Page 49 of Ashes of Aether
“You expect me to be grateful for what you did?” Heston snarls. “You banished me. You stole everything from me. Tonight you finally tasted the bitterness of loss, and you cannot bear it?” More dark magic gathers in his hands. “Rivus.”
A shadow bolt surges toward my father. The wights nearest Heston imitate the attack, and a volley of darkness rushes at him.
“Ignir’muriz.” A wall of fire erupts around him, absorbing the attacks. The dark magic shrinks back.
My father drums the end of his staff against the ground. The sound thunders through the street and echoes off every wall.
“Ignir’quatir.”
The flames explode, blazing toward the undead.
Heston only has enough time to shoutekradand conjure a shield to defend himself, leaving the rest of his undead exposed to my father’s attack. The fire consumes their decaying bodies. Thick smoke blows into the air, as does the smell of charred, rotten flesh.
My father’s spell is so fearsome it leaves the cobblestones streaked with charcoal.
Though Heston’s shield protects him from the brunt of the blast, it throws him off-balance.
“Tera’vinclair,” my father calls before Heston can retaliate. The street rumbles. A shock wave charges forth. When it reaches Heston, the ground lifts and encases him in stone chains.
The necromancer roars with fury as the earthen manacles bind him to the street. He draws the shadows into his fingers, but before he can utter any spell-words, my father unleashes more flames upon him.
“Ignir’alas.”
Fiery wings sweep up, gaining velocity in the air. Then they crash down to Heston, who is unable to defend himself.
He screams as the ardent flames engulf him, as they lick the flesh from his bones. Beneath the fervid amber light, his silhouette struggles against the earthen restraints. But the shackles do not relent. Neither does my father.
“Ignira.”
An enormous fireball rushes from my father’s hands and obliterates whatever remains of Heston.
His dying shrieks ring through the night. I fall to my knees. The hard cobalt roof tiles slam into me.
Though this monster murdered my mother, I can’t bear to listen to him burn.
But he soon falls silent. Then there’s only the crackling of flames.
And Heston Harstall is dead.
Fourteen
Foralongwhile,Ijuststandthere,gazingdownatthestreetsbelow.Itcouldbeminutesorhoursthatpass.Thefirmridgesofthecobalttilesdigintomyknees.ButIfeelnopain.Numbnessspreadsoverme.Ashwhirsaroundme.Thesmellofdeathfillsmynostrils.
A vague thought arises in the back of my mind: I’m likely breathing in Heston’s incinerated remains. The realization should nauseate me. But I feel nothing. Not disgust. Not rage. Not even grief.
Just emptiness. Like I’m no longer here. Like the images racing through my mind are only ghosts of a nightmare I dreamed.
My father steps toward my mother’s unmoving body. He waves his hand, and the aether shield around her disappears. As does the one encasing me.
“Laxus,” I breathe, my voice coarse and broken.
The teleportation spell washes over me and transports me to the street. My father stands ahead of me, and as I watch him fall to his knees, it feels as though more than a few feet separate us. As though I’m peering at him through a clouded window. I want to step toward him, but my legs refuse to oblige.
His crystalline staff drops from his hand. It falls onto the cobblestones. The clatter rings through the street. And over and over through my mind. Beneath it, I can scarcely hear the death and destruction beyond. Fires simmer in the Lower City. Before, they were raging infernos. Now they are flickering embers, their amber glow streaks the night sky. The unnatural howls of the undead sound in the distance.
But this street is silent and still. Just like my heart, my mind.
“Mirelle!” he chokes, cradling my mother in his arms. Anguish rolls down his cheeks. Somewhere far in the depths of my mind, it occurs to me this is the first time I’ve seen my father cry. And it only makes me hollower, until I can no longer feel the ash dancing over my face.