A Betrayal of Storms by Ben Alderson

Chapter 4

Magic belonged solely to the fey.

The fey were naturally stronger, faster, with senses heightened to a point that hearing conversations they were not a part of was not uncommon.

But only the ruling bloodlines could bring forth storms, alter their bodies into different forms and conjure elements from nothingness. Four families whose magic and power meant more than simply being good listeners, or taller than the average person.

Although I knew little of Mother, at least I trusted that she was likely nothing special in her realm, as ordinary to those who ruled above her, as the humans I was brought up among were.

The two-pointed tips of my ears seemed to be the only curse of my heritage. I was not blessed with the other gifts even the mundane fey possessed, all except I was privy to the backlash that had come with the twin peaks that never stayed hidden within the curls of my dark hair.

I often wondered that the snide remarks and frowned gazes would have meant less if I held magic like the ruling court. It may have made the years of torment worth it. Not knowing I was powerful, but burning those whom spoke negatively towards me to ash. Yes, that would have been rather wonderful.

Magic was not a human trait, and it also should not have been mine either.

But with my breath rolling clouds of white, thick mist drowned out all sound. It washed across the ground like an angry, living wave. It devoured everything before me. Beneath my palms the power poured freely, uncontrolled, leaving a diamond layer of ice which formed mountains of pointed spears and peaks.

I followed it with my wide, unblinking stare, as the power concealed two, scuffed boots and spread freely up the legs connected to them. Craning my neck upwards, I watched the ice turn flesh to crystallised stone.

It was the cry of agonised pain that stopped me. The shock dragged me from the strange, dark pit of my mind and slammed the open box in my chest closed. In a beat of my heart the magic simply... stopped.

There was no pressure keeping me on the stump anymore. Taking advantage, I pushed myself up, but my hands stung beneath the sudden, breath-taking cold. I looked down to where my hands had been splayed, only to see two handprints left upon the ground, surrounded by ice on all sides.

I scrambled backwards, slipping, as I pushed myself away from the wailing figure.

My heart dropped like a stone in my chest. A boulder. The executioner, with the axe raised in the air, screamed. His swollen, toothless face twisted in pain. From the ground to his waist, he was coated in silver shards of ice. Fingers of mist curled from the frosty layers as the midday sun beat down upon it.

I could not believe what I was seeing, the shock so terrible that my mind did not link that it was I who had done this, even though all points of logic suggested so.

All I could do was watch as he screamed, veins bulging in his neck and face. Then his sounds of terror morphed into a gurgled breath. I had not heard the whizz of air as the arrow sliced through it, burying itself through the man's mouth. How could I have over the man's shouting and my own heartbeat that filled my head?

He coughed, eyes wide, splattering blood out of his paling lips. Droplets of deep ruby splashed across the white, ice-covered ground. Across me. I blinked, feeling the dreadful warmth along my face as the man's blood rained down upon me.

Another arrow joined the first. This time I had heard it slice through the air. With sure and confident aim it embedded itself into the man's large forehead. He dropped the axe, eyes rolling into the back of his head. My bones felt as though they shattered when the metal fell into the ice that coated him. Then he fell, his heavy body snapping at the waist as his torso separated from his legs. Half of him hit the ground with a sickening thud. The other half stayed in place, legs frozen still with rivulets of blood and gore dribbling down them.