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My thoughts drift through all the experiences that brought me here. Mostly I think about Duncan. The way he smiles and his laugh. I love his laugh so much. I miss that more than anything, I think.
Duncan, out of everyone I’ve ever known, accepts me as I am. Sure we’ve had our disagreements and more than our fair share of difficulties. But he has been nothing if not steadfast. Always there, always ready to welcome me with open arms.
I don’t deserve him.
I stumble as I realize it. It’s a truth that echoes inside my head like I’m yelling into a cavern. I’ve been denying, avoiding looking at it but none of that changes it. Moira moves closer, a look of worry on her face, but I shake my head and focus my eyes ahead.
I don’t. He’s a good man and he should be with a woman who will make him a better wife. One who won’t bring him all the trouble I have. If he wasn’t in love with me, he wouldn’t be in trouble now. He wouldn’t have thrown himself into harm’s way, more than once, for me. What good have I given him in return?
Something shifts in my peripheral vision. I turn to look but everything happens at once. There is a blur, a shadowy movement, and then Dugald yells in pain while at the same time something screeches.
“Dugald!” I yell.
“Duck,” Moira yells.
I react without thinking, dropping into a shoulder roll and vacating where I was standing. Something big passes through where I was, and I continue my roll. I end in a crouch, looking for the threats.
A large, humanoid shape has Dugald pinned to the ground. It has bat-like wings and leathery looking skin. There is another one of the same creatures that must be what attacked me and yet another one is bounding towards us, intent on Moira.
I pull on the magic inside of myself, ignoring that which is outside. It’s not a lot but I will the energy and have to hope it’s enough. It pools into a ball in my hand about the size of a baseball. I look at it, then place my wrists together and cup my hands around the ball, focusing and containing it. It tingles on my skin, building power, then I thrust my hands towards the creature on Dugald.
The energy flies crackling and spinning like a baseball. It strikes the monster not on the head, where I was aiming, but on the shoulder. The creature yelps in what I hope is pain and not just surprise, jerking its head up and around towards me.
It snarls, baring long, yellow teeth and dark gums. Black goo drips from its mouth and sizzles where it hits the ground. The creature is an amalgamation of horror tropes thrown together. Disgusting and disturbing at the same time. Looking at the thing makes my eyes hurt. It’s hard to see it; it seems to blur even as I watch it, coming in and out of focus.
It crouches, muscles bunching as it prepares to leap. I loosen my knees, slightly bending, ready to move in any direction, all while fear batters my nervous system. Adrenaline demanding fight or flight and I have nothing to fight with.
Magic is a slow, tiny bubble in my guts, not nearly enough to be effective. I’m going to die; Duncan is going to die. Everyone and everything I know and love will be lost. The entire world because I can’t fight.
Give up. I’m not the one. This is all a mistake.
The creature moves in slow motion as time crawls past. Self-doubt and incriminations fill my head and I do give up.
Of course I do, I’m not good enough. I’m a girl from the Midwest. A freaking archaeologist in training, not even a full one. How did I think I was good enough? What possessed me to think I could be the Destroyer? Destroyer of what? With what?
The creature leaps and I’m frozen. Paralyzed not only by fear, but self-doubt and loathing. I watch it coming, closer and closer. Jaws opening impossibly wide, sharp teeth glinting in the low light. Acidic saliva burning into the ground as it leaps.
Peripherally I’m aware of Dugald and Moira, fighting their own monsters. They’re not doing any better. Dugald is bleeding from a long gash on one arm. His blood sprays through the air in a long, crimson arc. Moira is dodging, rolling, and retreating, but unable to keep the creature at bay for any length of time.
It’s over. I’ve lost.
And I stand here. Ready to die. Giving up.
“No,” I say it out loud. Soft. My voice trembling. “No.”
I ball my hands into fists. Magic surges in my core, building, spiraling up. The creature is fully airborne. Front paws stretching forward, almost to my chest. Mouth gaping wide. A drop of its acidic saliva lands on my arm, sizzling. The burning pain brings focus.
“No!” I scream, having found my voice at last.
The dark thoughts shatter and power blasts forth. The ground trembles, dust rises and forms a circular wall that races around us. As it does the creatures are caught and sent tumbling. They turn over and over, flying as if they’re in the winds of a tornado.
A tornado. Yes.
Growing up in the Midwest there is only one natural event that strikes fear into my heart. A tornado. A destructive force that comes with little warning, dropping from the sky in an awesome display of Mother Nature not caring for the designs of man or beast.
I have only seen them in the distance and thankfully never experienced one directly, but more than once my dad and I would go to help clean up the aftermath in communities ripped apart by one. I’ve seen firsthand the destruction left in their path.
And as those memories come an idea takes shape. The force carrying the monsters morphs. The wind twists and swirls, forming a funnel around each of the creatures. Dugald and Moira move to my side as winds buffet us. The ashy dirt of the ground lifts and spins, assaulting our eyes and entering every orifice.
