Vengeance Throne (The Callistra Chronicles #2)

TEN

Chapter Ten

"It's magical blowback," Circe screamed. "We need to go, now."

Pasiphae hadn't even steadied herself on solid ground before it started shaking beneath her. She remembered Medeis being hit by a bad series of disasters during the time Evara first started preparing her people for war—since Airesi was a dead-zone of magic from Callistra's source, the disasters moved south towards the witchlands instead. Magical blowback was a simple but deadly phenomenon: when magic was concentrated too thickly in one area without users dispersing the source fast enough, it would transform into natural disasters, and before their very eyes, Calva was summoning a monstrous torrent of wind.

Seth was pulling at Pasiphae, spurring her to move.

"I don't understand," she gasped as he pushed her back into the castle, tugging at her arm in their hurry to retrace a path through all the labyrinth-like rooms. "Where is this magic coming from? Why is there blowback?"

"You released it, Saf," Seth said. His eyes went to the knife clutched in her hand.

Oh, Pasiphae realised. She was holding the very artefact that had been trapping Goronwy and Medea's combined magic for centuries. She wondered what she had just done by pulling it free.

Rhoden suddenly halted, though they were likely only halfway through the castle.

"It's stopped," he whispered.

Circe looked at him as if he had lost his mind. 
"Do you not hear the rumbling beneath us?" she exclaimed. "It has clearly not stopped."

"No, not the blowback," Rhoden said. He whirled around, eyes wide. "The magical source. Calva just lost its magic."

"Then it's no longer deadly either," Seth said assuredly. "So, go, before we get buried by the mountain instead!"

They continued sprinting. In a blink of an eye, Pasiphae saw the wallpapers start peeling; she saw the carpet under their feet rotting and curdling, becoming patchy as the centuries started catching up. The electricity flickered violently with the shaking, and just as they finally skidded into the main hall of the palace, the lights went out entirely.

"Where's the door?" Pasiphae demanded. They had fallen into complete darkness. It would be impossible to stumble about blindly.

Circe clapped her hands together, summoning pure energy. She was going to drain herself out at this rate, but they had no option. "There!" she called. "Move!"

They hurried for the door, blowing it open and skidding down the mountain. Rain had started pouring down, landing blows on Pasiphae's skin like she was being pelted by small stones rather than water. Rhoden clenched his fists and threw his arms up, summoning a temporary barrier over their heads.

"What is that?" Seth hissed, pointing. Pasiphae followed his gaze, and spotted the source of the torrential wind, finding a funnel as dark as the night, as electric as the bolts shooting from the sky, heading their way.

"Tornado," Pasiphae reported. "We have to get over the bridge."

With considerable difficulty, the four of them clutched at the metal handrails and pulled themselves across, collapsing on the smaller mountain, breathless. They started running down the path, but by then, Rhoden's shield was weakening, and the light from Circe's palms was fading. 


"We're not going to make it," Pasiphae shouted. "It took us a day to get here. There's no shelter in the jungle that can protect us from a tornado."

"Then what do we do?" Circe screeched against the roaring elements. "Die?"

Rhoden's protective shield faded. A task as simple as blinking became impossible: Pasiphae could hardly see anything through the rain hailing down so viciously that it attacked sideways. She was drenched to the core in a split second, shivering as she wracked her brain.