Fateful Signs (Ballad of the Seer, Book Three)

Chapter 43 - Sacrifice

Dianna ran across the lawn - which was not easy in platform wedges - ducking and dodging to avoid the clash of swords and daggers. She did her best to avoid the men painting theirselves with blood. She cringed as one of them broke the neck of the woman whose blood he wore. The symbols glowed brightly for a second. Then he went off in search of another victim.

        At that moment, Dianna was very glad that she wasn't a witch. They didn't seem to be faring so well. It seemed it was hunting season, and they were the prey.

        Dianna hurtled a birdbath that had been knocked on its side. She wondered if the two warlocks were still following her through the melee. When she looked back all she could see was a writhing mass of chaos. She couldn't tell anyone apart. If not for the totally evil-looking daggers, she wouldn't know guardians from warlocks. They were all backlit by the blazing fire consuming the house.

        The fighting stretched all the way across the lawn. Guardians poured through a new portal on the tennis court, only to be met by a swell of warlocks, eager to fight and ready to kill.

        There was a squishing sound as Dianna's shoe skidded on the grass. She narrowly avoided a fall. She didn't dare look down, though. Her stomach churned at the mere thought of what it might be. She was a thousand percent sure that she would barf if she actually saw it.

        Nearly out of breath, pulse pounding, Dianna ran to the stables. Seeing that it was empty, she closed the door behind her. She pressed her back against the smooth wood wall and sank to the floor, which was covered in straw. The seat of her white shorts was surely filthy. She didn't care about that, though. Not even that the place smelled like manure. She was glad to be out of the fighting and mayhem. The sounds of battle were muffled in here, so she could hear the horses breathing and shuffling in their stalls. They, too, were uneasy. Dianna believed that animals were more attuned with nature. She thought that the horses could sense what was going on outside, hence their nerves.

        On the other side of the room, Dianna heard the squeal of the back door opening. She heard a snippet of the fight before it was shut out again. She clamped her hand over her mouth, afraid to make a single peep. She closed her eyes and made a silent prayer that she would be overlooked. The whole place was dark, with only one small light at the end of the row of stalls. The corner Dianna was sitting in was shrouded in shadow. Hopefully, it would be enough. Unless warlocks could see in the dark.

        She leaned her head back, staring up toward the rafters. Her eyes caught on a hammer, hanging directly above her head. There were other tools hanging there, too, such as horse grooming equipment, but she wasn't going to get very far with that.

        Carefully, she inched her fingers up and grasped the wooden handle. She cringed when she knocked a brush off its hook. The other person must have heard when it hit the floor.

        Gripping the hammer tightly, Dianna crept to the edge of the wall and peered around. She didn't see anything. Although that didn't mean there was no one there. Warlocks were masters of the dark.

        Something sharp pocked into her ribs. "Drop it." Freckles said. She couldn't mistake that nasal voice, made worse by her attack on him.

        The hammer clattered loudly on the wooden floorboards and one of the horses stirred in its stall. Dianna stood up and faced the warlock. He had markings on his skin like the others outside. She wondered why so many of them started doing that. Did that bright light earlier make them go nutso?