XXIII

  The Sixth Omen

  Clouds darkened the sky. From this close, the lashing winds carried their electric taste towards my taste buds. The world was on the eve of night. Weightless as I was, I wished I could keep flying. But unfortunately, gravity persisted.

  I whirled around, gaze falling on the raging tempest far below me. The herald wasn’t more than the size of a pebble, making the portal I created bigger than it.

  Talons that could wrap around my entire body gently clasped around my shoulders. A throw, a flip, and I was standing on the flametalon’s back. Its wingspan kept me from seeing the herald, so I leaned forwards and dug my nails into its side.

  First thing’s first.

  Calm Mind, I commanded. Ashwing closed her eyes. A cool, shuddering warmth passed through me. The summon’s energy density in the spiritual realm increased, as did my own. The effect was nothing to sneeze at. I’d guess about a ten percent increase.

  ‘It has a cooldown of a minute,’ instincts told me.

  Had Ashwing been able to carry me, I would’ve been able to wait it out. But the summon was already descending underneath my weight.

  Dive.

  Her great wings folded, streamlining her physique. As she did, I drew breath and allowed the frosty air to pass over me. Within me, I rotated the energy like I’d seen my summons do dozens of times already.

  “Let’s finish this.”

  When Ashe was tossed into the air like a kite, Duke for sure thought she was dead. Until she summoned a beast many times larger than her previous bird.

  ‘We’re both in the level tens, aren’t we?’

  He questioned this as the rope tying him to the pole stretched. The object of his study dove on the back of her giant summon.

  Duke glanced towards the wall beside the herald, where her blade was still embedded.

  ‘How is she going to hurt it?’

  Could she even hurt it? That Duke was considering it at all just showed how ridiculous this entire situation was.

  To think he’d get to see all this because of a whim…

  He hadn’t planned to follow her. Though he was looking for a fine way to die, death by cultist-pole or white stalker wasn’t exactly on his list of options. He wanted a mystical place. A place that would stir the mind, which he could write a poem about that they’d praise for ages to come. Everwinter was just the first step of that road.

  But how long had it been since he’d written anything at all? Writing was a skill, and skills diminished when you stopped using them.

  Ashe bore down like a falling star. Duke thought she would dive for her blade. As did the herald, evidently. The tempest grew until it engulfed the entirety of the area around the blade. But Ashe dove straight at the beast. Duke frowned. From what he’d seen, her birds could only fire from their wings. What was she doing?

  One of her hands let go of the summon’s back. Duke squinted. The storm blocked his spiritual senses, so only his eyes remained. There was a…flame over her palm. It fluttered in the air, blown back from the opposite forces acting on it. Then it sharpened. And sharpened. Until it was an edge so acute its glare alone could cut through one’s robe.

  Her mount curved upwards at the last moment, aided by the herald’s winds. She fired as they soared past. The crescent of flame bisected the storm where the two touched.

  It missed the herald by a hair.

  From his vantage, Duke saw her grimace, though the expression was gone within an instant. Her mount swerved and looped around for another shot.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Like a dark goddess of death.

  He couldn’t say why the thought came to him. But a need struck him: a nickname. She needed a nickname, and it needed to begin with how she slayed and absorbed the fallen. Like Kali, an old figure who was said to have ascended millions of years ago. But using Kali was lazy. He required something with bite. A name that would stick.

  Whirling blades from summon and rider alike fired into the herald, who was having trouble keeping itself upright. The herald fired back. Its own winds lent Ashe enough speed to swerve its attacks, but each attack brought the herald closer to its mark.

  Just when Duke thought the herald would strike true, the girl’s aura grew denser. Stronger.

  She twirled around the herald’s strikes and fired. Slowly, the herald lost ground. The winds died down enough for Duke’s feet to touch the ground again.

  He summoned a notebook from his storage ring that he hadn’t touched for who knew how long. His quill tapped against the paper. The Black Sun…no, that wasn’t quite right. Ash…something with ash or cinder.

  His train of thought derailed long enough to hear the herald cry. The blade of fire shaved off part of its hide and seared its feathers. Flesh near the area of impact was burnt to cinder, leaving nothing but a charred mess.

  Charred. Cinder…Ash.

  The Ashbringer.

  Her summon used the last of the tempest to ascend. For a moment, both rider and mount hovered in the air. Ashe latched onto the summon’s back and essence flushed through her. The flashing arc growing above the summon’s wing glowed brighter than anything she’d produced until now.

  The world drew breath as the technique released, and a line of fire behind it like an afterimage.

  With its leg and wind gone, the herald had no chance to dodge.

  Yes, Duke thought, watching the spectacle. That’s a good nickname.

  I heaved as I stood over the herald, heaving. Its head lolled, held together by defiant wires of flesh. Even after pouring all of my essence into Ashwing, I’d failed to decapitate it.

  It even had the energy to glare up at me and squirm. But its laboured breathing left it nothing to throw at me but spit.

  A haze of essence tried to leave the creature’s body, which froze like a mouse the moment the branch wrapped around the beast. With a heavy wrench, the haze reentered the body.

  The beast wanted to thrash like it hadn’t after Vyke’s art but only managed to do so weakly before it died.

  Duke tapped his quill against his notepad.

  “I’d like to request the honour of giving you a title,” he said.

  My gaze was on the beast, whose spinel eyes dimmed just as the portal closed. “You’re not going to say anything?”

  I know he sensed it too. How the tree trapped the herald’s soul.

  “About your nickname? No!” he crossed his arms and hid his pad. “Revealing a nickname to the holder before others hear it is bad luck.”

  My shoulders sagged. Somehow, I felt more dead than the herald.

  Duke tapped his quill once more, then put away his tools. “Why would I say anything?”

  I turned with the speed of a snail. “It’s sinister. It’s wrong.”

  “Sinister? Yes. Wrong? No.”

  “I’m serious, Duke.”

  His head tilted. “As am I. No heaven-defying talent exists who doesn’t have their roots in hell. I don’t know where you’re going Ashbr—Ashe, but if it’s anywhere of significance, you’ll kill much more. That’s just the way of the universe.”

  “Like fate being a weight?”

  “Like fate being a weight,” he nodded.

  The ground rumbled, making me turn to the centre of the plateau. A rectangular structure covered in script rose from the floor. The scripts flared, and a blue-green shimmer sprang to life across the open entrance like a murky pond with its surface disturbed.

  [Second Trial Entrance]

  Duke didn’t look the least bit surprised.

  “You knew it would spawn?” I asked.

  “I did. Though you couldn’t have paid me to bet you’d actually kill the herald.”

  I frowned. ‘Then why follow me? Wasn’t that suicide?’

  With a sigh, I shook the question from my head. Not my problem. My sole concern had been that he would steal my kill or title, but the boy had yet to make a move.

  A myriad of messages clouded my screen. I ignored them all in favour of making my way towards the drake, who was conveniently stationed beside the portal. Every step was like displacing a mountain. If the castle had anything at all to sleep on, I’d be lost to the world within seconds.

  I conjured the portal and the branch crawled out.

  The plateau shook again. A cloud of dust dispersed behind us, revealing a disgruntled Erri. She was covered in blood and her hair was wild.

  “Shit,” she spit. “I’m too late?”

  Right. Aurille had ran after the battle, leaving Erri with Vyke and Aedan. Not to mention the cultist reinforcements.

  ‘She made it through all of them?’

  The Dragonflight heir’s slit eyes whirled around before they landed on the drake entering the portal. “What are you doing?”

  “Not being wasteful,” I said.

  “Not being wasteful?” She paused as if to make sure she was translating correctly in her head. “I will not suffer having one of my brood taken by another faction. Return him.”

  ‘Huh. It’s a him? How can you even tell?’

  “And what if she says no?” Duke’s nose was upturned with his quill balancing on the ridge.

  I blinked. Was he seriously posturing right now?

  “I’m completely empty if you didn’t notice, Duke.”

  His lips tutted. He discretely took a step towards the gate, then hurried inside.

  Erri’s spirit rose. “Don’t move.” Whatever beating she’d received, it wasn’t enough to have me consider battling her.

  I turned my back and reached for the gate, too tired to think of anything else.

  “You enter that gate without returning his body,” she said, “and I promise upon my brood that you will not survive the Maze.”

  I glanced back over my shoulder, one hand on the door frame. Determination was carved into every line of her inhuman face. Not a curve of her previous, permanent leathery smile remained, and her reptilian eyes smouldered with resolve. I honoured the Dragonflight heiress by meeting those eyes.

  “Good luck,” I said.

  Then I stepped through the portal, leaving the storm-torn mountaintop behind me.

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