Frieda forced her eyes to open. The girl was standing in front of the artefact, her form twisting as the entity forced its way into the human realm. Reality itself was threatening to break down. Frieda saw images of herself flickering around the child. She was a beaten wife and mother, she was a hedge witch, she was a powerful sorceress, she was a necromancer, she was a slave, she was a… corpse. She shook her head and focused, trying to understand what was happening. Her earlier thoughts came back to haunt her. The girl was a bridgehead. The entity was using her to reach the human world. And…
Shit, Frieda thought.
The conclusion seemed inescapable and so did the consequences. Her fingers dropped to the pistol at her belt. She drew it slowly, her arms feeling as if they were made of lead. It was hard, so hard, to lift the weapon and point it at the girl. The pistol felt heavier than an entire school… she gritted her teeth, telling herself she was imagining it. Her hand shook as she took aim, her heart twisting. If it had been Ivanovo, she would have fired without hesitation and passed water over his grave. An innocent girl…
Her heart twisted painfully. Emily would have found a way to save the girl. She would have banished the entity without leaving chaos and death in its wake. Emily would have… but Frieda was not Emily. She didn’t have Emily’s gift for finding perfect solutions. And she was running out of time.
She pulled the trigger. The gun jerked in her hand. For a horrible moment, she thought she’d missed. She’d spent days practicing, when Emily had gifted her the pistol, but she’d never felt so drained… the girl seemed unharmed, just for a second, before collapsing into a pile of rags and bones. The entity screamed — Frieda heard it, a howl that crossed worlds and realms — before snapping out of existence. She couldn’t tell if it was dead or merely banished. It didn’t matter. It was gone, and it had taken an innocent girl with it…
Her legs buckled and collapsed. Frieda was unconscious before she hit the ground.
Chapter 8
“Frieda! Frieda!”
Frieda jerked awake, suddenly convinced she was about to be hurt. Or worse. Her eyes hurt so badly, when she opened them, that she jammed them closed again. She came up swinging, her fist narrowly missing someone’s jaw; she reached for her magic, ready to cast a spell, only to discover it was too drained. She needed time to recover…she felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched, panic shooting through her. She was young and female and defenseless and…
“Frieda, it’s me,” Hoban said. “I’ve got you.”
Frieda relaxed, slightly. Hoban was a good guy. He’d understood, at least, why she needed to sleep alone. And yet, in her experience, there were very few true good guys. They could turn on their girlfriends without a second thought… she remembered Cat, walking away from Emily, and felt a sudden surge of hatred. He deserved to die and worse for what he’d done to Emily in her worst moments…
She put the thought out of her head and concentrated on opening her eyes. The bright sunlight lanced down, hurting so badly she thought someone had literally stabbed her in the eye. Hoban muttered a pair of pain relief charms, the effects so profound Frieda was too grateful to yell at him for casting spells on her without her permission. She leaned against him for a long moment, then turned to look at the artefact. It was still there, but… it looked dead. She hoped it was a permanent thing.
Her mouth was dry, but she managed to talk. “What… what happened to you?”
Hoban looked disturbed. “It was… it was weird,” he said, finally. “We were caught in our nightmares, aware we were dreaming and yet unable to wake up.”
Frieda nodded, wondering why the effect — whatever it was — hadn’t touched her. She’d tasted enough of the entity’s power to know it could have crushed her effortlessly, if it had realised she was a threat. She’d been a tiny little insect, compared to a giant… perhaps the entity had only been able to affect sleeping minds. Perhaps… she shook her head as she stumbled to her feet. It didn’t matter. The entity was gone.
“What happened to you?” Hoban held her gently. “And to her?”
“I killed her,” Frieda said. The words tasted like ashes in her mouth. She’d grown up in a world where some people had to be sacrificed to save the rest, but she still felt as if she’d done something wrong. “I…”
She forced herself to talk, spilling out the whole story. Hoban listened, without interruption, as she outlined everything that had happened in one terrible night. He believed her… Frieda was almost relieved, even though she knew she should have expected it. But then, he’d had a taste of the entity’s power, too. He knew it had been dangerous. She stopped, breaking off as she heard birdsong overhead. The animals were returning to the ruined village. She was sure that was a good sign.
“The artefact is falling apart,” Hoban said, when she’d finished. A dull crack echoed behind her, followed by a crash. “Whatever happened, I think you killed it.”
Frieda couldn’t bring herself to care. Her head hurt. Visions of something vast and powerful and unknowable danced behind her eyes, fading like memories of a brief meeting that ended almost as soon as it began. The entity, whatever it had been, was gone. The artefact was dying. She turned to peer towards the dig and frowned, remembering her earlier thoughts about icebergs. The artefact was cracking and breaking, fragments of semi-translucent material falling to the ground. It was slowly becoming a pile of broken glass. The aura of darkness was gone.
She looked at her boyfriend, wondering how he’d react. The artefact had been dangerous, true, but it had also been unique. The find would have made his name, if he’d been able to dig the artefact out and present it to the world. And yet… he was smart and experienced enough to know that some things were probably best left buried beneath the land for the rest of time. Frieda took a breath and waited, knowing she’d done the right thing. If he was ungrateful…
They’re often ungrateful to Emily, too, Frieda recalled, suddenly. And how many times has she saved the world?
“Probably for the best,” Hoban said, finally. “We’ll write the entire encounter up, of course, and make sure everyone knows what happened in case we encounter a second artefact. It wouldn’t be the first time…”
He shook his head. “And we’ll have to pay our respects to the headman, before we leave for good,” he added. “Are you coming?”
“I killed his son,” Frieda said, tightly. Ivanovo had been a monumental asshole — a thug, a groper, a rapist — and she’d hated him with a passion, but his father probably didn’t see it that way. Probably. Ivanovo’s father had been an asshole when he’d been younger, too. Frieda supposed most of his people would say he hadn’t changed at all. “I suppose I should tell him how his son died.”
The thought haunted her as she helped the diggers pack up the camp, then followed Hoban down to the village. The locals looked disturbed, as though nightmares had swept over the land, although their memories would be gone soon enough. They didn’t have time to dwell on them. She looked at the distant mountains and shuddered. It might be summer now, but winter was coming. If the villagers weren’t ready for the cold, they wouldn’t live to see another summer.