Mika forgot herself, forgot the world, forgot for a moment even the burning core seed.
All she perceived was the Bloodwrym as more and more of its body emerged into view. And though it was so utterly terrifying she could hardly believe it was real, she found herself…strangely drawn to it.
It was like a serpent, almost. Only its flesh was translucent, a deep garnet red, revealing a skeleton that was all wicked curves and sharp angles, all so void-black it seemed to radiate darkness…though the mists in its vicinity, for some reason, glowed crimson. Its uppermost ribs were perhaps the most horrible part, though, thrusting forth through its skin, rhythmically clasping and yawning wide. And its head—its skull, really, for all she could make out of it—reminded Mika of something else she’d seen before, though she couldn’t quite place what. In the haze of awe and Activation, she stared and pondered as the orcs around her leapt to action.
“Princess! Princess? Mikanasha!”
It took her quite a while to realize that someone was shouting for her attention. She blinked, dragged her eyes from the beast, and looked about. Retga was watching her with what seemed like concern, her thick eyebrows slammed together.
“What?”
“We need you at attention. Over here.”
Oh right. The plan.
Orcs were spilling down from the shaft of the pit now, clinging to tree islands, mostly, though a few free-fell—their plummet slowed and controlled by currents and gusts of wind. One of these was quickly caught in the jaws of a blackmaw. The other snatched hold of a tree root, and yet another disappeared into the sea of mists. More ruins dropped after them, and the Bloodwrym roared. Screamed. Thundered. It was a sound that was hard to describe, impossible to categorize. A many-layered, shrieking, cataclysmic cry that made her insides feel as though they’d been shredded to stringy jelly. That made her eyes sting and water, and ripped a guttural cry straight up from her core.
“Mikanasha!”
It was Uthur who called her this time, and this time, she managed a step forward. And then another. Before she knew it, she was at his side.
“Remember,” he said. “You aren’t the only Stonesinger here anymore. You don’t have to do this on your own. You just have to guide us.”
“Only wait for the signal,” added Retga.
“And stop if you tell me to,” snapped Mika. “I know.”
Rolling her eyes, she peered through the window once more, all senses focused on the action outside. All, of course, save that little part of herself which couldn’t stop thinking about heat. The heat at her core. The heat of hands.
Some of the enemy thralls—those who hadn’t fallen to Uthur’s Song or other hazards—would do their best to remain as close to the beast as they safely could. Others would hold the entrance of the pit. Allies who hadn’t already made the drop would have a hard time getting past them, but many of those who had and weren’t already in the castle would position themselves around it. The remainder simply fought, all sides doing everything in their power to incapacitate as many of their rivals as possible
And all the while, Singers of both sides used root and vine, wind and muscle to hurl artifacts closer and closer to the castle. Infuriating the Bloodwrym and drawing it nearer to Mika. Until finally it was close enough and angled just right, and she could see it.
Her target.
An enormous storm crystal, pulsing with light in the place where the beast’s heart should be.
But rather than allow itself to be drawn any nearer, the titanic Wrym stopped then and braced itself, the coils of its body arching up and disappearing again beneath the surface of the sea in undulating coils, its head turned back toward the opening of the pit.
It bobbed its skull back and forth, in the strange way many animals do before they vomit. Then its jaws ripped wide, and it roared again. This time, the noise came with a cloud of red steam. The Bloodwrym shook its head, spraying the stuff everywhere. And when it fell away, all of the orcs and trees who’d been in its path were simply….gone. Here and there she glimpsed a sizzling bit as it hurtled downward, but those too all vanished before they could so much as graze the condensed mists of the sea.
Mika’s heart seemed to skip a beat.
“The castle stone is impervious to the fluid,” said Retga, who’d been eyeing her. “And it can only do that about once every half an hour.” Her tone was gruff, but the intent was clear. The orc was trying to comfort her.
The information didn’t make her feel much better. But the intent…the intent was still nice. Or at least, in the weird haze of her current state, it seemed so.
She groaned. Retga frowned at her.
Find the old core. Touch it.
The thought rose, seemingly unprovoked, to the fore of her awareness. Loud, demanding. The Other Voice again.
You must touch the old core.
What could it mean, old core? There was only one core here, the core seed. And that was very, very much new.
And again she felt that pull, that external-but-connected heat. Much stronger than before.
This was an Ulvari place. A cavern. It had a core, once. What if…but no. Even if it were somehow still alive, there would be a boundary. No boundary, no core.
“Curse it, it’s not getting any closer,” growled one of the orcs whose name Mika didn’t know.
“More enemies coming down the pit, very few of ours making it through” said Durg, manning a telescope. “If we wait too much longer, they may outnumber us.”
“They don’t have many more than that able to make the dive” said Uthur, with a grim sort of satisfaction. “I made sure of that.”
“The numbers are still too even,” growled Retga. “I don’t like it.”
Mika cleared her throat.
“We could ride out to meet it.”
Retga speared her with a narrowed glare.
“What in the Depth’s darkest powers are you talking about?”
“Uthur and I. On the back of a blackmaw.” As she spoke, she allowed herself to meet Uthur’s bemused gaze…and was shocked to find it transition to thoughtfulness.
“I can only control one as a mount at a time, so it would have to be just us—”
“No.”
Uthur’s jaw tensed at the other prince’s interjection. Mika scowled, and Retga’s eyes flashed.
“It’s too dangerous. We can’t afford that kind of risk with either of you.”
Mika crossed her arms.
“I’m doing it. If Uthur cooperates, of course.”
She wanted this to be over with as soon as possible so that she might turn her attention to other things. Things like ancient, hidden forces and fiery seeds and holding hands.
Both princes turned their heads to stare down at her.
“No,” grated Retga again.
No! Echoed the Other Voice, almost frantic. Don’t go near it!
But she’d already said it, and Uthur had given her a look…and she couldn’t bring herself to take it back. And she didn’t want to take it back.
“I said I’m doing it.”
Ignoring the scarlet-eyed prince, she looked to Uthur. Their eyes met again, and—almost imperceptibly—he inclined his head.
They waited, of course, until just after the Wrym retched up another obliterating blast. Then Uthur Sang out, and—with Mika in his arms—only just managed to squeeze through one of the windows.
The blackmaw came quickly…hale from its feasting, and Mika squeezed her eyes shut as they made the leap. From behind and above them issued Retga’s voice, Singing the winds to ease their landing.
Wedged between Uthur’s bracing thighs and the beast’s dorsal fin, Mika clung to the creature with every ounce of her strength as they hurtled out over the churning sea. Into the red mists and the greatest danger Mika had ever faced.
For half a heartbeat, her stomach seemed to shrivel as the reality of what they were doing crashed over her. But then an image flashed before her awareness, an unwelcome memory. Hundreds of mouths, screaming as one. Thousands of eyes, contorted in terror. She shook her head as if to clear it. Realized she’d much, much rather face what lay ahead of her than what lurked in her memories.
I’ve faced worse. My people have suffered worse. I can do this.
But as they flew ever closer, Mika’s resolve disintegrated like flesh under the blast of the Bloodwrym. A monumental coil of the beast itself thrust up from the mist before them and Mika squeaked, her eyelids slamming closed, her whole body bracing for impact. But instead they swept suddenly downward, Uthur’s body sliding forward so that she could feel his muscles tense around her as he fought not to crush her between himself and the blackmaw’s fin. She pried one eye open just in time to see the coil coming down just over their heads. But in the next half-a-heartbeat they were past it, the winds pulling at their clothes as it caught them in its wake, like a vein of the world falling to the depths.
And there it was—in the very near distance—the Wrym’s torso with its grasping ribs and its skull the size of an island. It unleashed a resounding, ear-sawing shriek, its head thrusting back and tilting sideways as one of its enormous sockets seemed to fix directly upon them.
Twisting its impossible body to face them, it surged through the mists and straight their way.
