Tempest Reborn (Jane True #6)

Tempest Reborn (Jane True #6) Page 26

The White landed on the sand of the new cove, as we’d wanted him to. The creature had used its power to make it look like a strange rocky bluff extending out into the sea.

But once its claws hit land, we were in motion.

I raced forward, plowing through Nell’s glamour the second my feet hit the fake bluff, where the safety and shielding of the gnome’s territory ended. In that instant, I raised the labrys, which ignited with an explosion of light that hit its target with staggering force. The White, not expecting an attack, tumbled onto its side even as we sprang the second part of the trap.

With an audible whoomping sound, the fake cove retreated back into the sea, drenching the White and me both.

Step one – drown the dragon – was complete.

Step two took a massive amount of power both from me and the creature. First, I held down the White, gone powerless in its enemy element of water, as I voided that very element out of the area around it. Then the creature held the water at bay, but surrounding us.

Basically, we’d created a watery Thunderdome, in which I could battle the White, once and for all.

The dragon rose gamely to its feet, shaking off the water like a dog. In those few seconds, I swear I saw a hint of iron gray take over the emerald eyes of the White.

I’m getting you out, Anyan, I swore on everything I held sacred. I am getting you out…

In seconds, however, the beast’s eyes were once again pure green, and full of murderous rage. It dried itself with a puff of its air magic, sparking with power.

‘Now you die,’ it hissed, sounding much more like I would expect a dragon to sound than Morrigan had, as the Red. She’d sounded more like herself, but bigger and more dragony. This was pure dragon.

I reminded myself that was the point – what I was about to kill was the dragon, not Anyan. We had to kill the dragon part to get at Anyan, trapped inside. The fact was that seeing that glimpse of my lover had rekindled my fear as much as it had my hope. Yes, Anyan was in there. But was carving up that big body in front of me really the way to get him out? Or was I just going to kill both of them?

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, responding to the dragon threats even as I took a fighting stance.

And that’s when it really hit me that I was about to fight a motherfucking dragon.

Before I could dwell on that fact, however, the beast was in motion. It blew a gust of that crazily strong wind from its belly, the air elementals version of the Red’s blast of fire, even as it charged physically. I met the gust of wind with a blast of my own that streamed from the labrys and caught the White in mid-gallop. The dragon hit the blast like it would a wall, roaring at me and trying to strain forward physically, before giving up and retreating a few steps.

We circled each other warily, undoubtedly a ridiculous picture. My tiny shape against that of a dragon the size of at least two elephants, maybe three.

[But you have me,] the creature reminded me, even as it took charge of my body.

Suddenly, I was flying through the air, Crouching Tiger-style. The labrys blazed in front of me, and as I flew, I grew. No, I realized, I wasn’t growing. My shadow was. And that’s what engaged with the dragon.

On the ground, I swung, deflected, and snarled, while above me, my shadow self – but one made of pure power – beat the snot out of the dragon.

At least at first.

When I initially attacked, my first swing took the White by surprise, not least because it was watching the real me. It never saw the giant shadow fist until it was too late, and I’d blind-sided it against one watery wall of our cage.

It recovered quickly, charging back at me. It stumbled before we could clash, however, one of its feet tangling with the others. My shadow self was on it a moment later, a fist of power coming at the dragon’s vulnerable underbelly, then another, and another. The dragon wrenched itself free eventually, retreating to the far side of the cage.

Then it started fighting with itself.

That’s the only way I can describe the odd little dance it was doing. The White’s beautiful head – for it was beautiful, even if it was pure evil – whipped around in the air as its jaws snapped at nothing. Its feet scrabbled around as if some were trying to scratch itself, while others were trying to defend from the scratching.

Both the creature and I watched, dumbfounded, till the creature realized what was happening.

[Your Anyan. He fights.]

Of course he does, I thought, pride coloring my thoughts.

Then we were in action again, coming at the dragon with shadow fists and feet. It was taking quite a beating from us, but it seemed oblivious, trapped as it was in its own private battle.

Meanwhile, I was fighting with the creature. Unlike the first time it had used my body to fight, when I was a passive witness, this was more like team fighting. It took care of powering the shadow, and gave me tips, nudging my body here and there. But I was in charge – I was the one doing the hitting, weaving out of the way of the White’s random tail lashings.

I was also paying close attention to the White’s internal battle. Maybe Anyan could win, and we wouldn’t have to perform this ghastly ritual? Maybe he could trap the White, and it would die when he did, of old age?

But that didn’t happen. Instead, I saw the moment Anyan lost to the White with vivid clarity. One second those eyes flashed almost entirely gray, causing my heart to swell in my chest, and the next they were a pure emerald green. And then the dragon dove away from my attack, rising to its feet and visibly regrouping.

This time, when it charged, there was no Anyan present to stay its course.

He lost, I thought; that kernel of hope that had grown with the spread of gray through those eyes died then, and I knew. Not knew because everyone told me, but knew.

Anyan would rather die than live like this, and the White had to be destroyed. Either the ritual worked the way we wanted, and Anyan lived, or it only worked because it killed the White and Anyan. But either way, it had to be performed.

This time, I didn’t pull my blows. I hadn’t realized I was pulling blows until that moment, but I had been. I wondered why the creature had let me, but it probably wanted me to come to this realization on my own. I probably had to be in this one hundred percent for the ritual to work.

The first punch of my shadow fists that connected knocked the dragon to the ground. A second destroyed its jaw, and a third smashed down on the dragon’s back, a horrendous crunching sound ripping through our watery cage.

It was easy, to be honest. Not least because we’d already beaten the White half-senseless while Anyan was doing battle with it internally. And it wasn’t the Red, fully charged with two beings’ power and will. It was divided, just as the creature and I had been, when I didn’t want to hurt the White’s hostage.

Undivided, I was not only powerful, but incredibly pissed at being forced to make the kinds of decisions that would have me carving up the man I loved like I was Jack the Ripper.

[You must use the ax, child. The shadow can’t deal the final blow,] the creature said. And then it left me. Its power was still there, but I think it couldn’t take part in these final actions.

It had to be me. Probably because it would hurt more. We like to think the universe cares, and it had told me itself that it does seek balance. But balance runs both ways, and the other side of caring is watching us squirm.

At that moment, the universe definitely wanted me to squirm.

I found myself racing forward, screaming like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, holding the labrys aloft. Never letting myself think – the bane of action – I attacked. With a massive, two-handed, overhead swing, I went for the White’s head.

And I fucking missed by a good foot.

Swearing like a sailor, I tried again, but I’d taken too long. The White had recovered enough from its wounds to lash out at me with those deadly claws, which no magic could heal.

I backpedaled furiously, actually pulled by the ax, which seemed to have come into its own. It pulled me left, right, weaving through the White’s lashing front claws. Its spine must not have been healed yet, as its back claws stayed put, but I knew I had only minutes to finish this before it was back up and we were at it for round two.

‘Fuck round two,’ I said with a snarl, as I used what I remembered of the creature’s power to make a mini-shadow, just an extension of my hand that I used to bop it once again on the same place we’d whacked the White before. Its green eyes rolled back in its skull and its head hit the dirt.

Channeling Little Bunny Foo Foo, I struck again, only instead of a bop, I gave a lop. Totally running on pure adrenaline, I struck again and again and again, until the creature spoke in my mind.

[Er, Jane…]

I came to, panting like an overrun horse, and still in midswing. The ax landed with a sickening sound in the mass of blood and bone at my feet that had once been the White’s head.

‘Oh,’ I said out loud. Then, in my mind to the creature, I guess I overdid it.

Not bothering to reply, the creature’s words urged me on. [Now you must work fast. I know that looks final, but its head will seek to reattach itself. We must complete the ritual.]

I couldn’t help being skeptical that the head pudding I’d made could ever be repaired, until I actually saw one of the severed tendons wriggle under the white skin, seeking to attach itself to its other half. I shuddered, and turned to the body of the White.