Asylum (Causal Enchantment #2)(72)
The magic that would release me from my curse. Was this really happening? I looked down at the pendant. This seemed too easy. Sofie had spent years looking for a way to break the curse, and this abomination with the feathered hat and hideous eyes figured he’d just untangle the souls. Of course! So simple. Too simple. Could something go wrong? “This won’t hurt either of us, will it? Will I be safe? Will the other soul be safe?” I suddenly asked. The last thing I wanted to do was get Veronique killed. She didn’t deserve that, and I was as good as dead if it happened.
With a disapproving frown and a dismissive wave, he promised with an air of certainty, “Both souls free.”
I allowed the smallest sigh of relief. Free at last . . . Free of this curse. Free of my hunters. Free to be with Caden, forever. Free to become . . . not human. I surrendered to the tidal wave of shock as it washed over me, the very idea too wild to be real. I would do anything to be free. Anything at all.
The chief stood and marched over to the platform. He thumped on it with his spear, then looked over his shoulder at me. “Get on.”
Wait a minute . . . Alarm bells sounded. I looked at the platform and at the posts, reaching at least fifteen feet into the air over the blazing fire, and then back at him, putting two and two together. He expected me up on that platform, hanging over the raging fire. “Umm . . . ” I faltered, images of me tumbling into the flames suddenly coming to mind. “Are you sure I should be the one going up there?”
“To free your soul. Yes.”
Was it freedom through death? “I won’t . . . burn, will I?”
“No.” So confident, so firm. “Get on wood now. You will be free.”
Free . . . Slowly rising from my stump, I took one step, then another, and another—sure that someone else’s legs were moving my body there, because I couldn’t feel anything from the waist down. I finally reached the platform. It was about two feet by three feet in size—not a tightrope, but not exactly huge. Gritting my teeth and giving the hut and the woods a quick look—I knew Max and Julian would never approve of this—I stepped onto the platform.
The entire tribe closed in. Even the tigers seemed to perk up. Everyone wanted to see the god of fire free me. Or burn me alive.
My stomach knotted. “I don’t know if this is a good—”
“Kneel!” the chief ordered, the blunt end of his spear pushing down hard on my shoulder.
My legs buckled and I went down. Get out of here, Evangeline! Get off this board, now! my subconscious screamed inside my head, and yet it was somehow drowned out by a soft, subtle cooing: Free . . . free . . .
The woman who had worked on Julian the night before appeared with a large jug. She lifted the spout to my shoulder and tipped it. Clear, hot liquid streaked down my body, covering my arms and torso, running over my back and thighs until it coated my entire body, pooling behind my knees. When her jug was empty, she stepped away.
The chief nodded. The drummer began pounding his instrument in a steady, slow beat. Two groups of men flocked in with another set of long posts, these ones much thinner than the ones around the fire and with two-pronged ends. I watched as they each hooked the ends into the little divots on either side of the platform. “Do not move or you will fall,” the chief warned, his words instantly stiffening my body until it felt as hard as the board on which I knelt. Moving in unison, the men lifted me.
I crouched, paralyzed by terror as I rose steadily toward the top of the four posts above the fire. At one point I squeezed my eyes shut, sure I was about to pass out. I kept them closed until a jostle indicated the men were placing the platform onto its four supports. Cracking one lid and then the other, I peeked out from this new vantage. The top of this contraption was even higher than I had anticipated, I realized as I looked down upon the roofs of the little huts and the leaping flames below. The rising heat just barely warmed my body, I was that high above it.
The heads of the Death Tribe swayed back and forth as they circled the huge, blazing fire. There was no escape.
11. The Race
“Dear God,” I whispered, looking down at the fiery carnage on the waves below. Pieces of what looked like a large cargo plane lay scattered on the ocean’s surface, the water extinguishing the flames as each piece sank. We were about ten miles from the eastern shore of the island.
“What are the odds?” Caden murmured as we flew over the mess in our tiny Cessna, heading for the west side of the island where a long, sandy beach would serve as landing strip. Everywhere else was too densely forested.
“Those aren’t odds,” I growled. “That’s Viggo. He must have hijacked a Fed Ex plane. It would have had enough fuel to get all the way here.” I shoved my hair off my forehead. “Bloody idiot! Like that won’t attract attention.”
“Do you think he’s made it to her yet?” Mage asked quietly.
The very suggestion set Caden off. “Land this plane now—into the trees, if you have to. I don’t care,” he ordered the pilot.
“No,” I countered, though I was ready to open the door and drop out of the night sky, just to get to her. But we couldn’t crash. “We’ll need this plane to get Evangeline out of here. They can’t be far ahead of us. They won’t just walk in there, it’s too risky. They’ll approach with extreme caution. That should buy us a bit of time.” We’re coming, Evangeline.