The poor locus was writhing on the ground, silent now, but in obvious pain. His claws had raked deep furrows all around him.
“Just get it!” Londe urged.
I skirted the pit, catching a glimpse of the warlock’s bloody body contorted as it was caught on the spikes, and grimaced. My hands shook as I reached for the helm where it lay abandoned in the dirt.
The last thing I wanted to do was touch it which I didn’t understand. If it was my soul, shouldn’t I want to snatch it up and clutch it to close, trying to meld it with myself by pressure alone? My stomach roiled, and I held back bile by sheer force of will the moment I touched it.
Somehow, the metal felt oily. Tainted.
Wrong.
Dark like the darkness that had oozed from the warlock, for all that the helm looked shiny and regal, fitting for a noble to wear in battle and before crowds of adoring peasants. That’s the overwhelming feeling I had upon touching it. Like a slickness covered the shine, invisible to the eyes, but that might seep into my skin if I held it too long.
Rushing around the pit edges again, I ran to Tinn. He crouched beside Wenn, and Londe stood beside them, horn at the ready. But what the brave locus fought, neither of us could help him with. Thrusting the helm toward Tinn, I said, “Take it.” If Wenn needed it to survive, he could have it.
He’d saved my mate.
I would give him anything. Everything.
“No. You hold it. Like calls to like. If we can lure it out, it may help you both. Maybe” Tinn was cryptic as always, but Wenn’s whimpers and movements were slowing. He needed help now. “Dangerous.”
“Whatever you can do, need to, whatever it is, do it now,” I insisted, stumbling over the words, worried and sickened by the thing in my hands and the fear still chilling my core.
Tinn tugged me down, and I dropped to my knees in the dirt. He put one small hand on mine, then placed the other on Wenn’s hands still twisted and thrust into the air. The second their flesh touched, Tinn’s head shot back and his mouth dropped open with a low groan.
My heart raced, and then the sensation of oily metal in my hands changed. The darkness grew thick, sticky, like tar. It clung and… moved, somehow still possessing an independence that exuded a malevolent intent that grew and grew.
Retching, my stomach clenched. I nearly dropped the helm.
“No,” gasped, Tinn. His eyes were bare slits. “Hold on.”
I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. This was a bleakness that sank into me, whispering all the worst thoughts I’d ever had. My mate never wanted me. He’d forsake me. My young would curse my name. I’d die in human form, alone. Unloved. Unnamed.
“Don’t give up, Chasen.” Londe had moved to stand behind me. He’d dropped his head to whisper in my ear, the tip of his horn just in my peripheral vision. So close. He always knew what I needed.
Clenching tighter, I grit my teeth and rode the sickness and despair. I rose above it, refusing to give it purchase. I chained it to that helm as Tinn channeled it from Wenn. His pain grew, even as the shadow fought not to be sucked away. Wenn’s body trembled and he whimpered and cried out, thrashing until his fur was soaked with sweat.
Then the locus collapsed, like a marionette whose strings had been cut, and Tinn keened.
“What? What is it?” I whispered, the words a fight to push past the bile in my throat I had to keep swallowing to keep down.
“It’s coming. Hold on. Hold on.” Tinn slapped his free hand directly on the metal of the helm, the one that had held Wenn before he’d fallen. Trembling so quickly he looked as if he was dancing, Tinn began to rock and hum.
Trying to keep still, not vomit, and not let go, I desperately watched for whatever clue he might give to what was happening.
I did not expect the helm to begin to heat.
Hot. Hotter. The metal began to shine. To glow. The darkness withered, drying up, fading away, until all that was left was a helm that shone with white hot fury and scorched my fingers with agony that began to race up my arm and into my chest.
I gasped, crying out. My back arched and my toes dug into the ground, but even if I was willing to let go of that helm, I couldn’t now. It had melded with my flesh.
Part of me.
Pain. Sharp, searing torment lashed by body. I screamed, the cords of my neck distending as my body locked rigid.
The world around me disappeared. I knew nothing but the agony that began at my hand and course through every cell of my being. The breath locked in my chest, my scream piercing my ears….
Then it all shut off.
Gone. I floated in a sea of white, cut off from my body and the world around it. Had I died? I didn’t want to die. I wanted to stay with my mate, my young. I tried to rub the aching sorrow in my chest, and my hoof pawed the ground.
Bobbing my head, I stared down at my body in shock. Whatever this place was—whatever I was here—I had my true form back. White coat, white hooves, and yes… I ducked my head and twisted it. That felt like my horn.
Bittersweet bliss caressed my senses. To be me again, a battle ready unicorn with cropped mane and razor sharp hooves and horn. I reared back and screamed into the oblivion, my hooves striking at nothing but the memories of my inner self that I’d lost.
Self. Soul.
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