Struck By Beauty Read online

The bright blue spring sky shone down on us as we rode along the path that would bring us to Ronand. The chill of winter still hung in the air, but the birds were returning to Navar and the trees were starting to grow their vibrant green leaves. Looking around, a smile found it’s way onto my lips. The land was so pretty this time of year.

  As we turned a corner the horses balked, refusing to take another step forward. The charred city gates of Ronand loomed in front of us, the main door just dangling from its hinges. I dismounted and ran a hand through my earthen brown hair. The stench of burnt wood and decaying flesh assaulted my nose and I gagged, turning away. Gaylan was still on his horse. His black hair was pulled tightly back and his eyes glittered like the purest sapphire, filled with shock and anger. I walked over to him and put a hand on his thigh.

  “He will die for this,” I promised him.

  “Yes,” Gaylan growled, a bit of his dragon half entering his voice. “Yes he will, Blythe.”

  I reached into myself, finding the magick within me and bringing it up to the surface. It was possible for me to use up all of my magicks because I was a witch, but Nethaniel was a sorcerer and his magick supply was endless. I readied myself, my eyes blazing with sky blue light. This horrible situation all started with a simple misunderstanding. Memories washed over me as I walked though the destroyed gates.

  Nethaniel’s sister, Antonia, came into Ronand bruised and beaten. She told us that she had escaped from a warlord and needed a place to stay for a while. None of us gave a second thought to giving her sanctuary. Antonia died after her second night with us. It wasn’t until she was dead that we found out what brutalities she had endured. She was bleeding on the inside and none of us knew. My kinsmen and I buried her and said a little prayer for her soul.

  Three days later Nethaniel came through our gates. He wanted to know where his sister was. The town elders tried to explain what had happened as they showed him Antonia’s grave, but it was too late. Nethaniel had made up his mind. He let loose his power, sucking our town dry of everything we had. By nightfall Ronand was nothing more than a smoldering hole in the ground. Gaylan was safely in Verella at the time, oblivious to the fate of his family. I, on the other hand, was not so fortunate. I was alive, but my magick had suffered. It took months for me to be where I was now. Hopefully a vengeful witch with a livid dragon might be enough to kill a sorcerer’s rage.

  The buildings were nothing but charred hollow shells. I had the overwhelming desire to look for survivors, but I knew that I would find none. Had there been any survivors, I would have found them once I had climbed out of the rubble.

  “Blythe.” I turned to Gaylan, forcing my mind to return to the present. He pointed over the wreckage to the only building that was still standing. It was the worship hall that had once sat to the right of our town’s cemetery. It didn’t surprise me at all that Nethaniel had picked that building to hide out in.

  “He’s trying to stay close to his sister,” I breathed. I had almost forgotten that he had emotions like grief. We walked towards the worship hall, our boots crushing the charred remains of buildings and people. I held my hand over my mouth and nose, trying not to breathe in death. I said a silent prayer for the people that had died here; For my kinsmen and family.

  “Gaylan.” I winced as my words seemed to echo through the rubble. “Do you sense anything out of place?”

  “Curses?”

  “Or traps, yes.”

  I felt Gaylan’s essence flow over me, soft and delicate like a bird’s feathers. I could feel the beast that slept dormant inside him, waiting for a chance to be let free. His dragon half was a mighty cerulean scaled beast, who’s freezing fire was a rarity to his own kind. I wondered what it felt like, to transform into a dragon. I’d ask him, if we lived through this.

  “Nothing.”

  I glanced over at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. “Are you sure?” I asked.

  Gaylan nodded, his eyes betraying his fear. “Yes, Blythe. He’s either stupid, or expecting us.”

  A large shadow covered us and I looked up to see the worship hall looming overhead. There was no mark on it; not a single chip in the bricks. Nethaniel had left this building unscathed. I was surprised that we were already outside the building. I remembered it taking what seemed like forever to get from the gates, through the city streets, to the hall.

  Gaylan grabbed my hand as I reached out to grasp the doorknob. “I should check the building for traps first,” he said.

  “You would have felt them, Gaylan,” I reassured him as I shook my hand free. “If there were any traps, we would have known about them by now.”

  As my fingertips touched the cool metal of the doorknob, a blast of glacial wind sent me crashing to the ground. Gaylan ran to me, his skin immune to the numbing cold that wrapped itself around me like an icy blanket.

  “Hold my hand!” he yelled over the howling wind. “Use my magick.”

  I grasped his hand with numbing fingers, my frosty mind not understanding what he wanted me to do. I sent my magick out, letting it pour over me and trying to make it warm my freezing bones. Glancing down, I saw that my skin was almost as blue as Gaylan’s dragon scales.

  I forced my magick to find Gaylan though the icy barragefrom Nethaniel. It wrapped around him, drawing his immunity into me. Within moments my skin started to return to its natural color and my lungs stopped burning. Scrambling to my feet but still holding Gaylan’s hand, I lashed out with my foot. The door crashed open, the jamb splintering with the unwelcome force, and the freezing wind stopped. Gaylan released my hand and I felt his magick go in the worship hall, investigating every corner looking for another hidden trap. He shrugged at me, a sign that he hadn’t sensed anything else. His eyes betrayed him though; he didn’t believe that the sorcerer had lain only one trap. I agreed with him.

  I motioned to Gaylan that I would go in first. I didn’t want him to get hurt. He raised an eyebrow, almost as though he was saying that hurting him was harder to do than I thought. I drew my sword and stepped into the wide-open foyer of the worship hall. Dust and bits of rock littered the floor, the only sign of the travesty that had happened outside its doors. There was no sign of Nethaniel. I motioned for Gaylan to follow me as I crept deeper into the hall. The sound of the wind rustling leaves reached my ears as Gaylan pointed towards the back entrance. The door was open and I was able to glimpse what lay beyond the opening, the cemetery.

  Nethaniel was at his sister’s grave. Gaylan stepped out the back door first just in case there was another fridged blast of magick, but there was no point. It seemed as though Nethaniel rigged only the front door and nothing else. I stepped out of the dusty worship hall and into the bright light of Ronand’s cemetery. My eyes fell on familiar graves, and then I saw Nethaniel. He was sitting in the back corner of the cemetery bent over a fresh grave. The marble tombstone had his sister’s name and the date of her death engraved on it. Nethaniel’s black hair was covering his eyes, making me wonder if he saw us approach. It wasn’t until we were five feet from him did he look up. His jade eyes were red from crying with dark circles underneath them. I shook my head, refusing to let myself feel sorry for him. He killed my family. He destroyed my town. He deserved to die.

  “I thought you were all dead,” he said to me as he stood up. I glanced down at Antonia’s grave and saw the barest hint of green. Nethaniel was coaxing flowers to grow on her grave.

  “Not so much,” I muttered. But after today, I probably would be. Nethaniel looked down at my sword and then over to Gaylan.

  “You brought a dragon to kill me,” he said, his tone indicating that he didn’t quite believe it.

  “Yes. You deserve to die after what you did to Ronand.”

  “I had no choice after what was done to my sister,” he growled, lashing his hand out at me. Nethaniel’s sorcery tore into me, sending me colliding with one of the many tombstones behind me. I slammed into it as breath was forced from my lungs. My eyes gazed up at the sparkling sapphire bl
ue that was so uncharacteristic of a spring’s sky. I blinked, forcing my eyes to focus. Gaylan had shifted form and taken to the air. His scales shimmered in the sunlight as he breathed icy fire down on Nethaniel. The sorcerer’s magick easily deflected it with one hand while the other started to create a beast of his own. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing my sword as I ran. I needed to stop Nethaniel before he finished his spell, but I was too late. A burst of green sorcery blazed out of Nethaniel’s hand, taking shape as it rose up into the air.

  “A dragon for a dragon,” sneered Nethaniel as he turned his attention to me. “I wonder, will you cry when your monster dies?”

  I glared at him and reached into my pocket with my free hand. Nethaniel’s green sorcery dripped from his hands as he lashed out, sending another flare of magick at me. I felt the magick slide over my skin, searching for some way to breach my protection. Nethaniel’s eyes held questions as the magick dissipated, and then he smiled.

  “Charms,” he said with a laugh. “I thought I smelled witch on you.”

  I channeled my magick into my sword, sucking in my breath as the pain started. It felt like lightning was coursing through my veins. Unlike witches who were not born with magick within them, sorcerers felt no pain while using their magicks. A sorcerer was born with magick in their soul. When they called upon it, it was as though they were just using another part of their body such as an arm or leg. However, witches were taught how to use magick. Darker witches absorbed magick from living beings, however my magick came from the earth.

  I lunged at Nethaniel, my blade igniting into a column of flame. Nethaniel easily deflected it with his sorcery, using his magicks to produce a sword of his own. We circled each other, each of us looking for a flaw in the others’ skill. A shriek sounded from above us. I looked up as Gaylan’s blue form came crashing down onto the worship hall. I ran towards him, ignoring Nethaniel’s laughter from behind me. I screamed as the hall caved in under Gaylan’s weight and covered my head with my hands as dust and rocks rained down around me. When the dust cleared I picked my way around the pieces of building until I came to Gaylan’s large triangular head. His hide was scorched and blood oozed from various wounds. He looked up at me with bright sapphire eyes.

  “I tried,” I heard him mutter, “but the creature was too strong. Nethaniel is too strong.”

  “You’ll be okay, right?” I asked, unsure of how much damage the dragon had truly sustained. He shook his head and groaned. Then Gaylan’s eyes closed as he passed out. I shook as my vision became blurry with anger.

  Nethaniel’s laughter made me spin around, my hand gripping the sword until my knuckles were white. The magickmade creature was gone, presumably reabsorbed into the sorcerer’s body. I stalked out of the rubble and towards Nethaniel, forgetting the protection charms in my pocket. Forgetting everything except my desire to see Nethaniel dead.

  “We never did anything to you,” I screamed as I spun into motion. Nethaniel grinned as he easily deflected my attacks with his magick-made sword. I forced more and more of my magick into my blade, hoping that enough magick could destroy his green one. Nethaniel shoved me back, and I collapsed on the ground. He raised his hand up at the same time as I did, but I could not defend myself as Nethaniel’s power crashed into me. I screamed in pain as his power tore through my insides. I reached desperately for my power, trying to fend him off, but found nothing. Nethaniel lowered his hand and the pain stopped. I struggled to my feet, gripping my blade with both hands and gasping for breath. My vision was starting to grow dark around the edges. I needed more power before I passed out.

  Nethaniel dove at me, going in for the kill. I spun around his blade, my body coming up between his arms. The sorcerer’s eyes grew wide as I pressed my hand to his chest, absorbing his magick into me. I was out of my own power as well as the bits of magick that Gaylan had given me earlier. I needed more. Nethaniel shoved then backhanded me across the face, using his sorcery to send me flying across the cemetery and into a tree.

  “You witches are like leeches,” growled Nethaniel, “using magick that is not yours to use.”

  Rubbing his hands together, Nethaniel’s sorcery flared up like green fire. I struggled to my feet, readying myself for whatever the sorcerer was about to throw at me. The green fire roared around me, howling like a beast from the depths of hell. I held up my hands to protect my face and my borrowed magick flared to life, creating a barrier between Nethaniel’s powers and me. I smiled through the pain, as the power coursed through my veins, I had never borrowed a sorcerer’s power before. It was addictive. I had heard before that once a witch borrowed a sorcerer’s power, they were hooked. That they would kill just to get another taste. I shook my head, remembering why I was here. I forced my mind to relive that day; the screaming. The smell of fresh blood. Crawling out of the wreckage, the last of the people of Ronand.

  I screamed, lashing out with my hand. Nethaniel’s sorcery was thrown back at him, sending him end over end across the cemetery. I picked up my blade, I didn’t even remember dropping it, and I walked toward him. My free hand brushed against the tombstones of my ancestors. I needed their strength to remember who I was. I felt Nethaniel’s power rise to the surface without any urging from me. I needed to use it all. I needed to get rid of it. I thrust my hand out in front of me, my fingers curling into claws. Just like Nethaniel did earlier, I created a creature from the magicks. I didn’t need it to attack, just to distract him. The beast took no definite form, just a mist of magick blocking me from Nethaniel’s eyes. I flicked my wrist and the mist-made beast charged the sorcerer. Nethaniel swung his green blade, trying to kill it before it killed him. I charged blindly through the mist, my blade making contact with skin and bone.

  The magick-made creature dissipated, some of the power returning to me. I felt a change inside myself, felt the power mingle with my aura. I wasn’t a witch anymore, but I wasn’t a sorcerer either. I was something different. I felt my body crave more sorcery and tears came to my eyes. My hunger for power made me understand why Nethaniel sucked Ronand dry, but it wasn’t an excuse. I would never kill indiscriminately just to gain power. I would never succumb to such an evil desire.

  My eyes fell on Nethaniel’s body. He was sprawled across his sister’s grave, his blood soaking the fresh turned earth and flowers. His head was several feet away, his eyes seemingly gazing at his sister’s tombstone.

  I smiled to myself.

  It was over.

  I heard a groan from behind me and I spun around, my new magick flaring up in my hands. Gaylan, back in human form, was rubbing his head as he was trying to stand, his eyes searching for Nethaniel.

  “Did we get him Blythe?” he rasped. I smiled and began to laugh. I laughed until tears started to flow down my cheeks and my stomach hurt. Gaylan dragged himself over, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and holding me close to his body.

  “Yes,” I finally said as I tried to regain my breath. “Yes we did.”

  “Then Ronand has been avenged,” he whispered in my ear. I backed away from him at the tone of his voice, my eyes searching his. Something was in those blue depths, something that I hadn’t seen before. Gaylan’s hand cupped my face, his fingers like butterfly wings on my skin. I smiled, my hand coming up to hold his.

  “Gaylan?”

  “Let’s go home Blythe,” Gaylan said, the look in his eyes answering my unasked question. “We’ve finished what we came here to do.”

  Home? With Ronand gone there is no place for me to go. I looked up at Gaylan and smiled. I could stay at Gaylan’s home in Navar, and by looking into his sapphire eyes I knew that my stay would not be an unwelcomed one. We found our horses and started up the path towards Navar. The wind danced through the trees and the birds sang the songs of spring. I knew that tonight would be a night of peaceful dreams.

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  THE DESIRE OF SELKIES