A great crack of lightning splits through the dark sky as I scream, striking the trunk of the oak tree, flaying its bark, leaving a glimmering white scar that twists from roots to crown.
Battle
I’m screaming as I hurtle towards my sister. I am all scream, propelled by the force of the sound. I collide with Bea so fast, so hard, that she falls, smacking the back of her skull against stone. I wince at the crack, even as I hope it kills her. I stumble, but Bea is already pulling herself up. I curl my fingers, tugging at the ivy so it twists its tendrils around her ankles and wrists, pulling her down again, fixing her to the ground.
I catch sight of a rock and reach for it, but Bea barely flinches.
“Who do you think I am, a piffling little soldier?” Contempt twists her face. “Your snivelling boyfriend? Your ropes can’t trap me.” She breaks free, snapping each thick bond with a single flick of her wrist. Awe and rage surge through me.
“Look out!”
The pain is a searing shock as I fall. In the distance, I hear my father’s applause. I scrape the ground, my fingers encircling something: An antler? I wrap my fist around the spear of bone piercing my scalp. Blood drips into my eyes. My sight begins to blur, as if the fog were rolling in, the darkness returning. I press my hand to my temple, the pain ebbing, warmth spreading slowly through my skin. I feel the leaves falling and settling on my body. I think of Ma, how she used to pull a blanket over me when I napped.
The leaves. Ma. I sense something but can’t quite see it.
Somewhere, I hear Bea shouting. One of my sisters is fighting for me, holding her back. I have a chance. I have a little time. I drift in and out of consciousness, of light and dark. The pain ebbs and flows but the warmth spreads. Gradually, just as I heal my plants, I am healing myself.
I hear my sisters’ screams. The realization is immediate.
These leaves: the spirit of every sister, every mother, that he and his soldiers have killed is in these leaves. They are the leaves. Their power is palpable: a bolt of lightning, a hundred thousand volts. If only I could harness it.
I pull myself up, slipping twice, legs shaking as I stand. A stag’s antler lies at my feet, the tip sticky with my blood. I blink to see Scarlet holding Bea back with scorching flames sparking from her fingertips. Liyana stands between us.
“Oh, that’s hardly playing fair now, is it?” our father tuts. “Ganging up on your sister like that.”
He doesn’t do anything that I can see, but Scarlet is yanked back, thrown through the air, landing in a drift of white leaves at the base of a willow tree. A branch snaps out to whack Scarlet’s knuckles. Bea smirks as Scarlet yelps and, in that split second of distraction, I draw a hefty rock from the soil and lift it above Bea’s head. She sees the stone as it falls and shifts just in time, so it strikes only her shoulder, smacking her to the ground.
In a moment, I’m standing above her, the rock returned to my hands, holding it over her head. Bea looks up at me. I look down at her. I will smash this rock into her skull again and again and again.
No.
I’m pure scream, pure hate, pure dark. I—
No!
My veins are ink, my fingers spider’s legs on the pale stone. Vines of ivy undulate beneath my feet. The leaves fall but do not touch me. The fog rolls in through the moonlit night, but I can see as clearly as if it’s a summer’s day.
I grip the rock.
No, don’t lose your light, not for me.
Unbidden, the ivy twines around Bea’s hands and feet, tethering her to the ground. A preparation for crucifixion. She tries to twist and thrash, but she cannot move. She fixes me with a look of pure disgust.
I’m about to let the rock fall, when I see that beneath the disgust is despair. And then I feel it, coming off my sister in waves. She speaks, but I can’t hear. I hear nothing except blood pounding in my ears, power coursing through my veins.
But Leo’s voice rushes through me too. Don’t do it.
I draw the stone back, ready to bring it down as hard as I can. I take a