Visions of Skyfire

Chapter 14

R une drew on the fire and flashed himself to the interior of Teresa’s house. The moment he appeared, he sensed the imminent danger. There were hunters nearby. Probably watching this house and if they were, then he knew they had seen his arrival. He had only moments before an attack came.

Not that he was worried about his own survival. Yes, white gold could bring him down, but he was still a true immortal. The only thing that would kill him was decapitation. And even then, he doubted that his god, Belen, would allow him to die permanently. At least, not until their task was complete and Belen’s lover, Danu, was satisfied that her witches had at last corrected the hideous wrong committed so long ago.

He glanced around the small room with its comfortable but worn furnishings and he felt Teresa’s essence here. This was where she lived and dreamed and laughed. There was a sense of warmth to the tiny house that told him this was her safe place. The one spot in the world where she felt most comfortable. Her home. And she would probably never see it again.

Dismissing his wandering thoughts, Rune focused his attention on the damn bird Teresa refused to live without. He would have spotted it instantly even if it hadn’t whistled sharply at his sudden arrival.

It looked like a miniature parrot. Sapphire blue head, dark orange beak curved downward, brilliant green ring of color around its neck and spilling down its back. Bright yellow and orange colored its narrow chest and its beady eyes were locked onto Rune as it squawked the same phrase over and over. It took him a minute to understand the bird’s attempt at language, but when he did he almost smiled.

Teresa had trained the bird to shout a warning. Over and over again, the pretty rat with wings shrieked, “Run for it!”

Amusement aside, Rune gritted his teeth. He’d never liked birds. Probably went back to the Middle Ages, when hawks were kept and trained by noblemen. One of his fellow Eternals, Odell, had kept the damn things and one of the feathered bastards had clawed Rune’s face open one fine day.

Later that night, the hawk had made a tasty stew.

Since then, Rune had hated birds. Especially so called “tame” ones. Treacherous creatures.

“Be grateful I’m not roasting you for a snack, you wretched bag of fluff.”

The bird screeched again.

“Run for it!”

He was going to regret this—he could already feel it. But there was no hope for it now. Sweeping one hand out, he captured the damn bird before it could take flight off its perch. “It’s your lucky day,” he told it in a whisper. “Don’t push me.”

Rune heard the hunters before he saw them. They hit the front door with a crash and came spilling into Teresa’s tiny home like water from a fire hose. Guns lifted. Men shouted. Rune laughed.

Then he called on the fire and disappeared as white-gold bullets shredded the air where he had just been.





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