over them and push them back toward the iris and into it.
Par-Salian abandoned the flame sphere and lifted the boy in his arms.
“Run!” he screamed. He wasn’t sure anyone was left to hear him, but he ran, the undead be damned, for the gate.
And at his back, he felt the growing pressure of the collapsing bubble.
Once caught, nothing could escape it.
The deadly darts blasted the undead, peppering them with shots and leaving behind ruined bodies. Tythonnia knew the missiles wouldn’t touch her, yet found it impossible to budge. It was time for her to act, to do something.
Berthal was on the ground, struggling to rise and bleeding heavily. Hundor lay deathly still, though Mariyah gripped him like a drowning woman looking for purchase on the ocean. Everything seemed surreal, the moment too insane to grasp completely. As Tythonnia watched in shock, she saw the limp bodies of the destroyed creatures begin to roll away, toward the patch of ground beneath the iris. More monsters landed on the ground, intent on coming through. But some of the others were being tugged upward.
Then Dumas rose slowly to her feet. She didn’t seem to notice the angry gnats of light buzzing around her. A furious mixture of hate and pain swelled her face. Berthal was forgotten in her eyes, but Ladonna was there to slake her blade’s thirst.
In that moment, Tythonnia never hated another human being as much as she did the huntress. Dumas was not yet broken. Tythonnia wanted to shatter her. She wanted to hear the woman scream in agony, to match the unholy wails in her own thoughts.
Tythonnia envisioned her tattoo, her gift from Amma Batros, and imagined the full circle of black ink drain away. She felt the power of the tattoo slip through her skin and into her veins and arteries. The power infused her, made her skin ache. She shivered.
Dumas advanced on Ladonna, stumble-stepping with her blade in her hand. Ladonna did not see her. Tythonnia did, and moved to counter her once and for all.
Tythonnia was spent of her learned spells, but the Wyldling was still hers to command. She fell into familiar motions. Her fingers flew together. They flew apart. Her mind became a mirror. And in that mirror where Sutler had once stood was Dumas. She was blurry and distant somehow, but the tome on her chest was visible and distinct in each detail. Also in the reflection, standing behind Dumas, was the very thing to end her.
Dumas hesitated as a shadowy, nebulous vision appeared to block her path. It was indistinct and hard to decipher. She shook her head and swung weakly at it. The illusion shimmered and wavered-it was as though she had hit a wall. The metal tome was resisting the spell, but the magic in her would not be denied. She pushed harder and drained the ink of the tattoo completely, forever perhaps. The Wyldling flooded into her blood and back out again through her mind. Around her, flames of witch fire flickered and sparkled.
The huntress let out a small yelp at the same time Ladonna’s flight of darts finally ended. Bodies were slowly floating upward, through the portal. The pull had strengthened.
Dumas shook her head against the illusion, fighting it with every last ounce of willpower. Tythonnia forced every ounce of hers into the spell, but in the mirror where Dumas stood, there was the tome, protecting her. It prevented her from coming into view clearly.
Then the image wavered.
“No!” Dumas grunted. She shook her head. Whatever she saw was beginning to shake her confidence. Her hand grabbed at the cover, her fingers scrambling at its edges. “No!” she said.
In the mirror, Dumas was struggling to pull the metal tome off.
She’s fighting with the book! Tythonnia realized.
“I killed Thoma!” Dumas cried. “I did it! Bastard! He made me do it! It was Be-” she stammered, trying to force the word out, but something was stopping her. “B-Be-!”
The shadow shape meant to kill Dumas struggled to take form. Dumas’s fingers grappled with the tome’s lock. Her body was caught in seemingly crippling paroxysms as she fought the illusion and fought herself.
A single moment of control was all she needed. Tythonnia pushed harder a final time. Dumas grabbed the latch of the metal book.
The hard, bronze cover swung open, the gold-leaf pages within flapping wildly. In Tythonnia’s mind, the tome vanished from the reflection and Dumas appeared in focus.
The illusion had her; the Wyldling currents pushed into the huntress, scouring out her skull. She began screaming as pure horror gripped her tightly. Tythonnia couldn’t stop it if she wanted to.
Ladonna was spent, as were her precious stones. They’d fallen back into their settings among her jewelry, though the color had left them. Around her, the blight shades regrouped, but the gate was dragging everything back toward it. The creatures were content to wait; everything would get pulled through, and anyone still alive would be at their terrible mercies.
In the distance, Ladonna could see the undead, the renegades, and Dumas’s soldiers all falling and tumbling back toward them. Would they be crushed and battered before going through? It didn’t matter. They couldn’t run from it. Even as she watched, her clothing rippled upward as though caught in an updraft, and the pull drove her to her knees.
The undead began clacking eagerly, like a flock of birds. Some willingly jumped up and back inside the iris; others struggled against the force. Some just watched them, waiting for the terrible moment when it all would be done. There wasn’t much time left. Dumas was dead, her expression forever locked in a state of horror, the empty pages of her book flapping in the air. She began to roll away, toward the gate.
Tythonnia was by Berthal’s side, cradling his head and struggling to keep them both rooted. Mariyah was near them, looking frightened and alone.
“Tell her to leave … before it’s too late,” he gasped. “Ladonna!”
Ladonna didn’t expect to hear her name. She scrambled to Berthal’s side and nearly overshot him when the iris pulled her along an additional foot. Tythonnia was struggling to keep them both in place, and Mariyah joined them to add her strength.
“It’s too late,” Ladonna shouted over the rush of air and the clacks of the undead. “We’re trapped.”
“No!” he said, staring at Tythonnia. Ladonna tried not to wince at the look of utter grief and confusion that filled her friend. He touched Tythonnia’s face. The pull of the other world grew stronger still. They were being dragged through the dirt slowly.
Mariyah and Tythonnia gripped Berthal harder, as though trying to anchor him through willpower alone.
“I can’t do this with them on me!” Berthal cried. He appeared ashen and so close to death that Ladonna half wondered if he wasn’t dead already. But she understood. She grabbed Tythonnia by the shoulders and tried to pull her away.
“No!” Tythonnia screamed.
“Mariyah, help me!” Ladonna cried. “Berthal’s trying to save us!”
Mariyah, though frightened, nodded and struggled to peel Tythonnia away. They were being dragged toward the iris. Finally, Ladonna and Mariyah managed to wrench Tythonnia away from Berthal. They fell together and Berthal was immediately dragged toward the gate; he left a blood smear in his wake, as he fumbled for his staff.
“Go!” he shouted. He slammed the staff into the ground. A circle, no more than five feet across, glowed brightly where his staff touched the earth then dimmed. It didn’t vanish, however.
The gate sucked Berthal farther away from them. He was almost beneath it; his body rose by inches then feet.
“No!” Tythonnia cried. She struggled against her friends, desperate to break free and save him.
Ladonna and Mariyah held her tightly, tighter still when he was suddenly sucked through. Berthal was gone and the growing roar of the gate devoured Tythonnia’s scream. Ladonna pulled them toward the circle of light left
