It disappeared in a shower of smoke. I coughed, lurched away from the hot, stinging wisps, and looked over at the others.
Ian was crouching down by Amanda’s side, his hands on her stomach, trying to use his Viking strength to stop the bleeding. But her wounds were too deep, and she had already lost too much blood. Ian wasn’t going to be able to save her. From the grim set of his lips, he knew it too, although he kept murmuring words of encouragement, telling her to hold on and that help was on the way.
I hobbled over to them, even though every movement made more and more pain spiral out through my blistered fingers, burned skin, and bruised, battered body. Ian looked up as I staggered to a stop beside them.
His gray eyes narrowed. “You’re bleeding.”
I looked down. Blood had soaked into my T-shirt sleeve. I pulled the tattered fabric away from my right arm and peered at the long gashes that ran from my shoulder all the way down to my elbow. The chimera had clawed me as I’d killed it. Weird. I hadn’t even felt it strike me, and I should have, given how much blood was pouring out of the deep, ugly wounds. Or maybe that was because the hot, throbbing, pulsing feel of the burns on my skin was so much more painful.
But I forced the pain away, let go of my shirt sleeve, and dropped—well, more like fell—to my knees beside Amanda. “It’s nothing. Just a few scratches.”
Ian raised his eyebrows, knowing that I was lying, but he turned back to the other girl. “The others will be here any second. Hang on, Amanda. Just hang on.”
She looked up at him, pain and tears shimmering in her eyes. “I tried…” she rasped. “But I couldn’t find him… Whatever he took… I think he summoned…the chimeras with it…”
She coughed, causing more blood to bubble up out of her lips and trickle down her face. She shuddered out a breath, and her head lolled to one side. Amanda stared at me for a moment, and then her eyes went dark, distant, and blank.
Dead—she was dead.
“Amanda?” Ian said. “Amanda!”
He started shaking her, but of course it was far too late for that. He knew it too, and after a few seconds, he stopped, his face pinching tight with grief. This time, Ian shuddered out a breath and ran a hand through his blond hair. Then he reached out, gently closed Amanda’s eyes, and bowed his head.
The gentle, respectful motion of one warrior saluting a fallen comrade made my heart ache. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. At least I thought I did, but Ian’s and Amanda’s faces blurred together, and white spots winked on and off in front of my eyes. A second later, my sword slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. All the strength left my body, and I flopped down to the floor as well.
My face was right next to Babs’s, and the sword’s features twisted into a stricken expression.
“Don’t die!” she said. “You can’t die! Not so soon! It’s not time yet!”
I opened my mouth to tell her that I didn’t have a choice, given how badly the chimera had clawed and burned me, but the words got stuck in my throat, and the library started spinning around and around. One very troubling, ironic thought popped into my mind.
A talking sword and a dead girl in the library.
This was how it had all started for Gwen.
Chapter Five
I lay on the floor, staring up at the library tower ceiling. All those bits of stained glass glimmered even brighter than before, and I could have sworn that an invisible breeze was gusting over the wildflowers, making their petals sway back and forth and back and forth…
I blinked, and from one instant to the next, everything changed.
Instead of lying on the library floor, I was now standing in the middle of an enormous open-air courtyard. Flowers, vines, and trees stretched out in all directions, each one more colorful than the last. The vibrant blues, greens, reds, whites, and purples made it seem as though I were standing on a jeweled carpet instead of in a garden, and a crisp, clean scent blanketed the air, like fragrant flowers mixed with fresh snow.
A small stream snaked through the wildflowers, leading into a broken stone fountain before trickling out the other side. Cracked walls and crumbled heaps of stone ringed the courtyard, separating it from several nearby buildings that had collapsed in on themselves. The walls might be broken, but I could still make out the bears, rabbits, foxes, songbirds, and gryphons that had been carved into the stones.
Wildflowers, rocky ruins, animal carvings. I knew exactly where I was: the Eir Ruins on top of Snowline Ridge Mountain. But why? And how had I gotten here from the library?
I looked down. My clothes were still torn and bloody, but the burns and blisters on my hand had vanished, and my skin was smooth and whole again. The claw marks on my right arm were also gone. Someone had healed me. But who? Ian and his mysterious friends? Why would they help me?
I moved my arm back and forth and flexed my fingers, but everything worked the way it was supposed to, and I didn’t feel the slightest twinge of pain. Good. That was good.
What wasn’t so good was this weird dream that I was in—if it even was a dream.
This reminded me of another story Gwen had told me, about how Nike, the Greek goddess of victory, always seemed to appear to her in a strange dream realm, which was like a mirror image of the real world. I frowned. But what would Nike want with me? Gwen was her Champion, not me—
“Hello, Rory,” a soft voice called out behind me.
I whirled around. I wasn’t quite sure who I was expecting, but Nike wasn’t here.
Another goddess was.
I could tell she was a goddess by the way she moved, as if she were floating along instead of actually walking on the ground like we mere mortals did. Her footsteps didn’t disturb the wildflowers, didn’t rustle so much as a single petal or snap the smallest stem. Her long white gown rippled as though it were made of sheets of snowflakes that were swirling around her body. Her hair trailed down her shoulders in thick, black waves, and her eyes were even blacker, making her skin seem as white and luminous as a pearl in comparison.
The only things that marred her beauty were the old, faded scars that crisscrossed her hands and crept up her arms, but they somehow suited her. Despite her lovely features, she radiated sorrow, as though she had seen so many bad things that she could never, ever forget them, despite all the good things still left in the world.
I knew exactly who she was, especially since I’d been staring at her statue in the library earlier: Sigyn, the Norse goddess of devotion.
Sigyn stopped in front of me. “Hello, Rory.”
I bowed my head, wondering if I should curtsy and if I could do that without tripping and doing a face-plant into the flowers. Did you curtsy to a goddess? Gwen had never really explained that part of things to me.
“Um, hi.” My voice was barely above a whisper.
Sigyn nodded at my hoarse greeting. Then she gestured at the garden around us. “Will you walk with me?”