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Or they'll be butchered bydawn
I freeze.
Oh, god, no. No, that's not possible.
I must be hearing this because of some sort of a spell, right?I wouldn't put it past the fae to come up with curse like that. Crafting songsmeant to bring my worst fears to mind sounds exactly like the kind of thing they'd do.
But more words come, all more threatening, disgusting, explaining in great explicit details the many things that will befall my parents if I don't come. They speak of my mother's strawberry blonde hair, my father's graying beard, and the exquisite taste of their screams. I think I hear them as background noise, like a chorus to the nightmarish song.
Suddenly no longer paralyzed by sheer terror, I leap into action, practically falling over my feet as I climb out of the crystal tub.
My pants are disgustingly sweaty, but I would have put them back on anyway if I hadn't left them in the bedroom. I'd come into the bathroom with one of the gowns Relva brought me, because, silly and stupid as I am, I wanted to look pretty for when Ryther returned in a few hours.
Now I drag the ridiculous, impractical thing up on my shoulders. At least the dress has a thigh-high slit, so I can run with it on. I pull the lacings at the back and tie it as best I can before tucking it inside the bustier—likely not how Relva would have handled it, but I don't care. All that matters is getting to my parents on time.
Spotting the pretty stone I have started to wear everywhere, I stuff it in my pocket before running toward the entrance.
The thing about my parents is, they're good people. Wholly, purely good. I don't even know how they put up with me and my flexible moral fiber, because they're quite simply the best people I've ever met. They care about everything. The planet. The poor. The wars ravaging faraway lands. They volunteer their time and money and energy into making the world a better place. They took me in without even questioning it, although I was just some rejected kid they found in the woods as far as they were concerned. A problematic kid, with expensive, extensive health concerns.
And they don't deserve to be brought into this crap.
I fly out of the safety of the white stone house without a moment of hesitation, running toward the vibration of the song, punctuated by the heavy drums of footsteps stomping and hands clapping. An entire horde is singing about the many ways they want to torture and murder two innocent humans just to get to me.
For all the anger I've felt over the last few days, it's nothing to the sheer strength of the rage rising inside me now. My wrath feels like a real, material thing. Something I can use. Something I will use to hurt whoever is trying to hurt them.
My feet hit the ground hard and fast, the three days of training having already increased both my speed and strength.
But even as I let the power inside me gather, growing like a living thing, I can't ignore certain facts.
I’ve trained for three days. Most of the people I'm running toward have done so for at least ten centuries. I'm unarmed. I didn't even think to grab my training sword. It's just me, against I don't know how many people. No, not people. Monsters.
As I approach the gates of the dark and imposing castle, tucked between the two mountains, I distinguish the crowd, the light of torches, and the stench of wine and sex and feverish anticipation, close to delirium. They like this. They love the fact that they hunted and found clueless humans, so much weaker than themselves, and torment them.
Oh, god, I think I hear her cries. My mother.
"Pat!" My father's voice joins hers, terrified. "Pat, stay with me!"
"Oliver!" she yells.
I'm close. Just a few feet. I will get to them on time. I will!
I've only just reached the edge of the crowd, so elated by the spectacle that they don't even pay attention to me, when darkness gathers around me, almost pitch black, like the doorways between the rooms of Ryther's house.
In one glimpse, I see him first, toward the center of the crowd. Ryther's staring straight at me, hand extended toward me.
It's coming from him, this darkness.
Alerted by the next scream, my eyes slide away from those strange eyes, so much like the starry night sky overhead, and fall on them.
My mother on her knees, hands held up in a useless plea, while a man I'd know anywhere holds a whip, and brings it down on her, hard. The stench of blood fills my nostrils as the whip hits her flesh. She screams, and he's just turning his attention to the man by her side, rising his hand again, when I'm completely engulfed in darkness.
No. No!
I open my mouth, taking in air to scream after them, let them know I'm with them, I'd never abandon them.
But a hand covers my mouth as strong arms wrap around my middle, and I'm dragged away, kicking and screaming, unable to see anything at all.
Still, I hear them. The screams. The laughs. The singing.
