Page 247 of Spring Guardians & Songbirds

My hand shook when I pushed his long brown hair back to expose a deep gash on his forehead. “Who did this?”

He grabbed my wrist. “Whatever they are sending, whoever those Aura were, they weren’t just taking mirk root, Snow, they were amped up in something else. Something worse. And the beasts,” he heaved. “They can breathe in the mist.”

That was all it took before I was rushing toward the balcony and bolting in the middle of Myrdur. Mal faded beside me not a second later.

The air was grave and packed with an insane amount of magic. The heavy stench had every sense of mine raised in caution. For the first time, the smell of death in Myrdur was overshadowed. By more death.

It was not only hundreds of Isjordian soldiers advancing forward, but there were also massive green forms half resembling the beast from Hanai and half human. It wasn’t an army, but it was plenty.

“We have Canes at the Highwall and none picked up any scent of beasts. This can’t be good,” Mal said with some panic, before dropping to his knees and sinking his hands on the muddy ground. And before I could ask, skeletons broke the barrier of mud and rose in dozens. He whispered something in Darsan and the dead launched forward, tackling soldier after soldier.

“I think Melanthe has found a way to trick them.”

“Then we are fucked, Snow.”

“Die,” I warned, pulling out my daggers. “And I’ll drag you back from Caligo from your balls.”

He grinned, unsheathing his sword and hopping forward while I raised my hands toward the misty Volants.

“I command you,” I ordered and the white zgahna rolled down the face of the mountain, spreading over the Myrdur ruins and surrounding me. The second the fog veiled me, every inch of my body fuelled with electricity, white bolts skittering around and spreading over the floor of the ruins.

The dead rose from one side, taking down and slaying soldier after soldier while the rest fell from the touch of my magic.

The green creatures roared enough to shake the rubble stone of the ruins and launched in the air towards Mal. Immediately, the tentacles of my mist shot to block them mid-air, shielding Mal enough for him to fade elsewhere.

He reappeared beside me and more skeletons rose from underneath the ruins to tackle the soldiers.

Our surroundings chilled and then shards of sharp ice flew towards us. Quickly, Mal rose a layer of shadows blocking the attack. “We can keep pushing them back, but we can’t kill the beasts, not without getting close to them. What do we do?”

I took a moment, calculating our odds—theirs, too. How much we would risk if we let them cross the Volants. If it would be possible to not lose them inside our mountain ranges—some which even Olympians had never stepped on.

Unless.

A smile grew on my lips. Dispersing the mist around me, I looked up toward the ever-clouded roof of Myrdur. The skies were mine to control, it was in my blood, but I’d never done it before. Not willingly at least.

I raised both palms heavenward and called to it. Come on. Come on.

“Any time now,” Mal crooned nervously, flinging his hands back and forth to orchestrate his killer shadows.

From the sliver of skin between my gloves and sleeve, I could see the black tattoos of the seal spread and thicken. The skies shifted and groaned with thunder and the movement of clouds changed, swirling and spreading rapidly. There. Sun light cracked between the dark grey clouds, hitting the ruins for the first time in decades. The skies parted at my command, revealing the bluest of blue. Grabbing Mal’s hand, I pulled the two of us back. “Three. Two.”

A screech broke the air and then several more followed until Fogling rained down in hundreds down Myrdur. Their piercing screeches made gravel and ruins quiver, and all Isjordian attention rose heavenward.

Hungry as ever, the black creatures batted their membranous wings creating vortexes of wind which sent soldier and beast alike shooting up in the air. It had been more than weeks since Kilian had banished their presence in Olympia, I bet they were starving.

“Grab a soldier,” I said to Mal. “And fade back to Taren. I’ll be right behind.”

He faded between the battle of monster fighting monster and disappeared with a petrified Isjordian in his hold.

Backing toward the Volants and into the zgahna, I watched the ruins splatter with Isjordian blood and bones, making sure no one managed to escape the creatures.

The ground cracked a few feet before me, and a massive Fogling body stood there, looking at me. Those baleful red eyes slowly peeled back to reveal soft green irises that were so human I almost startled. The beast gently bowed its head to me, dropping to a bony knee. My magic hummed, the mist behind me did so, too—it sang and drummed, and my chest tore. A lullaby I’d heard hundreds of times before. A song of woe. One sung in rituals and mourning. One that made elderly shed tears and taught our youth grief. The same one Alaric had hummed to me before sleep every time he could. It spoke of that day’s loss—the cursed night of Draugr. Lyrics of the Olympian bravery, the Skye sacrifice, the Isjordian cold and the Elding brothers who’d lit themselves as lightning to hold back troops as Myrdur folk hid in the Volant caves till their bodies had turned to ash and whisper. My chest sang, too, it rattled with heavy sounds of pain.

There was no way to explain how my senses feted, rejoicing in recognition of another like me. Elding blood meeting Elding soul. Like called to like, and I faltered a step back, filled with an emotion I didn’t know I could even feel before. “Grandfather?”

The beast lifted its head again, its stare glazed and watery. Something rumbled from its chest, an ugly noise that usually made my skin creep suddenly made my heart hurt. A call—one of pain. Though I couldn’t tell how, I knew it was that—I felt it. The moment was gone, my magic quelled, the buzzing of the mist returning, and its eyes veiled back to red before it launched into air and toward the throng of battle.

That moment I made a promise. It wasn’t one of retaliation.