Dark Fae(20)

Tightening my hand on Bres’, I stepped forward and immediately began to slide. Downhill, on loose shale.

“Quinn, don’t let go!” Bres shouted. The rocks around us slid and screeched, as they avalanched with us, our bodies yanked this way and that. His fingers slipped from mine as my vision came back.

It was as if we were tobogganing down the mountainside, our bodies skimming on the sheets of shale rock. As if getting battered by rock and scree wasn’t bad enough, at the bottom of the slide waited the Fomorii.

How the hell had they beaten us here?

It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that we had to get past them. I hit a protruding boulder and my body flipped over it, slamming me hard into the ground. I dug my fingers and heels in, trying desperately to stop my downward rush into the arms of the Fomorii.

Bres was just ahead of me, not having any more luck than I was. We had only a few brief moments before we were caught. There had to be something we could do.

A deep bellow of thunder rippled across the sky and lightning arced through the clouds, highlighting the army below. Everything seemed to slow down: my heartbeat, the breath escaping my lips, even our downward slide.

There was a brief flash of gold and a lithe body encased in Fomorii armor stepped into view, though she stood well back from our trajectory.

“Quinn, there!” Bres pointed towards a mound behind the Fomorii, a mound that hadn’t been there only a split second before.

The dirt erupted and three screaming men in kilts leapt out from the ground swinging weapons. The Fomorii army fell on them, as we skidded the final few feet to solid ground.

Blurs of movement were all I could catch as what could only be the three Smiths fighting a path to Bres and me. There were hundreds of Fomorii, and only five of us; there was no way we could take them all.

The first Smith to reach us had wild red hair that stuck up every-which-way, and he swung a mace as if it were an extension of his arm. “Hello lass, heard you’d be coming our way. Hurry it up now, kill yerself a beastie or two, then let’s be gone.”

A Fomorii picked me up from the right side; I put my hand to its head and unleashed a power bolt. Again, I didn’t count on the increase in said power.

Its head flew from its shoulders and a fountain of black blood spurt out, splattering my face and chest.

The Smith laughed and raised his mace in a salute. “Aye lassie, now that’s how to finish off the bastards!”

With a roar, he dove back into the fray. Bres yanked me out of the Fomorii’s death grip and we ran after the Smith, following the bright red and green kilt.

Bres cleared the path, his sword cutting down those who had once been his people, forcing them back. I tried not to think how it must hurt him to kill his own people. We reached the mound where the three Smiths waited, holding back the Fomorii.

“Hurry lassie, get you and your beau in ta safety now,” said the red-haired Smith.

I turned in time to see Chaos snarl and fling a hand towards us. The black tendrils that flew from her fingers struck like the lightning that had danced across the sky. Fomorii that were in the way were killed, but that gives the impression that their deaths were quick. The black tendrils hit them, and continued on, but where the Fomorii were touched, chaos literally ensued. For some of them, their skin charred, others, their bodies exploded; one even froze like a chunk of stone then crumbled to the ground. I watched as another clawed at the spot where the black tendrils had touched it until it dug a hole in its own belly, eviscerating itself.

Chaos laughed through it all, her face alight with power.

Someone shoved me into the mound and I barely kept my feet, the horror of what I’d just witnessed locked up my ability to move.

Bres wasn’t in much better shape, and it took all three Smiths prodding us along to get us moving.

“What ta hell was that?” Bres asked, his voice shaky.

“Ach, that damn Chaos, her powers are nasty.” One of the Smith’s bright green eyes filled my face. I swallowed the bile that had risen. She’d killed her own army, for what? Just to scare us? I hated to admit that it had worked, at least on me.

The second Smith lit a torch. “Yup, tat little nutter she’d be a one scary beech.” I took in his appearance, a black and gray tartan, a bald head and kind eyes that I thought might be hazel.

He took my hand, engulfing it in his own. His skin was rough and callused, but warm. Comforting. I could feel the strength in them, though he held my hand lightly.“Don’t be worrying now, even Chaos can’t be getting troo our wards.”

Their accents were heavy, a mixture between Irish and Scottish that left me struggling to translate exactly what it was they were saying.