Against the Wind

14.1 || Amina

Up until a handful of days ago, Feralites might as well have been fictional characters in the backdrop of Amina's life. She'd known they were out there, of course, horrors that supplied a very real threat to her beloved home, but it had always been difficult to convince her eyes of that definite truth. Beastfolk were monsters—they stalked the edges of her childhood story books and blinked from the shadows of her dreams. She'd longed to cast light over them, to grasp the chance to fight them one day when she grew strong enough.

She hadn't expected that day to come so soon. She certainly hadn't been ready for it to happen again near-immediately afterwards, and for it all to feel so strange.

The Feralite's eyes flashed a nasty red as he stared her down. In contrast to the winged creature's incessant grins, his face was all the harsh lines of anger, twitching in his narrow jaw and rumbling in his throat. It accented the beastly curve of his antlers. A coarse, jagged line cut across his nose: a scar, older than the ruddy marks that littered his outspread arms. The Feralite with wings had acted the predator toying with her prey; this boy bristled like a cornered beast, fearful and furious, ready to strike at the first sign of threat.

She couldn't decide which was more dangerous, but nevertheless the sight of him froze her heart and made her skin crawl. She was cold. Her spell had flooded victorious warmth through her veins, comforting as familial touch, but it had slipped through her fingers along with the dust she'd had hold of in all the shock of the Feralite's arrival. In the wake of its loss, she felt exposed.

"Do not hurt her." The boy's voice carried a guttural twang, though he spoke the words with precision. Something rushed his tongue—desperation, perhaps, or a trembling, barely-withheld bloodthirst.

Pain shivered the length of Amina's biceps. Though Zephyrine had scrubbed her wounds away, sealing the skin so perfectly that their remnants were only visible when she squinted at them under torchlight, the phantom echo still coiled tight around her muscles served a chilling reminder of what these creatures could do to her. What they wanted to do, if she let them. Tugged by an invisible string, her gaze strayed sideways, searching for her mentor.

Zephyrine hadn't moved, nor had her perfect features rounded in the surprise expected of everyone around her. Her hands were folded in her lap. The posture spoke of calm, but her mouth was set in a hard line, and her iridescent gaze cut into Amina's soul. That waiting look again: impassive and curious. It struck Amina that this all might be some ridiculous extension to her test.

Such a notion made no concrete sense, but a slanted smile quirked her lips all the same, her veins fizzing as the dust's tingle returned to her fingertips. If this was a test, it was a simple one. She knew the correct answer as easily as breathing.

A gritty, snaking cloud shot up from the encrusted sand at her feet, swathed in flashing violet. She lifted a hand and, with a cry of challenge, brought it across her body in a slicing arc.

The dust leapt in echo, condensing into a shock of bright light that ribboned through the air between her and the Feralite. Static raced outwards with a hiss. The hybrid boy's white hair sprang on end, framing his face in a crazed, flickering glow. Eyes growing wide, he staggered back into the beast, patting wildly at its hairy grey flank. His mouth moved, though Amina could make no sense of the growling sounds. She thrust her hand forward, fingers twitching and chest lurching as her power surged for him in a forked, jagged sprawl.

With an earth-shaking holler, the beast bolted, huge feet pounding without rhythm. Without its support against his spine, the Feralite stumbled. The tips of her lightning licked at his antlers. Yelping, he jerked away from it, knees buckling but succeeding to shove him into a desperate sprint.

Amina breathed in dry, hot air that sizzled with the touch of her power. It simmered within her, a shower of sparks that lit a satisfied warmth in her core, but the fire was small and craved more fuel. She snatched at the sand, calling the dust to her and fisting it close to her chest, then gave chase.

The colour and clamour and movement of the arena frothed at the edges of her vision. The scene was blurred, diminished to the glassy haze of water, though an ocean of unease stirred within it. A hundred battling voices called out from the depths, so she tuned them all out as one, blocking her ears to all but the heavy in-and-out of her breathing and the scrape of her shoes against the skidding sand, all threaded together by the cresting hum of the dust she wove between her fingers. Her gaze zeroed in on the rippling red of the Feralite's cloak, the edges of it flapping madly in the breeze he kicked up. Hot electricity rattled the bones in her fingers. Before it could singe her palm, she threw it, arm stretching to its full length as she fought to keep its aim.

Too alive with eagerness, the lightning's arc curved too low; the boy took a leap to dodge it and the brunt of its gleaming energy struck the ground beneath his airborne feet. A forked tail of light snared his cloak, however. A rough sensation like sandpaper scraped Amina's senses enough to make her wince, but she held steady, the heat in her blood pushing her to keep moving. Fire licked the edge of the red fabric. It danced, a blaze within the second, clawing at the boy's back with seething amber talons.

With a pained cry, he hit the sand and rolled, pale grains flying in all directions as he twisted himself in frantic knots in order to paw at the flames. His efforts were swift to extinguish them, but by then Amina was already upon him. Focus so scattered she could hardly see straight, she swept the sand with her senses and whipped up a storm of shimmering dust, grappling with it until it bent into the same airy whips she'd used to tie her first hybrid opponent. The winds folded like molten chains beneath her command, pinning the Feralite boy to the sand by his throat. Her knee thudded his chest, eliciting a gasp. Pure, naked fear shone from his expression now. She glared back, triumph blazing as blood roared in her ears. Her face was sticky with sweat.

She opened her mouth, full of grim determination. This hybrid wouldn't skip over her questions in a tide of maddened laughter. This one she would hold here until he told her everything, or she would carve him apart.

It was only then she noticed he wouldn't meet her eyes.

Ruddy terror consumed his gaze, but it wasn't aimed at her. Instead, his face was twisted sideways, antlers drawing shallow lines in the sand, and shock softened the narrow lines of it. Confusion bubbled over the surface of her anger. Fisting the front of his cloak to hold him in place, she followed where he looked.

Frost stabbed her chest, shattering her pulse, dousing all the heat in her body, spilling chills that pulled like a ghoul's malevolent fingers. Her chest tightened.

"No," she breathed. The word sucked all the moisture from her mouth.

If not for the solid press of his ribs against her calf, she might have believed she'd tripped into a nightmare. Even with those sensations to ground her, she blinked hard, convinced her eyes had to be lying to her, but they remained faithful messengers. A fissure might as well have opened up in the world's fabric before her. Through it—through the narrow space between the arena's stands which rose up like steepled cliffs either side—a tide of inhuman shapes swarmed.

The beasts. They'd infiltrated her city.

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