* * *
"Spear Mother. Spear Mother, wake up!"
Sandrena's eyes shot open.
Something was touching her shoulder. Instinctively, she backed away.
"Spear Mother. It's me! Caella!"
Crouched over Sandrena's bed roll was indeed the round-faced woman, staring at her with wide eyes. Behind her stood the others, including the Lady, worried looks in all of their faces. But that wasn't what captured Sandrena's attention.
The entire sky was overcast with boiling red clouds.
Frantically, Sandrena took stock of their surroundings. Their campsite looked more or less the same—the firepit wasn't even smoking, so she figured it must have been morning already, but there was no way to tell for certain. The otherworldly red glow filling the clouds seemed nothing so common as daylight.
To the north a mere fifty feet loomed a massive black cliff.
"What—What the Tree is going on?" she stammered, scrabbling away from the startling sight. How had a cliff sprouted in the middle of grasslands? How was this, any of this, possible?
The Lady stepped forward with a consoling expression on her face. "The Madding Shores move faster than I thought possible. The God of Aberrations gathers power, and quickly."
Sandrena could barely follow what she was hearing. Had the dream truly ended? How could she tell? Everything seemed so... impossible. She swiped the hair out of her sweaty face, trying to make sense of it all. "I... was dreaming." She glanced up.
Everyone stared back at her with blank eyes.
"Don't you understand? I don't have dreams!"
"Sure you do," Rayell said with far more calmness than Sandrena ever thought she could feel again. "You mumble in your sleep all the time. It's annoying."
"No," Sandrena said with a dismissive gesture, "that's different. I know what you're talking about. Those aren't dreams, not really. This... I was floating... a man appeared, bigger than that cliff... and..." She began to shudder uncontrollably, and drew her knees up to her chest, clutching to herself tightly. "It was... unbearable!"
She could feel their eyes on her still, but the Lady was instantly at her side, drawing her into a loose embrace. At her touch, Sandrena felt the worry wash away from her like filth under a waterfall. She wondered if this were some power of the Lady's, or merely the sincerity of her compassion that she felt.
"He knows, Sandrena. He knows we are coming to stop him. And he knows you hold Motherspear." The embrace tightened, and Sandrena felt the Lady's cheek pressed against her own. "I'm sorry for placing this burden upon you."
"Nonsense," Sandrena said. She returned the embrace to soften her words. "I chose this... for you, Lady. It is a burden I bear willingly." She disengaged and scooped up Motherspear, feeling its power reassure her, and turned back to the Lady, who also stood. Sandrena lifted the Spear. "How does this work?"
The Lady's sad face wilted further. "I don't know exactly, I'm sorry to say. All I know is that its power is genuine, and immense, and that it reacts to the resonances of our respective realms—the Fourth World as you know it, and the realm of the Aberrations as it once was. It's able to bridge the two worlds."
"You don't know what it does?" Caella asked, before huffing and turning away, doubtless feeling her faith in Berahmain's divine agents waning.
Sandrena ignored her. "Does this have the power to undo what was done already?" With Motherspear, she gestured to the cliff.
"I don't know. I think it may be too much to ask without complete mastery of the Spear. Success in this venture is stopping the god from destroying everything. Anything beyond that would be a plum, in my opinion."
Sandrena crumpled. All that power... unreachable. She felt as weak and useless as she had when trying to swim under the surface of the pond, knowing what she had to do but lacking in the skill to do it. She had failed that day; she hadn't been able to save Laura, or herself. Would the same thing happen to her again?
Propping the butt of Motherspear in the ground, she closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the tip, letting its seemingly untappable power radiate into her. No. I promise that I will not fail again. Though it may not bring you back, I do this for you, little sister.
I will be strong enough.
Just thinking about Laura, the unquenchable smile that often graced her face, made Sandrena feel that she had the strength to carry on. She even felt the corners of her own lips curl up slightly.
When she opened her eyes, she saw the Lady gazing at her with interest, head cocked.
Abruptly, Semorie spun into a low crouch, both blades—a short stabbing sword and a dagger for parrying—snapping into her hands from out of nowhere. The rest of them froze, ears straining for what set Semorie off. Sandrena could hear nothing, save for the quiet dragging of metal against leather as the Lady crouched to pull her broadsword free of it scabbard. Sandrena noticed that the Lady's armor still sat in its ordered fashion next to the Lady's bedroll.
Korilia drew her bone-hilted knife. Rayell lowered her thin-hafted spear, eyes roaming over the grasses. Dormaun grabbed a stone off the ground, clutching it in her hands fiercely. While Sandrena didn't know if Dormaun would be much of a force to reckon with, she admired the woman's sudden courage.
Sandrena lowered Motherspear, hoping that when the time came, she would know what to do with it.
Like a flash, Semorie darted forward at a crouch, disappearing into the high grasses.
All around them, the grass began to stir as if hunters circled them.
Sandrena's pulse began to race, her breathing deepening. Her palms started sweating; she gripped Motherspear tighter to compensate. She would not fail again.
Beyond the rustling of grass, she could hear the falling of feet, and a quiet grinding of metal on metal... The women circled up around the firepit, at least those with weapons. With a determined expression on her white face with her hands folded in front of her in priestly fashion, Caella stood in the center of the circle. The Lady stood at Sandrena's right, broadsword held out in front of her, tip slanting up. Briefly, their eyes met.
A snarling shadow leapt straight at Sandrena's face.
Caught unawares, she stumbled back with a quick shriek. The butt of Motherspear caught on a stone, jerking the tip of the Spear up—right into the chest of the strangely shifting, cat-like beast. Expecting to feel the resistance of parting flesh, she was surprised when she heard the grating of metal on the Spear's tip.
The large beast exploded outward in strings of metal. Not flesh at all.
They're made of chains.
Broken links of white-hot metal bounced off of her. Had they made longer contact, they would have burned her. Sandrena must have damaged the chain-creature somehow. She didn't have time to think about it. It had abandoned its cat-like form and lashed at her, quick as a whip. Before she could react, the chain had wrapped around her throat.
She could feel it tightening, choking off her air, sawing into her skin. She felt as if she were holding her breath, unable to get air into her lungs, the air was too far away, if only she could swim faster, unwrap the chain from Laura's neck...
No. Motherspear spun in her hands, slicing through the chain in a blazing white blur as if the chain were hemp and not iron, melting the chain on contact. The tightness around her neck loosened, and then fell away, as the chain, separated from the bulk, seemed to die.
Glorious air filled her lungs.
Never again. Never again will I be a victim. Never again will anyone I love be a victim.
Filled with righteous rage, Sandrena advanced. She was no master of the spear—the sword was her weapon of choice, as it was for most Mistclansmen—but she had practiced long hours ever since meeting Rayell in Shannod, sparring with her. Sandrena had been awkward and slow in practice, but now, she was filled with clarity of purpose, and her movements quick, accurate, and efficient.
The chain was now coiled like a snake, the scorched metal of its would-be face darting forward as a snake would, testi
ng its victim's defenses. The chain seemed wary of Motherspear, as well it should be. For some reason, Motherspear was able to cut through the chain as if it were a heated sword cutting through a candle. Sandrena had never seen it act that way with anything else.
Sandrena mimicked the chain's movements, making tiny jabs, careful not to leave openings in her defenses.
From out of nowhere, something slammed into her side, throwing her to the ground.
It was the Lady.
Who spun just as a second chain shot through the air where Sandrena had stood not a moment before. With speed that seemed impossible for a human, the Lady, leaning on Sandrena to protect her, struck out with her broadsword in a hundred, no, a thousand strikes in mere seconds, parrying the chain in a shower of sparks. Sandrena couldn't track what was happening at all. The Lady's arm was a blur, her sword rendered invisible with speed. Bits of metal shot everywhere, nicking Sandrena with a thousand tiny cuts. She had to raise her arm to keep the tiny shards from cutting out her eyes.
Keeping the mind-bending pace of her strikes, the Lady struggled to her feet. "Sandrena," she grunted. "The other chain—"
Sandrena saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
And stabbed Motherspear forward.
The first chain slammed right into the tip, splitting into two white rivulets of liquid metal that parted around it. As if mortally wounded, the chain slithered away into the grass.
Droplets of the liquid metal spattered on the Lady's back.
Sandrena scrambled to her feet to do something, but there was no need: the metal burned small holes in the fabric of the Lady's clothes, but merely clung to her skin with no ill effect.
Sandrena stared, unblinking.
But the mystery of the Lady had to wait. There were still fights to be had.
The Lady was pressing her advantage—or at least it seemed that way, as Sandrena could barely make sense of that battle—so she decided to see which of the others needed help. She made a quick scan of the campsite.
Dormaun was nowhere to be found. Rayell and Korilia were teamed up against another chain-beast, this one still in its cat-like form. Rayell was favoring one foot; the ankle was swollen, and probably bruised, though it was impossible to tell since no bruises would show on their skin. Across the firepit, Semorie was standing stock-still. Her left arm was missing below the elbow—
Was she boshail, then? Sandrena stared, blinked, then shook her head. No. Not important. "Semorie, are—"
"I'm wounded, but alive. Don't worry about me." Her voice was flat.
Sandrena nodded in a daze, not sure what good worrying would do at this point anyway. "Where is Dormaun? And Caella?"
The Lady stepped to Sandrena's side, breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed. "Need help, sisters?"
Korilia roared forward, slashing like a maniac, though there was form to her mania. Short lengths of chain flew from the path of her sudden rampage. Then, she stopped, panting heavily.
Rayell was frozen, staring in awe, then dropped her arms in a disappointed slump. "I guess not, my Lady."
Sandrena scanned the grass for motion. "Is that all of them?"
"Yes," came Semorie's flat voice. Still she had not taken her eyes from the point in front of her.
Sandrena frowned. Were those tears? "Semorie?"
The Faceless woman nodded at the ground at her feet.
Sandrena hurried over. Pushing aside the grass, she gasped.
Caella lay on the dirt, limbs bent in odd angles, eyes open in death. Holes gaped in front and back of her where chains must have punched through. The wounds seemed to drip white paint. Her blood. Only the redness of the sky seemed to tell the truth about what it was.
Sandrena fell to her knees at Caella's side. No. I failed.
I failed you, Caella.
I failed you, Laura.
A scream ripped from Sandrena's throat.