Dawn of Ash (Imdalind, #6)(86)
I caught a glimpse of their heads before the image shifted like a flipbook, flashes of hundreds of people I had never seen before swimming across my eyes. My magic whispered to me as I began to recognize them, to recognize the family line, father to son and son to father. Even though none of the faces were familiar, I knew them. I recognized a nose, the green of their eyes. I saw my family for the first time.
I gasped in shock as the sight faded to nothing other than a bright red light, the color sliding down my vision like paint.
“The son will rise, the son will fall, and all the blood will cease to flow. The time is now. It grows too late. Kill the fool before the slate.”
I gazed into the long, red drips of black and red as they moved over me. The red faded to nothing, while the black encompassed the words in my head, my own voice speaking right alongside them.
“Love no longer seeks revenge. The time has come to write your end.”
The scream stopped as the voices did, the sight fading away until I was left staring at the cracked ceiling I woke up to every morning. Time caught up and moved into overdrive as the voices flooded around me, dread and fear infecting me like some kind of noxious disease.
As I looked from Ilyan to Ryland, the overlay of sight cast itself over them with perfect clarity. My mind moved quicker than it ever had. It was as though everything was unleashed. It was as though everything was free.
Ovailia walked through the cathedral within my mind, Wyn conspicuously missing as she strode into our makeshift hospital. My magic was strong as it pulled me right to her, confirming what my sight had already revealed.
“We need to go,” I spoke over the terror, everything freezing as I sat up from where I lay in Ilyan’s lap. My sight was still focused on where Ovailia and Sain stood side-by-side. “We cannot wait.”
There was one reason they would be here. No, there was one reason they would be in that room … with all of those Chosen.
“Ilyan.” Pulling my focus from where Ovailia and Sain stood in tense conversation, I looked to my mate whose eyes were wide in shock. “We must go … before it is too late.”
“Go where?” He was so tense, the fear so raw on his face it scared me. “Joclyn?”
“Ilyan,” I gasped as I looked at him, letting the sight fade from me and bringing him into a clearer focus. His face relaxed with the change, the brightness of his eyes taking my breath away. “Ovailia is here. We need to stop her. We need to stop them both.”
With the last word, the screams I had been dreading filled the air. The agonizing shouts erupted in a torrent that sent my magic screaming in desperation.
“Get them away from the door,” I gasped, sight and magic erupting in a swell of power that took me right where I needed to be, where I hoped Ilyan would follow.
Ribbons of time zoomed through the space of the stutter in bright, colorful strips that I paid no attention to. My focus was solely on what was ahead—the room that opened up at the end of the tunnel, the space growing brighter as I moved closer. The sound of their screams increased with every moment, resonating with a haunting fear that cut through me, the smell of death and smoke hitting against me like a wall.
A jolt of pressure rippled up my spine, the once peaceful hospital emerging around me as the stutter fell away to a room engulfed in flames of red and orange, painful tongues of fire lapping against the people as they screamed, as death tried to take them.
The powerful shield I had covered myself with was barely enough to keep the fire from consuming me. The burn tried to move into me as smoke filled my nostrils. Clothing and hair were burned away, the pungent aroma adding to the rancid smell of death that already filled the space.
The heat was drowning, their screams deafening, the sounds violent. I tensed in one brief moment of fear before turning toward the door. The old, wooden slab was obviously locked in place by a powerful spell. Some of the Chosen were cluttered around it, clawing at the only exit in desperation.
“Move!” I screamed through the flames, not even giving them a chance to hear my command before my hand pressed against the air in front of me, sweeping them to the side in one quick move.
Screams of surprise mixed with those of panic. My heart raced as my magic flexed with a jolt so powerful I expected it to hurt. The deep Drak magic wrapped them in a shield, my hand remaining over them, keeping them in place.
My heart roared in a calm thunder, my magic a torrent of force as it spun around me, gaining momentum and power before I pressed my other hand in the air. Sparks of green and grey broke off from the whirlwind I was surrounded by, slamming into the wooden door.
The pulse was weaker than I knew would be needed to break through whatever was holding the door in place, but strong enough to seep into the oak, lighting the hallway opposite and giving enough warning to those on the other side to move away.
I hoped it was enough, that Ilyan had taken my command to heart and that he wasn’t still sitting on our bed in confusion. I didn’t have time to wait. I didn’t have time to check. People were dying.
My magic continued to move, swirling and building as my hair whipped over my face, the long, golden ribbon dancing gracefully through smoke and ash.
Terror soaked into me, igniting my own dread for the first time since I had appeared in the room. I let the fear grip me. I let myself feel it. I let it fuel me. Then, pressing my hand toward the door, I released the powerful jets of magic in one quick flux.