Argo gets up with all the lazed enthusiasm of a cat who was interrupted during sunbathing. Finally, he leaps down, landing nimbly before he shakes out his wings with a giant stretch.
“Enjoy your nap?” I drawl.
He licks his chops in response.
With a snort, I walk over to where the saddles and reins are kept at the right hand side of the cave and get to work buckling him. When I’m done, I swing my leg over and strap myself in. I barely have the thing tightened in place before Argo takes off through the opening at a breakneck run. The minute we have the sky above us, he lets out his wings and launches into the air.
I grapple with the strap, holding on before my ass slips right off the back, while Argo streamlines straight up through the storm. My hood flies off and the snow pummels my face, the temperature so cold that it feels like all the warmth has leached from my skin and frozen through my clothes. All I can do is hold on, my eyes closed, teeth gritted as I’m soaked through and left freezing while the wind howls its complaints against me.
When we finally break through the clouds and Argo straightens out, I’m able to catch my breath enough to give him a glare at the back of his feathered head. “Proud of yourself, are you?”
He harrumphs in response, but I know there’s a damn gleam in his eye.
Now that the worst of the storm is below us, I pull the reins, directing him where to go, but my rot stabs against my fingers and hands, making me seethe at the pain and nearly lose my grip.
Argo shoots across the sky while I pant in shitty, ineffective inhales. It feels like the roots are wrapping around my chest like a boa constrictor, not letting me take in a full breath. The lines are cutting through my neck, clamping down on my jaw and snapping down my collarbone.
With sweat beading at my brow, I tap Argo with my heel and direct him to land. I don’t want to go too far, but I also can’t be too close when I let my magic out. I need to be far enough away from the village and to also get this over with as quickly as possible so I can get back to Auren.
Argo lands in the middle of nowhere, the snowstorm just as harrowing. I jump off his back and give his hindquarters a tap. Knowing exactly what to do, he launches back into the sky, circling beneath the clouds.
I look around the sparse white landscape, but visibility is down to maybe thirty or so feet. Rolling my shoulders back, I quickly take off my gloves, shoving them in my pocket, and then I shake out my arms and close my eyes, focusing on my power. It’s pent-up and overwrought, pushing against me with irritation.
Forcing myself to breathe in and out, I make sure I’m centered enough to grapple control over the monumental force pumping through my veins.
Then, I let it out.
Rot ruptures out of me like a spewing volcano.
My knees hit the ground as violent torrents shoot through the snow like demonic roots come to poison the earth. And that’s exactly what it does.
Power flows from me in waves, and I feel every inch of it as it pours from where I’d kept it dammed up.
Now unleashed, it rumbles from my feet and spreads from my hands, delving into every inch of ground it can get to, rotting, decaying.
Destroying.
In a matter of seconds, there is no untouched snowy ground. Streams of toxins have spanned out in all directions, while I stand in the center of the wicked timepiece, counting down the seconds until the power stops pushing, stops punishing.
My body shakes from the amount of magic expelling from my body, and when it finally ceases its endless torment and I feel like I can breathe again, I close it down. Like a fist around a straw, I strangle the flow until the rot drips out its last drop.
Exhaustion drapes over my limbs and scours down my back, leaving me raw and heavy. I blink blearily around me as the roots in the ground settle and stiffen, their movements finally going still.
With shaky hands, I try to curl my fingers, noting the roots of power on my skin have receded and I no longer feel them crawling up my neck or down my back. A hefty price, considering the fetid and impure land I’m standing on that’s now dead and desecrated with an awful stench.
After taking in several labored breaths, I have enough strength to lift my head and let out a sharp whistle. Argo comes down within seconds, feathers frozen, maw covered in patches of snow. He kneels down more than usual so I can heave my body on top of his back. Once I’m buckled, he takes off, not once chattering at me for my slumped over position. He’s carried me in far worse postures.
It’s dusk now, and I look down at the land as he lifts us into the air, seeing the stretch of rotted lines polluting the ground like venom spread through the earth. He carries us up above the clouds, cutting off my view, and even though I’m tired, the relief of expelling all that pent-up power is immense. I can finally take in a full breath now, and all my rot has retracted back to the thin, painless lines that I can feel around my chest.