Under my command, through the power of my Skhola ring, they leave the boats alone.
Their spirits cry out in distorted screams, a reminder of the danger of what is in the waters in case any of the sacrifice’s families get the urge to aid their loved ones.
The chosen one’s wince under the shrill shrieks of the dead, but not Calista. She wears murder and death so well that I cannot help but wonder if she somehow belongs to it—to me.
My breath hitches as Calista’s eyes widen under the hue of her torch.
My heart hammers as she grabs the oar, navigating away from the others and toward the shipwreck. “Clever girl,” I admit aloud. She waves for her sister and the boy to follow her, but they do not and instead sail with the others to the docks.
Idiots.
I watch as Calista stands, knees bent, extending her arms to steady the boat. Her eyes fixate on the island, the magic we share darkening, weakened only by her own guilt. Her long, brown hair glows under the light of the torch, cascading in waves down her back, stopping at her waist. She runs her hands through her strands, pushing some from her face, then slides her hand over her waist. My eyes follow the trail of her fingers, and I lick my lips, some desperate ache in me wishing they were my hands, gliding over the contours of her body.
What am I thinking? This must be our shared power drawing me to her and nothing more.
Fate has bound the witch to me, and as I reflect on every step I took that brought me here recently, I know I have only aided the prophecy. I should have taken her to the coast and watched her get on a ship.
Yet, I am certain destiny would have weaved another path to reach this very moment. So far, I have been unable to kill her, and my blood oath prevents me from doing so. Because Calista was wrong. I love someone—my sister, Astraea. I cannot understand what led me to trap her with the rest of them when she wasn’t like them. She was kind and always there for me, but she must’ve betrayed me.
I simply cannot remember.
Gritting my teeth, I focus only on the witch, panic stifling me as the dead near her boat. Seeing her get closer to the island instills a dread in me I have seldom felt.
To awaken my siblings, she must die in a sacrificial ritual. Once her blood is spilled, it will undo the magic I used to bind them into a sleeping spell. However, it’s more than that. The thought that I may lose her pains me. The sentiment makes no sense, yet it feels so raw, it could be real.
Snapping myself out of my thoughts, refusing to linger in my mind for any longer than needed, I turn my attention to my dead, who await my orders as they allow the sacrifices to pass. I flex my fingers at my sides, the powers from the gods siphoning through my Skhola, a reminder of what I am about to give up.
The ring will not work the moment I step foot through the veil separating the world from my domain. Not only will I lose my siblings’ magic, but the strength I siphon from the dormant monsters and spirits of the dead.
With a scowl, I pivot to the forest, then walk inside. The distant roar of the crowd accompanies me as I meticulously gather only dead or inanimate objects that will not disintegrate under my touch—carcasses of dead logs, the skeletal remains of fallen leaves, dry and brittle twigs and branches, tiny skulls of animals long perished, and crow feathers. I place them into a pile on the shore, then close my eyes, rooting deeper into the recesses of my core, seeking my sister’s magic, residing unwantedly beside mine.
Essentria’s power of creation seeps into fingertips only meant for death with a subtle tinge of light. The ability to manipulate nature has always been a source of envy, and as I guide delicate golden swirls around the pile of foraged items, I ache with the soon-to-be loss of the magic.
The objects combine and take the shape of a boat, clashing together in a flurry of power as I evoke my shadows to choke my sister’s swirls into submission.
Feathers bind, creating a sail of shimmery blue and black. Skull fragments levitate from the ground, fusing to form the hull. My sigil etches into the side of the boat, next to Essentria’s, a stamp of anything formed from our combined power.
With a push, the boat glides out onto the calm waters. I step through the shallow waves, my dead sensing my presence as soon as the water laps around my black boots. The faint smell of sulfur tingles inside my nostrils, and my spine tingles as they grow closer, always angry, but under my control.
The boat rocks as I grip the sides, then climb inside, sliding myself into a seat carved from dead wood. A silent command leaves my mind as I instruct the souls to pull my boat toward the island.
Rotting hands emerge from the dark depths, forming a crown of decayed fingers around the bottom of my boat as the dead push me further out to sea.
Whispers grow louder, calling me home, as I grow closer to Tenenocti. I cloak myself in darkness, absorbing any light that falls upon me until I am nothing but a shadow sailing around the other side of the island, and away from the sacrifices.
A raging storm brews on the horizon once I am firmly within my domain. Pain spears through my skull, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as the powers I’ve held within me for one hundred and fifty years stretch out from my core.
“Agh,” I shout into the sky, dropping to my knees, clenching my fists as I desperately try to hold on to my sibling’s magic. But my family beckons their powers from their sleeping states, and as I near the shore, I am powerless to prevent it.
I clamp my eyes shut as my control over the dead slips away. Wisps of gray smoke curl around me, creating a misty haze as the boat glides over the inky waters. A sudden bolt of bright, blue lightning illuminates the sea, breaking through the thick, black storm clouds shrouding the glowing crimson moon.
The sky rumbles with thunder as dark clouds gather in swirling shades of purple, blue and silver, unleashing torrential rain, each drop resembling tiny needles piercing my body.
My silver strands slick around my face and jaw, and I clutch the thick fabric of my tunic, a primal roar ripping from my chest.
Astraea’s dream magic evaporates through my pores, in a swarm of radiant, glittering light. My mouth falls open as her power gracefully creeps over the dark waters and into Tenenocti. Hunched over and breathless, my chest aches with the absence.
The sky splits in a vibrant green flash with rain transforming into heavy droplets that pelt against my skin while thunder grumbles overhead..
My boat crashes onto the deserted shore of the island, far from the sacrifices, the bone-fused hull grueling over pebbles, a wave forcing me onto the island, but I do not leave the boat. Instead, I grip my knees as guilt pierces my heart, forced into me by Cyna’s powers. Before I can stop it, a lone tear slides down my cheek, pausing at my lips as the desire to speak my truth hangs on my tongue.
Each guilt-laced tear aches my heart, and as they fall in a haze of green, regret twists in my core.
My nails pierce the sides of the boat, splintering the boat as a guttural sob quakes my body.
My shoulders tense as the last remnants of my brother’s strength drains from me with a powerful sting. Struggling to catch my breath, I lift my head and fix my gaze beyond the forest, on a familiar, small tower strangled with vines.
“No!” I yell, desperately seeking a respite from this torment, as a third bolt of lightning shatters the clouds, dyeing the sky purple.
There is no reprieve with Nyxara. Her magic courses through me like poison, pulsing as if it may burst through my veins. My vision blurs, and the world around me dissolves into a myriad of memories, each more fragmented than the last. I grip my temples as memories of the past and potential futures collide in my mind, every scene transitioning into the next in rapid succession, disorienting me.
A mystery woman is in each of them, her fingers on my chest, and in one, her lips are pressed against mine. The memories are tinged in bloodshed, vignetted in darkness, and my heart aches with each flash. I shake my head as the visions of the past carousel too quickly for me to focus on anyone in particular.
The boat tilts sideways and I topple over, landing on the wet pebbles, the rain soaking my tunic.
A final surge of energy leaves through my eyes, and Nyxara’s magic dances away from me, sweeping through the trees in shimmering purple ribbons.
I crawl toward the forest and collapse against damp mud and entwined vines as I reach the tree line, every breath a labor. Volan’s powers climb through my veins like liquid fire, boiling my blood until I scream through clenched teeth. The sea roars, and I turn my head in time to see a tall, black wave slam against the hull, shattering the wood and bone. More furious waves drag the remains of my boat away and into the merciless, hungry depths of the Black Sea. I lift my fingers, weaker than I’ve ever been, and hiss as bruises appear on my body. With each punch of Volan’s magic erupting from me, pain shoots through me, rendering me immobile.