Short Stories

Red Skies

When she'd taken from a goddess and thrown away Saoirse's immense power on destroying this orchard and the forest. The tall, sloping hill that had once been Euanthe's last forest. Destroyed. Leaving behind a brown and gray slope, freckled with stumps and the skeletal remains of once towering trees.

If Saoirse ever saw that bitch again, she'd make her pay. For stealing even an ounce of the roaring flame Mother had created her from.

By the time she'd climbed her way out of her whirlpool of thoughts—thoughts, thoughts, so many thoughts cluttering her brain—she'd reached the gate leading into the city.

A bustling world beyond. So many unscathed people ready to witness her endless well of flame—to feel the whips of her searing fire against their skin.

She smiled and passed into the crowds like a shadow, headed to that massive wall far ahead, so large it kissed the sky and circled the entire city. A huge crack wending down its western side from Serilda's attack so many months ago.

To Saoirse, it felt like days since then. Since she'd screamed into Serilda's mind for allowing Mother's girl to escape so easily. Her own honed weapon slipped from her fingers like sand in a breeze.

The city washed by in a blur of sweat and pounding heat. But Saoirse wove through the crowds—the hungry and begging and wandering—until she reached that massive wall. A door opened up in the burnt orange stone, only revealing darkness within. The Witch who stood guard stepped aside to allow her Empress to pass.

Saoirse slipped inside, the coolness of the stone giving her a boost of energy.

Energy that would be required to ascend the steep stairs cut into the stone, shooting upward into separate layers of inside the walls. Where guards who kept watch every hour of the day and night slept and small pantries of food and supplies were held. Witches were positioned every few hundred feet on the wall's battlements, walking slowly around the parapet walkway like clockwork.

Towers circled the ring-like wall, eight in total. The closest one was where Saoirse headed as she climbed. Her bare feet were slick on the cool, dusty stone, her hands braced on the wall in case these mortal legs fell out beneath her. She didn't know how much she could trust them—mere skin and muscle wrapped around thin bones.

When she reached the parapet the blue sky greeted her. So high up—almost taller than the palace's highest spires—that there was nothing but the sky and seagulls from this side of the city. If she circled it to the other side, she would stare out over the ocean, the wall shooting straight down to a sharp palestone cliff. City smells of sewage and sweat couldn't reach this high, and gave the sea breeze and the smoky desert a chance to clash.

It was strange, to pause for a second and admire her surroundings. The way her nose and eyes picked up on the smells, the light. How she could feel the smallest breeze run slithering tentacles over her bare arms, her black robes, her bare feet.

The stone beneath her was scorching, searing the bottoms of her feet. But as she walked towards the nearest tower, she felt no pain.

Her own strength overpowered that of the sun's glare on the stone.

The rippling shape of her shadow flew over the orange stone, jumping against the merlons and embrasures that she passed as she made her wide circle around the wall.

The closest tower bathed at least fifty yards of the parapet in shadow, the stone cylinder soaring into the sky, topped with a covered battlement to allow archers to shoot at intruders hundreds of yards below. Would they be talented enough to hit their marks from this high up?