Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 22: Hot and Cold All Over

Music is The Experiment from the Beyond: Two Souls soundtrack. Play it!

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I immediately check Gilbert's pulse. It's weaker than usual, but steady and rhythmic; his fainting bout is probably caused by mild asphyxia. Suddenly, I feel a soft, chilling breeze caressing the nape of my neck. I stand up and narrow my eyes at the darkness—there should be no trace of a wind down here. The sensation is similar to what I'd felt when I had first stepped into the scrinaius. Only more...ancient. Sinister.

A voice hisses in the darkness: "Use it."

My mouth goes dry; all my senses go numb. This isn't happening—no, can't be happening. My eyes dart about wildly. Without the light of the torch, my enhanced sight is limited in the darkness.

"Use the spark forming in you. Wield it; embrace it." The voice is grating and raspy, a voice of nightmares.

I look at Gilbert, his form lying helplessly on the ground. He'd saved my life once from the crossbow. Now it's my turn to return the favour—basic honour amongst men, even if we're just squires. Attempting to calm myself, I imagine myself to be observing my figure from an omniscient point above me, so that I can pretend that the situation isn't as terrifying as it seems. It works just the tiniest bit.

"Use it!" snarls the voice. Maybe I can stall for a little longer. Hopefully, an idea will come to me so that I can get the two of us out of this scenario. Alive.

"Use what?" I say aloud. "And who are you?"

"Prove to me that you have the spark, and perhaps I shall let you and your pathetic friend live."

"What spark?"

"The spark. Show me your power," it growls. "The power when you touched the alatrigne."

I slowly crouch for the torch. Maybe an improvisation on the flammable material at the end could provide some illumination.

"Use it!" It's as if the voice has formed into a ball of solid mass, smashing into me and flinging me towards the wall. As I slam into the hard slab of stone, a wave of icy coldness washes throughout my body, sourcing from the small of my back and spreading throughout every single muscle. The feeling is much worse than the hardest winters I'd ever experienced. I struggle to fight the winds; it keeps me very effectively pressed against the wall. I'm scarcely able to breath. "Use it!"

I feel the grip of the winds tightening around my neck. Thoughts race through my head—what abilities does it want me to show? A compelling one like Gilbert's? I'd do anything to save my hide right now. Unfortunately, by choking me, all that is allowed out of my throat are incomprehensible pleads and desperate gasps for air.

"You are far stronger than that!" Its grip tightens. Dark spots pirouette across my vision; I feel my limbs slackening. I don't have much time before I black out completely. Desperate, I allow emotions to overtake me, hoping that it can somehow help me out of this predicament. I feel it condensing, taking shape somehow, ready to unleash its power...

A whip of shadows lashes out of nowhere.

The wind retracts just a little, enough to allow me to regain my breath. The voices hisses angrily. "Interesting, but that's not what I was looking for, my dear."

Abruptly, the winds return with a vengeance. I try to squirm and struggle and kick the unseen force; nothing is working. Nothing. My insides feel as though they are dissolving into nothingness.

"Use it!"

This time, I know that whatever fight I put up will prove futile. I bite my tongue, reminding myself that even in a last stand, a knight never shows his fear. I also welcome the physical pain, instead of the emotionally crippling feeling inside me. As a last resort, I pray to my patron, hoping that in the midst of hopelessness, he can give me something to latch onto.