Era of Wrath (Chrim Chronicles #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Leodis Fynce

The westward wind was oddly warm for an autumn evening, spiraling down the seashore and stirring up sands through the jagged rocks and jutting cliffs, and beyond it the sea was oddly calm for a day of death and ruin, foaming each time its waves rolled and crashed upon the shore.

Centuries ago I'd played here as a boy with other children who were now no more than disfigured skeletons buried deep down the dirt, though their ghosts lived forth in my memories. There had been life back then, a buzzing energy of which none remained today. All that lingered in Chrim were broken people who knew no better than to smile and endure.

A history of massacres and torture in the name of justice which never ceased to claim victims even in its present day had formed this town into a shadow of dread and danger, and our recent lost battle had left a sour taste and a peculiar thick pressure in the air across the whole town. Even the oblivious tourists seemed to sense it, they grew uncomfortable without exactly knowing why, and made their way out of town before finishing their day's trip.

"I can't believe we just left her there," Torill said as she stared out into the sea, waiting for her dearest friend to return.

Sand trickled down between my fingers, and I grabbed a new fistful once more. "We had no choice. Had we waited any longer, no one would've been left alive. We were being slaughtered." Squeezing my eyes, I peered into the distance for any hint of Farren. Though I told no one, the past days I had slept outside on the shore in case she'd return. For some reason, her absence had left an aching pit inside of me. Each day I grew more restless, and I refused to leave the beach in case she'd make her return. "We must hope for the best. Farren is strong and though, if anyone can survive the Moreaus it's her."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Torill replied with a crackling voice. "Farren's strength is also her weakness. Makes her reckless, arrogant, bigmouthed, and that's how you get killed. Especially when you're up against that vile family of the Moreaus."

A cluster of black peeks began to rise above the horizon, growing taller as it neared. "What's that?" I asked as I rose up. Slowly but surely masts and sails came into view, followed by the body of ships they belonged to.

Torill's jaw dropped wide open. "The Moreaus." Her hand reached into her pocket and took out a mobile phone, where she tapped its screen. "Messaged the other ones to come. They should be here soon."

It was a count of four ships, each big enough to carry about two dozen people. In their approach to our shore they grew larger and larger, and so did the crowd that joined Torill and me. First to arrive was my brother, Cyril.

Then Jasmin of the Girard line arrived. Her resemblance to my demised fiancé Liliana Girard made me swallow, they had the same almond-shaped brown eyes with long lashes, plump lips, high cheekbones, their signature blonde frizzed hair, and even the shade of their dark skin was the exact same. But they were not the same, not in the slightest, and I looked away in sorrow.

Before long had passed, half the town stood there watching in sullen silence as the enemy set sail on Chrim's shore. The werewolves, the witches, the vampires, even the humans, all had come except for the Nymphs, but they never left their forest unless it was the annual celebration to Mother Nature.

The Moreau clan poured out of the ships carrying boxes and sacks like they were on a holiday, or even worse, a permanent migration. But I knew the latter could not be true, there were no children among them and the only women present were armed witches trained for battle. It wasn't nearly enough of them to defeat us in battle, making me wonder how they'd gotten this brave to set foot on our territory.

And, as soon as that question crossed my mind, it was answered. In an oval shaped iron cage carried by six men sat Farren, leaning her head against the bars with shame written all over her face. "She's alive," I told Torill.

The little girl wore her crown, a golden piece embedded with emeralds and rubies, as she strolled over to us with a smug look on her face. There was a large bandage on her cheek, through it I could see specks of blood. Placing her hands on her hips, she observed us thoroughly. "Not the welcome committee I'm used to, nor the kind of welcome I ought to receive, but it'll do." She pointed over towards Farren. "Here's what's going to happen. It's obvious that you have fallen, your leader is in a cage for crying out loud, that means that Chrim is mine now. Soon all of my people are moving here."

A silence fell. There was confusion, because all of us wanted Farren out of that cage and Neviana drowning into that sea. But there was also hesitation, for we knew a public scene would cause our downfall. The only reason Chrim had some this far was by keeping up the pretense of being normal towards the outside world. A fight with blue sparks and magic and a young woman locked in a cage would surely drop that veil. It was yet too soon for Chrim to be empty of tourists.

From the corner of my eye I spotted a movement. The moment I turned to look at it, an army of women with colorful hair dressed in flowers and dresses made of leaves and vines swarmed the beach and jumped the Moreau forces. There was barely a struggle before they all lay on the floor with their heads pressed into the sand, held down by the Nymphs of the Norfos forest.

Amongst gasps and shock a tall, lean man with black hair appeared, a man that made my heart pound violently against my chest; a man I feared more than any other. The look in his cold grey eyes hadn't changed over the centuries; ruthless and firm.

Krol stooped down and lifted Neviana by her collar, making her crown fall off her head. "Correction, little terror, Chrim is mine." A cluster of Chrim's guards appeared, dressed in ordinary clothes yet just as lethal as Nestor Krol himself, and to them he commanded his famous words. "Take them to the cells."

For a while he watched them go, then he turned to Torill and looked deep into her eyes with the faintest hint of a smile. It was as if he waited. Torill stared back at her former leader she'd tried to assassinate and believed to be dead with all the courage she could muster, which wasn't much. Her body was visibly trembling, and her eyes filled with tears.

"I'm dead, aren't I?" Torill asked him.

A cold, detached smile spread on Krol's face. "Not quite yet." He nodded towards a guard, who then seized Torill. As she was dragged away his eyes found mine and he slightly turned his face. "Good to see you, Leodis Fynce. Not so dead either, I see."

"Not quite yet," I answered.