Chapter 25

Reaching the intersection, Dreya could see the Cultists closing in on the young girl, who tripped and fell on the ground. It would all be over in moments if Dreya didn’t act. She was still reluctant to reveal herself by using her magic, but she did have another option: the knife she kept up her sleeve.

All wizards on Tempestria were permitted, under Council rules, to carry one bladed weapon as a backup in case their magic failed. Dreya had never used her knife. Almost, against Kullos’ hellhound guards, but at the critical moment, she’d figured out the hellhounds were magical constructs that could only harm them if they believed they were real. Dreya had to absolutely reject the threat and protecting herself with a knife would have meant she had doubts. Those doubts would have killed her and her friends, so she still had not used it.

It had been a very long time since she’d used physical weapons. Not since she was a child.

*****

Barely a teenager, she was running from bullies. That was hardly a rare occurrence, but these ones were bigger and stronger with almost a decade on her. And they had knives.

“Come here, freak!” one called out.

“Reject!” taunted another.

“Piskey throwback!” laughed the third.

“We’re not going to hurt you!”

“No, we want to help!”

They laughed, seeing their victim fall to the ground, vulnerable. Defenceless. Screaming for help.

“Just hold still while we cut off those wings. Then you can be normal.”

“Yeah, right!” one of her friends scoffed. “As if!”

“Yeah!” the ringleader sneered. “You’ll always be a freak, Andreyanka.”

“Freak! Freak! Freak!” the other two girls chanted as the leader continued taunting her.

“But if you let us cut your wings off, maybe it won’t be quite as obvious!”

Just then, a voice rang out, “Leave the girl alone or answer to me!”

The young Dreya had been astonished to see a human woman. A human in the lands of the Sylfranian Faery was practically unheard of, but there she was.

One of the attackers continued to advance on the prone form of Andreyanka, taunting her all the while. The other two rushed at the human with their knives.

“Another freak in our lands!” one of them spat.

“Yeah, we’ll be overrun with them if we don’t stop it!” another growled.

The human pulled a knife of her own, watching the young Faery women intently. At first, Dreya didn’t know how she did it, but the human woman suddenly had two knives. Then one of her attackers dropped to the ground, blood gushing from a severed artery in her wrist. The second died from a single swipe of her friend’s knife across her throat.

“Murderer!” the third screamed. Then, grabbing Dreya’s right arm, she tried to haul her to her feet as she growled, “Come on, you winged freak. We can get away together!”

But Andreyanka saw the situation for what it was: her attacker just wanted to use her as a shield. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill her when she was no longer useful.

The human woman threw her own knife. She didn’t dare risk the kill shot with the innocent girl so close to her attacker. Instead, she made sure the weapon landed by Andreyanka’s left hand. Andreyanka reached for it, but her attacker was too quick, stamping on her wrist.

“No, you don’t, you little witch!” she snarled.

Witch.

That word sparked something in the young Andreyanka’s brain. She had been dabbling in magic, lately. Experimenting. She didn’t really think – just acted on some instinct. Even as her hand was painfully crushed into the ground, Andreyanka flicked a finger and sent the out-of-reach dagger flying into her attacker’s heart.

Her attacker just had time for one last gasp of, “Freak!” before she died, collapsing on top of Andreyanka, making her scream.

Her human saviour rushed over and pulled the dead weight off her, saying, “Don’t be scared of a dead body, young Faery. The dead can’t harm you. It’s the living you need to worry about.”

Andreyanka nodded, accepting the lesson and forced herself to get control over herself as the woman helped her to her feet.

“You saved me!” she cried.

The woman shook her head. “You saved yourself. With magic, no less. Did you know you could do that?”

Andreyanka shook her head.

“Well, maybe you should think about getting some training. Magic saved you this time, but power like that needs to be controlled, or it could just as easily kill you next time.”

The human woman was right, she knew. Only a few days ago that strange figure with the dark aura had appeared to her and told her that one day she would have enough power to get rid of all the bullies in the world. Then no-one could ever harm her again. Maybe this was the start of that journey.

Shouts in the distance brought the young Andreyanka back to her current situation. As the voices drew closer, she realised people must have heard the disturbance and come to investigate.

“You need to go,” Andreyanka told the human woman. “If they catch you, they’ll blame you for this.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, “but remember, these women were going to kill you. You acted out of defence. You did nothing wrong, kid. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.”

Andreyanka nodded. “I won’t. Now go!”

“See you around, kid!” she grinned and dashed into the forest.

But Dreya hadn’t seen her around. She never even found out who she was. That had rankled her ever since. The one debt she could never repay.

*****

Well, Dreya considered, facing the scene before her in that dark alleyway, maybe this was her chance to pay that debt at last.

Was that a valid concept or was she just doing what Justaria always accused her of: making excuses for doing good things?

Whatever her motivations, she was committed to action. Even though it had been so long since she’d used physical weapons, through her Guardianship link with Mandalee, she knew what to do. She was ready.

Her voice rang out, “Leave the girl alone or answer to me!”

The Cultists whirled around and, taking in her Black robes, one of them gasped, “An Agent of Evil!”

“You must be Cleansed!” another cried.

“Purify her!” the third ordered them. Two rushed at Dreya, knives at the ready, while the other continued to bear down on the young girl.

The pair weren’t as disciplined as the bigots who had attacked young Andreyanka all those years ago. Rather than attack together, one was faster than the other. As a result, she would be the first to die.

Dreya stepped into the attack, catching her by surprise. Flexing a muscle was all it took to bring her dagger to hand, which she used to slice cleanly across her wrist. The Cultist screamed and clutched her wrist in a futile effort to stem the blood flow, dropping her dagger, which Dreya caught, slicing it across her throat. Before the slower Cultist could get close, Dreya threw her own knife at her. It struck her in the face and buried itself in her brain. She didn’t even have time to scream before she died.

“Murderer!” the remaining Cultist screamed.

“How predictable,” Dreya remarked.

The sorceress didn’t trust her ability to throw the curved blade accurately over the distance that separated her from the innocent teen before her, but she could get it close enough.

Over the last few days, her two Chetsuan friends, Sara and Jessica, had talked about how it was for them, growing up. Conditions were harsh. The threat of the dragons made food sources scarce and obtaining it a risky business. It was on one such food gathering mission that they had been taken to the dragon scientist Zacar for experimentation. Long before that, though, they had succeeded many times.

Dragons were not the only threat, however. There were wild animals, and also predators of the Chetsuan variety. As such, the two girls had learned to protect their lives at an early age. That was pretty normal, they asserted. Most adults tried to protect their children, but they couldn’t be there all the time. It was a dangerous world, and they had adapted to survive. If this Chetsuan girl was anything like those two, now that the odds were even, she should have no trouble, given a helping hand.

Dreya threw the knife so that it landed by the girl’s left hand. She immediately picked it up, which Dreya conceded was better than she had done when she still used the name Andreyanka, but then the girl hesitated.

“What are you waiting for, girl?” Dreya demanded. “It’s your life or hers!”

Seeing this, the remaining Cultist changed tack.

“Don’t listen to her,” she told the girl. “You’re not really going to kill me. You’re not a murderer like her. I know how to get out of here, a secret way. We can escape together. Just give me your purse. Let go of the evil that’s weighing you down. Then you can be Pure, like me.”

At the other end of the alleyway, Dreya was seething, frustrated at the girl’s inaction.

Looking up at the Cultist with those wide, terrified eyes of hers, the girl was staring death in the face but refusing to see it.

The Cultist threw her weapon away. “See? I’m unarmed now. We were never going to hurt you. We only had our knives to try and scare you into letting go of the evil, that’s all. You see that, don’t you?”

The girl hesitated a moment longer, and then nodded and lowered her knife.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dreya demanded. This was not going at all the way she expected. If this girl didn’t face up to reality fast, Dreya’s efforts would be in vain.

“Now hand over all your evil money,” the Cultist commanded. “Then I’ll take you away. Do you want to be Pure like me, or evil like her?”

“Pure,” the girl decided, and glanced away for a moment to retrieve her purse, full of evil money.

In that same moment, Dreya, too, decided. focusing on the Cultist, she spoke a single word, “SNAP,” and the Cultist dropped to the ground, lifeless. Neck instantly broken. Her deadweight fell on top of the girl, and she screamed.

Dreya brushed the body aside with her magic and reached down to give the girl a hand up, but the terrified girl backed away and brandished the knife at her.

“Well, that’s gratitude for you,” Dreya grumbled.

“Keep away!” the girl warned Dreya.

Her eyes had opened even wider, her breath coming fast and shallow. She was frantic with shock, delirious, sweating profusely, unable to tell friend from foe.

Dreya couldn’t understand it. It was as if she’d never fought a day in her life before. Then it hit her: ten years. It had been ten years, on a Phitonian timescale, since Dreya ended the threat of the dragons. This girl couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. The world in which Sara and Jessica grew up, she probably didn’t remember that world, but this incident proved there were still threats in this one and if she was going to survive, she needed an education. Fast.

“You’re evil!” the girl accused her.

“These three come at you with knives, I save your life, and I’m the one who’s evil?”

The girl shook her head, unable to comprehend. “You’re a murderer! And you want to murder me, too!”

“I’m not a murderer. I stopped a murder. Your murder. Would you rather I hadn’t bothered?”

The girl lowered the knife a little, but she still couldn’t grasp what had happened. “I— I don’t think she was really going to kill me,” she stammered, shakily, looking down the Cultist Dreya had slain with her magic.

“You don’t think she was going to kill you?” Dreya echoed, incredulously. “How long were you planning to wait to be sure?” she asked. “Until her blade was at your throat? Until she sliced it open, and your lifeblood came pouring out?” Her voice was a great, controlled crescendo. “Or maybe you were going to wait until you were actually dead, just to make absolutely certain!”

The girl tried to scoot away on her backside. Giving up on that idea, she tried to stand, but her legs were too wobbly to support her weight.

“Stop it, you’re scaring me!” she cried.

“You should be scared,” Dreya agreed, sternly. Then she softened. “But not of me – of what nearly happened to you. Look, let me show you,” she offered. “Please?”

Dreya drew her attention to the body and the girl crawled forward, cautiously.

“You don’t believe this one was going to kill you,” Dreya paraphrased. “Why? Because she threw away the knife she had in her right hand?”

The girl nodded, but still shrank back from the sight before her.

“Don’t be scared of a dead body,” Dreya told her. “The dead can’t harm you, it’s the living you need to worry about.”

Thinking back to her recent experiences fighting Ulvarius’ undead minions and meat puppets, she knew that wasn’t always true, but this girl didn’t need to know about that.

A little more boldly, now, the girl got to her feet and moved to Dreya’s side, next to the body.

“See what’s in her left hand,” Dreya coached.

The girl looked where the sorceress was pointing and drew a sharp intake of breath, dropping her own weapon as the truth before her became crystallised. Having sufficiently confused and distracted her victim, the Cultist had pulled a second, concealed knife. If Dreya hadn’t killed her instantly, the Cultist would have murdered the girl, grabbed her purse and fled through whatever mysterious way out she knew.

“What’s your name?” Dreya asked gently.

“Amber,” she replied.

“So, Amber, do you understand now?”

Amber looked up at Dreya and nodded.

Just then, there came the sound of heavy footsteps, and security guards thundered onto the scene, swords in their hands.

“Oh, look, Amber – the cavalry’s here,” Dreya mocked. “Just in the nick of time. Not.”

Amber looked pale, but nodded to say she understood. They would have got there just in time to find her fresh dead body, the Cultists long since fled.

“What’s happened here?” the chief guard demanded.

“Well, Amber?” Dreya prompted. “Here’s your chance. Am I a murderer? Did I kill these three women for fun? For sport? Because they didn’t believe in the same things as me? Was I going to murder you next?”

Amber shook her head, emphatically.

Stepping forward to the chief, she told him, “Officer, these three Cultists were going to murder me, and they would have if my friend hadn’t stopped them. She saved my life. She killed one with her own knife,” she pointed. “Threw a dagger at the second,” she pointed again. “And the last one – she was going to kill me for sure, but my friend killed her first. Snapped her neck with…”

Amber paused and frowned. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t had time to process exactly how the third one died. Now her brain tried to make sense of it and the only conclusion she could come to was, “…with magic.” Her frown of puzzlement deepened as she asked Dreya, “How did you do that? I’ve never heard of power like that. Who are you?”

The guard stepped forward and challenged Dreya. “Yes, I’d rather like to know that, too!”

Dreya sighed. This was precisely what she’d wanted to avoid, but there was no helping it now, so as slowly and unthreateningly as possible, she pulled back her hood.

The others all gasped. Her pale alien Faery features and spots were distinctive among the dark purple catlike Chetsuans, and it was clear the dragons had shared the description of the Chetsuans’ ‘saviour’.

Shutting her eyes against it and wincing, she quite unnecessarily introduced herself.

“I’m Dreya the Dark.”

The guards sheathed their swords while Amber gazed up at her with adoration in her eyes.

At times like this, Dreya knew Mandalee was known to mutter, “Dear gods, I need a drink!” She was beginning to understand why.

Trying to shift the focus back to the incident, Dreya pointed out that the knife the third Cultist would have used to murder Amber was covered in dried blood.

“Since there isn’t a scratch on Amber or me,” Dreya reasoned, “I’d wager this group murdered someone already today. I’m afraid I wasn’t around to stop that one.”

The chief confirmed it. “It was a boy about young Amber’s age.”

Amber gulped. “That would have been me.”

Dreya tried to drive her point home. “You see? Security is all very well, but most of the time, they only get there after the murder has happened. No offence,” she added as an aside to the chief.

“None taken, Mistress Dreya,” he assured her.

“Just Dreya,” she insisted, before turning back to the girl. “Your world isn’t safe just because the dragons are behaving themselves, Amber. You need to learn it’s not evil to protect your life and the lives of innocents.”

“Dreya’s right, Amber,” the chief agreed. “I knew I was going to have to tell that boy’s parents that he’s been murdered. I can now tell them his killers will never hurt anyone again, but that won’t bring their son back.”

Amber nodded. “I understand that now, I promise.”

“Good,” he approved, “because I can tell you, it’s a much nicer part of the job to tell your parents that you’re safe. Speaking of which, we should get you back to them.”

“Can I come?” Dreya asked.

The chief regarded her curiously. “I think you can do whatever you want, can’t you?”

Dreya inclined her head, conceding the point. “In principle, yes. On principle, I am not Ulvarius.”

“Who?” Amber asked.

“He was a terrible tyrant on my world who kidnapped and tortured kids like you. Sometimes people compare me to him.”

Amber reached out and slipped her hand into Dreya’s. “You’re definitely not like him,” she insisted.

“You’re certainly very different to what I would have expected,” the chief commented; his team nodded their agreement.

“Excellent,” Dreya approved. “I like to keep people guessing. Sometimes,” she added, smiling down at Amber and squeezing her hand, “I even surprise myself.”