Ashes Unwritten: Oblivion's Heir [Volume 1 Complete!]

Rae's job had gone from bad to worse in the space of a few minutes. She had been part of the distraction to get Kess and Rowan into the palace. Now she was part of a much bigger bid for the palace. People stampeded around her, desperate for shelter from the Ashfall. She supposed she should be desperate as well, but the soldiers in front of her weren't going anywhere. She also wasn't entirely convinced that the palace would hold up to the thing Kess described. The Ashfall made her little Archives storm sound like just another Drystorm.

She gutted another man the old-fashioned way, cursing herself. It wasn't that Rae minded the gore—a lifetime of being on the run had tempered that out of her—but without the song of Fulminancy running through her veins, she found each motion hollow and lifeless. Like color and sound had been sucked from the world to be devoured by the storm overhead. Kess's extra gift had long been spent, and Rae felt its absence like a missing limb.

She was crippled and useless. But she still had a job to do.

I promised that locket, Kess. I'll deliver. She shoved a knife into the side of an unfortunate man. People stampeded past so quickly that she was certain she'd saved him from a much worse death. Rae hadn't planned to come this way, but when she saw Arlette, Eamon, and Maude overrun by half of Hillcrest, she'd broken through the crowd to make space for them, and somehow, in the process, had become an unlikely hero.

While cutting down the Witchblades that blocked the palace, Rae had become a champion, offering the Downhill hope when they could find none in those dark storm clouds. Women and children streamed by, headed for the palace doors when Witchblades could no longer handle the crowds. She found it inherently ridiculous that these same people had cried foul when Kess had attacked the Redring garrison weeks ago. Now they didn't weep as she gutted their neighbors. Now they pressed forward, intent on violence if it meant shelter for their families.

But that was just people, Rae supposed.

She ducked through another strike and whirled, hamstringing a man who charged Eamon. Eamon was already covered in sweat and gore, and he nodded at her before turning to block a Fulminancy-enhanced staff. He moved fast for an older man, and Rae grudgingly respected him, though he wasn't Fulminant.

Neither are you, she reminded herself. The words were bitter in her mind.

"Rae," Arlette called out over the clashing and the screaming. "The people are worse than the soldiers now. Get out and get that locket."

Rae stood back for a moment, watching the tide of battle. Arlette was right. In their desperation for safety, the townspeople pressed against the guards with enough force that their tiny group was no longer in danger. She nodded.

"Tell Kess not to destroy my castle if you see her. I already owe Maude a table."

"Your—" Rae began, but paused as the air shifted away, as if sucked towards a source. In a courtyard hidden by several walls, the air flashed with an otherworldly light, and Shadows streamed out of an upper room—the room Rae was fairly certain Kess and Rowan had entered earlier.

She turned to leave, weaving her way through the pressing crowd, but shouting and quick footsteps made her pause. Claire flew through the throng, looking disheveled and panicked. Arlette caught her and pulled her out of the surging mob as the woman caught her breath, hands on her knees.

"There's a thing," she rasped, looking toward the light. "It's huge, it's—"

"What is that?" Rae breathed. The crowd paused, gaping at the courtyard. Movement writhed there, pulsating with the otherworldly light of Fulminancy. There, writhing around the pulsing light, Shadows coalesced, forming a massive black thing that straightened slowly, two arms and two thick legs forming from the aether. Fully standing, it towered over the courtyard. Nearby, several bystanders squealed, and the shoving intensified as the crowd surged towards the palace with renewed vigor.

In the creature's chest, Fulminancy pulsed visibly, and it stumbled forward on unsteady limbs, a thick head forming to turn as its arms steadied it against the palace wall. It took step after shaking step, its gait gaining speed and confidence with each lunge.

Arlette let out a hiss of air, and Claire's snapping green Fulminancy twined down her arm as she stared at the creature, open-mouthed.

Its amorphous head snapped towards them even as Claire snuffed out her Fulminancy.

"Mariel's gray skies," Eamon swore.

The creature lumbered towards them.

Rowan found his father high in the Council chambers—a room near the very top of the palace—surveying the dark storm through an array of windows as it approached the city. Already it was ripping up the very earth at the edge of the city wall. The wall, of course, would be next. His father didn't turn around, and kept his hands carefully clasped behind his back—a man always in control, even when the world was falling apart. Still, Rowan saw his eyes widen in shock through the reflection as Rowan entered the room.

"I was certain I left the two of you to your deaths," his father said calmly.

"It seems you don't have a great track record of that where Kess is involved, Father."

"And yet—" Rowan's father turned away from the window, smiling coldly at Rowan. "I had great fun with her while she was under my care. In fact, I really must thank you for making my life easier where her Fulminancy was concerned—those creatures you helped me produce were quite excellent at keeping her tame."

Rowan knew it was more than that. Kess had told him what the Blockers felt like for true Fulminancers—a sickening weakness that flooded through the body, with a feeling of impending doom, little different from the Shadows. For someone like Kess or Rae, it would feel like their very sense of self was sucked away.

"Don't make that face, boy. I saved her life. Or extended it, in any case." Rowan frowned. Was he lying?

"What do you mean?"

"You have your research—I have mine. It runs in the family, you know. Of late I've been quite fascinated with how much Fulminancy one person can hold—you'd be very interested in it, I'm sure. In any case, that girl dwarfs even my greatest estimates. You might think it a boon, since she would theoretically be able to use that much power, but it's more of a curse, I'm afraid. It builds up inside, a power that threatens to tear her apart day by day. Naturally, she looks for ways to vent it—but she would have to destroy the entire city to keep it from harming her."

"She's been fine so far," Rowan protested, though doubt crept into his mind, a snaking tendril. His father smiled at him wanly.

"And tell me, boy, how often has she been at full power, with no interference?"

Rowan thought back to all the times Kess had either stifled her own power, or lost it through fights with Shadows, Blockers, or even exchanges with him. In fact, he wondered if simply being near him had tempered her powers in some way. When he met his father's eyes again, the man looked smug.

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"You see what I mean," he said. "In all the subjects I've ever tested, there are only two outcomes for that level of power—insanity or death. I'm not worried about how she might interfere with that storm because, quite frankly, she'll be dead before then. Or we'll have bigger problems than the storm, I suppose."

Rowan tried to push it out of his mind. He was here to delay for Kess, but if his father was right, he needed to warn her, and quickly. Still, there was something he wanted to know first.

"Did you make those creatures before I ever came forward about my powers?" he asked. Rowan's father nodded.

"They were in the works long before you revealed what you had to the rest of the Uphill. True power with your condition is…rare. I knew what it was the moment I first saw you use it as a boy, but I never anticipated it might manifest into something visible. I made the creatures because I knew I could never convince you to use yours for anything more than science projects. You would never have done what I needed you to do. Unlike that girl of yours, you won't do what needs to be done."

"Kess isn't like you," Rowan said quietly. His father simply cocked his head at him, hands still behind his back.

"Isn't she? Tell me, Rowan, what has she done with those powers in the last year? She's probably killed just as many Blueblades as I have citizens to create those…things."

"It was in self defense." Rowan's father turned back to look at the approaching storm.

"Perhaps. But she's certainly willing to turn to violent means when it suits her to complete a task. I've done the same. When the Ashfall arrives, the Council will deal with it, and life will go on."

"Not for those people in the city," Rowan said, gesturing towards the floor. "You have bunkers for the important people, perhaps, but what of them? What of the families of the people you've been slaughtering, turning into monsters? Do they not deserve to live?"

His father waved him off. "They'll be taken care of, but there are priorities in place. If we stoop to dealing with that mob of people, the storm will kill us all. We'll deal with whoever is left after. Besides, we gave Forgebrand plenty of supplies and their own warehouses in exchange for the Fulminancers they brought to us. Why the people aren't there, I can only fathom. Perhaps they doubt the integrity of their warehouses."

Rowan tried to quell that sense of justice that fought inside of him, but he couldn't do it. His father might be trying to save the city, but if it cost the lives of the people down there, he was wrong. No victory would be worth that sacrifice.

"People aren't your playthings," he finally said. His father raised an eyebrow at him.

"Nor are they yours." His father sighed and paced closer, arms still behind his back. "Rowan, what do you think happens if you 'release' Fulminancy back to the people? I assume if you and your woman are here for the lockets, that's what you're up to. I also assume that you know what it was like before Fulminancy." He paused, regarding Rowan. "Do you think people like your Kess can handle the kind of instability that comes with old Fulminancy? Do you think a woman warring with herself on a daily basis can balance those powers? Considering she's already well on her way to a nasty death, I think the answer is clear. You might see this as a great thing for the people down there—an autonomy that they do not have. But these powers turn on you. They take a lifetime to use safely. Last time was famine, death, chaos, the very fabric of our world, ripped to shreds. They were locked away for a reason."

"And their time is up," Rowan said, gesturing out the window. "How is that storm out there any different from the chaos you're describing?" His father shook his head, regarding him like he was a child again, barefoot in the courtyard.

"You were never suited for leadership, son. This is why. If you release these powers, you betray those people. Leadership isn't about giving the people what they want, Rowan, or even what they think they want. It's about giving them what they need—what they can handle."

"You won't be able to stop it with Fulminancy," Rowan said quietly. His father didn't care about the people in the city, so he would have to try another tactic. "That storm feeds off of Fulminancy—like the one at the Archives, but worse." His father barked out a laugh.

"I shouldn't have expected you to understand, I suppose, stunted as you are. We've dealt with these storms before. With a little persuasion, they all leave."

"A storm like that, Father?" Rowan gestured out the window. "If you'd known it was coming, you would have had the Council ready to deal with it at the city wall. You would have had evacuation plans in place—at the very least for everyone Uphill. But you didn't know it was coming, did you? You thought the Archives storm was what you had to worry about—that it was the storm Mariel warned about when they created Fulminancy."

His father hesitated briefly, but it was enough. When he turned away from the window again, Rowan knew his time was up. Disgust played about his father's features, and some of his Fulminancy crackled to the surface. Rowan gathered his own power quietly, defiantly.

"Your mother wanted to see you, you know." Rowan hesitated, his power flagging.

"Is she safe?" His father's mouth twisted down into a scowl.

"I'm not sure. As you say, we were lacking evacuation plans. Frankly, you have her to thank for your extended lifespan. When I realized what you were, I wanted to dump you in the river. Your mother insisted that you might be an asset to me one day, though I fear she was wrong. Whatever you are, you are not an asset, and you are not my son."

The comment didn't even have time to sting. Rowan's father flung his powers out, that shield reappearing to slam Rowan into a nearby wall. Gasping, he tried to press against that power, but it held him in place as his father approached, his face calm.

"Why would I give a Seat to a son who can't defend himself against this?" he asked, and slammed another wave into Rowan. Rowan's head snapped back into the wall, and he saw stars. "Why would I allow a son to represent my interests at court when he only breathes because I allow him to?"

A weight pressed against Rowan's chest, heavy and imposing, and Rowan couldn't breathe, no matter how much he struggled. His vision turned black until some of the pressure eased. His father leaned in even closer now as Rowan gasped for breath, still struggling, his muscles screaming and blood trickling from his mouth.

"And why," Rowan's father continued, "would I let my fool of a son live to destroy the very city I've been working to save?" That pressure came back, heavy and crushing. "Hillcrest isn't about the people, son—it's about the power. And I won't have you sully Mariel's dream with your own misguided ideas." Rowan gritted his teeth, his vision swimming, and looked into the eyes of the very man he shared blood with.

He had been a fool to think he could change him. His father loved Fulminancy more than he loved his own family, and maybe even more than he loved himself. His father was a man who valued power and who, unlike Kess, wasn't a bit afraid to use it. Rowan's very existence was an insult to him. Hillcrest wouldn't survive—but Fulminancy would.

And that's all that had ever mattered to his father.

As his vision went black, Rowan remembered his promise to Kess and smiled faintly. I'm sorry, Kess. I didn't have a plan after all. He would die here, but at least he had bought her some time. Rowan closed his eyes and let go.

A faint tug on his consciousness kept him awake. A realization. A flash of insight, so faint he almost lost the thread.

And yet, something pressed against his father's Fulminancy.

In his last few moments of consciousness, head swimming, lungs burning, Rowan felt his own Fulminancy pressing against his father's—that strange, quiet energy he'd learned to harvest over these months.

It could do little for him—his father's powers dwarfed his own, and as it was, Rowan had seconds of air left.

But what if his father had nothing to press against at all? What if his father, in his obsession with Fulminancy, had forgotten one very important thing?

Rowan wasn't Fulminant.

Rowan remembered the feeling of nothing in his veins—the feeling of powerlessness, of normalcy before he'd ever found that darker power that now coursed through his veins. He seized upon it now, snuffing out his brand of Fulminancy like a candle, and simply… reached out.

The weight lifted. Sweet air flooded back into his lungs, the smell of rain and dirt thick even within the palace walls.

Rowan's hand passed through the shield, and he set it casually on his father's shoulder. Then he looked his father in the eyes and spoke. "All excellent questions, but you forgot one thing—" His father's eyes went wide as Rowan threw his Fulminancy forward, aiming for that ratio he'd knocked Kess out with so long ago. "I'm not a fool. Nor am I Fulminant."

His father crumpled to the ground, and Rowan stumbled forward, half on top of the man. He rasped several breaths out, then watched as the storm tore up the city wall, flinging chunks the size of homes into the air. Rowan stumbled to his feet, sword in hand, and pressed the tip to his father's chest.