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“Dehwelana dhe’n gwagvesh, dewik spyrya. Dehwelana dhe’a flammsk hesh moth esh ankoest!” His knobby hand still clutching her shoulder, Daz shouted again. Battering the enemy with his curse. Keeping it from feeding upon its host.
Together the three of them descended the steps.
The monster lurched but remained upright, his tongue running over lips peeled back in a triumphant grin.
Aidan moaned, his fingers scrabbling desperately in the grass. Faded and shrunken. Bones held together by a wrapping of skin pulled until it threatened to split. Spill his spirit upon the ground to be devoured by this creature of the void. Every second Aidan became more insubstantial, like mist struck by sunlight. Even as the Unseelie seemed to grow more solid. More confident.
“Daz! Look to Aidan! He’s dying! Disappearing!”
But Daz ignored Cat’s pleas. Remained focused upon the monster, his words weaving a cage about the Unseelie.
The creature twisted, its misshapen limbs jerking, its jaw wide and snapping as it struggled against the bonds of mage energy holding it fast. Unable to complete the take-over of this host body. Unable to retreat into the safety of the abyss.
The words streamed in an endless rhythm. A background noise like the wind or the scrape of the trees or the drip of a broken gutter.
Aidan’s back arched, hands grabbing at the turf as if he might hold himself in this world by digging deep into the earth.
“Go to him, child,” Maude shouted over the cacophony. “Perhaps you can hold him.”
Cat ran down the final stairs. Crossed the open lawn, though as she passed the Unseelie, she forced her eyes to look at Aidan, not the creature, certain its gaze held the power to burn her to ash. Instead, she dropped to her knees beside Aidan. Took up one hand, linking her fingers with his.
No noise came from his open mouth. No light brightened eyes blind to everything but the horror awaiting any mortal who dared switch places with a creature of the Dark Court. His chest rose and fell, his throat worked as he swallowed. His flesh as unsubstantial as cobwebs, veins and arteries, tendons and muscles all clear beneath the ethereal shine of translucent skin.
He turned his unseeing eyes upon her, his grip tightening upon her fingers. His breath coming slower, as if he sensed her presence and was calmed by it.
And like a door flung wide on a candlelit room or a thousand torches being set alight, the night seemed bathed in a fiery green glow. Thunder rolled across a slick, yellow sky empty of stars as the ground heaved and shook, toppling trees and sending slates tumbling from the roof in a violent cascade.
Smoke and dust settled, revealing a void where the Unseelie had stood. A fading stench soon blown away by the incessant wind. An oily smear upon the lawn washed away in the tempests that followed.
“Carry him this way. Careful now. That’s it.”
Arms hooked him by the oxters and under his knees. Lifted him in a dizzying swoop of screaming muscles that left him retching. Jostled him indoors with battlefield tenderness.
“Blighter’s dead if’n yer ask me.”
“Naw, he’s breathing, see? Leastways for now, he is.”
A doubtful snort followed this maudlin opinion, then a curse as someone’s hold slipped, sending pain shooting along every charred nerve.
Blessed unconsciousness hung like a treasure just beyond reach, and he begged for it, though the sounds he made resembled words only in his own mind.
“That’s it. A little farther now, boys.”
His shoulder struck a wall, drawing a moan from cracked and bleeding lips.
“Gently, you dolts. Gently. He’s had a bad fall.”
A whispered snicker met this comment. And no wonder. The cosmic event surrounding the Unseelie’s banishment had hardly been subtle.
There followed the soft give of a mattress beneath him. A muttered thanks and coins being handed over.
“Aidan, my boy? Are you with us still?”
He looked toward Daz’s voice. Saw nothing beyond a rising sheet of green flame. Swallowing his panic, he squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ve—” he took a breath laced with the stab of fever—“been better.”
A hand rested upon his shoulder. “And will be again, my boy.” His voice came raspy with emotion and age. “Methinks he’d have bee
n proud.”
