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It shouldn’t have been possible. Threads were meant to be gathered and woven into spells. They didn’t react. Only this one acted different. As if it were alive.
For a moment, her confidence faltered, and she feared she’d made a grievous error. Was she inadvertently giving the possessor what it wanted?
No. She refused to believe that and besides, it was too late now. She’d begun the process, she had to finish.
She strained to turn the spindle, only to gasp as it almost tore loose from her hand again. Her concentration cost her as her binding on Lomar slipped.
He lunged and slashed with his fingers, his unkept nails sharp enough to tear across the skin of her arm. Blood seeped, and the tang of copper and a bite of pain hit. Of more interest, she noted the silvery and pink threads rising from her wound.
Could her blood help like it had with the ogres?
She wove her seeping essence, giving herself strength. She fed some to her feet so they would firmly anchor. Once steady, she pulled and twisted, grim-faced but resilient. Thread by thread, the dark disappeared from around the body and light began to shine through, muted compared to most auras she’d seen. Understandable given what had happened.
The voice had ceased speaking and thrashing. Lomar stood still, eyes closed, head tilted back, as if resigned to his fate.
With the lack of pushback, the spindle rolled faster and faster until the thread ran out. It took her a moment of swaying on her feet before she realized she’d done it.
Lomar’s body was clear. She quickly dropped to her knees and dropped the spindle, undulating with darkness, into the jar. She sealed it, not just with its lid, but smeared it with blood, then magic, encasing it in a shield that blocked it from escape. As she finished her weaving, the jar stopped rocking and went still.
She’d done it.
Too late it occurred to her to keep an eye on Lomar. Movement had her recoiling, but it was just the man kneeling before her, head dipped, whispering, “Thank you for freeing me. But you shouldn’t have bothered with the effort. It would have been kinder to kill me.”
“I couldn’t do that to Kormac.”
Lomar’s lips tightened. “He showed me too much kindness.”
“Because you’re his friend.”
Lomar looked aside. “A friend who betrayed him, his country, everyone. He should have executed me.”
“Would you really make him live with that?”
“What other choice is there?” He eyed her with a tortured, bloodshot gaze. “You could do it.”
Kill a man on his knees who showed deep regret? “There are other lands,” she stated, rising with the jar. “Places where you can start over.”
“I don’t deserve to, though. The people I killed won’t get a second chance.”
Scree!
A sharp cry from outdoors had her saying, “If you really want to die, then you could start by helping Kormac with whatever beast is outside.”
The suggestion brightened his expression. “That would be a fine way to die.”
As he grabbed the nearest dagger and ran out, she took a moment to tuck the jar in the satchel, exhaustion setting in. The unravelling of the curse had taken more effort than expected. But she’d done it. It was possible to remove the curse.
Pity they’d not acted sooner. The bodies lying around hurt her heart. More victims to this thing that possessed. A monster that needed to be dealt with before it hurt more folk.
With ginger steps, she made her way outside in time to see a large, feathery body plummeting right at her. Her tired body didn’t immediately react, but Kormac did.
He was suddenly beside her, whisking her out of the way and shielding her with his frame against the fort walls as the beast swooped by.
Kormac pushed from her and eyed the sky. The giant bird swooped back, aimed right for him, and Kormac readied, his hand gripping the sword, muttering, “Its feathers are made of metal and impervious to my blade.”
“It’s some kind of roc,” she replied. Another legendary beast. “You’ll have to aim for its gullet or eyes.”
The bird didn’t give him a clear shot, though, coming at them feet first, forcing him to stay in place until almost the last second. It partially turned and Kormac used that opportunity. He flung his sword, and Fionna, still weak, managed to give his weapon the guidance it needed to slam into an eye, right into the brain.
