Jamie screaming for her to help him, his grip on her hand so tight she felt the bones in her fingers crack and collapse. Flames rose around him, his screams becoming increasingly hoarse as the smoke rose and snaked down his throat.
Allyra wanted to sob, but there was no air left in her lungs. She clenched her jaw, biting through the skin in her mouth and the bitter, metallic tang of blood joined the sourness of bile in a horrific cocktail.
She felt rather than saw him erupt into action next to her. Her vision was darkening at the edges so she only caught the barest flash of silver before the vice-like grip loosened from her throat. She collapsed to her knees, gasping and waiting for warmth and life to return to her body, only vaguely aware of the sounds of battle and whirlwind of action happening around her.
There was an unexpected silence by the time she looked up. He was looking down at her, wearing a faintly amused expression. There was a pair of twin silver swords in his hands. Brighter than the one he’d thrown to her, nothing like the sword he still wore in the leather baldric.
Irrelevant questions formed slowly in her mind.
Where did the swords come from?
Where had he stashed them?
Why so many swords? Some strange obsession perhaps?
He held out a hand to her, his eyebrow slightly raised. “Are you ready to go now?” He asked sarcastically.
Anger – fear – panic – and all the way back to anger.
She’d never been on such an emotional rollercoaster, never experienced such depths and heights, with such abrupt and absolute fluctuations.
If she were being sensible, she would take his hand and steady her wobbly legs. But the events of the past few minutes had chased away all logic and sense. They flittered into the depths of her mind like a wayward bird.
So she ignored his proffered hand and struggled inelegantly to her feet, almost losing her balance when her legs threatened to collapse under her. He reached out to steady her, but she recoiled away, unwilling to accept his help.
He stared at her, expressionless, waiting for her to steady herself. “We really do have to go now – unless you would like to take your chances here with them?”
“Them? What the hell was that?” The question burst out of her sharply.
“Revenants.”
It was just a word, but on his lips it had power, swirling memories of darkness and horror – so deep and dark it threatened to engulf her and she stumbled backwards.
He looked at her intently and searchingly but didn’t press the point and she didn’t bother trying to explain.
Her ability. Her affinity for the past. Sensing echoes of past events resonating off places and people. At times, she’d thought it was all in her head, but now – now she was sure. Sure that she didn’t want to know what Revenants were and how they played into his past. She was being a coward, an ostrich burying its head, but she wasn’t ready to delve into the darkness. So she dodged the subject, “Where are you taking me?”
He was still studying her, as if he thought he could figure her out given enough time. He glanced over her shoulder and searched the horizon again and apparently saw something he didn’t like, something invisible to her eyes. He bent over and picked up the sword she had dropped, slinging it elegantly over his shoulder and back into the baldric.
“Let’s go.” He said shortly, ignoring her question. He grabbed her hand and this time, refused to allow her to shake him off. Not that she tried very hard, maybe because his hand was warm and comforting, or maybe she just needed something solid to hold onto as her world tilted further off its axis, descending ever deeper into madness.
He started to run, pulling her along with him. “Your entrance was rather – loud.” He explained obtusely, “There will be more soon.”
*
He was a paradox. Power and grace were a strange combination, but together they found their home in him. He moved with fluid ease and she could see strength coiled tightly inside of him, like a leopard waiting to spring on its prey; both beautiful and lethal.
Time lost all meaning as they ran. He never hesitated or offered to slacken their pace and her pride refused to allow her to ask. But running was something she’d always been able to do and do well. It was freedom; the feeling of the wind tumbling through her hair and the ground disappearing beneath her feet and she loved all of it, even the building burn within her lungs.
They covered endless kilometers of unchanging sandy ground, but she managed to maintain her bearings by the jagged mountain range, which ran parallel to the path they travelled.
What she wouldn’t do for a tree or even a bush – anything to break the monotony, to take her mind off the pain scorching through her lungs and exploding down her legs. Next to her, he threw increasingly concerned glances over his shoulder, and even she began to see the five dark shapes steadily gaining ground on them.
He pulled them to an abrupt halt and she immediately doubled over, gasping to try and catch her breath and swallow down the bile rising in her throat. He pulled her up, his fingers biting into her arms, forcing her to look into his eyes.
“You need to listen to me.” He said sharply, shaking her to reinforce his point. “You need to do exactly as I say – do you understand?”
Without enough air in her lungs to answer him, she gave him an exhausted nod and a thumb’s up to indicate her understanding.
He searched her face, trying to find some elusive answer. “Fine. Then let’s go.”
He pulled her back into a stumbling run.
He changed directions abruptly and they were now heading straight for the mountain
