Sword in the Stars (Once & Future #2) - Cori McCarthy Page 0,96
different sort of pain.
Completely wrapped up in it, Merlin wasn’t ready for the day the raiding party arrived. Warriors screamed their way into the village, spears raised. Nin’s family and neighbors watched in horror as she raised her hand, spread her fingers over her heart, and became the center of a whirlwind of time.
She didn’t control it with music, like Merlin. She tied it to the drum of her heartbeat. If Merlin had used his magic like a child, Nimue wielded hers as a warrior.
Would he have to do the same, if he wanted to get the better of her?
Nimue raised her other hand, and the first wave of raiders clattered apart like broken toys. She eased her grip, giving the rest a chance to run. But they lunged at her, shouting, and she closed her fist tight. They fell apart even faster, until they were only dust clouding the villagers’ eyes.
No one cheered for Nimue as they had when she was born, which Merlin felt was hardly fair. Had the boys with the swords won the same victory, everyone would have thrown them a feast. Dark berries and deer jerky for everyone. Instead, the villagers hurled a single word at Nimue like mud, like stones. Merlin didn’t know it, but he knew the way they chanted. It was the same way people would chant angrily at women with power for centuries to come.
Fear beat in Merlin’s chest—and this time it was for Nin. She turned away from her village, empty-handed and headed to the lake where she had been born. The mists came to greet her, to take her to Avalon.
Days and nights bloomed and wilted while Nin learned about magic faster than any enchantress before her—too fast, according to some. She conquered the secrets of the mind in record time, but there was no celebration for the prodigy of Avalon. She sat at the edge of the lake every night, alone. She touched the water like a lover, but she never took one.
Merlin sped through more time. Nimue grew until she looked like the woman Merlin knew, but with sadness trapped in every line of her face. And because vicious cycles are vicious, the enchantresses caught wind of an omen. Another raiding party was headed for Nimue’s village, stronger in numbers because they’d heard of a girl with a power greater than any sword. Merlin’s heart found a wild tempo as Nimue ran over the lake, her feet barely touching the surface.
When she arrived, she caught her father by the arm, told him the omens, asked him to let her protect the village. She could have been a hero, if the word had existed. If her father had let her. But Merlin knew enough Anglo Saxon by now to understand that he wasn’t just saying no to her offer. He was disgusted by it.
Nimue’s father pointed to her brother—the one who still wore her sword at his belt. He said that the boy would keep them safe.
The village turned Nimue out quickly, still afraid of what she’d done. Even more afraid now that she’d been studying with the enchantresses. But Nimue didn’t return to Avalon at sunset. She crouched outside the village all night. She watched the raiders come. When her brother was the first one they cut down, she didn’t cry.
She shook her head and twisted her lips into a knowing grimace.
The slaughter was only beginning when Nin raised one hand to her heart. The other flew into the air, fingers twitching, as cries riddled the air. People fell to the ground without any blows exchanged. She wasn’t just killing the raiders.
She was killing everyone.
Her father, her mother, the boys she’d beaten with the sword. Everyone who’d cheered when she was born and chanted her into exile when she turned out to be different. Merlin let out a pure, agonized sound when he saw Aethelwyn running for the woods. He hummed to save her, but the sound was stolen from his lips. He wasn’t allowed to interfere with the Lady of the Lake’s origins, and that meant he watched helpless as the woman who’d taken him in turned to a scattering of bones and hair and dust. Nin had pitched them all forward in time until everyone around her was dead—everyone but Merlin.
Gods, that felt painfully familiar.
Nimue marched somberly to the lake, one hand firmly over her heart. She walked into the water without slowing, even as it dragged at her clothes, turned her hair to weeds.