Warmoon [ONC 2020]•[Shortlisted]•[Honorable Mention List, Stunning Worlds]

20. Warmoon

Total Word Count: 30,677

Even with the black glass of the Keeper's helmet, Rhoa flinched away, tears welling instantly behind her eyelids. Blinking away the spots that danced before her eyes, she forced herself to peek through her watery lashes again.

The sun was inside the tower, too huge to see, too bright to look at for more than a split-second. She caught a fleeting glimpse of massive, flaming wings pinned against fiery, scaly hide and a row of fangs longer than her forearm.

This was no swamp predator. It wasn't even possible.

Again, that deep, grinding, throbbing pulse rolled through the tower, all around her this time. The Wartide was nearly to the top of the clay. 

Every instinct screamed at her to run, to find some dark place to hide, but her limbs wouldn't obey. The ice in her veins had turned her bones to frozen lead, and she dropped to her knees, unable to do anything but watch, breathless, as the Rot poured into the cell. Glowing scales shifted on the other side of the glass, gliding past the window as the monster shifted. Then the light dimmed, thick mats of black appearing, growing together, choking out the flames.

Her stomach gave a vicious lurch, tightening around the scant breakfast she had eaten. Her ribs heaved, and she bent over. Frantic, she unbuckled the collar of the Keeper's suit, yanked it loose, and tore the helmet off her head just in time. Her throat burned as her insides sent up a stream of black vomit.

Without the helmet, she could suddenly hear the shriek of stone scraping against stone and the groan of wood under stress as the Warmoon tore at the tower. It wasn't a suggestion of a breeze anymore. The walls and the floor and the ceiling were vibrating with the sheer power of it.

Then, abruptly, there was a change in the air, as if someone had thrown a door open on a storm. That strange, unnatural wind rushed up the stairs with a physical force that yanked at her, pummeling her from all sides.

The Wartide had topped the clay. She looked around, watching with dull fascination as color began bubbling up through the cracks under her hands and knees, trickling over the floor, flowing in gleaming rivulets toward the door to the monster's cell. It was red. Rich, bloody red, red as the Vanguard's Mage fire, red as the Warmoon rising into the sky outside. It had nearly reached the cell door when the monster's light petered and blinked out, casting the room into a false dusk. 

Everything went absolutely, deathly still.

The wind died.

Rhoa pulled in a slow, painful breath. The air was cold. Or perhaps she was cold, frozen all the way through, as if everything alive in her had been stripped away.

She tipped her head back, staring up through the window at the dull, black lumps forming on the other side of the glass. The monster was completely cocooned. The hum was gone. She had stopped it.

Rhoa cleared her throat and spat, trying to rid her mouth of that thick, oily aftertaste. Her limbs were heavy, her thoughts sluggish. She was so very tired. It was over. She needed to get up, to go find the Vanguard and figure out a way to get everyone away from this place. Perhaps if she slept for a moment... just a moment...

She looked down. Frowned. The tide hadn't receded. It was still there, pooling around her, the surface smooth as glass.

It rippled ever so slightly. Once. Then twice together, and once again.

Rhoa glanced up at the window again.

A jagged red line raced through the darkness inside, forking like lightning. The line widened, pulling apart. Vivid crimson flames erupted along the edges, and she winced, her hand flying up to shield her eyes as a shaft of intense light burst through.

That maddening hum started again, thin at first, then broadening to a growl. The scarlet pools began rising, washing up against the door, splashing at the seams and the hinges and the mortar between the stones. The light flared brighter and brighter, and then a reverberating, cavernous boom rent the air, shuddering through the tower.

The entire wall of the cell fractured, a webwork of cracks spreading out from the door, beams of searing white breaking free.

The door gave way, first, crumbling to pieces. Then a massive, fiery talon wrapped around the frame, huge claws digging gouges in the Keeper's stone, slicing through the wall like daggers through butter.

Rhoa sprawled backwards, too weak to fight anymore. She could only lie there on the floor as the monster towered over her, blotting out everything else.

This was how she ended. 

There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. The air sizzled, searing her face as the monster tilted its massive head, studying her. It turned brilliant eyes on the sprakhide box for a moment before looking at her again. Then it reached out one gigantic paw and slammed it down over her, those huge, curved claws pinning her to the floor.

The Keeper's suit disintegrated at the touch of glowing scales; her hair, her skin, her bones, all of her was melting, scorching away to nothing. She closed her eyes.

But she didn't die. The pain was unbearable, but it wasn't the end. Scarlet flames reached through her skin, coursing through her veins. The monster was pulling the Rot out of her, tearing it out by the roots. A wordless, silent demand echoed through her head, riding on the pounding of her own pulse. It wanted her to look at it.

A scream ripped out of her as her eyelids rebelled and lifted, obeying that unspoken command, and she looked the monster in the eyes.

It was untamed, wild, elemental power, exhilarating and terrifying at once. She saw vast, rolling plains and soaring mountains, vivid emerald forests and aquamarine rivers. This was what the monster had been, a guardian of living things, keeping the Rot in balance. Then a fleet of seven ships on the shore, wooden huts and bonfires, human voices. These new small things were intelligent, fierce, and resourceful, but that only made them the perfect host for the Rot. And the Rot used them, preying on their love of power, manipulating their fear until they laid a snare for the monsters. Countless centuries of being trapped in that cell flashed before her, countless generations of humans holding it captive, unwilling to understand what it was and unaware of what they were really doing, while the Rot laid claim to what the monster once protected.

She was one of those people. She was small. Insignificant. She had been blind just like the rest of them, but now she was the one being saved, shown mercy where she hadn't shown any. 

Then she was falling, dropping into thin air as the tower collapsed beneath her. Above her, the monster unfurled colossal, burning wings against a storm-purple sky, rising into the air, gleaming stark white against the angry red of the Warmoon.

Rhoa's last, conscious thought before she struck the ground was that the Vanguard was going to be happy.

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