Page 77 of A Cursed Son

But then he pushes me behind him and forms a wall of ice in front of us. It’s a small, thin barrier, which collapses into thousands of pieces in one second.

I can’t see anyone or anything around us, but Nelsin’s body is taut, his ears folded back, almost hidden amidst his blond hair. There’s no way he would be faking all that: he’s afraid.

14

Imight have trained using daggers, but the goal was mainly to run, to escape. How and where am I going to escape if I’m in the middle of a valley? And how can I fight an enemy I can’t see? When you’re overpowered, the only solution is to escape. But escape where?

There won’t be any running here, but I can do the only thing I know how to do, which is to cast light. I don’t know what difference it can make when the day is already bright, but I don’t know what else to do.

Light, light, light. I keep the thought firm in my head and heart, and then emit a burst around us. At that moment, I see two fae, each of them at some twenty feet from us, both of them with tangled dark hair, dressed in rags.

One of them shoots something, but I’m fast enough to dodge the projectile. It’s a dart, like the one that hit Nelsin. My light’s gone, and I can no longer see them, as they have some kind of invisibility glamour that my light seems to break.

If they’re shooting, it means they’re going to keep a distance, at least for some time. I take the two daggers from my pockets and hold one in each hand. If they come close, I’ll try to keep them away.

More light. I need more light. I focus, and another burst comes from me. I see the fae now, much closer, and this time, when the light is gone, I can see that they are not completely invisible, but look like ripples in the water. I aim—and throw a dagger. The fae who was shooting darts falls to the ground. That was a clear shot. His companion is running towards us, sword in hand.

I grab Nelsin’s sword from the ground, as if I was about to fight the assailant, but hold the weapon with my left hand. The fae is coming towards me, and I raise the sword, as if to parry him, but I throw my dagger with the right hand. I can barely believe that it hits his throat. The fae emits a gurgly scream, but keeps running, so that I need to parry indeed. His blow is weak, though, and he soon falls. I’m afraid he’s dead.

That’s when I dare look at Nelsin.

He’s pale, his eyes cloudy and wide. “I’m paralyzed, Astra. And have no magic.” He motions to the fallen fae with his head. “Kill them. Fast.”

Kill. Kill? Am I ready to do that, when they’re already defeated?

“Fast,” Nelsin insists, his voice piercing me with its desperation.

I shove down my horror and approach the first fae I hit. He’s lying down, eyes closed, and yet I don’t dare touch him to see if there’s still a pulse. My dagger, now bloody and murderous, is lying beside him. This is wrong. You don’t kill an enemy who’s already fallen. And we should ask them who they are and why they were attacking us.

“Kill him!” Nelsin yells. “He’s something else, Astra. Not a fae.”

Is it right to kill someone because they’re neither fae nor human?

And yet they were attacking us. I decide to listen to Nelsin, so I pick that dreadful dagger and slash the main artery on his neck. It’s bloody and messy and horrific. He was so pale already, and now he opens his eyes and stares at me, stares at me before those eyes become glassy and lifeless. An accusing stare. A life I took away—as if I had the right. And it wasn’t in self defense. There was no excuse.

“The other,” Nelsin pleads.

This is wrong. I turn to him. “I think he’s dead already.”

“They are not alive, Astra. They’re bloodpuppets.”

Bloodpuppet. I’ve heard that before. Some kind of monstrous creature. I approach the other man. This one has a smirk as he eyes me, even though blood is pouring down his throat. I’m about to kneel to stab him, when Nelsin screams, “Back off! Don’t touch him. Don’t touch him.”

I take some steps back and look at the cat-eared fae, wondering what’s the meaning of this.

He’s still sitting down, his eyes even wider. “Run. Go in the direction opposite the cliff, and you’ll cross a stream. Keep walking and you’ll find a village. There, find a tavern called Summer Dusk. Say you work for Marlak and they’ll help you. Run.”

I’m not sure why he’s saying that. “We defeated them, didn’t we?”

“Run!” His yell is a terrifying shriek. “Please. Survive this.”

That scream is enough to power my legs into action towards a desperate escape, but I don’t let them. “Why?”

“He’s turning into leech roaches.” His breath is so ragged that the words are clipped. “You can outrun them now. You won’t be able to outrun them later.”

“What about you?”

“It was a pleasure serving you. I’m sorry for this. Truly sorry.” He then smiles. “I had a good life. Now run!”