Bloodwitch (The Witchlands, #3)

She shook her head, a frantic movement that matched the wildness in his own shaking head. Yet before she could ask, could move, could do anything but stare, a voice carved through the storm. Made of ice and nightmares, it sang, “You cannot run forever, Merik. Wherever you go, I will find you.”

Then wind pushed against Safi. It kicked at the snow and weaseled beneath her clothes, like hands fumbling, searching—

“Go,” Merik said. He released her and pulled away, and new winds—strong and true—gusted. “Go,” he repeated, louder now. Eyes wide and pleading. “Safi, please. Go.” And before she could stop him, before she could beg him to stay or explain or at least tell her how to find him again, he launched into the darkness.

She watched Merik leave. Watched him shrink until he was nothing more than a shadow. She watched lightning and cyclones steal him away. And she watched until falling rocks forced her feet to move.

The staircase was collapsing beneath her. Booming eruptions of noise and dust that punched upward, punched nearer. Soon, she would be standing on thin air.

So Safi spun on her heel and ran. Her hands grabbed at the higher steps, the only thing she could do for balance. The only thing she could do to hang on while hell-storm and earthquakes pummeled against her.

Boulders fell. Scree shattered. Safi’s knees rolled and her ankles popped. Until abruptly, the stairs ended. Her hands met empty air, and a ledge stretched before her.

“SAFI!” roared a voice she knew. Then a second voice, “Safi, faster! Safi, this way!” So that way Safi charged, dead ahead to where two figures materialized in the shadows and a blue light glowed.

She reached Caden, who grabbed one arm. Then Zander, who grabbed her other. Together, they heaved her toward the doorway.

Safi had just enough time before tumbling through to look back. Just enough time to search for one final glimpse of Merik.

It wasn’t Merik she saw sweeping by, though. It was an old crow, black and sleek, winging through the storm.

Then blue light frizzed over her, time stopped, and Safi and the Hell-Bards were transported far, far away.



* * *



Merik did not watch Safi leave. He couldn’t. The Fury was almost to her; Merik had to keep him away.

And now Merik also had a plan.

It was neither cohesive, nor perhaps even possible—but it was the only option before him. The only thing he could do that might calm the Fury once and for all.

“Do you want these?” Merik bellowed, pumping all his magic into that sound. “You’ll have to come and get them.” Then he lifted two jagged rocks, remnants of the mountain that he hoped, from afar, might look like the Fury’s missing tools.

Like a razor in one hand, and broken glass in the other.

A screech ripped across the cavern, borne on lightning. Swollen by the storm. It slashed over a mountain that would not stop its quaking. Then the Fury himself appeared within the squall.

Merik moved. He zoomed toward the ice-bridge, fueled by starlight and a need to protect Nubrevna, no matter the cost.

And also fueled by the lure of a mother’s call and by a sleeping ice Esme had said would suck you in.

As Merik had hoped, the Fury followed him.

Merik reached the ice-bridge. His feet touched down, and instantly, the song bombarded him, sentient and hungry.

Come, come, and find release. Come, come, the ice will hold you.

Good. Merik hoped it would do exactly that.

He ran. His heels hammered, ice crunched, and all around him, thunder clapped and crazed.

Then the Fury landed. “Where are you going?” he bellowed. “That way will not free you!”

Merik sped faster, legs careening and arms swinging. The door was near enough for him to see details in the wood, to spot a key-slot with ice spindling through.

“Stop!” Panic laced Kullen’s voice now. Static too, that crackled in the air and stabbed at Merik’s skin. “Stop!” Kullen pleaded. “Do not go that way!”

Merik reached the door. He reached the ice, and, twisting sideways, he flung himself through. Instantly, the song magnified. Tenfold louder, it throbbed in his lungs, compelling him instead of crooning. Tenfold stronger, it jittered in his teeth and rooted in his heart.

As Merik wiggled and squirmed, straining to squeeze through a narrow passage that glowed blue with an inner light all its own, ice crunched outward. It poked. It grasped, fingers that wanted to hold him still.

Come, come, and find release. Come, come, the ice will hold you.

“Not … yet,” he gritted out, and with a final shove, he toppled into an open space.

But like everywhere else in this mountain, the ground shook—though instead of rocks to tumble down, it was ice. Boulders and debris that shattered on impact and filled the air with crystal mist.

He stumbled forward, arms blocking his face while he squinted into this frozen room. Shaped like a seashell, it spiraled upward with hundreds of doors branching off, each one clogged with ice.

All except for a single door high above.

Come, come, and find release. Come, come, the ice will hold you.

Merik inhaled. Ice razored his throat and lungs, but with it came a wind. With it came power. Like the starlight from the cavern, but stronger—and tinged with something sharp. Something savage.

“Stop,” Kullen commanded, pushing into the room. And it was the strangest thing, seeing the Fury afraid. The shadows pulsed inward and blue flickered around his eyes.

Then Merik moved. Before Kullen could see he held nothing but two stones. Before more ice could fall and stop him from fleeing forever.

His winds vaulted him high. Up three spirals, he zipped and swirled. Ice meteored down. Lightning scorched upward. But Kullen and his magic were not fast enough. Merik reached the open door and soared in.

What he found was a tomb—he knew that truth as soon as he burst inside, for already two shadows hovered inside the ice wall. Small, child-sized figures sucked into this eternal, sleeping ice. Between the two shapes were two empty holes, man-sized and waiting.

Merik strode toward the one on the right. Three long paces, and the closer he came, the more the ice crackled outward. Clawing and hungry. Come, come, and find release. Come, come, the ice will hold you.

But Merik did not step into the hole. Not yet.

His blood roared in his ears. His muscles shook and his belly spun—and it was not because of the mountain. It was because Merik knew what he had to do.

Then the room darkened, as he’d known it would, and shadows skated across the trembling floor. Even though Merik was ready, even though he was waiting, nothing could prepare him for the Fury’s attack.

It railed against him, a battering ram of winds that crunched Merik’s spine before slinging him around to face the entrance. To face Kullen stalking just outside.

“Give me my blade,” the Fury ordered through the tomb’s entrance. “Give me my glass.”