The Witch's Daughter - Laken Cane Page 0,102
quelled the blazing blue fire she’d been preparing to send after the first round.
Rune smiled. “Yes, Mother. Give me all your power.”
“How,” Damascus asked, floating backward. “How?”
“Give me back my monster.” Rune, carried on the smoke scented wings of Skyll air, floated closer to the witch.
“If you want it, you’ll have to come take it.”
Rune sent the witch’s fire back at her, and when Damascus was off balance and attempting to ward off the burning magic, Rune took her opportunity. Power coursing through her, she flew at the witch, then sent her stiffened fingers into the witch’s chest.
For one brief second, she held the witch’s pulsing heart.
For one brief second, she thought that yes, it really would be that easy.
But Damascus was ready for her.
Rune felt her mother latch on to her breath, her essence, her soul.
Damascus pulled back, and they remained connected by the magic stretching between their mouths.
Rune couldn’t tear herself away.
“You really thought it would be that easy,” the witch said. “Arrogance will gain you nothing and will give me everything. Everything.”
Rune could feel the witch’s contempt, her pleasure, her glorious satisfaction.
“You’re a baby,” Damascus said. “My pathetic little baby. Now I have you. All of you.”
She drew in a deep, deep breath, and Rune could feel her soul, clinging and screaming and fighting, begin to leave her body.
The witch was stealing her soul, and she couldn’t do one thing to stop it.
She and the witch twirled, high in the sky, inches apart, connected by a single breath.
“Rune,” she heard someone yell, a voice that seemed a thousand miles away, and she knew it was Z.
They were connected. They’d always been connected.
Even death hadn’t been able to keep them apart.
She’d found her Z.
And no matter what happened, the witch couldn’t take that from her.
As she twirled high in the sky, attached in such a hideous way to the witch, the sounds below slowly quieted as the remaining people of Skyll suspended their combat to watch the one battle that would decide their fates. The one fight that would change how their lives would be forever after.
The battle between good and evil.
Even through the madness the witch had showered upon them, they stood silent and still and watched.
Waiting.
Somewhere below would be her crew, her loves, standing with the others, agonized stares on her and the witch.
No fear.
She grabbed Damascus by her skeletal shoulders and began to fight for her soul.
Her monster ran toward her, slammed against the wall of the witch’s inner prison, and then fell to a bloody heap on the floor.
But it held out its hand.
Rune had only to grab it.
She did. She yanked the monster to her, back where it belonged, and every other soul, spirit, and being imprisoned by the witch leapt through the hole she created.
Damascus screamed and intensified her efforts. Her concentration was on trying to keep Rune from escaping—the trapped souls were less important than her hold on the power inside Rune, and she let them go.
Rune wasn’t keeping them hostage.
They drifted from her, into the world, into wherever they needed to go, and the emotion was overwhelming.
Not just theirs, but hers.
She could feel everything they felt. Every thought, every pain, every longing. Torment and tears and relief.
They were free, free after centuries of an existence Damascus had not allowed them to escape.
When they left the witch, they weakened her.
They’d powered her, kept her strong, kept her nearly invincible. Not by choice.
The witch had forgotten.
Rune could tell by her widening eyes the moment she remembered, and by then, it was much too late.
They would have stayed to help Rune defeat the witch, but Rune didn’t need them to. She no longer needed anyone’s help to destroy the witch of Skyll.
They fled like specks of dust someone had blown upon.
Rune understood at that moment her purpose hadn’t been just to destroy the witch. It’d been to free those trapped souls.
Hundreds of trapped souls.
And the worlds were changed because of it.
Something beyond the worlds was changed because of it.
Was made right. Balanced.
Why she’d been chosen as the champion, she would never know.
It didn’t matter.
Rune wrapped her fingers around the witch’s upper arm, keeping her afloat.
She’d never been more calm, more sure of herself.
Damascus was little more than a human woman—thin and old with faded blue eyes and dirty black hair. Her power was gone.
Gone.
“Mercy,” she said. “I beg for mercy.”
Rune knew her stare softened, for the witch’s own held a sudden gleam of hope.
“You’re not mine to forgive,” Rune said. “You belong to