Page 21 of Whisper Woods (Legends of the Whisper Woods #3)

Rafe

Tathys is a blur as I sprint through the streets to home. My journey out of the Woods was perilous, I barely made it out with my skin—changing just as my foot slipped and I slid down the steep, rocky hillside for a heart-stoppingly long time. Here in the city, I can’t think. I just run, completely heedless of the damage I leave in my wake as I barrel through anything in my path.

My lungs ache and my legs burn when I finally explode through the gates of my home. The pounding in my head has developed a high-pitched whistle. But I ignore it, thundering up the path and bursting through the front doors so hard there is a loud crack.

To silence.

The house is peaceful. Still.

Empty .

A purring growl vibrates through my chest with the effort to train and steady my breathing. With massive effort, I let my senses free.

Nothing .

No one.

The spiked frills around my neck dance and flex when I locate a scent that should not be there.

Heylor.

Guards .

The rumbling growl becomes more of a vicious scowl when I stalk towards my office, and even though I know it will be empty of life, it enrages me just the same to see it. I almost shred the place with my claws to find a clue, anything . But there is nothing. Just emptiness and my instincts screaming that everything is wrong.

The game is over.

The time has come.

My instincts are confirmed when I check Brydon’s desk. Amongst the towers of books and papers and the charred remains of spells, there is only one thing missing.

The book.

In its place are pages and pages of half translated spells and rituals, each more dangerous and volatile than the last.

The ringing in my ears has reached deafening levels, vibrating my eardrums with violent force.

Kitchen .

The voice in my head is staggering, considering it is not my own. The familiar yet strange whisper is a desperate echo. I follow the instruction, body tense and hypervigilant for attack.

But the kitchen is empty, too. I’m unfamiliar with the space, never having reason to enter it, but nothing seems odd or out of place. The benches are orderly; the stove is off… Nothing is amiss.

Thunk .

Just when I’m about to leave, something heavy falls behind the pantry door. Turning back on my clawed feet, I carefully—silently—cross the floor.

There is something on the other side of the door. Something that shouldn’t be there. Tensing, ready for whatever is about to come, I wrap my clawed fingers around the handle and twist. The door yanks open with ease and out falls Sed and Eldrid. Bound, physically and magically, kitchen rags tied around their mouths.

On their knees their eyes are wide, their pleas silent.

Unfettered rage pours through me that someone has dared breach my home and abused my staff in such a manner. It should be impossible.

Unless… unless the intruders were invited in.

Unless I was betrayed .

A shudder wracks through me, and the beings on the floor shrink back in fright. I don’t particularly help matters by reaching out with my claws to shred the physical bonds tying them. The magic binding their voices I am less certain how to remove without possibly causing more harm.

Sed and Eldrid at least look relieved and thankful for their release, rolling their limbs and standing shakily.

“What happened here?” I grind out. I'm shaking with fury, making it hard to speak.

Sed starts talking at a rapid fire pace, with his arms flailing for emphasis but there is no sound. He tries again and again until he throws his hands in the air in frustration. Then Eldrid takes over. That voice once again pressing inside my head—Eldrid’s voice. It is a skill I had truthfully forgotten he possessed, seeing as it has been largely unused since I am no longer an obstinate teenager refusing to listen.

“Heylor came. He sent Seff away under the order of the High Council. Guards saw him to the border, and they closed the portal.”

The world turns black as the words sink in and Eldrid nods sympathetically, his pale eyes watering in sympathy. He reaches out to pat my arm but I can barely feel it.

Seff… is gone?

It feels as though I have been dropped into the endless ether. I need to go. I need to get him back; I need to find him. I need—

Eldrid’s hand tightens around my arm, an anchor returning my focus to him.

“There’s more.” His eyes bore into mine.

I don’t want to listen, but I do. Impatience buzzes inside every cell in my body.

“Heylor spoke with Brydon. I think—” Eldrid hesitates, not wanting to say what’s next. He visibly steels himself. “I think Brydon was working with Heylor. He offered him that book.”

I shake my head violently, as though I can remove the truth of the words, jerking back out of Eldrid’s hold. He lets me go, nodding sadly.

“No! Brydon wouldn’t do such a thing! Not with his father. I refuse to believe it!” I snarl and growl, slamming my hand so hard on a bench the stone cracks beneath my fist.

Sed winces but nods too, stepping cautiously forward. He does not have Eldrid’s alternative communication methods, so he mouths his emphatic defence. “It’s true. We heard. I’m sorry, Rafe.”

Tears burn my eyes at Brydon’s betrayal, the sting foreign to the scales around my eyes. The blow feels like death. Even though I already thought it so, I cannot believe it is true, I cannot believe it of the boy, the man, the being I thought of as my friend. My brother.

Eldrid waits for me to focus on their faces again before continuing, his face sagging and ashen in sorrow. “It is not all, Rafe. Heylor turned on him. Took him. There were more guards. They took Brydon. And… and Maeve. She went with them. She is for their cause. She restrained us with the guards' aid so we could not get you earlier.” Sed and Eldrid huddle together, supporting each other's weight under the magnitude of their own pain.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” My whisper is hoarse. And they nod. The three were close, or so it had appeared. I cannot imagine the depths of their hurt that she’d turned on them so cruelly.

“Where are they?” I need to find them. Maybe I can do something to end this. Save them.

“The cliffs.” Eldrid hugs the younger being tight to his chest. “But be warned Rafe. They said… They said they were capturing the High Eminence, too. Please, be safe.”

Lia .

“Falyuk!” I hiss, rubbing at my temples, attempting to think past all the blinding fear and adrenaline. “Go to the palace. Find Yorin and get help.”

“What are you going to do?” The projection of Eldrid’s voice in my head cracks with concern.

Patting his leg, I stand with a grimace. “I will go to the cliffs. I will do whatever I can to stop whatever is happening. Just—just send help and be safe.”

With one last nod of gratitude to my staff, I bolt from the kitchens to the stables to find Nimra, determined, terrified and ready to fight for what’s mine.

** *

I leave Nimra on a roadside in the farmland on the borders of Tathys, not willing to risk bringing him any closer. Both for his safety and mine. I pat his mane, nuzzling him affectionately. Take yourself home when you need to, old friend . He snorts in understanding, stamping his hoof and nosing me back.

Then I take my leave, travelling the rest of the way to the cliffs on my own. I don’t know exactly where they are, but my instincts have a pretty strong suspicion. Without the Orun on his side—and I can only pray to the Gods that they are not—the altar on the cliffside is most assuredly where he could perform such an undertaking.

It takes far too long for my peace of mind to get to the site. My only reassurance being that if Heylor is attempting any of the rituals in that book, they are unlikely to be quick and painless affairs. Big magic is big work, and that takes time.

I spook more livestock than I like as I creep through a field on the edge of the farmland, on a blessed hill for some semblance of discretion. At the crest, I lie on my belly to scope out the situation.

Blessed by the Gods, at least in this, I was correct about their location. The rock, unnaturally flat and wide, sits in a clear expanse only metres in front of the sheer drop of the cliffs. The ends of the earth, they used to say. Five large pillars of stone stand behind the altar, with etchings indicating the Gods and elements to whom the pillars are dedicated.

Heavy clouds cover the sun with an ominous gloom, but the gathering around the altar is still clearly visible.

Heylor presides over them, gleeful and gloating even from this far away, Edris next to him as sycophantic as ever. Amongst the hundred or so followers Heylor has gathered, there are more guards than I like to see there. I count up the twenty of them—all selected for their size, brute strength, and their natural affinity to protective and defensive magic.

One guard in particular is a knife to the chest. Sorrow wells in me when I see one of Lia’s twins, Edley standing amongst Heylor’s followers, their hands folded in front of them, staring ahead in a faux-relaxed stance.

How could he have betrayed her ? I always thought they were as in love with Lia as she is with them. Tathys may not know of their true relationship, but not all of us were blind.

What has happened to her?

My question is quickly answered when Heylor waves his arms and the crowd of one hundred or so Tathissian beings part revealing both Brydon and Lia. Brydon is stoic, staring blankly ahead, as if ignorant of the bright silver bands of light confining him and the guard gripping his arm. A stark contrast to Lia, bound in the same magic restraints, only slumped unconscious against the guard holding her, her dress dirty and torn.

They are dragged toward the altar and I manage to catch sight of more than a few beings I know in the crowd—including Maeve—as they spit on Brydon and Lia. Heylor eats it up, watching the abuse of his son and his ruler with disgusting glee, he encourages the beings, riling them up.

Fury like I’ve never known surges through me and I leap to my feet, my hunting instincts take over entirely, obliterating the exhaustion from my body.

I’m silent as I make my way to the cliff side, slipping over the edge. There is no fear, even with the waves lashing and churning against the jagged rocks below me. Nothing but unbridled rage.

I make my way across the rocks, clinging to the jagged outcrops, digging my claws into the stone. For one precarious moment I dangle, unable to find purchase, the section of rock too hard to dig into. I stretch and swing, my shoulder burning with the effort until my claws make contact with a jagged ledge. I grip the lifeline and stab my toes in for stability.

I’m close. I can see the first of the stone pillars above me in my peripheral vision, the sound of Heylor and the crowd getting louder over the waves and the whipping of the wind. I can feel it too, the magic spiralling out and back in again. The closer I get, the more it throws me off balance.

He’s building the energy for the ritual, I realise.

It’s big and heavy, making my body drag, but I’m finally close enough to reach them. I don’t have a plan. There are too many of them to truly take on. Hopefully Sed and Eldrid have managed to send for help to get here soon.

And that whoever they find hasn’t turned on us all, too.

My best hope, my only plan, is to attack, create enough carnage to disrupt the ritual until help comes.

I position myself on the edge of the cliff, just out of sight, muscles coiled for action. I can hear Heylor droning in the dead tongues to begin his ritual.

And so it’s time.

I launch myself up and over the edge, landing on my feet in a crouch on the hard ground behind the pillars. There is an audible breath at my shocking entrance, and then yelps and shouts as the guards turn to me.

My eyes flicker to Lia and Brydon, bound to a stake on the altar, but I don’t have time to reassure myself of their safety before the first guard attacks in a devastating combination of brutality and violence.

It’s a blur of limbs and magic as I’m surrounded. There is no holding back, their blows cracking my bones, splitting my scales.

I don’t feel a thing as I charge them back, unleashing my claws and teeth. There is blood, mine and theirs. Powerful hands grab me but I evade their grip, my scales flaring to create thousands of tiny blades on my skin.

It’s brutal—a flurry of fists and blades. The smacks of flesh against scale, the snapping of bones and above it all the horrified gasps of the crowd as they watch. My fury burns hot and fast, but the fire burns too quickly. My energy flags and after a brutal blow to my guts knocks the air from my lungs, a fist smashes into my chin. I’m dazed when my head cracks back with the impact. The sound is almost as loud as the bone that breaks when I kick out at my attacker's leg, smashing their knee causing them to drop with a thud.

Threads of magic pervade the fight, those too scared to enter the fray physically lending their aid however they can. It continues until I can fight no longer, my energy fading, the pain finally piercing my consciousness.

The magic takes over, binding me slowly until I can no longer fight against the hold and it takes me.

Even bound, the guards are unrelenting, their blows raining on me without mercy. I bite and snap at anything I can reach, almost ripping off the tail of one being, once I’d gotten the swinging whip between my teeth.

“Enough,” Heylor calls, pushing out a waft of control as he does. I hear the crunch of boots then see the faces of his and Grand Master Edris leaning over me, their malevolent smiles almost splitting their cheeks.

I wish, more than ever, in this very moment, that I could spit in this form, so I could do it in their faces.

“Another sacrifice, Sovereign?” Edris asks Heylor, using a title I have not heard since my history lessons as a child. Heylor’s eyes darken, full of undisguised hatred.

“No. I believe his penance is to bear witness. To see the truth and glory and witness the loss of everything he holds dear.”

He stands, surveying the damage I wrought. I am not the only one lying prone on the floor. The others however, are not bound, though I am not entirely sure on whether they are unconscious or if I have killed them. A momentary flash of feelings over my actions flares, the bloody and bruised bodies making my stomach turn and riot, but I immediately tamp it down, unable to face it at this moment. Falyuk, help better be here soon.

“ Then , we’ll kill him. Guards hold him.”

Rough hands lift me, holding me up in a vicious grip on my unsteady feet. My head rings with a high-pitched sound, a blow to the head making my vision blurred and stained with red. I can still see them, though, the horrible vision of my friends, the people I love, bound for whatever horrors Heylor plans to inflict.

Lia’s body slumps forward over her restraints, pulling on the rope securing her to Brydon behind her, forcing him tighter against the wooden pole between them. Brydon bears the weight stalwartly, his face like stone, staring out at the ocean beyond the cliffs. Fists clenched at his sides, his tail lays limp by his bare foot, one of his signature Mundane sneakers lost on the journey here.

An angry, anguished sound slips from me. Between a whine and a snarl, I pull uselessly at the beings holding me back. Heylor ignores us, reclaiming his place near the altar and raising his arms to restart his ritual and reclaim the magic currently floating loose through the air.

But Brydon’s long pointed ears twitch, and I know he can hear me. My feet scratch at the gravelly ground beneath my feet and my guards, tired of my useless fight, lift me so my toes barely touch the ground and I hang limp and useless between them. The pair tighten their grip, their anger only strengthening them and I have a vague fear that they might snap my bones in retaliation to what I’ve done to their brethren. The one on the left finds a gash in the scales on my biceps, and digs their claws into the wound, laughing under their breath when I hiss at the burning pain.

Brydon turns at the sound, his head twisting slowly in my direction. My vision is hazy and blurred, but the forlorn look in his round, black eyes shatters what remains of my spirit. His head tips to the side, his mouth sagging in a frown. He looks almost apologetic, tears pooling in his eyes before he blinks them back and returns to stare blankly between the pillars.

A furious roar builds in my chest but I choke it down, my body humming with pent up rage.

The ritual continues, a blinding, iridescent rainbow glow pooling around the sacred space, the magic suffocating.

At his place behind the altar, Heylor watches smugly as the magic grows. Continuing his chant in the ancient tongues, he casts bundled herbs and offerings into the vessel bowl burning bright green in front of him, dangerously close to Lia and Brydon. And amongst the magical ritual tools splayed before him is the book. That vylushkiva book I brought back from the mages. And pages of translations. Brydon’s translations.

He signed his own death warrant.

Did he choose this? Did he choose to sacrifice himself for his father? I wonder, watching helplessly. It feels as if I’m watching from afar. My mind and body detaching from each other. I feel lightheaded, sounds echoing through me like a dream. Because this cannot be real. None of this. The pain is almost unbearable and we’ve only just begun.

Heylor calls the beings gathered to join him, to lend him their power for his work and they join the chant. But Heylor’s words change. The magic focuses, manipulates in the air, forming and reforming into clouds of something . It balls and twists, Heylor’s words growing louder and more disjointed, the power of his magic filling him.

It’s over. He’s going to rebuild the walls of Tathys.

And the Gods will punish them all, not that I will be allowed to live to see it.

My injuries must be worse than I thought. I’m delirious. Because I swear I just heard a howl. Seff’s howl. But that cannot be right. Through the fog in my ears, and the thunderous chanting I hear something else, indistinct shouting. It’s far away but getting closer, clearer.

Has help finally arrived? Is it not too late?

There is a growling roar and the beings around me shout and scream, and I’m thrown to the ground. I slide on the gravel to slam into the base of the altar. My head hits the stone with an audible crack and I grunt loudly. With my magical restraints still pinning me I’m unable to move to protect myself as a second fight ensues.

The blow to my head has reduced my vision to nothing but shadowy blurs. I think I can hear someone yelling my name. And I swear, on the pitiful remaining moments of my life, that it is Seff. But it is a fool's wish. He cannot be here.

“ Enough !” Heylor booms and there is a flash of bright yellow, strong enough to pierce even my dull vision. The fight ends, and the crowd parts revealing a handful of beings bound in yellow light. I blink again and again, forcing my eyes to focus on the big beast-like being at the front still fighting furiously against their bonds.

No. No, no, no, no no.

Vylushkiva. He couldn’t . He can’t .

Seff .

My world goes black.