he does, I'm toast, because he's no longer crying tears of grief but rage as he swears and promises to devour me piece by piece.

Then Oz is there, ripping the blade free only to strike again in the wound I made.

Dalien's head rolls away. His body topples.

Oz turns and vaults over me. He plows through Dalien's buddies, who are fighting Ries, and keeps running.

Away from us all.

And speaking of us, Crash and Malkar are fighting each other in the iron cage that has an orc-sized opening in the middle of it.

I'm blinking in shock, my chest still hurting though my woody insides slowly heal.

The pool of my blood has enriched the grasses underfoot, the sinuous hiss of decay spreading. I lean down, not sure what I mean to do.

But I end up whispering, "Grow, and feed," to my new children. The smattering of life thrilling in the grasses beneath us.

I stare at those who wanted to do me harm, confused about my sudden fury, this new power that thinks—no, knows —her creations have the power to rival death.

Gripping my head, I try to merge these new strange thoughts with my own real ones.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Ries is nearly done killing the enemy group from Asrai, but guards are converging on him.

The elves wield magic but can't seem to strike the merman, who flows like water away from coming threats. Crash and Malkar continue to fight, and Malkar appears to be losing.

I blink in shock and turn to see Oz rip through the guards trying to stop him on his rush toward the monarch's box. The orc blazes through spells, fire, and electricity, ripping heads off left and right.

The crowd is howling—not with fear, but with glee.

The bloodthirsty fae are still chanting their war god's name, and I realize we're just feeding him with all this death and dismemberment.

That takes the joy out of my victory.

Joy? Since when do I feel happy about killing anything?

I'm a little scared of what I'm turning into because I can do petty and snide with no problem, but I don't normally take joy in hurting or slaughtering people.

Rubbing the spot between my breasts, I realize I feel much better. And it's then I remember I still have my apple core, unused and in one piece in the waistband of my trousers.

Well, at least I haven't shown anyone I'm one of Death's Daughters. Not that I've ever been able to do more than sense Death's approach.

But I'm obviously more than a simple dryad. I defeated a half-ghoul, after all, and turned my fingers into sharpened sticks.

Ries lopes back to me, winded. "You okay?" He looks as if he wants to hug me but doesn't after a glance at the stands.

I understand. We don't want to give our audience too much insight into how well we get along.

Malkar and Crash prove that as Crash punches Malkar in the face and watches as the demon crashes to the ground.

"What's that about?"

And how did Crash beat Malkar?

Ries shrugs. "No idea. But we need to go back to our corner and wait this out."

We hurry, gathering where the guards are directing us. Oz is no longer on the field at all.

A void forms below our feet, and we vanish like before.

This time we land in a cell made of heavy rock and bordered by iron bars that go from the floor to the rock ceiling. We are truly caged in a prison without any light but the fae-lantern in the corner of the cell.

And Oz is missing.