Cold Fire (Spiritwalker 2)

Then huge glittering flakes of a heavy snowfall obscured the scene, making it seem I, my sire, and Vai were alone in the world.

My sire opened his fingers. The chain and ring had crumbled into rust. When he blew on his hand, the red dust dispersed like chaff into the blowing snow. Touched by that dust, my machete corroded and deformed as rust bloomed on the blade, creeping up as if to engulf and consume my flesh. I let go. The blade shattered when it hit the ground.

He lifted Vai with one arm and shoved him into the coach.

“But you have this night’s blood!” I cried as I scrambled in after Vai.

The door slammed shut behind me like the hammer of fate, leaving my sire outside and us within, his prisoners. A whip snapped. The coach rocked as the horses pulled us upward.

Vai blinked, shaking himself as if motion and will had just returned. “I understand now. Your sire is the Master of the Wild Hunt.”

“And I hate him!” I cried as I tried to open latches and shutters, but they were all locked.

“Of course you do, love.”

I flung my arms around him, and then we were kissing with the passion of the condemned.

“This is certainly more interesting than the last time you two were in the coach together.”

I broke away to glare at the thin gremlin face with its winking gaze and straight line of a mouth. “Shut your eyes!”

Vai drew back, looking startled. “Catherine?”

o;Father,” I said, “I know you do not hold me in any affection, but I am the weapon you forged, the one you alone can wield. Are you going to let that fire weaver destroy me? It makes you look careless. It makes you look weak. But I guess you can’t stop her.”

Killing fire pinched at my heart in that instant. I reached for Vai so that touching him would be my last memory before death consumed my flesh and mind.

My sire exhaled. Luminescent snow winked into existence, obliterating the heat. The white flakes were so scintillant they dazzled and blinded. My heart beat on, untouched.

He murmured, “Fire is the serpents’ weapon. You know how I hate and loathe serpents.”

Ice crackled across the stones.

“Kill her.”

The clamor of the hunt dusted down over us as his words released them. They flowed out of the heavens like nightmare, surging forward in a squall of sleeting rain whose icy touch cut skin and caused blood to flow. Deadly hounds loped down the risers, biting and clawing as they passed. I could not tell if they were solid or merely the shadows that haunt dreams, but their touch spread like poison. Hulking dire wolves snarled, and hyenas laughed mockingly as Expeditioners and Taino alike were eaten up by stark fear, even the disciplined soldiers.

Many people tried to run, but the crush was so great they only trampled each other. Others froze, unable to move. A few tried to fight, blocking with arms or clubbing with rifles or slashing wildly with their ceremonial spears. Yet they could do no damage to the sleek cats and men with animals’ faces who pushed through the ball court. A cloud of wasps stung, each touch raising a drop of blood. Bats swooped through, accompanied by silent owls. A red-gold-and-black-banded snake slithered over my sandaled foot; tiny frogs with skin as bright as jewels hopped alongside.

All swarmed toward the cacica’s platform.

“Son,” said my sire. “Did you not hear me? Kill her.”

With a glance at me as if to apologize, Rory sighed. He bent, and he flowed. Where a man had stood, a huge saber-toothed cat leaped in silent beauty. The change came so swiftly that people running across the ball court to escape the hunt had no time to break out of his path as he bounded to the platform.

The cacica was no fool. Nor was she a coward. She faced the hunt as she drew deep into the fire, but before she could release it, the great cat drove her down beneath claws and teeth. He snapped her neck with a casual shake.

He, my amusing, insouciant Rory. He was his father’s son.

The pack—wolves, snakes, cats, hounds, wasps, raptors, all—converged on the body, rending and tearing.

I had to look away.

The ball court was in chaos, the crowd streaming every which way. The Taino soldiers blocking the ends of the playing field had fled. People stampeded for safety, leaving broken and sobbing wounded behind. A few pockets of order held ground, among them Prince Caonabo who had not panicked but instead had taken advantage of the chaos to cut the bonds of his twin. Juba took the knife from his brother and ran to free the other prisoners. A ceremonial spear in hand, Caonabo approached the raised platform with soldiers at his heels. A shadowy hound loped past, a head hanging from its jaws by long black hair.

Then huge glittering flakes of a heavy snowfall obscured the scene, making it seem I, my sire, and Vai were alone in the world.

My sire opened his fingers. The chain and ring had crumbled into rust. When he blew on his hand, the red dust dispersed like chaff into the blowing snow. Touched by that dust, my machete corroded and deformed as rust bloomed on the blade, creeping up as if to engulf and consume my flesh. I let go. The blade shattered when it hit the ground.