19 Otto

19

Otto

Maybe it won't attack.

That's my only thought as the enormous, larger than life-sized sandstone statue pushes up from the ground. The monsters didn't attack. They just herded us here. And Fritzi and I are both goddess-chosen, and—

My thoughts come to a crashing halt as the statue touches its side. A sheathed blade is etched into it, but as soon as the moving statue's fingers touch it, the sword becomes very real, shining sharp metal.

In front of me, Fritzi fumbles, too shocked, I think, to call up a spell quickly. I shoulder past her, putting her behind me, and throw up my own blade just in time to feel the strength of the blow, to stop the sword as it swings down toward us.

As soon as our blades meet, sparks flying as the metal grinds against metal, I know—I'm in trouble. Strong as I am as a warrior, my muscles are not made of stone, my flesh is not solid, my body is not as big. I dig my heels into the packed earth at the bottom of the barrow, eyes glaring. I may not be able to fully fight this statue come to life, but I will not relent.

Heat burns in my chest, over my heart.

The tattoo , I think, remembering the way the tree engraved itself upon my skin at Fritzi's touch, the visual reminder of our connection. The tattoo has been dormant—I almost forgot about it, because drawing from its power would mean siphoning magic from Fritzi. But our bond seems even stronger now, and when I reach for the magic, I know—I feel —Fritzi not just allowing me to take some, but shoving it at me, eagerly giving me more strength.

Her power rushes into me. The Tree tattoo is one of protection, and that is my only thought as I slide my blade along the statue's.

Protect Fritzi.

Our hilts catch, and power rushes from my chest into my arms, and I throw my force against my sword so strongly that the statue stumbles back, his sword glancing off mine. Rather than swing his blade again, the statue raises both arms.

For the first time, I notice three sharp spikes against the statue's throat—a metal collar known as a torque. The neck ring had been engraved in the statue's sandstone, tight, with the three spikes pointing down, but then the statue makes a resonant, hollow sound. The torque glows with golden light, and, like the statue's blade turned real, the neck ring becomes solid gold metal.

My eyes are pinned on the statue, my arms tense and ready to strike in case it attacks again. It does not move.

Instead, the other three do.

Each of the other statues in the alcoves shuffles forward. Each reaches for their engraved blade, and, when they pull it out—the stone transmuting into razor-sharp metal—each prepares himself in a fighting position.

"Get ready," I call, panic raising my voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Alois, already standing like a soldier, weapon drawn. Cornelia faces the third statue, and I'm reminded that she may be a priestess, but she's spent her life defending the Well.

The statue I've been battling is motionless, but even if its eyes are nothing but orange-red rock, I feel them watching me. It lowers its sword and gestures with its other arm, as if to say, You are welcome to try.

And then the other three strike at once.

I lunge to the right, Fritzi staying close to me, slamming my sword into the nearest statue. It is only because I have the strength of Fritzi's magic steeling my muscles that I do not crumble at the force of the statue's returning blow.

I spare a glance at the first statue, the one Fritzi pointed out, the one that seems to have straw stuck in its stone. It still watches, its head turning from me to Cornelia and Alois, each of them fighting their own battle.

Fighting…and losing.

Alois and Cornelia aren't bonded, and they don't have any extra goddess-blessed strengths. Alois has power-enhancing tattoos from being in the Grenzwache, and Cornelia's a priestess, which—I hope—grants her something extra in the battle, but I can see that we're in a grim position. And if the straw statue decides to join the fray, we'll be even more outnumbered.

"We've got to end this. Quick," I snarl, using my weight to parry another blow from the statue in front of me.

"Got any ideas?" Fritzi has opened her magic to me, but being Holda's champion means she has a deeper internal well than others. From her position, she's using her magic to lift treasure—gold chains, heavy gems, polished weapons—from one of the tables and add to the assault against the statues Alois and Cornelia fight.

I catch her when she stumbles back and push her upright. She's divided too much, funneling magic into me, using it for the others… The longer this battle takes, the more I'll drain her.

The statue in front of me swings up, and I lunge forward, hacking at its side. The sandstone breaks.

They're hollow inside.

My attacker folds a little to the left as its torso cracks, but it doesn't fall. The blow is enough to make it lower its arm, though, and as soon as it does, I whack my blade against its shoulder. One arm drops off. The thing doesn't stop, though, so I grind my teeth, aiming for the neck.

It blocks, using its one remaining arm. I think about the way the torque on the straw statue glowed, and I feel more certain than ever. Before the statue in front of me has a chance to recover, I rear back, leaving myself wide open for a hit but taking the chance anyway, and use the momentum to swing hard, driving the tip of my blade through the statue's neck.

It crumbles to the ground in shattered pieces.

"Little help?" Alois cries, high-pitched and exhausted.

"Aim for the neck!" I shout as I lunge across the room, Fritzi at my heels.

Before I can get to him, a blast of magic bursts out—Cornelia threw some sort of spell at the statue fighting Alois. "Nice," I mutter as fractures appear along the statue's neck.

It doesn't break, though. It slams a stone arm down at Alois, who rolls out of the way, closer to Cornelia, just as the statue Cornelia is fighting strikes her. Alois leaps up, blocking it, sparks and stone chips flying.

I want to help them, but I have to stop the statue Alois had been fighting first, even the odds.

I throw a leg up on the bench, kicking off the table of rotting food. I can feel Fritzi's magic pushing me, driving me with more force as I soar across the room, my sword aimed at the statue's back as it lumbers closer to help its brother fight Alois and Cornelia. I break through the sandstone with a hollow cracking sound, and rather than pull my short sword out, I pull it up , driving the steel through what would have been the spine, yanking the blade out at its neck and then smashing it back down. Thanks to the cracks Cornelia already gave it, I can behead the statue and watch it crumble all in one fell swoop.

I leap to the other side of the room, aided by Fritzi's magic. It was like a tap before, a steady flow of power, but it's like a raging flood now, magic driving through all my muscles, the strength so intense that it's dizzying.

Is this what Dieter wants? Because this is—

Intoxicating.

The thought almost makes me stumble, but it's Fritzi, her calm, true connection to magic that keeps me going. This power washing over me, it's good, but it's good because it's hers , and it's good because she gives it.

Taking it?

Acid roils in my throat at the thought.

It is the gift, the consent, the shared nature of the magic that makes it valuable. It is not the magic itself. It's that it's hers and that she gives it freely.

I feel her presence as I fight, even though she's moved to the far wall; she's leaning against it as if out of breath. I'm draining her. I cannot let her sacrifice of strength be in vain.

Alois looks at me from behind his statue. He and Cornelia are working together, his sword and her magic in perfect harmony as they parry every blow. I had hoped to attack from behind, but the statue turns, deflecting the blow with such power that I slam back into the table, my head cracking in a teeth-jarring slam. Alois shouts, lunging forward, but the statue pivots, throwing him back as well. I push up, knowing that it's only Fritzi's strength that helps me stand now, none of mine.

I can't force the statue back; I can't do more than parry and dodge its blows, an onslaught of attacks. It swings its free arm wide, knocking Alois on the head, and the man crumples. I hear Cornelia scream his name, and I pray he's only knocked out, not dead. I cannot turn to check; already, the statue is driving down on me, walloping me with its sword, stroke after stroke, giving me no room to advance.

And then it deftly swings up, twists, catches my hilt despite the curve, and my sword goes flying, clattering useless against the table with the banquet feast, knocking over goblets of dried-up wine and skidding through mold-covered platters that splatter stinking rot.

I feel for my jacket, my sleeves, but no weapon is within reach, not now, not as the statue drives me farther and farther against the wall in the tightly contained space.

My eyes flick to the first statue, the one that only watches. His golden torque had three spikes. Two are now sandstone orange; only one still glows golden.

The statue I'm fighting slams a fist, and I duck only just in time, dirt and pebbles cascading over me.

I have no weapon. My enemy knows no pain and will never stop.

Unless I force him to.

I reach for Fritzi, feel her reaching back to me.

If I fail, I have drained her of her magic, and I have left her without protection.

I. Will. Not. Fail.

My back's against the wall. I kick up with both feet, slamming my boots into the statue's torso. It doesn't fall back.

Good. I didn't want it to.

I use the pressure to walk my feet over its chest, then push against the wall, wrapping my legs around the statue's neck. With strength that I know is not mine, I pull my body up, wrenching my arms on either side of the statue's enormous mistletoe headdress made of stone, and I twist.

I feel the sandstone cracking beneath my grip. I feel the rock splintering, like bones popping, and I pull , I twist and pull until I take the damn thing's head off with my bare hands, and then, heaving with exertion, the statue crumbles beneath me, shattering, its stone head nothing but dust in my sweaty palms as I land on the ground.

Fritzi rushes to me. "Are you—" she starts, but I point behind her, unable to catch enough breath to warn her.

The last statue, the one with straw stuck into it, steps forward, facing us. Fritzi whirls around, and I push up from the ground, dragging my dusty sword into a defensive stance.

The fight is not over.

But Fritzi puts her hand out, pushes my sword arm down.

I can feel that she's weaker now than before, but the last statue isn't fighting back. Instead, it holds its arms up, and all the bits of straw that had been stuck in it fly up, swirling in a tornado of glinting flecks until it all coalesces in the statue's outstretched palm, turning into…

"The air stone," Fritzi says, eyes on the rock in its grip.