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I’ve got to handle things here first. Make sure everyone here is going to be okay, and then I can go back to Duncan and the MacGregor clan. Even those of them who don’t like me, Agnes. Which isn’t fair, but I’m sure I can work it out.
I’m only paying partial attention to the world around as I run but suddenly my left side is hit with a freezing blast of cold. I slow and come to a stop, all my attention back on the trail. Looking left, the darkness between the trees is deep and has that feeling of being alive. When I move closer it’s definitely the source of the cold.
As I stare at the blackness between the trees, it swirls. I know the smart thing to do is to run. Flee back to the Druid, but I’m tired of running. I’ve been running away from this since I got back to my time, and I’m done. If I’m the Destroyer, then the darkness should be afraid of me more than I am of it.
Puffing up my chest, I take a step forward. The darkness retreats, pulling back and leaving only normal shadows in its wake. My smile stretches from ear to ear. Pride swells in my chest and I walk forward two more steps. The darkness continues to retreat. My confidence swells and I move further, pushing it back with my presence.
I realize I’ve come quite a way off the path so I glance back. I still see it there so I’m not too far. It’s fine. Besides it feels like, for the first time in a long time, that I’m winning. I push ahead, forcing the dark to back off.
It pulls back further and further, then when it pulls back again, there is a clearing. I slow down and approach with caution, unsure what to expect. Chills tingle over my skin and I shiver. I bite my lip, and for a moment I debate turning back.
Turning back is admitting defeat and I’m done retreating. If I’m going to claim my life back, I must march ahead. Decision made, I step into the clearing. A dozen feet in front of me the darkness swirls.
“Fancy,” I say. “I’m not afraid of you. Not any longer.”
A shape is in the darkness. I can’t see what it is but it looks humanoid at least. It moves closer and steps out of the shadows. It is a human, I think. It’s about my height and build but wearing a black hooded cloak. It has the hood pulled low over its face and all I can see is two red glowing embers of eyes. The person carries a gnarled walking stick in one hand that it stabs aggressively into the ground between us.
“What is this?” I ask. “What do you want?”
There’s no answer but the cold is chilling and creeps into my bones. I force myself to swallow to get moisture back in my mouth. The shadowed person and I confront one another, both apparently waiting for the other to make the first move.
The staff swings so fast I miss the start. My training with the Druid pays off as reflexes kick in and I dodge without having to register what is happening. The staff slices through the air with a whoosh that I feel as well as hear.
I throw myself forward into a shoulder roll to avoid the return swing. I stop in a crouch behind my attacker. The tingling sensation of pooling magic forms in my belly but it’s not enough to do anything with. Before I can concentrate enough to try and do something with it, my attacker follows through with the swing by spinning to face me.
The staff flies at my head and I roll to the side. Now I’m outside its reach but I’m also too far away to return an attack. Energy crackles across my skin and the tingle in my belly is stronger.
“Pretty rude, not even a hello? Don’t you know your attacking etiquette?” I mock because I’m nervous. They close quick and swing, forcing me to dodge over and over. “Come on, you’re supposed to give a polite greeting.” Rolling left, I come up next to a tree at the edge. “Like this. Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya.”
The staff swings at my midsection but I have an idea. I step back and to the side, using the tree for protection. The staff slams against the bark so hard the smack rings in my ears, but I don’t hesitate. As it pulls the staff back, I grab hold, and instead of jerking it towards me, I step forward, moving into it and pushing into my opponent.
It works. My attacker is thrown off-balance. I rush forward, keeping my grip on the staff with both hands. When I’m in range I leap and kick. My foot catches under their jaw. Their head snaps back and there’s a sickening crack.
The dark figure falls to the ground, landing on their back. The body twitches twice then stops. Out of breath and panting, I move forward hesitantly, expecting another attack. I use the staff to poke at the body but nothing. I watch but I don’t see their chest rise and fall.
“Shit,” I say, the crackling sensation of power in my guts dissipating and being replaced with fear and regret.
I’m moving through molasses as I approach and kneel. My hand trembles as I reach for the hood and throw it back. My own familiar wide eyes stare from the corpse’s face but they’re dark. I turn my head and vomit.
“What is this?” I mutter, wiping my mouth.
I study the replica of my face and my stomach clenches again, but I manage to not lose it this time. Instead of white, the eyes are burning coal red. My dead face is covered with black veins, as if the blood in the replica is crude oil. Morbidly, I touch the face that is mine but isn’t.
It’s cold to the touch. Too cold. An instant after I touch the face it crumples, and then the rest of the body follows, leaving nothing but a black cape and hood that rustles in an unnatural breeze. I stand but can’t take my eyes off the fluttering cloak. As it waves, understanding dawns.
This was me. A possible me. If I let the darkness win.
The cloak lifts in the breeze and blows off into the trees. I’m left staring into the dark as the cloak flutters away and an incredible weight drops on me. It’s not physical, but purely a mental pressure. That doesn’t help, though, does nothing to ease my distress. I raise a shaky hand to my forehead to wipe away cold sweat. My breath feels fluttery as numbness spreads over my limbs and the enormity of everything lays out before me.
One wrong decision. One bad choice and this is the consequences. I shake my head and the weight of this responsibility overwhelms. Panic rising, I turn and run.
ChapterTwenty-Five
My vision is a tight tunnel.Darkness pushes in, limiting my sight. My ears ring as I dodge trees and leap over brambles that try to block my path. No rational thought, no goal, only a burning need to get away. Alternating waves of heat and cold blast through my body over and over. I do the only thing I can; I keep running.
I must get away. I need space. Room to think, without the Druid, without anyone. I want to be alone. The clearing where the Druid waits comes into view. He’s crouching and scratching the cat. He looks up at the sound of my feet pounding the dirt and debris, slowly rising.
“Quinn—”
