Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This was a mistake.

You knew what returning to the Oil Rig could mean this time – all those guards on high alert, all those searchlights sweeping the deck for intruders… but you’d done it so many times before and never been caught once! How were you supposed to know this would be different?

You were bored.

February had dragged on with no end in sight, no upcoming holidays or festivals to raise your spirits and get you through the dreary cold as the snow turned to foul brown slush. Even the soul riders had begun to get restless. Dark Core, it seemed, were taking shelter from the cold like every sane person. Wars could be saved for better weather. And so, the game had started.

Silly, at first.

You’d send pictures to the soul riders at stupid o’clock, in ever more strange and outlandish places. You knew all of Jorvik’s hidden corners – and there was little better to do than try to make Linda type “WHAT?!1!” again. After a bit, Alex joined in. Lisa made memes. Made suggestions. Anne replied with single words, her tone unreadable – so you could never tell if she was disapproving, or just getting used to texting again after her imprisonment.

Yeah… Anne was a hard person to connect with. You could never quite be sure when she was about to snap. She was tense, constantly, unyielding and rigid. And it was her endless stressing that gave you the idea, finally, to prove that Dark Core were not just beatable, but idiotic.

Your first picture on the rig had been met with alarm. For the first time, Anne broke her silence to call you, just to shout about how reckless you’d been.

‘Do you want to get caught? You know exactly what they’ll do to you! What they did to me! To Lisa!’

You made a separate group chat with just the other three, and sent them your second picture.

Lisa told Anne.

You were forced into a very awkward trail ride where Lisa tried to clear the air, and Anne did little more than scowl.

When you posted the third picture, she told you that you had to make your own choices.

By the sixth, Alex was making jokes again.

By the tenth, even Lisa had joined in.

It took a selfie of you, crouching right under a goon’s nose – a nice bit of lens flare from his torch, and a completely feral grin – to finally make Anne crack. It wasn’t much – just a reaction. A little smirking emoji. But it was enough to prompt the eleventh trip. That time, you went deeper into the rig than you had since rescuing Justin. Right up to the platform where the portal still swirled.

And got a nice shot of you, under the starlight, flipping off the Dark Core logo.

Of course Linda had been the one to notice them.

She messaged you privately, not wanting to stir up drama in the group again – but showing a cropped part of your selfie. Two goons, staring very clearly in your direction.

You laughed it off. You knew how awful their eyesight was – how many times had you been right next to them without their realising? And if these two had noticed, they would’ve just tried to come for you then and there, wouldn’t they?

But this was the twelfth time, and something felt… off.

Maybe it was the way the goons seemed to walk more cautiously, taking forever to move from one end of their patrol path to the other. Maybe it was the way cameras you’d never noticed before were suddenly shining from every dark corner. Or maybe, when you crept up to the upper deck and got your photo, it was the realisation that the pipes you normally left by had been detached from the platform’s edge.

You stiffened.

Something was different.

Up there, exposed, in plain view of anyone without goon vision, you realised for the first time what had changed.

The goons had stopped grunting. The rig was silent.

A shadow fell over you, and you whipped around to see a gloved hand descending toward your face. Before you could think, call on your lightning or shout for your horse, your voice was smothered and your hands wrenched behind your back.

In forced silence, you fell into the hands of Dark Core.

Chapter Text

They were rough when they bound your hands, but that was probably in response to you short circuiting the first two goons who tried. The blindfold felt unnecessary given how often you’d been on the Oil Rig – what did they think they’d be hiding? And then they went and threw you into some small metal room, slamming the door shut. With a curse, you staggered to your feet, ignoring the throbbing in your shoulder where you’d impacted the wall, and felt along the walls for the seam of the door.

Something. There had to be something.

And then you heard the distant sound of a motorboat engine. You froze. That couldn’t be—? But there could be no mistake. Dark Core didn’t have motorboats. Only those hideous rusting barges.

The skipper knew to wait for you, no matter what – the number of times he’d brought you to the Oil Rig, he knew not to leave unless… unless Dark Core had found him.

You sank to the ground, and prayed he’d managed to bring your horse onto the boat with him. They’d captured you – they couldn’t catch her too.

Well, that left your options for escape quite limited. You could hijack one of the barges, you supposed. Try swimming the three miles between the rig and the shore. It would be freezing in February, but hey, you’d survived the Valley of the Hidden Dino and that was far colder. You could try busting a few of those new cameras along the way – sabotage their boats, fry a few more goon bots… Yeah. You’d make this work. You’d be fine. Just fine!

Getting back to your feet, you resumed your hunt for the door, your fingers finding the edge just as it burst open. You heard the startled grinding of gears as the robot came face to face with you.

‘Y0u. F0110w me.’

It went to grab your arm, and you drove your forehead into its cranium. Bad idea. Pain seared across your head, and despite the blindfold the shadows of stars came rushing to your eyes. You staggered back, and the goon took the opportunity to wrestle your arms behind you and frogmarch you forwards. You tripped multiple times, but the goon responded as only a machine would, completely disregarding your need for a slower pace, its grip on your wrists iron. The only communication was the metallic,

‘Wa1k.’ ‘Wa1k.’ Every time you slowed.

And then,

‘St0p.’

You stumbled to a halt, glad of the break, and heard the pneumatic hissing of a door sliding open.

‘Wa1k.’

You felt the shift in temperature as you were taken into the bowels of the Rig. Only then did it begin to dawn on you how much trouble you were in. In all your expeditions, you’d never dared venture inside again. You had no idea what the layout was like – how much had changed since you’d rescued Justin. You had to escape – to show Lisa and Anne that it was fine, everyone was safe; Dark Core were incompetent and they didn’t need to spend another second fearing for their lives.

You didn’t want them to be afraid.

Not after that first night, camped under the stars, when Anne’s night terrors had woken you and only you.

Not after how frightened Lisa had looked when you thoughtlessly sent a picture of yourself, picnicking in Pandoria.

It hadn’t been an adventure for them. It had been a nightmare.

The goon’s grip on your wrists tightened as you tried to conjure lightning. With a gasp of pain, your spell broke. ‘D0 n0t res1st. Wa1k.’ It growled.

And what about Linda and Alex? They’d blame themselves – think they’d encouraged you to put yourself in danger. Guilt raced through you, far more powerful than any fear you might’ve had.

You needed to escape. You had to get away!

You struggled against the unrelenting grip, went to conjure lightning again, when the goon halted and you slipped. Without missing a beat, it shoved you down onto the floor.

You spat out carpet. That little…

As you began to rise, a voice, cold and commanding, froze you in place.

‘I told you what would happen the next time we met.’

Dread. Of course it’s him, of course they’d drag you before him… Mustering what strength you can from your pounding heart, you force a smile.

‘Sands.’ When the silence begins to stetch on, you make a show of looking around despite your blindfold. ‘Love what you’ve done with your office…’

‘Get that off her.’

You flinch as the robot’s hand scrabbles at your face and wrenches off your blindfold.

It’s dark, which perhaps is a mercy after so long without your sight. The office is colder than you remember – more enclosed. No portholes, no chairs aside from the one he is using. The scrolls on the walls, the books on the shelves – you take more notice of them now than you did the first time, zeroing in on their runic titles, their subject matter so much more logical now given what you know of his plans – though you’d stare at anything to avoid the eyes you can feel boring into your skull.

The goon’s hand is still on your spine, exerting just enough pressure to keep you down. It makes it uncomfortable to keep your head turned away, and, inevitably, you’re forced by the aching of your neck to look at him.

Sands doesn’t smile. Merely acknowledges you by pulling a phone in a lilac case out from a drawer in his desk. Your phone. You stiffen, thinking for the first time that a PIN might not have been such a bad thing to set up after all… or a fingerprint… or any kind of lock really.

‘I did wonder, after your second return trip, what it was you found so enticing here. What could be worth risking your life for, time and again.’

‘Well, I—’ Any sarcastic comment you could have made is silenced as Sands turns the phone. It’s the last photo taken with your horse. He leaves it propped up, clearly visible, as he rises from behind the desk.

‘And now I find that tonight wasn’t your third visit. Or your fourth. That you have been coming here, on and off, every other day for the past month.’ He steps from behind the desk, and lowers himself to your eye-level. ‘Do you remember what I said would happen the next time we met?’

You swallow.

‘Something about... meeting my fate?’

‘Mm.’

And what does that mean? As Mr Sands gets up and strides back towards his desk, you’re glad for the first time that the goon holding you is artificial. It can’t feel the way your pulse is thundering.

Sands takes your phone, and you stiffen as he begins to scroll. You want to yell, to shout at him to get off it, to stop looking through your messages, your photos… whatever it is the lizard has found.

He doesn’t look up as he speaks again, ‘If my lieutenant were still alive, at this very moment you would be powering our technology from a prison in Pandoria. Unfortunately for you…’ Before you can blink, Sands raises the phone and photographs you kneeling on the ground. ‘…Darko appears to be dead.’

The goon holding you flies back, lightning arching from your bound hands. It crashes against the opposite wall and falls, non-functional. You glare at Sands, tensed and ready for reprisal. But he keeps his gaze on the phone. Typing, now.

‘You really shouldn’t do that. Your friend, Bonnibel, worked quite hard on those.’

‘What do you know about her?’ You spit, getting to your feet. ‘She hated everything about you and this place! Everything you made her—’

‘Made her?’ Sands lets out a quiet laugh. ‘You should have kept these diaries password protected, hero. From what I’ve read, working for me was something of a high point in her career. Reduced to a clockmaker... not the fate I expected for Bonnibel Blair.’

Your eye twitches. You strain against the bonds – but whatever they’ve tied your hands with is too tough to break with force alone.

‘You leave her alone, or even your squid bestie won’t be able to put you back together!’

‘I’m sorry?’ Sands looks up at you. And as your eyes meet, cold floods your soul.

Of course it does. It’s so easy to forget, when you aren’t looking directly at him – when all you see is a thin, dark-haired man in a trench coat. That this thing isn’t fully human, anymore. That he’s centuries old. Unageing. Undying. And that however many times Aideen reincarnates, he will always be waiting.

He looks back to the phone, and you hear something being sent.

‘What did you do?’ You hate how nervous you sound. It’s not like you haven’t imagined this happening… but you were always angry in your imagination. Strong. Free. In control. Even if only over your own mind.

He looks back at you, and for the first time he smiles. Every cell in your body screams.

‘Such a shame about that horse,’ he says, and his eyes crease as though there’s a joke you’re both in on.

You step forward, heart thundering, but before you can take another step the temperature drops by another ten degrees, and your breath mists the air before you. Your feet physically freeze to the floor.

‘I’d keep still. If you don’t want icicles in your cell walls.’ Katja whispers from the doorway. You hadn’t even noticed her arrive… Mr Sands doesn’t bother turning to acknowledge her. His eyes are still on you.

‘It’s late. We’ll see one another again, in the morning.’ He turns, taking your phone with him. He pauses at a door that must lead deeper into the Rig, perhaps to his quarters. ‘General, see she gets a full night’s sleep.’ And the door slides closed behind him.

With a shivering laugh, the nightmare rider closes in.

Chapter Text

Anne wouldn’t talk about what had happened to Concorde. No… you hadn’t dared ask.

No one had ever put into words how the starbreed died. Not even when Katja was cornered and forced to speak only truths. But now you knew.

Katja turned back to sneer at you, as the portal on the rig opened. You were frozen from the shoulders down in one of her glaciers, shivering and barely able to think clearly. But the screams from your horse, kicking against the bars of her cage as she was lowered by crane onto the upper deck roused you.

‘Leave her alone!’

Katja’s eyes narrowed in something approximating glee. Ignoring you entirely, she waved the crane lower, until the cage came to rest on a set of metal wheels. Without hesitation, the goons pushed it through the portal.

Your heart sank.

Time in Pandoria moved faster than in Jorvik. And even though the portal remained open, even though you could see each other, you were powerless to do anything as your beautiful horse reared, and weakened, and starved, the corruption of Pandoria spreading across her flank.

‘Leave her alone! Katja! Please!’

The dark rider turned to look at you, a savage amusement dancing in her eyes. ‘What’s wrong? No jokes this time?’

‘Please—!’

Your horse whinnies, collapsing to the floor of her cage. Twice, she struggles to rise. Twice she falls.

‘Your fight’s with me, not her! Leave her out of this!’

‘Or what?’ Katja’s eyes travel down through the ice to your bound hands. As they spark uselessly, she releases another chilling laugh. ‘Pathetic.’

She’s weaker than ever, pandorian cracks opening across her body, the fissures spreading and widening. She can’t stand anymore, isn’t even attempting to. Through your soul bond, your link, you feel her fading. Desperate, you turn to Katja.

‘I’ll do anything! Please! Just get her out of there!’

Katja snorts. ‘Are you serious?’

‘That’s why you put her there, isn’t it?’ You spit. ‘Come on Katja, please, I’m begging you—’

‘You’d do… anything.’ A smirk spreads across the dark rider’s face, and she strides closer to you, staring into your eyes. ‘Really? What if I were to order you onto your knees, right here and now?’

You grit your teeth. ‘Yes.’

‘How about to become my servant? Hm?’

If that’s what it takes. ‘Fine!’

‘And to betray the soul riders? Your sisterhood?’

Time’s run out. You need to get your horse away from Pandoria, now. ‘Yes! Fine, anything, just— Katja!’

‘Thinking,’ she purrs, resting a finger on her chin. Her eyes drink in the expression on your face, absorbing your distress. ‘You’d do all that? You’d swear on the codes of Pandoria to obey me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Hm.’ She releases a satisfied noise.

‘Then you’re going to get her out of there?’ You ask frantically. Katja glances back at the portal – at your fading horse. And sneers.

‘No.’

She walks away as you scream after her, ignoring every desperate plea and bargain you try to make, until at last the sound of her laughter reaches you and you understand exactly what she wants. Not your obedience. Not your submission. Your despair.

She leaves you, frozen in ice, forced to watch your beloved starbreed’s life drain away. And knowing there’s nothing you can do to stop her.

*          *          *

You wake, shivering, tears streaming down your face, back inside the metal box where they threw you when you were caught. A crate, you realise now – one of the dozens around the rig. You’re shaking – the cold remains, and in the darkness and the frost, you have no idea if what you just experienced was real, or merely one of Katja’s nightmares.

Merely. There’s nothing mere about them. You feel a sudden pang of empathy for James, who Katja also took delight in tormenting with her power. She’s a monster. Even if everything you just saw was a dream, she’s capable of all of it. The only reason she wouldn’t have done it for real is to make you go through it multiple times.

You draw your knees up to your chest, crawling back into one of the corners, and try to find the flaws in the memory that will let you know it was just a nightmare.

Chapter Text

After a while, you open your eyes, though you’re unsure if you slept or not. Every time you felt ready to drift of, thoughts of Katja’s power over the dreamscape scared you back to consciousness.

There is no day or night inside the crate. No comfort. Nothing to distract you from the fear gnawing away at your gut. They must have realised by now – the other Soul Riders. They will know you’ve been caught.

And then the fear – what if they don’t realise straight away? What if they assume you’ve just gone to some obscure, long forgotten corner of Jorvik without cell reception? Again. Lisa has learned by now not to question her texts failing to send while you’re in the Wildwoods. Alex takes to leaving messages whenever you don’t pick up her calls in Dino Valley. There is a real possibility, especially given the miserable weather, and the lack of excuses you’ve all had to meet up recently, that they simply don’t notice.

But then a worse fear creeps in. The slow, building dread as you consider what Sands might have been doing on your phone.

He took a picture of you. He could easily have sent a ransom message. Demanding what? That the Soul Riders surrender? That they destroy the pages of the Light Ceremony you’ve managed to retrieve? That Fripp come out into the open, otherwise they’ll…

Kill you. It’s what he was going to do, what Sands swore he would do the next time you met. He’s going to kill you.

Break the sisterhood. Stop the threat.

Exactly what he did to Concorde.

And, unlike the little filly, you don’t imagine a world where the human baby unlucky enough to be born with Aideen’s light a part of them would be found. You weren’t born on Jorvik. The druids might call it “destiny” that you ended up here, but you know full well it was luck.

For a moment, you imagine what the Soul Riders would do if you were killed.

If they found baby Aideen – and it would be them, not you, in much the same way you aren’t Catherine – what would they do? You imagine Avalon contemplating kidnapping, Evergray cheering on the Soul Riders if they decide to try performing the aging ritual again… because forget her life, she’d be forced into this just as you were. You’re a part of the prophecies, an element of the stories. A necessity. A thing. And they’d never let her out of their sight. All she’d need to do was obey the druids, and be in the right place when they needed her. Never straying. Never wandering. Never allowed to make her own choices or risk her own safety, because of what it could mean for Jorvik.

It's far too easy to imagine the paranoia your death would spark, so with a shudder you get to your feet and begin pacing, feeling the seams of the door for any weakness or give. Rust in the hinges. Anything. It’s slow going – your hands are still bound behind you, and you have to crab-walk to feel it.

It’s so ridiculous, in the end you can’t help smirking into the darkness.

You’re no goddess. You are Crablord.

And you always will be.

You drive your heel into the door like a stroppy horse, grinning wider as the sound booms around the crate. You kick again, and again, lapsing into a drumming session that doubles for killing your boredom and relieving your tension.

Hell, it’s probably going to annoy someone too.

At the thought of a dark rider covering their ears, your grin goes completely feral, and you start howling your own version of We will rock you at the top of your lungs.

You just get to the third BUDDY— when the door bursts open, and you’re faced with the wonderful two-for-the-price-of-one-annoyance deal of both Sabine and Jay. Fuming. It’s delicious.

‘Will you shut up?’ Jay snaps. They’re a complete mess – their ordinarily perfect hair a maelstrom of dark vines. They’re also wearing Slytherin pyjamas. Obviously.

You smile. ‘Rough night?’

‘It’s about to get better,’ Sabine growls. She drives her fist into her palm, and you can’t help thinking that this must be the only woman in the arctic circle who can sleep in a short-sleeved T-shirt in February. Her hair is wet, though as she glowers at you her infernal magic starts to burn it off, steam rising from her muscles.

‘Yeah,’ you murmur. ‘Yeah it is…’

‘You really want to push us?’ Jay narrows their eyes, and sweeps a waft of dark hair out of their eyes. It slips back into disarray a moment later, leaving you wondering just how much hairspray they must have to use before coming to battle. ‘I don’t see your little friends here.’

‘Found a couple cockroaches! You wanna meet ‘em?’ You stroll back into the crate as though about to grab something, and Jay shrieks. Sabine seizes your shoulder and whips you round to face her, slamming you against the crate wall. At six feet, she towers over you.

‘I’ve been told I can do anything I want to you now, Soul Rider,’ she growls. ‘You’re just lucky there’s nothing I hate more than fighting a weakling, else you’d be in bits by now.’

You raise an eyebrow.

‘What?’

‘You’re giving it ammunition.’ Jay sighs. ‘Just tie it up or something, and let’s go back to sleep.’

Sabine grunts. You gasp. Red hot pain shoots up through your calves, and you find yourself slumping to the ground as molten chains slither from the metal of the crate and shackle your legs together. They cool moments after touching your skin, but the ache remains as Jay slips into the crate, eyes skimming the shadows for your phantom cockroaches, and shoves you to the floor.

As one, the dark riders turn and stride from the crate. But you’re not done.

‘Shame about Khaan!’ you shout. Sabine freezes. Jay reacts fast, raising their hands and muttering,

‘It’s a trick, you blockhead, it’s a tr—’

Sabine is bearing down on you, her eyes completely black in the shadows of the crate. As her stare pins you to the spot, your plan flees your mind. All you feel is the thundering of your heart, and the way your blood boils under her searing glare.

‘What,’ Sabine hisses, and it’s as though you’re lying beneath an active volcano, ‘Do you mean?’

You swallow. There are no whites to her eyes, no iris. Only the seething dark. That, you have to remind yourself, is what she truly is. Not a woman. A monster. But your ferocity overrides your fear.

‘I switched him,’ you snap, and all the half-facts and suspicions you’ve conjured since suffering Katja’s torment come back to you. But you have to make sure. ‘Before Katja opened the portal tonight? I used the moon circle to make Khaan look like my horse.’

There’s a moment. You see the second she draws back, like a dragon about to spit fire. But then Jay’s snicker reaches you both, and the fury fades from Sabine’s eyes. She closes her eyes, draws a long, long breath. When she opens them again, they’ve returned to normal.

‘Nice try.’ She says grudgingly.

Jay turns and strolls off, and Sabine goes to follow them – but before she shuts the crate door, she pauses and looks at you.

‘You shouldn’t have come back.’

You snort, and shift so your chains clank against the metal walls. ‘Obviously.’

Sabine pauses, glances over her shoulder, and leans into the interior again. ‘Katja’s not that good, is she? I didn’t think you’d fall for it for a second.’

Your heart leaps. But you control your voice. It would be just like a dark rider to give you false hope. ‘Night, Sabine.’

She studies your face for a moment longer, then pulls back with a grunt. ‘Night.’

And the door slams shut once more.

Chapter Text

At some point in the night, the chains on your ankles melt.

When the crate opens again, it’s chucking it down. You squint as a gale force wind hurls ten litres into your eyes, and as the cold seeps through your hoodie you begin to rethink your original plan of escape. Swimming is NOT an option.

Two goons stomp in, haul you to your feet and drag you into the deluge. Now their all-covering garments make sense. You can only dream of what all this rain would do to their gears.

Experimentally, you conjure the smallest spark in your hand – but the instant it touches the rain, it detonates and you flinch. Both goons jump, looking down at you suspiciously. But they needn’t fear for their circuits today. You clench your palm and feel the sting of pain that lets you know, in no uncertain terms, that you’ve managed to scorch yourself. Excellent…

The goons aren’t in a talkative mood today, so you fill the air for them.

‘So, you lads catch the championship last night?’

Utter silence.

‘Melinda’s always the best bet for a winner. Telling you though, anyone who competes in New Hillcrest is lethal. Those jumps are—’

‘Wa1k.’ The goons growl in sync. You raise an eyebrow. Like that’s enough to shut you up!

HA!

You could insult championships for days.

It takes your mind off the lingering fear in your stomach as they drag you – unblindfolded this time – deep into the belly of the rig, right to Sands’s office. But, when they push open the door, he isn’t in there. Then, to your even greater alarm, the goons push you in and stomp out of the room.

You wait a few minutes for someone to arrive. And when no one does, your mind starts drifting between thoughts that the goons have somehow malfunctioned, or that this is another of Katja’s nightmares.

In a darker moment, you wonder if they’ve brought you here to die. The floor will open and you’ll fall into a tank of Greater Jorveigian Sharks. But then rationality kicks in.

Nah. As if Dark Core would ever care for animals. The saline maintenance alone put you off a 200 litre tank. You can’t imagine anyone bothering to programme the goons with that type of knowledge. And what would they feed them? How often? Would they do water changes? Plant something to start the nitrogen cycle?

…

There’s something to be said for having a brain for obscure facts.

Eventually, when it becomes clear no one’s coming, you flex your hands and try to cast a little lightning. Pain shoots through your palm and you mutter a curse before summoning the power of the star circle instead. The wound heals near instantly. Closing your eyes, you focus again and your lightning crackles to life in your fingertips. You know full well you can’t angle it to cut through your bonds – you’ve tried that far too many times before – so instead you shuffle until your back is pressed against the metal door, and then fire.

The lightning flies, ricochets off the reflective surface, and with a satisfying hiss, your bonds crumble to ash.

You grin, shaking your wrists to get some feeling back into your hands. Finally. Then, you cross to Sands’s desk and start rifling through drawers. You need your Aideen-damned phone back!

It soon becomes obvious, as you start looking, that you’re dealing with an immortal hoarder. Files from the 1830’s sit on top of crumbling scraps of notebooks. Newspapers, books, maps and an uncomfortable amount of hair are tangled throughout every drawer you search, and you feel a stab of dread as you reach the topmost one and realise your phone is not here.

Damn.

You overturn the piles resting on top of his desk, shift the wall hangings in case there’s a secret safe hidden behind one, but… nothing.

At last, you’re forced to give up the search. Wherever it is, it’s not here anymore. With a scowl, you turn towards the door, charging lightning in your hands that will override the lock. Once out, you’ll sneak aboard one of their barges and be homeward bound. You’ll just have to deactivate it when you get a new phone… and as you consider everything you’ll lose if he keeps it – all the photos, the chat histories, the phone numbers of your parents… not to mention those diaries, given to you in confidence, now his to abuse – your anger takes hold.

Forget it. You’re not leaving without your phone.

You turn, sweeping your gaze around the room again, and your eyes fall on the second door that you suspected before led to his quarters. Raising your hand, you blast it open. A grim corridor meets you. Iron walls, no trace of light aside from the sparsely placed halogen lamps. A wave of cold, dry air hits you, and you shudder.

You should return home, get the Soul Riders and come back in force… but every second he holds onto your phone, the damage he could do only grows. He’s only had it for a day. For the sake of people like Big Bonny, you can’t let him have it any longer.

Chapter Text

Down through the bowels of the oil rig, the reek of machinery heavy in your nostrils. Twice, you spot security cameras and fry them before they see you. You’ve had the practice on Pier 13. Now, there’s a good spot to take pictures… without so many goons patrolling, it wouldn’t be a bad spot to do a bit of horseless training there either…

You shake yourself out of your train of thought before falling too far down that rabbit hole. One perilous situation at a time.

There’s a rust red door at the end of the corridor, and your pulse begins thundering in your ears as you approach. It would be stupid to think that you have some in-built Sands-sense, but as your hand closes on the door knob you know with eerie certainty that the creep is inside. Swallowing back your fear, you pull the door open.

And freeze.

Sure enough, Señor Creep is inside. But the room catches your attention. It’s a bedroom, you realise; though one so old fashioned for a split second you think you’ve fallen into a different time period. Oak panelled walls, a fireplace carved from marble, and a dark four-poster bed no doubt made from a critically endangered tree or six. Everywhere, there are carvings of tendrils. In the headboard of the bed, twisting together like vines in the marble, across the elaborate ceiling… and then you spy him.

Sands sits, his back to the door, in a rocking chair before the fire. Well, if you ever had any doubt as to his true age, they are all resolved now. He’s hunched over, swaying back and forth, whispering under his breath. A string of words, too fast to decipher, running on and on like a monologue… or prayer.

A shudder, instinctive and irrepressible, runs down your spine. Creepy. But you came here for a reason, so you master yourself and squint around for a drawer or safe. And there, sure enough – just beside the bed – is a cabinet, the only container you can see in the room. With a grin, you tiptoe over to it, realising as you move that the floor creaks.

Sands falls silent.

You stiffen. Crap.

He lets out a long sigh, and whispers, Annabelle.

You squint at the back of his head. He’s completely out of it. And as your gaze begins to move away, it catches on – how did you not notice before – there’s a portrait of the Baroness above his fireplace. Not a picture. A full-length, four-foot tall, painted portrait. Oh, gross. That poor old lady.

Would it be hard to burn the thing before you escape? Probably not… if you just lurk under his bed, wait for him to leave and toss a bit of lightning around, you could set this entire wooden room ablaze.

You flick your fingers in anticipation, a tiny spark falling to the floor. And then, you turn and sneak over to the drawers again, drawing a soft breath before easing the topmost one open.

And it screeches as wood grinds against wood.

Sands’s head snaps around, and his face floods with fury.

‘Hi.’ You pause, one hand still on the drawer, the other raised in a stupid, awkward greeting. For an instant, you both stare at each other. Then, you rip the drawer open.

Nothing. No phone.

Sands rises, too fast for a man of his apparent age, and a thundering presence crushes in on your mind.

DOWN.

You stumble, reeling against the force of the command. Your knees bend before you even realise what you’re doing.

Mr Sands storms closer, his eyes seething with an infinite hatred. And you’re reminded, that of all the monsters in this world, there are very few that don’t bow to him.

‘You arrogant child. Did you think you could hide from me?’

You stagger, fighting to stay on your feet. His command is crushing, a physical weight that curves your spine and weakens your knees, and you draw a sharp breath as pain begins to blossom along your back. His eyes bore into you as he closes in.

ON. YOUR. KNEES.

Instinctively, you know the stabbing pain ripping through your muscles will only worsen if you keep fighting back. But he’s not the only one who’s furious.

With a gasp of effort, you hurl a ball of lightning at the portrait. Sands freezes. Then whips towards it, betraying himself with a shriek of alarm. He races to the picture, battling the spreading flames, trying in vain to pry it off the wall. You kick the last drawer open – and there, sure enough, is your phone. You snatch it up, the pain in your spine dissipating as Sands loses his focus, and you sprint for the door.

STOP.

You gasp and trip as one of your feet freezes mid-stride, seconds from touching the handle. Sands isn’t even looking at you. You feel your magic flicker and die out. Sands rises, holding the remnants of the Baroness’s portrait, which crumble away into ash as you watch.

He draws a long, shaking breath.

‘I was debating the necessity of killing you.’

You grit your teeth, trying to force your legs to move. But the magic binding you is overwhelmingly powerful. You summon Aideen’s light, that force that never fails you when you need to call on your power. But as you reach for the light, a shocking malice strikes your heart and it dies in your grasp. You flinch.

‘Stop trying to resist,’ Sands hisses. He sets the remains of the portrait down, and stalks towards you. You manage to wrest back control of your neck, and tear your gaze away from him. But then his cold grasp tightens on your chin, and he turns your head back toward his. You feel his hand crawl into your pocket, and he slides your phone back into his palm, glaring at you. ‘I should never have let you leave this place alive. It went against everything I had planned.’

You glower at him. ‘Then you’d rather they killed Justin?’

His face tightens. ‘Don’t you dare—’

‘You couldn’t stop your own goons from hurting him. If I hadn’t been here, what would you have done, Sands?!’ You spit his name like a curse.

Something changes in his eyes. You see the tension drain, the regret and the helplessness softening his face for just a moment. He looks like he did in that faded photo you and Linda found – the man from centuries ago, before he trapped himself in a pact with Garnok. Worn down by hard work, certainly – but human. Someone who laughed, cried and loved.

But it’s only a moment.

His hand closes on your throat. As you gasp, shocked at the strength in his ancient body, he raises you from the ground. Fury closes over any hint of humanity left inside him.

‘It’s Mr Sands. Learn some respect before you die, pawn.’

Pawn? Pawn? He can’t talk! You’ve got more freedom than he ever will again! You aren’t Aideen, you’re you. He’s nothing but a puppet! You draw your breath in a hiss. ‘Do your worst.’

Sands bares his teeth, a ferality taking his movements over. ‘Oh, I will.’ And he clenches his hand tighter around your throat.

Spots flood your sight, but as your vision darkens, you spot a flash of light from the floor. Your phone. It’s fallen from his pocket. A single notification sings to you as you descend into darkness.

Anne.

We’re coming.

Chapter Text

There is light at the end of the tunnel, and it looks like Catherine. She offers you her hand, and as you are pulled closer you see the sad smile on her face.

You did so well… Come now. Time to go…

‘Excuse me?’

Catherine beckons you closer. It doesn’t hurt. I promise. There’s no more pain, no more suffering… I’m only sorry it had to be this way for you… to face him when you were so young, so inexperienced… you were never prepared for this.

Your fists clench, and you halt, fighting back against the current pushing you toward her.

Catherine sighs. Fate is a cruel mistress…

No. ‘Don’t you dare try turning me into a victim,’ you snarl. Catherine blinks and starts to speak, but you’re too angry to register her shock. ‘This wasn’t fate, this was my choice. You got that? MINE!’ Emotion surges inside you, burning as it rises through your veins. ‘I chose to go to the rig, to go back for my phone, to fight him! I’m not some tragic weakling! I’m not here because I was fated to be! I’m here because I chose to be me!’

Catherine winces. Calm down. You’re going to have a long—

You bark and she jumps.

Ha. You scared a spirit.

‘Send me back.’

I… don’t think you understand. You aren’t having another vision, you’re… well.

‘Dying, yeah.’ You narrow your eyes. ‘But I can still feel my body. I’m still alive. So let. Me. Go.’

I can’t, she says gently.

‘I’m not talking to you.’

Your gaze is fixed on the brilliant glow. This close, you can see it’s not coming from Catherine herself. It’s behind her. Vast, and unknowable. In your mind, you hear a voice caught between speech and song.

This is how it happens. Time and again, the darkness and the light. One alone cannot stand against him… I’m sorry. But it is over.

‘Don’t just give up!’ You snap. ‘I know I can beat him. So stop holding me here and let me think for five seconds!’

I’m sorry. The voice hums with sympathy. But your fate is sealed. We must… begin again.

You feel your hands beginning to go numb, the distant sensations from your real body fading. But no – no, you can’t, you will not be just another cautionary tale, another Catherine to warn the next incarnation of Aideen about. A warning about taking control of your own life. A warning of what will happen to those foolish enough to dream of a fate beyond Aideen’s plans. An excuse for the druids to make the next little girl to be born with power into their pawn.

A stab of rage rips through your soul, potent enough that your body’s hands spark. As if from far away, you hear Sands gasp. ‘What—?’

 You glare at the light. And as your soul fills with fury, close to your mind, you feel a second presence. A flash of realisation hits you. A way out. An escape. Turning your back on Aideen and Catherine, you twist and sprint towards it.

No—

Don’t—!

Forget their warnings, forget their lessons. You always had the power to win this.

You just needed to be a little smarter.

The force is immense, and as you collide with it you begin to freefall. Your mind falls into shadow, an unconquerable presence screaming as it feels the touch of your mind. A fury to rival your own rises up and attempts to swallow you. It needs no time to inspect you – it knows what you are, and it needs you to die.

But it has no clue who you are.

Bunching all the energy you have left into a spot right at your core, you make yourself small, smaller – too small to be touched – and as it goes to tear you apart, you take the energy frothing in your centre, the magic that makes you whole, and let the sun, the star, the moon and the lightning let rip.

A scream, vile and unending, as your power strikes the presence – and you crash back to reality, landing, gasping, on your very physical, very aching feet.

Sands staggers away, howling.

His hands are smoking, red-raw, like they’ve just been burned and well… yeah, that’s about how they should look. You touch your throat for a second, double-checking you can breathe, before rising to your full height.

You may not be tall, but Sands can’t stand up. As you close in, he is forced to look up at you in horror.

It would be so easy to kick him in the gut.

So satisfying.

You want to.

So you do.

Chapter Text

The girl turns and marches away from your beaten body, taking her phone with her. Capturing her was a grave mistake; that much is now evident. But more than the obvious, more than the notion that she should have been killed on sight, you feel a rising sense of curiosity from your ever watchful lord.

Garnok’s presence passes over you, and your sight is altered. With his otherworldly power, you see her for what she truly is – and it almost blinds you. Aideen’s light is there, most certainly – but more than that, the girl burns brighter with her own immense flame. You studied magic for centuries, it was how you came to commune with your lord, and so you know the rules that should exist even for your foes.

There should be four types of magic, each representative of natural light. The sun, which bridges space. The star, which heals. The moon, which foretells. And lightning, which combats. The druids saw this girl as bearing all four magics. And they were wrong.

‘Wait,’ you croak. The girl pauses, turns to look down on you. You loathe the thrill that runs through you as she does.

‘Wait for what? Goons? Dark Riders?’ The scorn in her voice would sting even without the way she flares in your sight. You slide a hand over your clean-shaven chin, hiding the way your expression wavers in the face of the fearsome woman. You force yourself upright, muscles groaning in protest, still singing in sympathetic pain to the wound she gave your lord. She watches you, hands spreading even as they remain by her sides, ready to strike should you make the wrong move. You raise your own in a gesture of surrender.

‘I’ve made a mistake.’

She tilts her head.

‘You… are perhaps not fated to die by my hand.’

‘Wow, how’d you figure that one out?’ she sneers.

You need to phrase this right. If you put it wrong, you will never get another chance. Your lord’s presence passes from your eyes, returning your sight to normal, bolstering your confidence. As Garnok leaves your side, a simple order is left lingering in your mind. Win her.

You swallow. ‘You’re strong. But… it isn’t her power, is it? No, you have something of your own, something… different.’

Shock flashes across her face. ‘You know?’

Yes! She’s revealed herself. You nod, and there’s no need to hide the curiosity you feel. ‘I chose each of the Dark Riders for the power they had. The druids would force classification on our world, but I have seen so much that defies their notions…’ You pause, waiting to see if she will turn and leave. She doesn’t. ‘My lord’s ultimate goal may be his release, but as we work towards that, I have also been able to explore my own passions. Watching each of my Riders blossom into their power has been… exquisite.’

She’s frowning. ‘You’re going somewhere with this. Get to the point, Sands.’

‘I think you know exactly what my point is.’

She looks at you for a moment before scoffing. ‘You’re joking, right?’

‘I’m serious. Your power is singular. Unique. The druids would constrain it, force you to think of yourself only in their terms. But here—’

‘You tried to strangle me.’

‘—If you aren’t under the goddess’s sway, then I have no need to!’ Desperation slips into your voice, and you curse yourself for it, for the weakness that made you lose control before. Lightning flickers for an instant in her palm, and in the instant before it vanishes you see the electricity begin to morph into another form. There is something to her, something you would give almost anything to study, to control… If Darko hadn’t let himself be killed, what could he have made of her? If you had only found her sooner, before Sabine stupidly turned her against Dark Core…

‘You could become something irreplicable.’ You offer her your hand, and she raises an eyebrow. ‘You cannot tell me you enjoy being their pawn.’

‘So I should be yours?’ She folds her arms. ‘Sorry, Sandy. That isn’t happening.’

‘Be rational! How many times have the druids constrained your power now? Ordered you to work against yourself?’

‘You should know, you’ve been spying on us.’

And it’s too late, too late to bring her to your side… but there must be a way. There has to be a way. Something you can say, something you can do…

‘You really think I’d betray my friends for you?’ Rage colours her eyes. ‘Do you have any idea what Katja did to me?’

‘And your horse is alive!’

 ‘Because you didn’t catch her. Remind me, what did you do to Concorde?’

You wince. This will not work if she sees you as her tormentor…

‘That was never my intent. You saw what they tried to do to Justin… the actions of my Riders do not always align with my will, as yours do not align with the druids. But I will not constrain their freedoms, surely you can see the advantages in that.’

‘Yeah,’ she rolls her eyes. ‘Can’t wait for the day Katja decides she wants to torture me again! What would you do then? Nothing?’

‘She was banished to Pandoria once.’

‘Lovely.’ She pulls her lips back in a sarcastic smirk.

You smile back. ‘Alright. What would you have me offer you?’

 ‘Eh?’

You spread your arms. ‘I control this country’s future. But to see your power grow with us… request something of me. I will grant it.’

Confusion fills her face. She still doesn’t realise just how great a prize her loyalty is. Good. While she is off-balance, you rush to fill the silence.

‘I could chase GED away from Silverglade. Halt our mining in New Hillcrest. Perhaps you would have me turn our resources to curing the blight spreading across Mistfall…’ You watch her reaction carefully. And, waiting for the moment she is about to speak, you add your final ultimatum. ‘They needn’t even know. Your friends will be here soon – escape with them. And then, when you have had time to reflect, to recover… come back. Find me. I will wait.’

‘How long?’

You smile. ‘I’m immortal. Waiting is a skill I have had much time to perfect.’

Beyond the room, you hear a distant explosion, the sounds of your goons racing to intercept the encroaching Soul Riders. She hesitates, and you move to stand beside your alarm.

‘Once you have left, I will trigger this. It will bring my Dark Riders here, and allow you to flee with your friends.’

Her eyes meet yours. Your blood burns, and you feel your lord’s rush of extasy. She nods. And departs.

Garnok’s laughter echoes around your head.

You’ve won.

Chapter Text

He had watched Sabine for a long time before bringing her into the fold. Her parents had, at the time, been far more useful to him than she was – rich, influential and widely respected, he had taken their name and their money and invested into Dark Core. With their backing, questioning the ethics of his company became a matter of questioning the family’s ethics – and no politician in Jorvik was stupid enough to try that.

He had little interest in the girl. She appeared at the same social gatherings, but always aloof, always on the other side of the room. She was inconsequential. Certainly, one day she would become the heir to her family’s considerable fortune… and he would be there when she did… but beyond that, their paths didn’t cross.

Until the day he saw her power blossom.

It was a Championship – he couldn’t recall which one. He had been forced to attend, to encourage her parents to attend the next board meeting and grant him a majority vote when it came to starting operations in Valedale. They had a box seat, he had placed no bets and was disinterested in the racing, until her mother mentioned Sabine was one of the jockeys. That altered matters significantly… the family were proud, and if their heir lost a race, their mood would doubtless be impacted.

So, as she took her place on the starting line, he had silently gone to rig it.

Just a small curse, to weaken the others. Nothing noticeable, certainly nothing the officials would be able to detect. But then, her glare fell on him, and he froze.

The starting gun fired, and in a flash of movement she was gone with the rest of the pack. He couldn’t remember if she’d won or not – it didn’t matter. He would have forgotten to speak with her parents about the board meeting regardless.

Because after the race, she came to find him.

‘What was that?’ She slammed her palm into the wall behind his head. ‘I’ve seen you, skulking around my parents. Always knew there was something wrong about you, but I could never put my finger on it until today.’

‘Relax.’

Her dark eyes began to smoulder. ‘Don’t give me orders. My horse’s dung is more valuable to me than you. Now— what was that?’

Sands’s eyes narrowed. ‘You need to calm down, child.’

She opened her mouth to argue back, and that was the last time she ever believed herself stronger than him. His master’s power washed over them both, breaking her power, sending her stumbling, drowning the afternoon sunlight. Her horse staggered, too weak to resist the call of the dark magic.

As Khaan collapsed, she raced to his side. He watched her, amused by how quickly her façade of toughness had crumbled.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘Shall we have a proper conversation, as adults?’

*          *          *

Katja had been easy to bring to his side. Her sadistic nature paired with her natural affinity for illusions had made her the perfect nightmare rider. But where Sabine’s independent spirit was the greatest obstacle for keeping her under his control, Katja’s sadism posed challenges of its own. He had lost count of the number of times he had needed to call her off, reign her in… it had been so bad that at one point he would not allow her to leave for solo missions, electing instead to have her chaperoned by one of the others.

He managed, with the help of his master, to suppress her malevolence when she returned from Pandoria, but it came at an unfortunate cost. Still, a depressed rider was easier to control than one easily provoked.

Jes— no, they went by Jay now, didn’t they? Ever the utilitarian. Easy to buy, easy to command. If only it wasn’t for that soft side… one of the drones had caught them caring for a bird with a broken wing, in front of the Soul Riders no less. He couldn’t afford his generals to be so emotionally vulnerable. A single slip-up in battle… and they would all be finished. But it was precisely these weaknesses his master’s magic was perfect for eradicating.

And now that little soul rider… Aideen’s incarnation no less. Strong enough to overpower him, reckless enough to be caught. And Katja’s nightmare had worked wonders. If only they’d been able to capture the horse as well… he was curious what effects corrupting a creature soul bonded to Aideen would have on the rider. But for now, he would work with what he had.

*          *          *

Sands snapped out of his reverie and re-focussed on the three Dark Riders before him. They waited in silent obedience, all peculiarities washed away, waiting for his command.

Perfect.

A smile settled on Mr Sands’s face. The smile he always got just before a profitable new acquisition.

‘Do it.’

Chapter Text

‘Hey. You awake?’

You jolt upright with a snort, and headbutt something. Linda lets of a shout of alarm and dives – but it’s too late. Your cold cup of coffee shatters across the pavement. Alex starts laughing, Anne – the one who woke you – buries her head in her hands.

‘For Aideen’s sake… I’m not going to attack you!’ Anne groans.

Linda finishes gathering up the broken bits of china and yelps as one of the fragments cuts her.

‘Careful!’ Lisa is there in a flash, healing the wound.

You force a smile as they return to the table. It’s been a week. You should be over it by now. Instead, you’re jumping at every sudden sound, whipping around at the faintest gust of wind. You’ve tried not to let the Soul Riders notice. Better that they think nothing happened on the rig at all. You’ve been through your phone, realising to your alarm that no messages were sent at all. Linda worked out your location by pure chance, and they came storming in just in time to get you away. You haven’t mentioned being captured, haven’t mentioned that Sands had your phone. They would only worry. Instead, you say that you lost signal for a couple of days – forgot to pay for 4G – and that you ended up staying on the Oil Rig longer because you wanted to try sabotaging their new cameras. Anne chastised you, and at last you promised never to go there again.

Never.

Smiling through the couple of meetups you’ve had since then, catching up on JorTube vids, just continuing as though nothing were wrong.

The others seem happy not to pry too deeply. It’s just another wacky adventure. And when a couple of questions start to drift too close to the truth, you just plaster a grin on your face and say something like, Hey, did I ever tell you about the time I saved a smuggler from a shark?

Today is no different.

They talk. You nod. It’s easy. Except for the fact that the café you’re sitting at, in the middle of a crowded street in Jarlaheim, is far too open a space. It would be so easy for a Dark Core spy to be hiding in this mess, for a drone to slip about unnoticed. Heck, GED are in the city and their ties to Dark Core run too deep for comfort… no doubt one of those rats would be happy to take a bonus in exchange for snooping on five young adults.

‘Sorry guys,’ you say, standing up. They turn and look at you. Smile. ‘I forgot, I promised to help Steve set up for the next club he’s got meeting there. I’ve gotta dash.’

‘That’s okay!’ Linda smiles. ‘See you soon?’

‘Don’t forget your cake!’ Alex swipes the sponge from your plate and, in an uncharacteristically generous move, wraps it for you in a napkin. Lisa raises a hand and smiles.

‘I’ll send you that link!’

‘I’ll ride some of the way with you,’ Anne rises as well, dusting imaginary crumbs off her immaculate clothes. ‘It would do Concorde some good to start behaving around cars.’

Your smile nearly slips. ‘Ah, don’t worry, that’s fine Anne. Really.’

She raises an eyebrow and mounts Concorde. ‘Scared you can’t keep up?’

You laugh, and pat your own horse’s neck before mounting. ‘Pretty much!’

‘Then I’ll make sure to ride at your pace.’

Seeing you’ve got no choice, you turn and head in the direction of Steve’s. It’s a long ride. Maybe you could even lose her in Greendale.

But as you make it all the way to the bridge that connects the Harvest Counties to the rest of Jorvik, Anne keeps perfect pace with you. And, worse, she does it in complete, frosty silence.

Hell.

You shoot her a look as you cross past Ydris’s tent, wondering what you’ve said or done to piss her off this time. Maybe it was just the implication that you’re slower than her, when she knows full well you’re not. Anne hates being patronised. Is that it?

‘Hey, Anne?’

You’re nearing Silverglade now. The sun rider doesn’t look at you. ‘What?’

‘Have I… pissed you off somehow?’

‘I don’t know, have you?’

You swallow. Shit. ‘What?’

‘What do you mean what? What have you done? I think you can figure that one out.’

She really is annoyed, you realise, and not just a little bit either. The look in her eyes is violent. ‘I dunno, that’s why I’m asking. You wanted to ride with me.’

‘Yes, I did.’ Anne pauses. ‘You do realise that this is the first time we’ve been alone since the rig?’

‘Yeah. I… guess so. Why?’

‘You’re not telling us everything. We all know that. You aren’t the type to just “forget” to pay your phone bill. Who does that?’

‘Me, I guess,’ you sigh. ‘Look, Anne, I have a lot of stuff on—’

‘Exactly. You always have a lot of “stuff” on. You remember Steve needs help with his farm, that some old biddy in the far north needs her post on Thursdays, that smugglers are scared of sharks and that it’s some kid’s birthday in Silverglade. You don’t forget things. You’re not the type. So what aren’t you telling me?’

You stop. You’ve nearly reached the farm – any closer, and she’ll realise you were lying about that too.

‘It was a mistake.’ You say. ‘I’m human, we all make—’

‘Why did you go back there?’

You blink. ‘You know why. It was a joke—’

‘No. No, the first time was a joke. After that it was just… Were you trying to prove a point? That you’re so much cleverer than us? That you can go waltzing around in their headquarters without suffering a scratch?’

You stiffen. ‘No—’

‘Did you ever think what they might do to you? But I mean hey, between the fire-breathing blockhead, the ice psycho and the illusionist freak? What’s there to be scared of, right?!’ She’s glaring at you now, her eyes piercing yours. Your breathing is shallow. ‘And then all those drones that could follow you home. The army of robots. The fact that their leader quite literally promised to kill you the next time he saw you—!’

‘That’s enough!’ You shout. Anne blinks. It’s the first time you’ve ever raised your voice with her. Your hands tighten on your horse’s reins, and you feel a pulse of sympathy from her. She, and she alone knows what you went through. You wonder if Anne ever shared her own trauma with this Concorde – still practically a foal. For the mare’s sake, you hope not. Concorde looks down, refusing to meet your eyes. Perhaps wisely, she isn’t getting involved.

‘Fine.’ Anne turns and begins to ride away towards Goldenhills. ‘But next time, drag someone else into your mess!’

Your stomach sinks as she vanishes into the distance.

What have you just done?

And you can’t even feel angry, because she’s completely justified. Returning to the rig was stupid, you know that now, but…

Do all the Soul Riders feel the same way? Shoot, what if… what if they’ve only been pretending to be cool with the photos all this time? What if you’ve secretly been annoying them, scaring them, re-traumatising Anne and Lisa? And even at the café – none of the others volunteered to come with you, as they normally would… What if this was all a set-up, just to get you alone with Anne to talk?

‘Good day, there!’

You blink back tears and smile as Marley passes on a tractor.

‘Say, you free? Could really use a hand right now…’

‘Sure,’ you say without thinking. Your smile stays in place. ‘I’m on it!’

 *         *          *

Anne pulls her horse to a stop far away, deep in the blackened hills of Goldenhills where pandoric energy still scars the rocks pink. A place safe from prying eyes.

‘Finally.’ Katja emerges from the shadows and folds her arms. ‘Took you long enough.’

‘Oh? Really? Do tell, since you’re clearly the expert, how long infiltration missions should last?’ She dismounts, and the disguise dissolves. Jay folds their arms, Acerbus settling back into his true form behind them. ‘Just tell me you’re ready.’

Katja scowls. ‘It doesn’t take a genius to trick a soul rider. Of course I’m ready.’ She pauses. ‘And by the way, “ice psycho”? I think Sabine’s come up with more creative insults than that, you form-stealing freak.’

‘Ouch,’ Jay rolls their eyes. ‘Careful Katja, that was almost original.’

‘Ohh, you want originality?’ Katja leans forwards, and Jay feels the corners of their mind beginning to fray as the nightmare rider’s influence takes hold. ‘I could drown you in the worlds I create.’

‘Charming.’ Jay checks their watch. ‘Three minutes late. On your way, corpse-breath.’

With a snarl Katja pulls on Mortifa’s reins and is gone.

Chapter Text

It’s nightfall by the time you finish up in Silverglade and drag yourself home, and even then you trudge into your stable in the full knowledge that you won’t go to bed for another three hours. Stable care is relentless. You can’t think of anywhere else in the world someone your age would be able to afford as many horses as you have – and maybe it’s something about that, or the endless nuzzling, warm faces, but as midnight strikes and you finally leave for bed, your heart feels so much lighter.

The night air is frigid on your face, but it’s invigorating after such a long day. You stand outside for a moment, draw a long breath, and enjoy the silent peace of the inhospitable hour.

For all you like the company, the endless parade of faces pleased to see you, wherever you ride, grows exhausting. It would be nice to ride across Jorvik some day and not have to plaster on a smile like you’re working a dead-end customer service job. To just be alone for a bit. No chatter, no requests for help, no demands to race Bobcats, deliver goods, watch someone else’s animals… To find somewhere on Jorvik where there are, really and truly, no people at all.

You feel like you’ve ruined the Valley of the Hidden Dino – it was beautiful before the laboratory turned tourist trap that you helped to build. The Wildwoods is now infested with rangers. The horse tribes are always at each others throats. Mistfall is full of GED spies. Epona is half tarantula swamp, half housing project… It just feels like you’re constantly looking for that one place on Jorvik that actually… feels like Jorvik. Somewhere quiet. Just you, and whoever you happen to be riding that day. When you’re around the horses, you can breathe.

You take a long breath, letting the cold settle in your lungs. You’re so glad that nightmare wasn’t real. You couldn’t imagine losing even one of your horses. So far from home, they’re family. And with so many horses, you can never really leave Jorvik now. Here, there are subsidies, ancient financial laws in place to support the horse-obsessed lifestyle of the Jorveigians, protecting the right to own a horse as a piece of cultural heritage. Supporting everyone looking for that bond. And so, so many evil undeserving people have exploited those same laws.

Your hands curl into fists. Forgetting Dark Core and GED, you’ve had to deal with some true scumbags. How hard is it to treat another being with care and respect? Especially when the government is literally paying you to look after them? Destroying the world, taking over the world… you wish the druids would stop focussing on Dark Core so much. They’re pathetic. Dark Core causes problems at most once per month. But the people you’ve seen slipping under the notice of the law, of the druids, of the soul riders – they’re the worst threat Jorvik faces.

An abusive owner who starved their horses to death. An arsonist targeting stables. A dressage club beating their horses until they were too terrified to disobey. All ignored by the law despite the mounting fatalities because there were always worse threats to focus on. Like littering. Alex once asked why you did so much – why you felt the need to chip in everywhere, to help with everyone else’s problems. It’s depressingly simple. Because no one else cares. It has nothing to do with being a good person, nothing to do with “Aideen’s light”. If you don’t interfere, if you don’t butt in, no one else will. And you’d sooner ride down Garnok itself than let even one abusive asshole get away.

And when you try to blow off steam, you end up hurting your friends.

Anne’s words hurt.

‘The first time was a joke. After that… Were you trying to prove a point? That you’re so much cleverer than us? That you can go waltzing around in their headquarters without suffering a scratch?’

It wasn’t that. You know that wasn’t what you intended. But if that’s all she saw, what difference does it make? She thinks you were trying to hurt her, and that’s exactly what you ended up doing.

With a groan, you turn and head towards the flat you rent near the stables. Maybe this will all feel better in the morning. Just one more bad dream.

…It’s really cold tonight.

Chapter Text

‘You little fool.’

It’s him. You’re awake, instantly. You go to lurch upright, calling lightning already, but find your movement stopped. Your limbs freeze, cold smothering your resistance. Sands prowls from the shadows, and your heart shudders in your chest. You’re in your flat, in bed – how did he get in? You locked the door, you know you did – you and the druids went to so much trouble finding a house so isolated no one would realise where you lived… But Aideen, he probably owns the company who let it to you.

A silvery laugh disturbs the air beside your ears, and your breathing quickens as you realise Katja is here too, freezing you in place. Of course. He would never dare travel alone…

You force yourself to sound annoyed, battling the fear making your voice shake. ‘What do you want, Sands?’

He stops at your bedside and tuts. ‘It’s been a week, Soul Rider. You’ve had more than enough time to consider my offer. I was expecting to hear from you.’

‘You told me you’d wait!’ This time, you can’t stop your voice shaking. Sands hears it, and his lip curls.

‘Having some doubts then? Pity… General Katja made the interesting observation that if you weren’t with us, it would seem very much like you were against us. And that…’ he steps closer, and his hand brushes the bruises still present on your neck, ‘I cannot have.’

Fuck.

His fingers brush your jugular, and he pauses. ‘Don’t tell me you’re scared…’

Katja laughs again. ‘If you’re with us, there’s nothing to be afraid of,’ she leans right up against your ear. ‘Right, Soul Rider?’

You’re dead. If they don’t kill you, your heart is going to give out. Against your will, escaping your control, your hand sparks. Katja’s eyes flash to it immediately, she opens her mouth, but before she can bring her ice any further up your body, before you can re-exert control, the lightning breaks loose.

You see it arc through your lamp, hear the splintering of wood—

Everything goes black.

A horse screams.

And then silence.

You lie in the dark, breath escaping you in rapid bursts, spots flaring in your vision. You’re freezing – but not frozen anymore. And as you lie still, like any dreamer waking from a nightmare, the scattered fragments of nonsense that should have told you something was wrong from the start begin to coalesce.

Sands’s insistence on your answer, when he had told you on the rig he had an eternity to wait.

Katja’s presence, when he knew full well she was the Dark Rider you despised most.

The lack of control over your lightning – something you always wield consciously.

And the cold you’d felt ever since finishing your stable duties, pervading everything, despite the summer season.

Your fists clench, and you go to turn on your lamp. It sparks uselessly. That, at least, is real – you did destroy it. Cursing, you go fumbling through the dark until you find your coat and the door. You pull it on, and stumble outside.

The moon is bright tonight, and it casts enough light to let you see Mortifa – wounded and on his side, a very recent burn scarring his coat. And Katja, teeth clenched as she holds back tears, spreading ice across the wound oh-so gently.

‘It’s okay,’ she mutters, unaware of your presence. ‘You’ll be fine. Hold on.’

You hover in your doorway, unsure of what to do – and as you hesitate, you notice the hole your lightning has punched through the side of your house. And it’s not a trick, not a nightmare – there’s no cold wind or sense of disorientation. Even pinching yourself doesn’t work. That burn is your handiwork.

‘Shit.’ You swear under your breath, but all the same, Katja whips around, blue eyes searing with hatred.

She moves in front of Mortifa. Guarding him.

And something in how you see that psychopath changes.

‘Come one step nearer and I’ll make your spinal fluid freeze,’ Katja spits.

Alright. Not that changed – but you’d say the same thing if it was one of your own horses in Mortifa’s position…

You raise your hands. ‘I’m not going to hurt him. I’ve got healing magic – let me closer and I’ll—’

‘Eat shit.’ Katja hisses. ‘Like I’d fall for that after you just blasted him!’

‘Don’t invade my dreams then, you psycho!’ You shouldn’t have said it, but you’re angry, and scared, and the look she’s giving you isn’t helping. She finishes icing over Mortifa’s wound and rises, the dark grey of her attire turning her ghostly in the moonlight.

‘If the old man wasn’t bent on trying to make you one of us, I wouldn’t have to!’

You scowl. Figures… ‘He sent you here to trick me into agreeing? Or to scare me?’

‘He—? Sands didn’t send me. I want you scared. I want you running off to some unknown island in the middle of the sea! I want you off Jorvik, I want you out of my life! Do I want you in the Dark Riders? Hah!’ It’s the first time you’ve seen Katja anything other than calm or malicious. She’s shaking. ‘Being near you is like being near a time bomb. The old man thinks that makes you precious. I know exactly what you’ll do to us!’ She points to Mortifa. The blind stallion releases a weak sound, and she’s beside him in an instant, hand on his wound, burying the ice deeper. You stand there, not knowing what on Earth to say.

‘You—’ your voice is hollow, lagging behind as your brain tries to feed it something to say. Some line to prove her wrong. But you have nothing. ‘You came here to scare me off?’

She glares at you. ‘I can handle killing you. But having to play nice? To pretend you aren’t a threat to us all, day and night? To let you near Mortifa while he’s sleeping? I’ll settle for having you as an enemy, thanks.’

‘How… did you find me? Does Sands—?’

‘Old man doesn’t know where you live. Doesn’t care. I stalked you from the stables. Now – run away, and leave us alone!’

For the first time, it occurs to you the kind of fear, as well as hate, it would take to make her torture you the way she did on the rig. That look in her eyes now… Katja isn’t just angry. She’s terrified.

Drawing a long breath, you raise your hands again and step closer. ‘I promise—’

A spire of ice erupts from the ground barely a hair from your face. Katja stands, arm raised, breathing heavily. ‘I warned you about coming closer!’

‘That will get infected.’ You nod over her shoulder, and despite everything you know about her, Katja looks back at Mortifa. ‘Do you really want to take him back to the rig like that? Even if you manage that – and it’s a half hour ride to the ferry – what do you think Dark Core would do to a wounded starbreed?’

Her fists clench, and pain shoots across her face.

‘You know I’m right. Let me heal him. Then I’ll be out of your way Katja, I promise.’

Glaring at the floor, Katja nods. You breathe a sigh of relief.

‘But if I feel you hurting him, for a second—’

‘You’ll freeze my eyes off, I know.’

You bend down over the wound. Drawing on the Star Circle is criminally easy tonight, with the sky so clear. Katja doesn’t take her eyes off you as the wound softens, and knits together, and closes, and re-grows hair. Even as Mortifa begins to stumble back upright, she still regards you as warily as a rabbit watching a hawk. She backs away, finds his tack, and hauls herself up into the saddle. At last, she breaks her gaze.

‘Don’t join him.’

You sigh. ‘You know how unlikely that is, right? It’s Sands for Aideen’s sake. I’d have to be an id—’ you stop yourself.

‘Yeah. Well take it from an idiot, then. Anything you think you’re going to get out of it? It’ll cost twice as much.’

You swallow. ‘And you’re not doing some… reverse psychology… nightmare… thing?’

Katja laughs bitterly. ‘Think what you want. Just don’t say I didn’t try to stop you.’ And she turns, and vanishes into the night.

Chapter Text

‘Come back here!’

‘No. No more lectures. I’m done!’ You urge your horse into a trot, only for Avalon to dart across your path. You curse, your horse rears, and as Avalon raises his hands to calm your horse you are forced to halt. ‘What now?’ You snap. ‘Lecturing me isn’t going to change shit, Avalon!’

‘You’re right,’ the druid takes your horse’s halter in his hands, stroking her muzzle before slipping her a sugar cube. Despite your urging, after that she refuses to move away. She’s so easily bought…

‘I’m not telling you off,’ Avalon says. ‘But this is serious. You should have come straight to us the moment you realised Katja was outside. Called us— You know Alex made me use this infernal thing for a reason!’ He shifts his robes and you see the corner of his phone for an instant before the folds of grey consume it once more. ‘If Katja knows where you live, you have to move. It’s the only option – if Dark Core get their hands on you—’

‘—They won’t.’ You scowl. It’s as if you didn’t just tell him how you managed to defend yourself in your sleep.

‘But if they do! I mean for Aideen’s sake, you know precisely how they would hurt you, what they would do with someone so gifted! If you give them the chance, if you make yourself this vulnerable, they will kidnap you and they will torture you! Drain you of all your magic, corrupt your starbreed! They used Anne like she was a power source. Imagine what they would d—’

‘I have!’ You bellow. Your heart is thundering through your palms, and your horse feels it, taking a step away from Avalon, turning her head to look for the danger you must surely see. Hating that you have to do it, you draw a breath and send a ripple of magic through her, calming her, reassuring her. ‘I have thought about it,’ you say again, forcing yourself to be calm, forcing yourself to sound confident. ‘I’m only telling you about Katja because I’d feel guilty if I didn’t. But I am not moving. I saved up for years to buy that cabin. It’s mine, it’s my home. It’s in the perfect place for me—’

‘For goodness sake child…’

‘Don’t “child” me. I’m not going to run away every time I see them, Avalon.’

‘You were asleep! To let them come that close to you, while you’re at your most vulnerable, it’s… it’s borderline self-sabotage! I mean do you want them to hurt you?’

‘Of course I don’t!’

She’s terrified. You’re forced to dismount as your horse feels the full weight of your emotions, pawing the ground, her eyes wide as she searches for a threat that doesn’t exist.

‘Avalon, I have nightmares every single time I fall asleep! Right? I see things that haven’t even happened yet! I wake up cold because I’ve been using magic while I’ve been asleep, and I’ve drained myself without even realising it. I know what they could do to me, I feel what they can do! But if you think I’m going to let fear ruin my life when I’m awake, then I was right not to tell you.’

You hear hoofbeats behind you, the tell-tale scent of apples that lets you know Alex is near. You don’t even need to look round to know she’s brought the others.

Avalon shakes his head. ‘Oh my sweet girl. This is why we were trying to train you. You shouldn’t have to fight your magic like that… If it’s getting out of hand, if it’s wearing you out, it’s no wonder you’re short tempered.’ He sounds sympathetic rather than angry now. But it’s worse that way. ‘Let us help you. We can find a way to control this. No one here is trying to tell you off – we’re just trying to keep you safe.’

‘What’s all this?’ Alex pipes up. Avalon sighs.

‘Why don’t you tell your friends what happened?’

Your friends. You turn, but of all the riders whose eyes you could meet first, it’s Anne. Anne, who knows full well what the Dark Riders are capable of. Anne, who shouted at you for being reckless.

‘Why did you go back there?’

‘Were you trying to prove a point? That you’re so much cleverer than us?’

‘Did you even think?’

Your breathing turns shallow. Her eyes are kinder today, but you can so easily imagine them turning cold the moment you explain about Katja. About why you won’t give up your home and move somewhere the druids can keep an eye on you. No. No, you won’t give her the ammunition, won’t let her have the opportunity.

‘I’m done here.’

You grab the bridle, force your light into the horse’s mind, smother her panic until she’ll let you mount and then wheel around to ride away. Alex blocks you.

‘Woah,’ she raises her hands, hair half-destroyed like she’s just escaped a pillow fight. ‘Slow down a minute. Let’s talk.’

She’s wearing pyjama bottoms as well. What, did Avalon text them all when you weren’t looking? Order them to come running so they’d guilt trip you into selling your house, giving the druids more chances to scrutinise everything you do…

‘You can talk to us,’ Linda moves round, blocking your left. She’s smiling, her eyes so kind, and that makes it worse because you hate upsetting Linda… ‘Avalon said you needed to tell us something.’

‘I knew it was bad when he texted,’ Alex smirks. And yeah. The image of Avalon, in his stuffy robes, battling his overlong sleeves to type out an inevitably misspelt, autocorrected message to each Soul Rider individually because he still doesn’t know about group texts… you almost smile with her.

‘Not right now,’ you go to ride past her, but then Anne speaks up.

‘We both know how that ends.’

You freeze. You turn back to her, and she’s the only one of the four not smiling at you.

‘Keeping secrets isn’t going to help.’

‘I—’

‘Didn’t help me, did it? When I took the five leaved clover, you all came to find me anyway. And I’d got myself trapped. Again.’

She’s looking at you strangely. She— Does she know? On the boat, leaving the Oil Rig, Anne alone hadn’t asked what happened. Those lies you cobbled together, the elaborate sabotage and the way you’d hidden from Dark Core until morning… She must have known how unlikely it sounded.

Does she know you were caught?

‘Tell us.’

It’s a command, not a request.

‘Katja.’ You spit the name, noticing how they all sit up straighter as you do. ‘She followed me home from the stables. Tried to give me a nightmare – but I blasted her.’

It’s a version of the truth. The same one you told Avalon, stripped of any violence done by you to Katja’s horse. That still doesn’t sit right with you. More than Katja’s stalking, more than her hatred towards Sands, what stays with you is the look on her face as she held Mortifa. In that moment, you really believed she would never have truly hurt your horse. Tormenting you with nightmares is one thing, but even she has a line… And you crossed it, did something not even the worst Dark Rider would.

‘You’re joking.’ Alex’s eyes are wide.

Lisa groans. ‘Oh no… after all that time you spent finding a place…’

‘I’m not moving.’ You say.

Anne stiffens. ‘Yes, you are.’

‘I’m not—’

‘Do you want them to hurt you?’

It’s the same conversation all over again. Avalon realises what’s about to happen, what’s going to be said, and starts to say something himself, raising his hands… It’s too slow. Anne’s eyes bore into you, and all the hurt from her words the other day comes rushing back.

‘It’s none of your business!’

Anne recoils like you’ve hit her. ‘I don’t—!’

‘The lot of you need to butt out! I can deal with one old man!’

‘And the Dark Riders?’ Anne narrows her eyes. ‘The army of clones? The drakonium bombs? Can you deal with them too?’

‘We’re a team,’ Lisa steps forward, tries to put a hand on your arm. You shrug it away. ‘We’re meant to handle this together…’

‘No, you guys are a team. You were a team long before I showed up!’ You regret the words as soon as they’re out. Alex gasps. Linda covers her mouth with her hands.

‘Is that…’ She sounds hurt. ‘Is that… really how you feel?’

‘We wouldn’t have made it out of Pandoria if it weren’t for you.’ Lisa doesn’t touch you this time, but her eyes are pleading. ‘You are one of us. You always will be. You know that, right?’

You watch Anne’s face. To your surprise, she looks hurt. ‘Is that why you keep trying to prove yourself?’

Colour rushes to your face. She’s wrong, you were just messing about… Just trying to make them laugh…

Anne shakes her head. ‘You idiot. You’re the strongest out of us five. You—’

Your phone rings.

Glad of an excuse to hide your face, you drop your head and go to answer it.

‘Hi, Bonny.’

‘Girl, what did you tell them?’ The clockmaker’s voice is panicked. You’ve never heard her sound so afraid. There’s a loud scuffle at the other end of the phone – objects scraping past. A muffled cry.

‘Hello?’ You hesitate.

‘What did you tell them?! No—!’

The phone goes dead.

‘Pocket dial?’

The others are looking at you.

Dread floods your heart as you remember Sands pouring over Big Bonny’s diary entries, saved on your phone, because she trusted you enough to share her fears.

‘I have to go!’ You wheel around, but even as you break into a canter the hoofbeats of the others rise in tempo behind you.

‘Not so fast!’ Alex calls. You glance round, and she’s grinning. ‘Remember, we ride together!’

Chapter Text

Bonny’s house is ablaze. The smoke was visible from Will’s Mill, and as the five of you rode past the old man starts shouting, waving his arms as if the disaster was somehow hard to spot. By the time you get there, it’s clear there’s nothing you can do. Anne takes charge immediately, shouting instructions – Lisa to handle to civilians, get them away and heal them, Linda to begin carting water from the fountain up to the house, Alex to use her shield to get inside the building and look around just in case Bonny was too slow to evacuate—

‘Don’t!’ You grab Alex’s arm, and both she and Anne whip towards you.

‘Why?’ Anne sounds suspicious, Alex desperate. Fuck. You were really hoping you wouldn’t need to tell them…

‘She’s not in there. Dark Core—’ the words stick in your throat. ‘—Dark Core have her.’

‘But how d—’ Before Alex can finish her sentence the timbers of Bonny’s home give way. Her sanctuary, the refuge she’d built for herself after escaping Dark Core’s control, begins crumbling into the fire, and some mechanism inside the building detonates with a smash. Time freezes, the five of you go rigid, the village turns to stare, and with a groan the building falls in on itself. Half the blaze is smothered in the crash. The last of the paint flakes off and burns to ash. There is nothing left to save.

You finish the evacuation, hand matters over to the firefighters when they eventually arrive from Silverglade Manor. Linda appears at your side, still holding a bucket, and motions to Anne.

‘We… found something. At the edge of town.’

You follow at a distance, and spot even before Anne does the burning hoofprints that scar the grass.

‘Sabine,’ you growl. Anne’s hands tighten on Concorde’s reigns.

‘How certain are you that they took her?’ she asks. Her two-tone eyes bore into you, and again you get the uncomfortable feeling she knows more than you think.

‘I know,’ you say.

Anne nods. ‘Alright. We’ll finish up here, then we’ll be right behind you.’

Huh?

‘What, d’you mean—?’

‘You’re the fastest of us five, and you just gave a speech about how strong your magic is. We’ll catch up, now go and get her.’

You don’t need to be told twice. It takes three seconds for your horse to enter a gallop, and you tear across the wheat fields, stamping out the little infernos Sabine’s careless riding have created in the crops as you go, past the outskirts of the vineyard, down through Cliffside County, and then over that narrow fjord into the Forgotten Fields.

You can see her by that stage, astride Khaan at the top of a hill, a distinctly human-sized bundle slung across the back of her saddle. Not for the first time, you marvel at Khaan’s strength. Mind corrupted or not, it takes a sheer beast of an animal to handle two adults. It takes you a moment to realise Sabine is waiting for you. As you crest the hill, she mimes checking an invisible watch.

‘You’re late.’

‘Yeah, it’s almost like the arson held me up.’ Your smile is unhinged. ‘Let go of her, Sabine. Tell Sands you couldn’t find her, and high-tail it back to your oily little lair!’

Sabine raises an eyebrow. ‘What ever happened to you “thinking over” our offer, Soul Rider? Slip your mind? Or shall I just tell him you’re not interested anymore?’

You feel his cold grip on your neck, the bruises, barely healed, throbbing under your collar. Your horse shifts beneath you, picking up on your fear, and you shoot another wave of calming magic into her mind. It’s horrible, but you can’t handle her too right now. Sabine seems to notice your magic, and snorts.

‘Hypocrite.’

‘What?’ You snap.

‘All that preaching about our “corrupted” stallions, when you use the same magic on yours.’

‘It’s Aideen’s light,’ you growl. ‘It strengthens our bond, it doesn’t force one.’

Sabine scoffs.

‘And in any case,’ you say, ‘Sands told me he’d wait for my reply. First Katja, now you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to hurry me up.’

‘So narcissistic. It’s not all about you, brat.’

The bundle on Khaan’s back makes a muffled cry, and Sabine raises her fist over it.

‘Don’t!’ Your palm shoots out, and before you realise what you’re doing Sabine is thrown from Khaan’s back as lightning strikes the stallion. With a cry of pain, Khaan bolts.

‘Idiot!’ Sabine scrambles to her feet, her usually immaculate jacket spattered with mud. She raises her own palm, and you brace yourself, conjuring a shield to defend from her flames… But instead, Khaan turns and dashes to Sabine’s side. She puts one hand under his jaw, steadying him, but keeps her eyes on you. The sack on Khaan’s back is trembling.

‘Katja wasn’t lying,’ Sabine says, almost to herself. The look in her eyes is troubling. ‘You really did electrocute Mortifa…’

‘It was an accident!’

Sabine’s smouldering orange eyes turn dark as she glares at you. ‘Liar.’

‘She made me think I was in a nightmare! I was just defending myself.’

Fire breaks out around Sabine’s boots. ‘And Khaan?’ she snaps.

You hesitate.

‘Is this what the druids are telling you to do now?’

‘The druids don’t control me.’

‘Clearly,’ Sabine releases Khaan’s muzzle and mounts him. ‘You might learn some self-control if someone did.’

‘Oh, like you and Sands?’ you sneer. ‘And what’s he got you doing? Kidnapping people!’

‘And yet, the only people I hurt are the ones I want to hurt.’ Sabine flicks Khaan’s reigns and begins riding away. With a curse, you pursue. ‘When I used to lose my temper, whatever annoyed me just… ignited. Spontaneously. Can you imagine that? Toys, games, little biting flies, animals, people… I used to avoid speaking my mind, just in case I made someone annoy me. I played the spoiled princess – the brat my parents wanted – all so they wouldn’t be next to ignite.’

‘Nice,’ you say, spurring your horse to ride faster, ‘Now, hand Bonny over!’

‘You don’t listen, do you? If it weren’t for Sands, you and I wouldn’t be talking now. You’d be ash. What do you think your magic’s going to do if you keep playing the heroic brat, hm?’

‘Scared?’ You sneer – because it’s the only way you can avoid thinking about her words, thinking how scared you are that she’s right.

‘Of course I am,’ Sabine roars. ‘I’m a human being! You’re some eldritch fucking god!’

Terror hits you.

She’s right.

The legends about Aideen are dressed up and pleasant – she crossed a sea to grow tree roots, she played a harp to bring life to Jorvik… But you’re young. You’ve had just a year to discover your powers. And you’re already strong enough to fight Sands to a standstill, to hold the Soul Riders together. You control four circles of magic, and you know you can do far, far more. Perhaps it was the druids, attempting to keep from you the true extent of your power, who decided to limit your understanding of magic this way…

There’s a reason they’re called the Keepers of Aideen.

What else haven’t they told you? What else could you do?

There is a wall in your mind, and as your heart begins to race and you begin once more to panic, you don’t hear the rushing of the sea as it comes ever closer, or the beat of hooves, or Bonny’s muffled pleading, or even the distant calls of your friends as they come to help you save Bonny.

Your horse can feel your terror. Of course she can. Even if your bond were normal, your fear would throw her off. But it isn’t normal. Your bond is the same bond you can’t help forging with every horse you ride – Aideen’s gift, Aideen’s curse, that links your emotions with your steed’s. That bonds you, whether you like it or not.

She rears.

You react.

It doesn't take much, as it turns out. Corrupting a starbreed. All you’re doing is brushing aside their will. And how many times, when you used Aideen’s light to calm wild horses, have you done that in the past?

Sabine reaches the Dark Core barge that was waiting for her, glances back to see you staring in horror at your horse. Her eyes have turned dull gold, magic suppressing everything that would make her deny you, in the slightest regard.

And your friends are there, staring at you both.

Later, you will find an audio recording on your phone – one that has been sent to certain contacts. The Soul Riders, the druids. As it turns out, it’s quite easy to control someone’s phone remotely once you have access to it.

‘All that preaching about our “corrupted” stallions, when you use the same magic on yours.’

‘It’s Aideen’s light. It strengthens our bond, it doesn’t force one. And, in any case, Sands told me he’d wait for my reply. First Katja, now you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to hurry me up.’

But in the moment, you don’t know about the recording, and you don’t know what else to do. Sabine is getting away. Without thinking, you spur your horse on, and leap onto the barge with Sabine. The ramp lifts, and the Soul Riders watch you return to the Rig.

Chapter Text

You always wondered where they slept. Now, in the bowels of the rig, you lie in a militaristic bunk surrounded by the clanking of machinery and the distant stamp of goons patrolling. Far below, you can hear water washing against the metal supports. The mattress is thin, the sickly yellow blanket scratchy. And all you can do is wonder whether this explains the Dark Riders’ short tempers.

You close your eyes, let your breathing calm. Tomorrow’s problems will not come today. Today, all you have left to do is to rest.

Rest, and not think how close you are to him…

You should not do this.

Your eyes snap open, and once more you find yourself in an endless plain of mist, the shifting form of Aideen before you. You scowl.

‘What, no Catherine today? I think this is the first time you’ve tried to talk to me without some proxy present.’

Child, her voice is stern, You must tread lightly. The Chosen of our enemy seeks nothing less than our exploitation. He will hurt you, burn you, devour your mind, whatever he deems necessary to control our might. I had never thought to see you so close to bending.

‘Last time we spoke, you almost got me killed.’

Your actions were reckless. Ill-conceived.

‘And they kept us alive! Listen, you need to butt out of my life. I know what I’m doing.’

You cannot lie to yourself, child.

‘You aren’t me.’

Indeed… I would never be so rash.

‘Psh.’ You squeeze your eyes shut and open them again, rapidly, attempting to wake up.

What lure can he possibly hold for you? Why return, after all he has done? Even his followers warned you of his corrupting influence…

‘The druids never taught me how to control my power. They can’t – they don’t understand it. Don’t understand you. I think they just want to wait until I figure that out for myself – but I can’t wait that long anymore. Not while I’m hurting everyone around me.’

The Dark Rider’s words have infected your mind. Distorted your right and wrong. You cannot possibly think he will help you.

‘Then you do it. You teach me. You tell me, here and now, how I stop your magic killing my horse’s mind! How I stop myself sending magic at even the littlest threat!’

Aideen hesitates. A nasty suspicion passes into your mind.

‘You don’t know, do you?’

I— She falters. I was not… mortal.

‘But you have been. Every single incarnation since you came to the island, thousands of years of being a person!’

As you say… I am not you. I was not them. Only our soul is passed on – a little of our consciousness, held within our power.

‘In other words, you never even tried to help them reign their magic in. What, did you think the problem was going to go away?’

I… My magic is… It responds to island and its horses. When we were born away from Jorvik, there was no magic to tame.

Excuses. The goddess is making excuses. You scoff and turn away, feeling around for that presence you felt when fighting Sands. The powerful, hateful one.

He isn’t far away. You start walking.

Don’t!

‘I only want to talk.’ You shoot her a look. ‘Sands reigns Garnok in on a near daily basis. Whatever their relationship to each other, it’s clearly a lot more balanced than ours.’

Your understanding is flawed, Garnok merely lends a fraction of his power to his disciple – you and I are intertwined! Body and soul. We are one – they are master and servant! Our bonds are not comparable. You cannot go to him expecting an answer.

You keep walking.

You will be killed!

‘That’s what you said last time.’

Her voice grows steadily more distant as you near the creeping presence. Please, child— I ask you not to do this. He seeks nothing less than destruction…

Her voice is smothered as you pass into the secondary presence. It knew you were coming, it felt your approach, and its response is instantly hostile. A jagged wind blows past you, and an instant later a vast tentacle appears from the mist, coiling to crush you. This time, it will kill you.

Remembering last time, once again you draw your power down, condensing it to a single, brilliant, dense point, and as the tentacle reaches you, you blast it away. It howls, recoiling, more enraged than injured. Before it can recover, you raise your hand and let your magic explode again, staggering the beast.

‘Garnok!’ You bark. Instantly it freezes. Did it not realise you knew its name? ‘I want a favour! Play your cards right, and I’ll see what I can do about your release.’

You have no intention of ever letting that go, but it has the knowledge you need. Aideen’s right. Sands is a puppet – there’s only one creature who’d be invested in restraining your magic, and it’s right before you.

Liar.

Information hits your brain backwards. You are flying, falling, your arms aren’t moving though you had full control of them an instant ago. You can’t seem to think clearly, there are stars in your eyes and— The breath is crushed from you.

Garnok slams you to the ground, its hatred more violent now than it was even an instant ago.

Another puppet. Another pest. You insects… You sting once and think yourselves mighty.

One of its tentacles is wrapped tightly around you, squeezing with impossible strength. You try to conjure sparks, but you’re rapidly losing consciousness. You sag, falling limp even as it strengthens its grip.

Your body may be far from this place, little fool, but I have your mind now.

You shudder, something cold slipping across your brain. It’s as if…

Your eyes snap open and you stumble out of bed. Immediately your body fights back, pulls away, your feet move without your command back towards the bunk and your eyes grow heavy—

‘No!’

You tear yourself away, stagger forwards, not caring where you end up, only caring that you need to get away. You pass the sink in the corner of your room, grab the rim as your head swims— get a brief glimpse of your eyes, pulsing dark purple. Your stomach twists, something deep inside of you rebelling at the sight, and you battle the urge to vomit. Something is very wrong.

‘You wish to supress your power?’ Your mouth moves, and a mocking laugh that isn’t your own spills out. ‘Very well, puppet. Submit!’

The same force that overtook you when Sands ordered you to kneel crushes down on you once again, and you gasp as your mind begins to fray. You call on Aideen’s light, but the weak flicker you conjure only elicits a hiss from the presence before the pressure redoubles. Your mouth falls open in shock at the pain.

‘Give in,’ the voice is almost amused. ‘You cannot beat me…’

You slam your fist into the mirror and pain, sharp and clear arcs through your hand as the glass shatters. You grab one of the shards and jab it into your palm, holding it in place until your mind clears. Your eyes flicker in the reflection, returning to normal for just an instant as your pain increases. But then the clouds come back in. Your mouth moves without your volition.

‘Futile.’ It sounds amused.

With a snarl, you move the shard lower. Towards the more sensitive skin… above your wrist…

‘What are you doing?!’

Someone grabs your arm and you flinch, slamming your elbow into their jaw on instinct. They grunt, release you, and the shard falls to the ground, shattering. You whip round, fists raised – and to your shock see Sands, rubbing his jaw.

Chapter Text

He takes you in, eyes raking your body until he meets your gaze. The brief flash of a smile crosses his face.

‘Well, well. Couldn’t resist, could you?’

You open your mouth, and think of something very clever and withering to say. Unfortunately, before the words can leave your lips the nausea from before returns, and you hurl your face over the sink, a stream of black pus exiting your mouth instead.

‘Charming,’ Sands folds his arms. ‘I theorised about this. My master, try as he might, cannot possess a body suffused with Aideen’s light. But, as you are too weak to repel him, your minds will instead be locked in a constant tug of war, growing ever more toxic to one another. It’s really rather fascinating.’

Another stream of the black liquid seeps from your lips, and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. ‘Guhh!’

‘Eloquent as always.’ This time, he really does smirk. ‘Would you like my help?’

It takes all the strength you have left not to punch him in the jaw again. Garnok’s creeping presence rises, his whispering voice wrapping around your brain.

Submit. I will extinguish that light for you…

You summon Aideen’s light, forcing the magic that would ordinarily come so easily to burn the infection inside you. Garnok hisses in pain, but his presence does not retreat. Not for the first time, you’ve miscalculated…

I thought you wanted to be freed, you think. I would’ve offered you a chance—!

—Liar. You seek only to bend power to your will. Both your own, and mine. I am no obeisant nag, to be exploited at your convenience!

Sands mimes yawning. ‘It’s late,’ he muses. ‘Perhaps I should return to bed…’

‘Don’t you dare!’ You spit. A minute later you regret speaking – the nausea returns and you clamp down your hands on the rim of the sink.

His lip curls. ‘Then ask me, nicely, for my help.’

Pathetic.

He’s your pet.

You know to whom I referred.

‘Fine,’ you croak. Sands tilts his head, putting a hand to his ear. The gleam in his eyes says it all – he finds the situation nothing short of delicious.

‘I’m sorry? I didn’t hear a “please”.’

Your stomach begins boiling again, and you gasp in pain. It’s shockingly violent, the stabs that tear through you. All you did was touch Garnok’s mind… What would have happened if, like the druids feared, you ended up coming face to face with it in the flesh?

You would crumble, begging as you died.

‘I’m waiting, Soul Rider,’ Sands sneers. ‘Say please, won’t you?’

Your mouth opens, and everything in you revolts against the idea. No, no you won’t beg, not him! Never! Your fingers go to the shards of mirror, but Sands grabs your wrist.

‘Ah, ah.’

Hate is burning through you, though whether it comes from you or Garnok you can no longer tell. Pain shoots through you and you convulse, breaking Sands’s grip by the violence of the movement. You can’t take advantage of it. Increments of agony mount, and your grip on the sink falters. You don’t even feel yourself slip to the floor, just the dizziness and spots that cloud your vision when your head impacts the floor. Your body twitches, utterly out of your control, blood burning like acid, skin horribly sensitive, freezing and tender all at once. Sands’s boots are right at your eye level. You hear the distant squeak of leather, and he pushes you with his toe, flipping you so you face the ceiling. So you can see him. Only then does he crouch down, coming to your level.

‘I’m not asking much of you, girl. Surely you can manage fundamental manners.’

An overwhelming urge to bite him rises, but in the face of your pain you know he’s right.

‘Please,’ you manage. ‘Help.’

An overwhelming sense of scorn washes through you, Garnok’s snarl of disgust clear in your mind. Sands smiles.

‘There now,’ he reaches out, and the pain prevents you from flinching away as his fingers cup the back of your head. ‘That wasn’t so hard now, was it?’

He doesn’t use magic, that you can tell. Instead, you feel a brief, sharp pain as he pushes something metallic into the back of your neck. Immediately the pain vanishes, and you hear Garnok sigh as it is pushed from your mind.

Pathetic…

Your body’s strength returns, and, as the panic fades, you become horribly aware of the position you’re in. You barely missed the sink when you fell, and your trouser legs have ridden up, embedding your calves with grime from the floor. But the worst part is, he’s still holding your head.

You flinch away, ignoring the stars that burst across your vision at the sudden movement.

‘Oh, is that all it takes to scare you? Remind me, I must let Katja know she’s out of a job…’

He’s joking, but you can still feel your scalp prickling where he touched you. He remains beside you. You’d stand, turn and leave… but your legs won’t support you, you know that, and you don’t want to look any weaker in front of him than you already do. Instead, you bring your hand to the back of your neck and feel for the metal object buried in your skin.

It’s small. About the size of a stamp, and ridged like a circuit board. He’s watching intently, so you take your time before replying, thinking of anything that would throw him off.

‘Why did Bonny make this?’ You say at last. Sands raises an eyebrow.

‘Because she was told to.’ If he’s surprised that you figured out the device’s creator so quickly, he doesn’t show it.

‘You tortured her.’

‘I didn’t have to. Her diaries were an extraordinary collection of blackmail… I wonder what her friends in Valedale would think if they knew she was behind my army.’

You glare at him. ‘They already know.’

‘Shame they didn’t mention that to her. Poor Bonnibel… so easily affected by guilt and fear.’

‘You’re loving this, aren't you?’

‘I’m human,’ Sands shrugs. ‘We all have our pleasures in life.’

‘Yeah, yours just happens to be tormenting people.’

‘Far from it. I enjoy solving problems.’

You stall, realising you’re getting nowhere with this. Taking a new tack, you feel the device one last time before pulling your hand away.

‘You had this thing with you when you came in. Why? What does it do?’

‘Questions, questions. Before you go on, do answer one of mine.’ Sands leans in, breaching your personal space by a good four inches. You move back, but he follows. ‘I’m not so arrogant as to think my offer alone would tempt you back here. Do tell, Soul Rider… why return? Why seek out my master the instant you were able?’ His breath is artificial mint, masking a foul aroma. It invades your nostrils, and it’s a physical effort not to hold your breath.

‘You wanted me back. I’m back.’

‘And with less discipline than ever.’

You narrow your eyes. Sabine had gone to see him as soon as the barge docked, leaving you to be escorted by goons. It probably said a lot about your state of mind that you hadn’t even thought of Bonny until long after they brought you to your room. ‘You know why.’

‘Do I?’

He wants, you realise, to hear you say it. To admit what you did. To reveal yourself as the greatest hypocrite in Jorvik. You snarl. He just continues to smile.

‘I warned you what would happen if you continued to constrain your power. The druids approached it most short sightedly.’ He pauses, examining you so closely you’re forced to look away. ‘Let me guess. Your emotions are beginning to dictate how your power manifests?’ He never uses the word “magic” to describe it, you notice.

‘That’s normal.’ You still can’t meet his eyes, though you can feel his gaze, boring into you.

‘As normal as a cancer.’

This statement sends a chill through you, though you couldn’t say why. It’s the same inherent feeling of wrongness as the twist at the end of a ghost story. He’s right, you know without understanding how you know. The skin directly around the device on your neck grows itchy.

‘You’ve lost control. Haven’t you?’

It isn’t a question, not really. Even if he weren’t smirking, that much is obvious. You draw a deep, shaky breath, steadying yourself before speaking.

‘My question.’ You say. ‘What does this thing do?’ You tap the device in your neck. ‘Dampen my magic?’

‘Magic,’ he scoffs, and you finally feel indignant enough to meet his eyes. ‘How can someone so powerful be so naïve?’

There has to be an award for not punching someone this aggravating. Sands watches you for a moment, a frown settling on his face.

‘That was invitation for you to try and shock me, by the way.’

‘Uh?’

‘And the linguistic marvels continue. You want to know what it does? Call your lightning. Try and shock me.’

It is, you realise, strange that your hands haven’t started sparking by now. Ordinarily, all the irritation you’ve been feeling would’ve set your magic off…

‘It suppresses it.’ You see the surprise flit across his face, and feel a sting of satisfaction that you were right. ‘How?’ You won’t play his games. Not completely. If he wanted you to call your magic, you can only imagine it either failing, or rebounding on you. He wouldn’t have looked so smug if it was going to work.

Rather than answering, he turns and walks from the room, leaving the door open behind him. You follow.

‘How does it work?’ His voice is soft, but in the confined space it carries to you with perfect clarity. ‘It works because Bonnibel Blair is a genius. All those years, wasting her time and her talent on clocks… in all my centuries, I’m not ashamed to admit I could never have made the connections she does.’ He reaches another door, opens it, and you find yourself in an elaborate room that can only be a private library. Something about the style seems familiar, and it takes you a moment to realise how similar the space is to the library in Silverglade Manor. You don’t want to consider it, after all the research you and Linda have done there over the years, but is it possible – did he build it?

Ignoring your hesitancy, Sands walks over to an open book on one of the tables, and turns it as he talks so you can see the illustration. It’s a book of myths. Aideen’s myths.

‘Your…’ his lip curls. ‘“Magic” needs to feed something. Rather, perhaps it’s more accurate to say it needs to be drained into something. If it isn’t, it begins to overflow, and cause the exact problems you’ve been experiencing. Short temper, loss of self-control, magical outbursts… a disregard for your own safety…’

‘It’s called “having a personality”.’ You fire back. He raises an eyebrow.

‘If you had never set foot on Jorvik, your power never would have awakened. These symptoms would not exist. It seems a number of your predecessors escaped the condition that way. Unfortunate that Catherine didn’t.’

You stiffen.

‘I would’ve rather liked to meet my daughter-in-law.’

‘What do you mean?’ Your mind is already racing, filling in the blanks. ‘She died in childbirth.’

‘No, she didn’t.’ He taps the illustration with a finger. Aideen, growing the ancient trees. ‘The goddess had her own methods to syphon her power. The trees, for one.’

That’s why he knows, you think. Dark Core had been studying the Wild Weave for a while now…

‘But when she took on mortal form, her power became quite toxic to her hosts. I hadn’t finished listing the symptoms – they worsen with age, and with use. Insomnia becomes common. I’ve had my brushes with it over the decades, can’t say it’s particularly enjoyable… Hallucinations. Seizures. Although some people skip the seizures and go straight to organ failure.’ He closes the book and this time the look he gives you is calculating rather than cruel. ‘Still believe the druids could manage it with conversation and tea in the woods?’

‘So, this thing drains my magic.’ You fold your arms, squeezing to hide the way your hands shake. ‘I had batteries at home, you know.’

He gives a dry chuckle. It might be the first time he’s laughed at one of your jokes. ‘Not a battery. A dam. Blocks the natural flow of your pow— of your “magic”. If your hippy friends have taught you anything about meridians and chi flow, the principle is fairly similar. Runestones just tend to be more reliable than crystals.’ Before you can defend the calm some people find from crystal healing, he speaks again, without the scorn this time. ‘I would not recommend forcing it while the dam is active. Without the natural flow, at best you’ll only hurt yourself.’

‘At best?’

‘At worst, you’ll cause the conditions to progress.’ Sands narrows his eyes. ‘I wasn’t joking about the insomnia. It’s a hellish existence, with or without modern medicine.’

You nod, slowly. Everything he’s saying fits. Something’s off, you’re not quite sure what, but it’s true that without your magic you wouldn’t have the problems that came with it. You wonder if you can reverse your horse’s corruption the same way... And then, at last, it dawns on you what the problem is.

‘And in return?’

He tilts his head.

‘You didn’t cure this for free. You said you wanted to use my magic before. Is this… permanent?’

‘Far from it,’ Sands replies. You didn’t notice him picking it up when he closed the book, but in the space between blinks he’s holding a remote. Instantly, you feel your power return, surging back into your veins full force. It’s such a physical, exhilarating relief that you barely notice Garnok’s continued absence from your mind. And then he presses the button again and you flinch as cold floods your body, some invisible gate slamming shut. ‘There now,’ he smiles. ‘I think that’s far more manageable. Don’t you?’

Chapter Text

You jolt awake, lightning arcing down your spine, as you smack your head off the bunk above you. With a groan you double over. What time is it? It must’ve been years since you woke up before your alarm… late nights at the stables really take their toll. Yawning enormously, you look up. The panicked face of Jay looks right back.

‘You actually fell for it?’

Your panic is quickly killed off as you remember where you are and what you were doing here.

‘Mornin’.’ You mumble, blinking up at the Dark Rider. Jay scoffs.

‘I thought Sabine was joking. Katja made me come and check but… you’re actually joining us? Why?’

‘Oh, for the company, clearly.’

‘I can’t believe this.’ Jay turns away shaking their head as though merely looking at you is giving them brain fog. ‘You hypocritical bastard.’

‘You don’t sound happy,’ you smirk.

‘Garnok’s tentacles… I should throw you in the sea. All the grief you’ve given us! If you were going to join us anyway, could you maybe have done it a little sooner? Say, before you attacked a certain, very expensive operation in Mistfall that I happened to have financial stakes in?!’ Their voice rises to a shout, and you roll your eyes.

‘You know most people who are caught blatantly polluting a natural park at least have the sense to look ashamed.’

‘The type of small-time GED muppets who get “caught” probably think an apology is a brand of ice cream! You didn’t catch me, you charged me on a warmblood screaming like a barbarian!’

‘Yeah,’ you shrug, ‘And you ran like a coward.’

Jay’s eyes turn dark. ‘What did you just say?’

‘All that shape changing you can do, and you can’t magic up some regret?’ You shake your head in disgust. ‘I called you a coward, Jay. At least have the guts to admit you—’

‘Shut your mouth before I shut it for you!’ The voice that comes out of Jay’s mouth isn’t their own. A hybridised mash of all your old enemies leaks out – from Darko to Sands. You scowl.

‘Don’t do that. It’s creepy.’

Jay laughs, still with the same villain mixtape of a voice. ‘Like your magic’s normal! Corrupt any horses lately, parasite?’

‘That’s enough!’ You rise, hit your head off the bunk again, and Jay’s laughter only intensifies. You snarl, clenching your fists – screw control, you’re gonna—

But the lightning doesn’t come.

You’re so caught off guard, all you can do is stare at your fists, at the absence of pink sparks. You shake one. Still nothing.

Jay is watching you, a sly smile on their face. ‘Something wrong?’

You hadn’t forgotten about Sands’s device. About the metal thing buried in your neck. But somehow you thought – you thought it would be de-activated as soon as you left his office. Oh no. No, you’re starting to realise how bad this is.

‘Technical issues?’ Jay says innocently.

They knew, you realise. That’s why they felt safe coming to taunt you, even after you frightened Katja off… They were baiting you.

‘Aww, don’t feel bad,’ Jay’s green eyes glitter as they stride forward, throwing an arm around your shoulders before you can flinch away. ‘Everyone gets performance anxiety now and then!’

‘Get off!’ You try to pull away, but Jay’s form shifts, and with it their strength. They grow taller, muscles bulging like boulders and their face distorting until you see again the monster that the horse thief, Mr Anwir, became. The monster with Jay’s eyes sighs in contentment, your struggles yielding no more success than they would against the real thing.

‘I think I can work with you like this. It’s almost endearing – you yap like a chihuahua.’ They pause, looking down at you. ‘Aw, don’t panic. We haven’t even gone on a mission together yet! I wonder what your little friends will think when they see you. Although, knowing you…’ And Jay’s voice changes, adopting the posh, serious tone that Anne always takes with you. ‘You still think you’re better than us?’

‘I’m not better than them.’ Your voice comes out shakier than you would like. Jay can feel you trembling in their grip, and makes a sound of amusement.

‘That’s what I thought.’

They release you, form reverting back to normal, and they smile as you back into your bunk, shaking.

‘I wasn’t entirely honest, you know. Katja didn’t send me, Mr Sands did. He’s got a little job for you in Silverglade.’ Jay leans back and settles onto your bunk. With a sideways look at you, they add, ‘I think you’re going to have a blast.’

Chapter Text

You feel your horse’s presence before you see her. Even without your magic, something, some sixth sense, alerts you to her proximity and as you round the corner and come down onto the metal grates just above the sea where the boats are moored, you see her. Uncorrupted.

Relief rips through you, painful in its intensity, and ignoring Jay, ignoring the goons still patrolling, you run to her side and bury your face in her neck. To her credit, she tolerates your touch, even when you start sobbing into her mane – though it is at this point she starts sampling your hair. That only makes you cry harder; she doesn’t hate you.

Jay clears their throat.

‘When you’ve quite finished this… display, we’ve got a job to do. Get on the boat.’

You turn and see them leading Acerbus aboard. The ivory mawari gives you a piercing green glare a little too similar to Jay’s as he passes you. Swallowing, you guide your horse aboard. The boat rumbles into life, burning how much fuel you don’t want to think. Jay clears their throat again.

‘So,’ they say. ‘May as well ask… you being the multi-talented goody two-shoes that you are, did you happen to pick up a pyro license on one of your excursions?’

You blink. ‘Uh…’ In all honesty, you have. Someone was having trouble at a festival, you heard a digital pyrotechnics course wasn’t too long… Anyway, the fireworks display went off without a hitch in the end. Smiles all round. But now… Those licences are the kind that allow people to buy dangerous quantities of fireworks. Gunpowder. Explosives…

‘Yes or no.’

‘…Yeah.’ Agreeing is the easiest way to find out their plans.

‘Good!’ Jay glances up as the barge comes ashore. Fort Pinta – it’s not a million miles away from Silverglade. It’s also the easiest place to get fireworks, thanks to James… ‘Run along then. We need a few dozen boxes of Type Ones.’

The kind normally marked “for industrial use only”…

‘For what?’

Jay raises an eyebrow. ‘You’ll find out.’

‘Hell no. I’m not buying anything until I know what they’re for!’

Jay sighs. ‘Do I need to start threatening you? Already?’

You clench your fists. Forget your magic a minute, you’ve done one or two training sessions with Ricky – you know a decent amount of Jor Jitsu. Jay’s an illusionist, not a combatant. You doubt very much they could shift before you get a good hit in.

‘Alright,’ Jay rolls their eyes. ‘I guess I do. If you don’t get me those exp— fireworks, I won’t take you back to the rig.’

You frown. This is meant to be a threat?

‘Garnok’s maw, you’re dense. If you don’t play ball, you aren’t getting your magic back. Mr Sands has your off switch now, remember? Besides, if you refuse I can always just ride on over to that kid and take them.’

‘Don’t you dare.’

James has been put through more than enough by Katja – the last thing he will ever need is another Dark Rider taking an interest in him. As for your magic…

You reach up to the back of your neck, never taking your eyes off Jay, and fumble for the device. It’s strange – it takes you longer to find than it did yesterday. When your thumb finally slides over it, you seize the edges and yank, as hard as you can. Sands barely had to touch you to attach it; how secure can it be? But there’s no give, and you gasp, startled by the pain that hits you as you try to pull it out. Jay rolls their eyes.

‘So dramatic.’

You slip your thumb over it again, and to your horror you realise that the metallic rectangle, barely more than an inch long, is burrowing into your skin. You have no idea how deep it runs, but it must be close to a nerve because the pain when you tried to remove it was blinding. Even as you rest your thumb on it, you can feel the soft hum of machinery as it slides millimetre by millimetre deeper. In another day, you realise, it would be deep enough for the skin to scab over it.

‘What, did you think we were stupid?’ Jay glares at you and steps off the barge, away from the goons. You’ve no choice but to follow. Jay leads you to the slope at the base of Fort Pinta and drops their voice. ‘I know what you’re doing. Don’t face them – they can lip-read,’ they add as you glance back to the goons. ‘Mr Sands might think you’re here willingly, but I know you. I’ve even been you on a couple of occasions, not that your friends noticed.’

‘Wha—’

‘Don’t shout. Keep your voice down,’ they huff. ‘I know why you think you’re here. Gathering intelligence, gaining our trust. I know you’ll betray us to your little friends the first chance you get.’

‘Yeah?’ You try to keep your voice steady in spite of how your pulse is thundering. You’d tried not to think about it – what the Soul Riders might have heard you saying to Sabine before you corrupted your horse and fled onto a Dark Core barge. How they hadn’t come right after you. ‘If that’s what you think, how come you’re not snitching to them right now?’ You jerk your head at the goons. Jay scowls.

‘Believe it or not, this is me doing something nice. I don’t like having to watch Mr Sands punish people. I’m not a sadist or a meathead. Ruins my sleep… and I’m sure you know what that does to your pores. Just take my advice, girl. You’ve already given too much of yourself to him. From now on, anything you do, any misstep you make, he will know, and you will learn to do as you’re told.’

You swallow, Sabine’s warning, Katja’s warning, both ringing in your head. All those defeats the Dark Riders have suffered at your hands over the years… maybe there’s a reason beyond pride that they resent you.

‘What… did he do to you?’

Jay narrows their eyes. ‘Just get the fireworks. We don’t have all day.’

*          *          *

Fireworks stowed, you follow Jay and Acerbus up a small costal path. It’s far from the most direct route you could take, but you know why they’re avoiding the main roads. Unbidden, your mind remembers – it’s Monday. Alex will be visiting James, Linda’s off to Starshine Ranch to help Lisa set up the new apple juice honesty stall… and Anne will be at Steve’s, teaching kids how to ride. On any normal day, you could visit them all in the span of one morning, lending a hand wherever it was needed… but today, Anne is in your path. Alex is too close for comfort. And Lisa’s spontaneity and Linda’s unpredictability (so often she turns up late because she was stuck in a book…) make for a very anxious ride across Jorvik. And the squirrels – any one of them could be one of Spymaster’s agents. The seagulls – why did you have to train them up… at least when Dark Core spies on you, you know what to shoot down. Now every shadow that passes in the sky could be a threat.

Desperate for a distraction, you spur your horse to catch up with Jay and trot alongside them.

‘How come you aren’t disguised?’ You ask. You’d always assumed that when Jay left for Dark Rider missions, it was never wearing their own skin. Jay scoffs.

‘I can’t invent forms. Do you have any idea the kinds of questions that would be raised if some rider saw themself, out for a ride? If I didn’t have photos spread across the web detailing my exact whereabouts, I’d have curious morons getting in my way. No, better to take the chance. Besides. If you’d ever put any effort into your appearance, you wouldn’t be asking.’

You grunt. Touché.

The manor looms in the distance, and Jay breaks from the path, heading towards it. Dread pools in your stomach. What has that horrible old maggot got planned for the Baroness now? Is he going to stage some terror attack only to have Jay swoop in and save her, presenting him in a gallant light? Does he really think he could ever convince her to take him back? The thought makes you feel sick.

‘Jay,’ you mutter, nearing the mansion, ‘What are we doing?’

‘Shh.’

‘But—’

‘Shh.’ Jay twists in their saddle to glare at you. ‘You’ll be happy when it’s done.’

Dread pools in your stomach. You’re moving away from the mansion itself now, following along one of the walls as it curves round the vineyard slopes. On the other side, you hear a rider canter past, executing a jump with a delighted gasp. And then you turn down, heading across the fields towards the Baroness’s Racetrack. Your eyes move automatically to the vast bronze statue. The Baroness’s first horse, immortalised in metal. An unwanted gift from Sands, to celebrate the opening of her racetrack. Over forty years since she’d last seen him. Over forty years since she’d wanted to. Jay slips one of the rockets out of your saddle with a smile.

‘Ready?’

Before you can reply, Jay is off. They lean down, burying the rocket in the ground, then turn and flee back to your side, manic glee in their eyes. But the explosive isn’t set at the racetrack. It’s set at the GED site right next to it.

Jay’s eyes move to yours, drinking in your confusion.

‘Well?’ Jay smirks. ‘Go on then. We haven’t got all day.’

Six times you circle the site, making sure none of the GED employees spot you. The fuses are wrapped together, and you feed it out carefully as you ride back to Jay. The Dark Rider hands you a lighter.

‘Oh, what? You need your powers for this too?’

You’ve said it to yourself so many times. That there are threats on Jorvik the druids just won’t deal with. Abusers. Black corporations. The type of people who poison everything they touch, everything you love about the island. You’d normally wait for the employees to get clear. The oil they’ve let spill into the land, killing it and any animal who tries to feed near it, will certainly go up like Garnok’s Fury. Normally, you’d warn them. Normally, they’d go right back to doing it somewhere else.

You click the lighter, and everything explodes.

*          *          *

You wonder, back on the barge, if you’re allowed to be laughing right now. Joking with Jay. Doing impressions of the fleeing, flaming GED employees. You wonder if this is right. You wonder if the guilt is even your own, or if it comes from Aideen and Catherine, sitting on the sidelines and judging you.

Between blinks, you’re back at the Rig. Another blink, and you’re in his office, with Jay being subtly dismissed. And now Sands is watching you, hands steepled, a smile playing on his face.

‘I told you I’d keep my word,’ he says. ‘GED will be chased off the island. If that’s still what you want. Did you enjoy that?’

Hardly realising you’re doing it, you nod. Sands’s smile twists.

‘Good. That’s my girl.’

In a rush, you feel your magic return, and gasp. It’s a physical relief, a rush of power so potent and so intoxicating it feels like your heart is singing. For a moment you close your eyes and drink it in, feeling your consciousness expanding, touching the mind of your horse, just for an instant. Feeling her will and her sense of self dissolving under your touch.

You grab for the remote, but Sands holds it out of your grasp, eyes narrowed until you manage,

‘Off!’

Then, and only then, does he cut your power off at the source.

You sag, drained and despairing.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sands puts the remote away, tilts his head, giving you his full attention. You swallow.

‘I thought… I thought she’d be back to normal for good.’

‘You know that isn’t how it works.’

He’s right. You hate it, but he’s right.

‘All it means,’ Sands says, reaching across the desk and resting his hand on yours, ‘Is that you need to learn better control. That’s why you came to me, isn’t it? You will learn control.’

And he rises, crossing towards his bedroom. As he passes you, he reaches out and gives your shoulder a squeeze.

Chapter Text

Old Hillcrest is a festering corpse. You can’t remember the last time you set foot here – even in your mad dash to get weird pictures in obscure locations you didn’t want to come back here. There was a town here, once. You wish you could’ve seen it. As historic as Jarlaheim, the crown jewel of Epona, a haven for those investigating the marshes or just needing a stopping off point while hiking up to the Observatory. Until nine years ago. GED bought the land, built the hideous “New” Hillcrest, forced everyone to move and blew those wonderful old buildings to bits.

As if they couldn’t be any more depraved, the so-called luxury apartments they’ve been erecting for those past nine years are a front. No work is done. Nothing beyond the exterior walls, and the occasional lights show for the more gullible who think the project just needs time. Behind the scenes, they mine for drakonium and pocket the countless artefacts they find in the rubble. You’ve heard horror stories from the spies Mrs X still sends to the area – roman coins melted down because their metal is more valuable than their history. Two-thousand year old pottery smashed underfoot as they bring in heavier machinery. It’s disgusting. And that’s without even counting the cost their presence has had on the environment.

Wherever GED sets foot, oil leaks and chemical spills follow, blackening the land, killing any life in the soil. The swamps nearby are teeming with insects – here, you’ve never even seen an ant.

No scavengers. No crows. Not even a fox. Nothing survives. Everything is poisoned.

And today, you’re going to evict them.

On the roof next to you is a kite, a radio, and a banana. You eat as you watch the workers, crawling across the fake building site, hauling drakonium across it like fat grubs. You’ve been keeping notes. Researching. It would be boring work, but you know how easy it will be to revive the land once the infections are cleared – and that keeps you fixated hour after hour as they slowly move round. The trucks leave every three hours. In the meantime, the workers mine, transport, stabilise the volatile drakonium, and load the next cargo container. You were surprised when Sands had no objection to you doing this. You’d thought all the drakonium Dark Core had came from their fragile alliance with GED, but you realise now this one operation can’t possibly account for everything they’ve obtained. You’ve seen their arsenal, accompanied by the ever-watchful Sabine. It’s vast.

Of course it occurs to you that they’re just using you to get rid of GED, but quite frankly you don’t care. They’re evil, infectious bastards and it’s time they got what was coming to them.

A new truck pulls up, its horn blaring. Immediately all the grubs move away, grabbing their lunches, avoiding eye contact, and generally doing everything possible to avoid being the one who has to actually move the drakonium into position to be loaded. You wonder if any of the black marks on the ground are old scorch marks from someone who got it wrong.

You finish the banana. GED might be breaking for lunch, but for you… it’s go time.

There’s only one worker who uses this rooftop, and as you hear his clunky footsteps draw nearer you drop the banana skin over the side of the tower. It lands, beautifully, on one of the staircases and six seconds later you hear a yelp, a crash, and the wet sound of pudding splatting onto the ground three stories below.

‘RIGHT, THAT’S IT!’ The footsteps turn and crash back down the stairs, the other grubs turning to watch as their colleague storms over to one of the other workers. ‘I’ve had enough! You’ve done that four times now! Why’s it so hard to just bin the skins!’

‘Wasn’t me!’

‘You’re the only one gross enough to eat bananas!’

‘Oh you don’t wanna start this!’

‘Oh don’t I?!’

It took you a very short time to find out about the banana feud. Turns out, the only thing the grubs do besides work, eat and sleep is complain. And thanks to Mrs X and her lovely surveillance equipment, you’ve had an easy time finding today’s weakness.

Once you found out the banana-eater had a reputation for not binning his skins, you just had to find the right places to leave some new ones.

Stairs work quite well.

The entry to the mine, where people are carrying volatile rocks and really can’t afford to trip.

Beside the cliff edge…

The first punch is thrown, and finally the driver of the truck turns off his engine and gets out to watch. It’s pointless going to a supervisor – the banana-eater is the most senior person on site. All that’s left is for the grubs to swarm round and watch the fun – at just the right angle that when you kick the first two barrels of oil off the edge of the building, they see nothing.

The barrels roll, their contents sliding across the already polluted soil. It’s fine. It’ll all be burned off soon enough… They stop, bumping gently against the drakonium crate. A perfect line runs from your building to the cargo. You smile, lift the radio and the kite, and stroll down from the building, unnoticed by anyone.

When you reach the fallen barrels, you set down the radio, twist the volume knob to max, then turn it on and run like hell. DJ Kai’s Crash and Burn blares out.

The grubs jump.

A few, the more easily bored, come away from the fight to investigate. As you move, you hear a gasp of panic, quickly followed by,

‘Oi! Get over here, now! We’ve got spillage!’

Funny. Now they care about oil leaking.

The grubs squirm on over, in dribs and drabs, until the severity of the situation becomes apparent even to the pair still fighting over banana peels and they too run on over to the crate. Right at the very edge of the building site, as far from the half-finished facades as you could get them.

You sprint between houses, drop the final charge, unwind another length of cord from the kite’s string and bind it to the others.

You feed your makeshift fuse out, backing away, into the secret passage, praying none of them will spot you until you’re done.

You take out the lighter Jay gave you, green as their eyes. In a moment of childish distraction, you hold it over one eye, seeing Old Hillcrest through the emerald lens. It’s so easy to imagine what Old Hillcrest will look like in a few years when you do that… Something moves in your periphery and you jump, twisting. But there’s nothing there.

You grin. That makes a change – something going right for once. You click the lighter and run deep into the secret passage. Behind you, there is a yell. You grab your ears and throw yourself against the thick rocks, covering up in time for the explosion.

It deafens you.

But the shockwave you’re expecting, the shower of debris, doesn’t come.

Huh.

You wonder if all the charges went off. Oh shoot – did someone find them at the last minute? Cut the fuse just as the flames touched the first charge? You knew you should’ve used the drakonium… but without your lightning, setting them off from a distance would’ve been tough. Sighing, you get to your hands and knees and crawl back around the corner, squinting through the dust.

A vast pink shield surrounds the site – and though the buildings have been reduced to dust, everything outside; the trucks, the walls, the fuel spillages, the grubs and their truck and their drakonium-filled trailer; is intact.

Crap.

Alex lowers her hands, letting out a huge breath as the shield flickers and vanishes. You’ve never seen her conjure something so large before – she looks exhausted. You start to rise, open your mouth to ask if she’s alright. And she turns and meets your eyes, and forces back tears.

‘Don’t move!’

She raises her hands again, lightning crackling.

‘If you try anything,’ she warns, ‘You know what I’ll do!’

You stare at her.

‘Alex—’

A blast of lightning shatters the stone beside you, and the tears she was holding back spill out over her furious scowl. ‘How could you?!’

A wave of emotion hits you, and you don’t want to cry in front of her, you really don’t want to, but your heart hurts.

‘I promise,’ you say, fighting to keep your voice normal as the tears fall, ‘It isn’t what it looks like Alex, I swear it isn’t!’

‘I saw what you did! We all did! After everything you said to us, after everything we went through together—’ her voice breaks, ‘Why?’

She lost control just now, you think. The same way you do when you lose your temper. Except you’ve got more than lightning to unleash. You wonder if you should be honest. You wonder if she’d listen. Alex is short-tempered at the best of times…

‘You know I lose control sometimes! I’m just using him until I work out how to control it, that’s all, Alex! I swear!’

She stares at you.

And then lightning hits your face.

‘Shoot! Shoot, shoot shoot! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! I thought you’d shield yourself! I’m so sorry—’

You can’t process the words. They float through your mind, distant and empty. There’s probably pain, but all you take in is the smell of ozone and some distant barbeque.

Or is that you?

‘Lisa! I need— Oh shoot, come on! There’s got to be phone reception here we’re on a mountain— Hold on! I’m getting help!’

She’s done this before. The older words make it to your brain, and you mentally acknowledge them with a shrug. She’s right. You do always shield yourself. You never really noticed before, but you can kinda feel when someone else casts a spell… it was like a game. You trained a lot that way. Alex and Anne would sling spells, you’d shield yourself… Would Sands even call them spells, since he doesn’t like using the word “magic”? What a weirdo. Oh, you can feel something now. And. It’s not nice. Oh-kay. It’s spreading. You’re burning. No… burning is external. This is very much internal. You’re cooking.

‘Lisa! Thank Aideen, some reception! I’m at that creepy GED site with the awful grey buildings! The err… up on the mountain! Near the vineyard— no, not Silverglade, the other one! In Epon— yeah! Look, I found her, but I need you, fast! She’s hurt— like, she’s really hurt!’

Oh, yeah. You should probably heal yourself.

Err…

Why isn’t it working again…?

Oh yeah… your magic.

You asked him to shut it off.

There’s something cold on your face.

‘Lisa's coming! She said you have to stay awake. You hear me, you idiot?! You can’t go to sleep! Shoot— You’ve got so much explaining to do, you—’

‘Catherine, shove off,’ you glare at the light as it comes closer. ‘I’m not dying, you drama queen!’

I’m… afraid… you are. And for once, she actually does sound afraid.

Chapter Text

You screwed up.

Pain keeps you half-conscious, trapped between the conversations inside and outside your mind. You can’t focus on either. Catherine is saying something, warning you of something. Linda is here, is with Lisa. Linda’s reading something, casting some kind of spell, while Lisa holds her hands over you. Alex is panicking. Your eyes drift.

Stay—

‘—awake dammit!’

The GED workers are approaching now, some have noticed the commotion, or perhaps they’re just following the fuse lines. Alex is distracted from her tears as Linda shouts something, turns and throws up a shield just as the first worker tries to get near you.

Catherine is shaking her head. Her form is different, you notice. Hazy. Shadowed. As you watch, some kind of distortion takes hold of her, and she fights it off, barely. Then she goes back to talking at you.

—need to focus! Your friends—

A black horse with flaming red eyes crests the top of the hill, and its rider glares at you.

‘Dammit,’ Lisa mutters again. ‘Not her. Not now—’

‘Alex!’ Linda calls, eyes still on her book, ‘We need that lightning!’

‘I… What if I hit you?’

‘You’ve never caught us before! Come on, this isn’t the time to be doubting yourself!’

‘Judging by the state of her, I’d say it’s exactly the time to be worried.’ Sabine closes in, Khaan scattering the wave of GED workers by the smouldering of his hooves. He glowers at the Soul Riders’ horses, halting just before Alex’s shield. Sabine narrows her eyes, and presses her hand to it.

On any other day, Alex’s shield would shock on contact. Today, it begins to splinter under Sabine’s touch.

Alex flinches. Sabine’s lip curls.

‘You’re off your game, Cloudmill.’

‘And you’re outnumbered.’ Linda slams the book closed.

 ‘Oh yes, I’m shaking in my boots at the thought of your memory magic. As for Lisa… I’d say she’s a little busy at the moment.’ Her eyes scan your face and as she moves forward the cracks in the shield grow. ‘Alex, Alex, Alex… And you say I have anger issues.’

The others look at her, expecting a retaliation, a grin, a jab. Even a bolt of lightning. Instead, even from where you lie you can see Alex’s shoulders trembling.

‘What,’ Sabine sneers, ‘Did she make one quip too many? Not so funny when you’re on the other side of it, is it, Alex? But then I always did say I had better self-control than you.’

You see Catherine again, swimming in and out of focus.

She’s shouting.

What’s she shouting?

Pain is rippling through you, blinding in its intensity. The world is red, then white. You can hear someone laughing.

‘Alex—!’

Something breaks.

Someone gasps in pain.

A rush of cold, then a blast of heat, and the sharp sting as every hair on your head is yanked back.

You feel your legs swing in empty air, blink to clear the white mist flooding your vision – but all you can see is Catherine, eyes wide, screaming for help as something enormous erupts from the ground and drags her into the void. An eye pierces you. The pupil alone is double the size of your body, the iris a violent, malevolent purple. And then it’s gone.

You come back to yourself, open your eyes to see the ground rushing past. You moan, try to move, but a hand holds you in place, pinning you down.

‘Can you stop trying to kill yourself for five seconds?’ Sabine snarls. You blink again. Dark fur, flaming hoofprints. You’ve been slung across Khaan’s back like an unwelcome piece of luggage. And your skull is burning like it’s just been dipped in hot magma.

With a groan, you fall back into unconsciousness.

Whatever healing Lisa managed to do while you were with them, it wasn’t enough. By the time Sabine dumps you on the floor of Sands’s office, you’re too weak to move, let alone protest as he stoops down over you and examines your face. You just about manage to groan as his fingers meet your skin.

‘I take it your friends objected to your mission.’

A strangled sound escapes your throat and he chuckles.

‘This is why you need your power. I told you that you would. The only way you will ever learn control is by using what you have.’

‘Is this the time for a lecture?’ Sabine snaps. You feel a wave of surprised gratitude, but it’s quickly extinguished as Sands gives her a look. Her already perfect posture turns rigid.

‘When I want you to speak, you’ll know. Get out.’

She doesn’t hesitate. Practically runs. You don’t understand it – she was standing up for you just a moment ago… why is she scared? The taste of blood and the way your vision swims make it hard to think straight.

‘Now, girl, just you and me.’

Sands takes out the remote, holds it so you can see. He tilts his head.

‘Shall I give you your power back? Would you like that?’

Is he really expecting you to speak? You open your mouth, and find your tongue so dry it’s changed shape. An inhuman sound emerges. Sands narrows his eyes.

‘You were very definite before. You don’t like corrupting your horse – I need to know this is what you want. Look at me – blink once for yes.’

You blink.

And in a heartbeat your magic is back, crashing through your veins like an elixir, like a drug. Your seize it and command it, the star’s healing light flooding you and banishing the pain effortlessly, clearing all the confusion and the sickness from before, stronger by far than Lisa’s feeble attempt. You’re laughing, drunk off the energy it’s giving you. Distantly, a horse is suffering. A little more magic, and it stops fighting back.

Sands offers you his hand. You grab it, pulling yourself to your feet. And return as you do to the one lucid thought you had while in pain.

You. Screwed. Up.

What have you done?

‘There, now. You feel better, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ you grin before you can really think about it.

‘That’s my girl. Don’t worry about Hillcrest. Katja finished what you started. Properly. There won’t be a GED employee for a hundred miles around that site – plenty of space for nature to heal, hm?’

He goes to put his hand on your shoulder, but you duck out of the way.

‘Don’t!’ you snap. The magic is rising in your veins, amplifying any emotion it comes into contact with. And it is fucking glorious to be angry right now. ‘You don’t give a shit about nature.’

‘But you do.’ He’s still smiling.

‘Wipe that look off your face. I wouldn’t have even been there if you weren’t done with GED – don’t pretend you did me a favour.’

And the smile does drop from his face.

‘I’ve kept my side of the deal – I’ve sabotaged, I’ve blown up whatever you wanted. I didn’t agree to fight my friends!’

‘Your “friend” did this without any provocation.’

You freeze. ‘You were watching?’

‘Oh yes.’ He leans in and puts his hand on your shoulder. A chill runs through you, starting at the place where his skin makes contact with yours. Sabine’s fear comes to mind – and you’re afraid to pull away. Your own creeping paranoia is back, and your neck, so close to his hand, again begins to itch as the old bruises throb.

‘You’re being quite ungrateful, aren’t you? You’ve blown up “whatever I wanted”? Child, if I was only self-interested, those sites would still be fully operational. I could use GED. I did use it. It operated in my blind spots, it covered my weaknesses. I have halved my imports of drakonium, my work force, my transports – all because it was what you wanted. What you demanded. If we’re going to behave like children, accusing each other of selfishness… perhaps just tot up what you have gained, and what I have lost over the course of our partnership first.

‘And as for making you fight your “friends”, I will remind you I have issued no such command. This may seem difficult to believe, but I do have your best interests at heart.’

A sudden emptiness cuts through you, and you gasp as a gate slams on your power. He lowers the remote, and you stare at him. Before you can think of a retort, your horse’s mind touches yours, flooded with pain and betrayal. It’s overwhelming, and you fight not to let any of it show on your face as Sands lets you go.

‘You’ll be staying far away from them in future. Clearly, I can’t expect anyone to behave like an adult… though I did expect better of you.’ He sits behind his desk, pulls a file from one of the drawers and begins to read. ‘That’s all.’

She’s not angry with you. She just feels so utterly betrayed. You don’t even know what you can say to her, so when you leave Sands’s office you don’t go to your horse. You go straight to your room, and curl up and sob, hating the way your voice echoes in the metal corridors of the rig. Hating that he can probably hear you cry.

Chapter Text

For two weeks you avoid your magic. Avoid your friends. You make yourself useful around the rig, keeping as busy as you can to avoid the creeping guilt and terror. You groom the Dark Riders’ horses, which they seem more at ease with you doing now your magic is sealed, you help to offload crates from the barges, trying not to think about what they contain, and, when he asks, you help Sands with his study.

It isn’t a large favour. Barely worth thinking about. He’s a terrible hoarder, with zero organisational skills. It just so happened that when you were passing through his study one day, taking a shortcut to your room to avoid Katja, you couldn’t help but tidy up. Chronologically. Splitting the notebooks and newspapers into sections. Making labels. It was just a— a task to keep your hands busy for five minutes. A short, easy little thing… that took three hours and then only stopped because he walked in on you and demanded to know what you were doing…

His body of research is vast. You’ve learned more in the past two weeks about magic than you did in the whole of your time with the druids – and more than that, you know what Sands doesn’t understand about magic. He keeps referring to it as “power”, and you’ve grown to understand that this is precisely how he sees it. As a strength-based thing, separate from your personality and body. As something anyone could wield under the right circumstances.

‘And you’re wrong, by the way,’ you say one day, sorting through records. He looks up from his desk, where he’s going through some dry Dark Core shareholders’ report from 1990 that you found for him.

‘About?’

You raise the notebook you’d been glancing over. ‘It isn’t a separate force from the soul.’

He puts the report aside.

‘When someone channels magic, it isn’t like commanding a separate entity. It’s like… the difference between getting your horse to move, and moving your hand.’ You pause. ‘I think that’s why emotions impact it so strongly.’

‘Really?’

You shoot him a look, trying to work out if he’s being sarcastic. This would be the part where he mocks you for referring to it as “magic” again… you’ve been trying to avoid that lately.

‘Go on,’ he says. You swallow.

‘I— err… Well I didn’t really have anything else to add. You just sort of… You’re wrong.’

‘Why are you correcting me?’

You shrug. ‘Same reason I’m cleaning up I guess. I don’t like things not being right.’

‘Yes, I’ve certainly benefited from your feelings towards “things” this past week.’

He’s definitely mocking you this time, he’s got to be. Yet when you shoot him a look, Sands’s expression seems nothing short of genuine. And then he says,

‘You understand, of course, that’s not how my power works.’

‘Eh?’

‘My—’ he stops with a little smile. ‘My master’s power is lent to me on occasions where he believes it necessary. Did it never strike you as odd that I couldn’t use Command when my generals threatened Justin? Order them to leave him be?’

Well, it does now…

‘Garnok didn’t think saving your grandchild was a good time to lend you his power?’ You stare at him.

‘Well,’ Sands’s smile grows forced, ‘It hardly furthered his ends.’

‘Bastard.’

Sands stiffens. ‘I would be very careful what I say, if I were you, girl. His patience is… thin at the moment.’

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Anything to do with you not killing me? He really wants that. I could feel it when I touched his mind.’

‘You should be more careful about doing things like that! If you had been any weaker, he would have eradicated you.’

‘You sound like Avalon,’ you roll your eyes. Then you stop, realising what you just said. Sands tilts his head.

‘Then your recklessness has plagued the druids too? Well, that does go some of the way towards explaining their ineffectiveness. I warned you, didn’t I – that a lack of regard for your own wellbeing was a symptom of your power overflowing. I had hoped limiting the flow would slow it down. Clearly, if your brush with Cloudmill is any indication, that isn’t the case…’

‘That was an accident!’

‘Was it?’

‘Yes! She’s not one of you.’

Sands narrows his eyes. ‘Correct. My riders have more discipline. They would never allow their power to escape their control. When I’m through with you, you’ll be the same way – and you’ll have no need for that silly trinket in your spine.’

You swallow.

‘Is it uncomfortable, having your power limited that way?’

You can’t tell if he’s mocking you. ‘No,’ you admit. ‘I just feel… the way I did before I came to Jorvik. But my power’s part of who I am now – like I said, magic for me is as normal as moving my hand. And right now, that hand is completely numb. It’s… wrong.’

‘Hm.’ He moves his hand, and in an instant you feel your magic race back into your veins. Again, the heady rush, again the thrill of relief, and then the crashing regret as your horse falls once more to corruption.

‘Stop—’ You raise your hands, ‘I can’t.’

Sands sighs, deactivating your magic once more. ‘Why haven’t you tried to cure the thing if it bothers you this much?’

‘Because I can’t.’

‘Of course you can,’ he snaps. ‘Do you really think I would have encouraged my riders to use such aggressive tactics if I wasn’t trying to keep you away from their mounts?’

‘But—’

He makes a sound of disgust. ‘Fine. Forget I spoke. Keep wallowing in your misery. Stay weak. But here’s one thing I do know about power. If you fail to control it, make no mistake, it will control you.’

And he storms from the study, slamming the door shut so hard the papers you’d taken such care to organise collapsed to the ground in a whirlwind.

Chapter Text

Cleaning Khaan’s hooves is a complex task. He’s a powerful stallion – you’ve had Friesians before, and they’re magnificent warhorses. Muscular, sleek, and with a streak of pride that even corruption hasn’t eliminated in Khaan. The stallion only let you near after two days and a shameful amount of bribery. You understand now why Dark Core was buying apples from Marley, for a time…

Even disguised, Khaan’s hooves smoulder. It’s just who he is, you’ve come to realise – there’s no fighting his nature. Metal hoof picks don’t work on him. You learned that the first time you tried to groom him, and the tool melted in your hands. You took a step back, wondering where Sabine’s tools were, and then your curiosity got the better of you as your eyes wandered to his hooves again. He’s still a creature of flesh and blood, he can feel pain – your lightning did scorch him. So what do his horseshoes need to be made from so they don’t burn?

Bone.

Not just any bone either. The horseshoes Khaan isn’t wearing are kept in a crate on the lowest level of the rig, and you spend a long time examining them before realising they’re made from offcuts of his own hooves, alloyed with a tiny amount of tungsten. Constant exposure to heat never reduced his hooves to glue while they were part of him, so it stands to reason they remain strong even when trimmed. It’s a strange feeling, that physical reminder that magic is as much a part of the body as a heart or lungs for both you and Khaan.

You could have tried to borrow Sabine’s pick. It must have been near to Khaan’s stable but you never found it, and it’s not like you can ask Sabine. All the Dark Riders seem to be taking steps to avoid you these days. Instead, you made your own. It was a good project, ate up six hours of your time, and reminded you how lucky you were to train with Conrad, if only for a while.

Conrad. Another member of the Keepers of Aideen. You hadn’t spoken in a while – what would he have made of all this, you wonder? Of you losing control? Conrad knew Catherine, would have been one of the only people on Jorvik who could have realised how she really died.

‘She died in childbirth.’

‘No, she didn’t. When Aideen took on mortal form, her power became quite toxic to her hosts.’

You haven’t forgotten Sands’s words. They’re terrifying – another reason, besides the corruption, to avoid your magic now. Conrad could have prevented it. Any one of them could’ve realised. Evergray, who spent years managing the druids’ archives. Avalon, with his constant worrying. Fripp and his immortal knowledge…

But no, it was Mr Sands, of all people, who told you that your magic was killing you.

The pick works really well. Khaan stands rigidly, tolerating your presence as you clear crap from his hooves. You wonder if Sabine’s realised you do it yet. How often does she come down here? Just to saddle Khaan up before a mission? Or does she get the goons to do that for her?

To your shame, you asked Sands if they could manage stable care for your horse. And he agreed. You can’t face her anymore. Not after everything you’ve put her through. Even if she doesn’t hate you, you can’t handle the guilt, the sadness, the obvious misery she must feel just being here, and not at home, riding through green and quiet every day, into places where there is nothing but birdsong and peace. She’s not meant to be here. You wonder if you could ask Sands to take her back to your stable – but you don’t want him to know where the others are. You’ve kept paying Maya to look after them in your absence. It’s not cheap, and now you’re no longer working for every short-handed person in Jorvik, your bank balance is beginning to show the strain. You wonder if the Dark Riders get a salary. Maybe—

Khaan snorts, and you realise you’ve been holding his hoof in the air without even starting to pick it. Poor thing must be getting pins and needles… You release it, and move to another leg. His eyes follow you. He hasn’t forgotten the way your magic went awry. You doubt Mortifa has either. You wonder if he hates you, fears you.

Experimentally you reach out to touch his mind, the way sometimes you do with your own horse. But of course, you can’t. That spark, that glimmer of Aideen’s that lets you connect with horses is being swallowed by Bonny’s device.

You finish picking his hooves. His eyes meet yours again, and a sound half-way between a snort and a dragon-snarl leaves him. Experimentally, you offer him your hand to sniff. You’ve done this before, while holding food. The first time he tried to bite you. This time, his hot breath envelopes your hand before he lowers his head. Relief washes over you, and you begin to stroke him.

His coat is as glossy as it looks. However corrupted he may be, Sabine pays attention to his diet. He’s as strong and healthy as a championship stallion. You can feel the muscles under your hand, shockingly powerful. She cares about him, that much is obvious. But why, then, is she so content with his corruption? Would Khaan reject her if you were able to rid him of her influence? Does he secretly despise her, for smothering his free will?

Your fingers go to the device, fingering the lump under your skin. Sands warned you not to force it. But you wonder… it might be better to fry the thing than ask him to turn it off. If you could just touch Khaan’s mind for a minute, you could understand him… If you asked Sands for your magic back, he’d want to know why. Maybe he’d assume you were trying to undo Khaan’s corruption. Sabine would be seething…

Drawing a breath, you call on your magic.

And immediately feel silly. There’s nothing there – you’re like a kid pretending to ready a kamehame wave. But you try anyway.

Slowly, increment by increment, you imagine the flow of your magic building up, a dam starting to overflow. You’re going to break through this.

You will break through this…

And it might kill you.

‘Without the natural flow, at best you’ll only hurt yourself.’

‘At best?’

‘At worst, you’ll cause the conditions to progress.’

You don’t feel like you’re in pain. But that memory makes you falter, and your magic slips away, disappearing once more.

You curse. Khaan looks at you. And headbutts your hand. You can’t help but laugh – he guides you into petting him again, demands attention. He’s magnificent, he knows it, he wants to be worshipped and adored. With a sigh, you hug his neck.

‘You look skinny.’

You jump out of your skin, and Sabine snorts as you stumble into a pile of Khaan’s dung that you’d just scraped up.

‘If I’d known it was your magic ruining my stealth missions, I would’ve kidnapped Bonny years ago.’

‘Yeah, well. I normally smell you coming!’ It’s a lame insult, but you’re off balance.

Sabine looks pointedly at the dung you’re standing in. ‘Uh-huh.’

She moves into the stable, raises her hand for Khaan to sniff and then goes in to stroke him. You stand there, waiting for your heart to calm down. You’re not used to her being able to creep up on you – she’s right, your magic ordinarily gives you an early warning.

‘I meant it,’ Sabine says. ‘If you’re choosing not to eat, you’d better not be coming in here to steal Khaan’s apples.’

She’s concerned, you realise. Even if it is exactly as she says, that she’s more worried about you stealing Khaan’s food, it still means she’s noticed your drop in weight. And well… yeah, okay, since you started living on the rig you haven’t exactly been… healthy.

‘He’s safe,’ you say, easing your way free of the dung. You stick your boot under the tap in the corner, blasting it clean, then go to shovel up the rest. Sabine watches you. And then, as if deliberately avoiding the topic of you hugging her horse, she clears her throat.

‘And what are you doing after this? More… library stuff?’

‘I’m sorting his files out, yeah. Centuries old, and he’s never bothered getting himself organised, can you believe that?’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean, if you built an evil lair you’d at least get your goons to go through everything when they moved you in, wouldn’t you?’ You pause, realise she’s still watching you. ‘What?’

‘Why?’

‘Why… what?’

‘Why are you helping him?’ She lowers her hand from Khaan’s jaw, and the stallion immediately nudges her so forcefully she stumbles. With a growl she grabs a brush and begins giving him a proper going-over. ‘He’s taken your magic, he’s got you working with us and now he won’t even let you near that nag of yours. Why are you doing him a favour?’

‘Be— It’s not like that!’

‘Oh?’

‘I can— I can see her if I want to!’

She studies you, frowning.

‘What?’

‘So you’re choosing Khaan over her. He’s not just your substitute?’ She spits the word and you stiffen.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Yes you did. Back off, Soul Rider. You’ve got your rat. But Khaan is mine.’ She lowers the brush, and this time when Khaan nudges her she ignores him. ‘Get lost.’

You obey.

But when you go back to Sands’s office, you start looking for the remote.

Chapter Text

‘Oh relax, won’t you Bonnibel? It’s not as if I’m asking for anything beyond your capabilities. Though as I recall, you enjoy being challenged, don’t you?’

‘...’

‘Won’t you even look at me?’

‘No!’

The inventor was hunched up, golden cardigan stretched over her spine. She had aged quickly – it annoyed Sands to think of the years of work he had lost because of Dark Core’s inability to find her sooner. Another two paltry decades, and that brilliant mind of hers would be dead. Which made it all the more important to squeeze all the worth out of her here and now, in the laboratory he had built for her all those decades before. And yet here she was, laboratory bench drowned in useless pieces of machinery, refusing to organise, work or even meet his eyes.

Sands laughed. ‘I never suspected you of pettiness, Bonnibel.’

‘Don’t call me that!’ she shuddered. ‘That’s not who I am anymore.’

‘Of course not, Bonny.’

She flinched so violently that the gears resting on the workbench jumped.

‘Your control cog worked to perfection, you will be pleased to know.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Ah well you should be! It’s a marvel of engineering my dear, truly.’

He strolled further into the lab, lifting an engine off one of his chairs so he could sit down.

‘I wanted to confirm your details. I know when you worked for us previously you preferred cash, however in the modern age if you’ve set up a bank account—’

‘You’re paying me?’ She was so disgusted she actually turned to look at him. He looked back. ‘Throw it in the ocean. I don’t want your filth!’

‘Not very eco of you.’

‘Bah!’ She turned away again, fidgeting with something on her desk. He was losing her.

‘I know you made it out of concern for the girl, not loyalty to me. But you need to understand Bonnibel, your position has changed. She isn’t getting any weaker, and once she breaks your dam, she will kill herself.’

‘She won’t break it.’

He’d touched the inventor’s pride. ‘She will.’

‘I beat back a Pandorian with a weaker machine. She’s a child...’

Did you? He wondered. He filed the information away for later use. ‘That “child” houses the power of a goddess. Do you think your control cog would hold against Aideen?’

There was a harsh scrape of metal on metal as Bonny began to twist the mechanisms on her desk together. ‘If she doesn’t force it! And she’s no reason to. Why would she? It’s not as if she’s being imprisoned or anything!’ The inventor’s voice rose hysterically. Sands rolled his eyes.

‘She isn’t.’

The scraping stopped.

‘Does that surprise you?’ Sands smiled. ‘She’s free to come and go, Bonnibel. I’m not keeping her here. How could I? We both know my limitations.’

‘Then—? What?’ She shook her head. ‘No. No, you forced her to give you my diaries! You got into her head, you made her—!’

‘I can’t use my master’s power if doing so would go against his will. He may tolerate the child, but he wishes for her speedy end. Why would he help to prolong the life of his enemy?’

‘I—’

‘Come, Bonnibel, you’re a smart girl. This is my will, not his. And you... you are the only other person I can trust with the secret of her disease. You care for her, don’t you?’

There was a wisp of hair escaping her hat. It trailed down her cardigan like a grey snake. He had been examining it all the while she refused to look at him, and now he reached out, fingers skimming her neck, and tucked it back in.

‘I need you to do your job,’ he whispered. ‘Every day her power remains uncontrolled brings her closer to death. Unless, of course, you’re still bitter about her never coming to save you. But you aren’t petty, are you, Bonnibel?’

She pulled away from his hand.

‘I’ll work,’ she spat. ‘But I never want to see you again!’

‘Of course not,’ he smiled. ‘Work hard, Bonnibel. I’ll send your salary to charity, shall I?’

She didn’t reply. Her hands were a blur, her eyes flashing between components, piecing together ideas that would have taken him decades to connect. He stepped outside, and motioned the goons to seal her door shut.

He turned away. There was paperwork to be filed for their Mistfall operations – a far easier task thanks to that girl’s filing system. And after that... Yes, after that, he would call her to his study and they would have a much needed chat.

Chapter Text

You can free her.

That thought keeps you motivated as you sort through the drawers he would never allow you near. Of course he wouldn’t, if he was keeping the remote in one of them. It’s a glimmer of hope – that possibility that corruption isn’t permanent, that you can undo the damage to your starbreed’s mind if you only get your magic back. You can’t tell him to turn it back on, he’d realise in a second what you intended, and his eyes are everywhere. He knows everything that happens here.

Except for that one golden hour, just after a goon brings him brandy and hot chocolate at 8pm, when he goes quiet and just stares at the place where the portrait of Annabelle Silverglade once hung before you burnt it. It’s like a ritual for him. One that, creepy as you find it, you’re glad he has tonight.

The worst case scenario is him keeping the remote on him. It’s not game over if that is the case – James taught you how to pick pockets once, in exchange for you never asking why he knew how to pick pockets – but you don’t fancy sifting through that trench coat. If it’s as old as it looks, you doubt he’s taken it off since the 1800s, and an immortal hoarder’s pockets are the last place your fingers want to be…

…and yeah. Great. Yup. It’s not in the drawers. As the hour draws to a close and you hear him beginning to move down the corridor towards the study, you abandon the search and duck out of the room. There are drapes you could hide behind, great red velvet curtains that disguise the metal walls, but there’s no telling when Sands will go to bed. The man can’t die from sleep deprivation, and he’s a chronic workaholic. You wonder if he had a sleeping pattern before the invention of artificial lighting, or if back in those days he just burned endless candles ‘til the sun rose…

You wake the next morning, plotting your next move. Waiting for him to sleep is out of the question. And would he even take the trench coat off to sleep?

Imagining Sands in pyjamas is enough to make you pause midway through brushing your teeth.

You’re a weirdo.

You shrug and spit the foam away. Hey, he’s been alive for centuries. You can’t have been the first person to wonder. Ew, the Baroness would actually know.

 When you dress, you automatically start planning your horse’s tack, thinking of which bridles would suit your shirt. But your tack is on the mainland, and the only clothes you have are the ones you snuck into Cape West to buy. Besides… your horse would ordinarily weigh in with her opinion. Now there’s only dead air.

Okay, to the rest of the day. Sands’s study is basically organised now, though you haven’t ordered his books on runology beyond author surname. You’re thinking of putting them in order of publication, the same way you did with mechanics. It’s just easier to find more up-to-date information that way, and besides the way the binding on the books gradually changes, from the matt finish of modern hardbacks, to the bright, iconic paperbacks of the 70’s, the embellished spines of the Victorians and the magnificent leatherbound, hand-illuminated manuscripts of the—

There’s a knock on your door, harsh and impatient. Probably a goon, summoning you. With a shrug, you kick it open.

‘Yo.’

Sabine squints at you, a mixture of disgust and annoyance fighting for space on her face. ‘Hello.’

There’s a moment of silence as you wait for her to explain herself, and some kind of internal battle appears to take place behind her eyes.

‘Well, this is nice,’ you say after a minute.

Sabine snarls. ‘You… are going to owe me.’

‘For?’

She thrusts a hoof pick into your hands. Khaan’s hoof pick.

‘You’re grooming him.’

‘I am?’

‘You are.’ She glowers at you. ‘Thank me.’

A smirk rises to your lips. Oh this is good. ‘Don’t tell me you’re too busy to see him!’

‘You know I can cook you on the spot.’

‘But then who would care for your boy?’ You grin. ‘Go on, what’s the story? Spill.’

‘Some of us still have work to do,’ she spits. ‘Light ceremony, summoning our dark master, breaking his prison – sound familiar?’

‘Vaguely. So what, you don’t have time to look after poor Khaan?’

‘I do as I’m told,’ she snaps. ‘And right now, that means I have to ride the freak’s nag because Khaan’s still too tired from our last fight!’

You frown. ‘Wait… when did you get back?’ It’s the first time you’ve spotted the dark circles under her eyes.

‘Twenty minutes ago.’ She snaps. ‘So are you doing it, or not?’

‘Have you even slept?’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ Sabine roars. You stumble back into your room, and she huffs. ‘I’ll say hi to your little friends, shall I?’

‘Low blow.’

‘You weren’t the one just getting shot by lightn—’ She stops herself. ‘No, you’ve tried that now, haven’t you. Not fun, is it?’

‘He’s in safe hands.’

‘Good.’ She glares at you. ‘If I find grass in his mane when I get back, I’m throwing you into the sea.’

Well, it’s a step above being cooked alive.

You head down to Khaan’s stable a bit later, watching Sabine leave on the barge as you do. Jay and Mortifa are with her, both looking more than a little worse for wear. Though, as Jay feels your gaze on them, their forms ripple and shift, appearing radiant once more.

How often do they do this, you wonder, brushing through the tangles of Khaan’s Rapunzel-length mane. Push themselves to near exhaustion for Sands’s sake…

They always showed up on Jorvik with lightning speed, always when you needed them the least. And they would have to, for those drones to be of any practical spying use… you just never realised the physical cost it had been taking. You’ll have to tell Sabine to get some rest. Heck, maybe threaten not to do this again unless she starts taking better care of herself. You feel Khaan’s hot breath on your shoulder as you finish, and realise he’s waiting for an apple. If he was uncorrupted, he would really get on with Meteor…

You stroke his muzzle as he crunches, smiling in-spite of yourself.

‘You and me are going to have to work out a plan,’ you murmur. ‘A way to get that rider of yours to start looking after herself as well as she looks after you.’

Khaan snorts, two tiny ripples of smoke fleeing his nostrils.

‘I can’t groom her, you know. I don’t think she’d like apples either.’ You giggle at the thought. ‘I mean, I could try…’

‘Having fun?’

You jump and spin around. Sands is at the door, seething with rage. You drop your hand from Khaan’s muzzle.

‘I—’

‘You were due to be in my study two hours ago.’ His eyes flash to Khaan. ‘What is this?’

‘You didn’t give Sabine a chance to groom him before you ordered her off the rig again!’ You snap.

‘Quite right. It should be off site with her.’ Sands’s eyes bore into Khaan. Impossibly, the giant warhorse move behind you, tail swishing nervously. ‘You, with me, now! I’ll deal with Sabine later.’

Chapter Text

His hands don’t touch you as you hurry to his study, but you can see the whiteness of his knuckles, clenching as he grips one hand behind his back. You trace the raised scar on the back of your neck where the Power Dam sits, feeling with hollow certainty that he could easily overpower you as you are now, even without Garnok’s influence. His age is paralysed at a point somewhere between his thirties or forties, but all the years he’s had in that body have led to obvious advantages. Even a little exercise builds up after two centuries. Speaking physically, he’s stronger than you are.

There was a conversation you had over the phone with your mother once, that you can’t stop coming back to now. You casually mentioned riding home at midnight and she panicked. Made you swear, on your life, that you wouldn’t ever do that again, told you stories of weirdos who appear after dark with vicious intentions.

It’s a good job you never told her or dad about Dark Core.

There was a phrase she used, that you were able to laugh off once you hung up the phone.

‘You think you’re invincible.’

And you did. Maybe you still do. He could kill you, would have done, if you hadn’t been able to fight back, if your power hadn’t shown itself as something that interested him. You reach his study and with a silent jab, he points you towards the unsorted corner you were working on last time. You sit, and pick up where you left off.

A hundred insects, framed and brown with dust, lie impaled and labelled inside one of the drawers. You pull a face and almost say something, but one glance over your pile shows you his face; jaw clenched, grip so strong on his pen he is in danger of snapping it in two. You duck back down, and try to guess at how to file them. It would help if you knew why he was keeping them in the first place. What possible use could Dark Core have for entomology? Or was this just a hobby he picked up a couple of centuries ago and forgot about? You wipe away the dust, and a rock forms in your stomach as you notice the name of a now extinct species. You only know because Elizabeth taught you about it. Named for the only flower it fed on. The Aideen’s Tear moth.

In a century’s time, is that what you’ll be to him? Is that what you are now? A rare specimen, but one easily put away and forgotten when it no longer serves a purpose. Without your power…You pause over the files, running your fingers over the scar again. What will happen, once you’ve organised his entire study for him?

You think about Sabine and the others. About how ragged they’ve looked lately. And it’s your fault, of course. Linda or Lisa might be able to tell that you’re still alive, but the last time any of them saw you, you were on the point of death. From their perspective, from the point of view of the Keepers of Aideen, you might well die any day now and the ritual to stop Garnok’s emergence will become impossible to perform. It’s only a matter of time before they do something drastic. You wonder if Avalon, Fripp or the Spymaster would ever give the “ok” on killing one of the Dark Riders to slow them down.

A chill fills you as you realise you can’t entirely dismiss the idea.

‘You’ve stopped working.’

His voice is so curt, so steady in tone it’s obvious something is boiling below the surface. A stab of fear almost keeps you from speaking, but you shove past it. He’ll like this anyway.

‘I want you to let me use my power.’

A pause. You don’t lift your head to meet his eyes, but you hear the click as he puts his pen down. ‘For?’

‘Whatever. I mean, I know they need help out there.’

‘They being?’

‘The Dark Riders.’

‘After this… display? What makes you think you’ve earned it?’

‘Earned?’ The word doesn’t sound right in your mouth. He’d been keeping your power dammed to stop your disease from progressing, hadn’t he? Because you’d asked him to? You hear the ripple of fabric as he rises, and tense as his shadow falls over you.

His hands are shaking. Shit.

‘I didn’t mean— I just—’ Your tongue goes dry. ‘B… because Sabine and the others look worn out. If it’d help, if I can take some of the burden off them, I just…’ You swallow, hard. ‘…sorry.’

There’s an explosive crash. Your papers scatter, the frame of insects shatters, and Sands collapses. You spring to your feet, staring down uncomprehendingly at his sprawled form. Then, the first aid training you sat in on in Jorvik Mall (to help the janitor pass) kicks in, and you’re on the floor next to him, checking his pulse, his breathing.

‘Can you hear me?’

No response. His eyes are flickering wildly beneath their lids.

You check his pulse again. Erratic, but he’s not having a heart attack, you’re certain of that. You move him into the recovery position, and as you ease him onto his side, something slips from his pocket.

The remote.

You have a moment of hesitation before he begins coughing. Deep, violent, wracking spasms that set his entire body jerking. You check his airway again, but as your fingers brush his skin, you jump.

Where you should encounter the smooth skin of a middle aged man, you instead feel wrinkles. As you jerk your hand away, some substance clings to it, luminous green and seeping. You stare with a mixture of horror and sheer confusion as a scene straight out of Indiana Jones imposes itself on his face, and with clear agony Sands withers before you, aging rapidly, half his face sagging, flooding with scars, hair turning grey and crumbling off a skull peppered with blossoming liver spots. He gasps, frantic, and his hand shoots out towards you. It’s likely a spasm more than a directed thought, but you don’t know what else to do. You take it. It’s more of a claw, the nails lengthening even as you hold his hand, veins rising as his skin loosens. Hell.

You hit the remote, wincing as your horse staggers in her stable and collapses. A moment later, and through your connection you feel her get back up, mind blank and unfeeling. With a silent promise that it won’t be for long, you harness your magic to heal Sands. He shudders violently, skin glowing from within as the power of the star begins to course through him. The spasming stops, and he falls limp, but his aged appearance remains unchanged. You frown intently, seeking some wound or internal cause, but can find nothing out of the ordinary for someone of… whatever age this is.

Your fingers begin to warm, your power letting you know it’s done all it can. You dispel it, and do what little else you can.

When he’s sleeping quietly on the sofa, you take the remote and rush to the stables. You can break her corruption. Sabine was sure of it. But it never hurts to have an off switch if you’re wrong…

Chapter Text

It’s been two centuries since you woke to the smell of chicken soup. As you sit there, silently wondering where in Garnok’s name it’s coming from, something metal enters your mouth. And it’s wrong, it’s so wrong, because all the emotions you are categorically not meant to feel anymore, not at this age, not after all you’ve sacrificed, not after all you’ve done, start to bubble to the surface as the flavours of cream, butter and white meat pass over your tongue.

You swallow, and blink, hard, as the spoon is withdrawn. One eye remains blurry, and you can feel it pulse in time to your heartbeat – but there’s no pain. A face passes before you, and you inhale sharply.

‘Sorry, did I make you jump? Here—’ She wipes your chin.

‘Why…?’ Your voice emerges as a croak.

‘Hm?’

She tilts her head, and yes, it’s definitely her. The fifth soul rider. You pass your hand over your face, feeling for wounds, scars. You can’t even find the wrinkles.

‘Why are you… feeding me?’

She snorts. ‘Do I look like the kind of person to leave an old man unconscious? I’m not Katja.’

A flicker of suspicion cuts through the confusion, and you reach into your pocket. The remote is gone. Panic overtakes you immediately. ‘Girl, did you—?’ You are silenced by another thrust of chicken soup and you force yourself not to choke on it.

‘I couldn’t find any butter on-board, your kitchen’s kind of shit, so I made a run to the mainland. Had to assume you don’t have allergies, so I guess if you do, have fun with that. I put a bit of white wine in with the chicken, so you’re probably gonna go to sleep again straight after this. Sleep’s pretty good for healing stuff actually. I read this article once, that if you’re sleep deprived it fucks with a load of stuff in your immune—’

‘Girl,’ You growl in the second between spoonfuls, ‘Did you take the remote?’

‘Hm? Yeah. How’d you think I’m healing you?’

Healing. Present tense. Then— ‘Your magic. Is it active?’

‘Yeah!’

You stare at her as she moves about, positively frothing with positive energy. Lead hardens in your stomach.

‘Are you not concerned for your horse anymore?’

‘Oh, she’s better now.’

‘Better?!’ You try to sit up, but she shoves you back onto the sofa with surprising force. Was she always that strong?

‘What do you mean?!’

‘Oh! I sorted her corruption. Weird thing, turns out having my magic back for a few hours properly fixed my mood too. I haven’t felt this good in…’ She falls silent for a moment, a frown overtaking her face. ‘…I guess since you started supressing my magic.’

‘But—!’ You struggle to sit up, but she keeps her hand pressed on your shoulder, preventing you from rising. ‘—Girl, be careful! You remember what I told you? Over-using your magic will cause it to devour— The symptoms could be lethal!’

‘Yah, see, we had a bit of a chat about that. My horse and me, I mean. When I purged her corruption. See, we’re not sure we agree with your theory. I mean, first off, what are you judging based on? I mean, yeah, sure, plenty of past incarnations of Aideen died young, but it’s not like there wasn’t an evil creepy force around that also wanted them dead. And—’

‘Are you accusing me of something, girl?!’

‘I meant Garnok.’ The spoon in her hand drips, but you can’t lift your head to see if it stains the carpet. Her frown deepens. ‘What did you think I meant?’

‘I—!’

‘What did you do?’

A surge of anger overtakes you. You haven’t the strength to get to your feet, but the emotion gives power to your words as you spit, ‘GET OUT.’

She flinches, the violence of your words hitting her full force. Her face twists as she tries to fight the command, but to your relief the Garnok-given power still works. She’s almost at the door when a better idea comes to you.

‘STOP.’ You muster all the strength remaining to you, marvelling as you do at the ways her magic has fixed you. All those little aches and pains, the mounting accumulations of centuries, have been wiped cleanly away. You almost feel like a new man. You push yourself up on the sofa, and take a deep breath. ‘I did what was asked of me, girl. You must understand that. You would have done the same in my place.’

‘Done what?’ The venom in her voice halts you for a moment.

‘My duty.’

‘Did you kill them?!’

‘Not all of—!’ You barely duck out of the way as a blast of lightning strikes the sofa just behind your head.

‘That’s why you supressed my magic. Jay was right – you're trying to control me.’

‘Control? You want to talk about control?! Listen to me! I wasn’t lying about your condition – look at you! You’re losing control on your power again, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t feel out of control,’ she stalks towards you, and you realise a second too late that your commands are no longer affecting her. ‘In fact, I fired that bolt while I was still healing you. Even now, I’m healing you! Would you like to see what happens when I stop?’

You open your mouth, and as you do a wave of pain overwhelms you. Your hand flies to your face, but as you lift it you see the veins bulging, liver spots spreading, skin wrinkling until your hand looks like a diseased, barren tree. And then she heals you. You collapse with a gasp.

Why? Why now of all times? This affliction, this threat, the reminder of his total power over your lifespan – but you’d done everything he asked, hadn’t you?!

An impression rises at the back of your mind as you desperately try to understand why your longevity has been revoked. A warning. A threat. The keepers of Aideen, somehow, impossibly, have the Light Ceremony book…

‘What did you do?’ You gasp at the girl. She folds her arms.

‘Exactly what I said I would. Now, your turn to answer some questions. The other incarnations of Aideen, what did you do to them?’

‘The book,’ you hiss at her, ‘The Light Ceremony book. What did you do?’

‘What?’ She looks genuinely baffled. ‘What are you talking about?’

You hurl yourself up from the sofa and lunge blindly at her. She sidesteps easily and you crash into the desk as she revokes her healing magic again. Your breath battles out of rapidly collapsing lungs. Wheezing, you grope for the edge of your desk. If you can only hit that button, only call one of the Dark Riders to your aid…!

‘Stay back!’ You try to command her, but the words emerge weak and powerless.

She closes in.

Master, you beg, Please!

How are you to fight her if your body keeps betraying you? Without his help—!

You slip to the floor, feeling your bones crumble inside your skin. Desperate, you grasp her trouser leg, and watch your hands shrivel to bony claws.

‘The second you answer my question,’ she says, ‘I’ll heal you. Now, what did you do to the others?’

‘What do you think?’ you manage, barely able to make the words through your withering lips. ‘Help me!’

She sighs. ‘And my power? Did you lie about that too?’

‘Y—’ A pressure closes on your heart, and at last you hear the whisper of your master.

Tell her, and I will find a new herald. Darko is not yet beyond my reach… and entirely better suited for the task.

‘No!’ You shudder violently. Something is wrong with your blood. You can feel it drying in your veins.

And then, in an instant, you are restored. Gasping for breath, clutching the desk, you somehow pull yourself upright, still shaking. She sighs, and you flinch back. She is far more dangerous than you had realised, and now you need her magic. You can feel it, now – Garnok, your master, has not restored your agelessness. Without her, you will crumble to nothing in minutes.

‘Well.’ She says. ‘Nice to know you’re capable of some honesty. So what is this then? You piss off squiddy somehow?’

An idea crawls into your mind. Slowly, feigning shame, you nod. ‘My... master was against telling you of the curse of Aideen. It would have hastened your destruction.’

‘Huh.’ She pauses. ‘You had no problem killing the others.’

‘Not all of them.’ You spit. Then you smooth the mask of your face once more. ‘You are unique. I told you that. Your power is not wholly Aideen’s, and that, in my mind, makes you more than worth... preserving.’

‘Hm. I’m not using that remote again.’

Good. If she did, what fate would that leave you to meet?

Chapter Text

The light ceremony book was the last piece of the puzzle to sealing Garnok away again. Performing it in reverse would loose him on Jorvik instead. And it had been for that reason that, ever since its capture by the dark riders, the book hadn’t been allowed off the oil rig. 

‘So how can they’ve got it?’ You frown at Sands as he struggles down the stairs. Old man disease is infecting his joints quite ruthlessly, it seems. He stops, panting, as you catch up. 

‘That’s precisely what I need to know! ...You’re certain about the distance, by the way?’ 

‘Yup. Go more than twenty feet, and my magic’s not gonna work on you anymore.’ Healing him is easy. A constant output that you barely have to think about. What’s annoying is he won’t stand still. 

‘I won’t look weak before my generals,’ he warns you. You just smile.  

You cross onto the platform where his portal to Pandoria stands. The three generals are already there, waiting. Katja gives you a strange look as you pass her with Sands. Sabine looks exhausted. Jay’s face is even more grey and colourless than when last you saw them, but even so they manage to give you a look of utter contempt. Sands crosses to one of the raised platforms to address the Dark Riders, and before he can utter a word of protest you follow him up and position yourself uncomfortably close behind him. His fists twitch. But he said it himself – he doesn’t want to look weak – and there’s nothing he can do to stop you. 

‘My generals,’ he begins, gritting his teeth, ‘For many centuries I have laboured to bring our master back to this world. I have sacrificed. I have fought. And, in this last year, I was relieved in the knowledge that we were closer than ever before to seeing him brought back to this plane.’ He pauses. ‘ However. One of you disregarded my orders. One of you failed to keep watch over the light ceremony book when I explicitly ordered you to do so.’ 

The three dark riders stiffen. Even Katja stands a little straighter, ice forming around her feet... 

‘I know who failed,’ Sands continues, ‘I know which one of you incompetent children put their own selfish needs before those of our master. And now, because of them, the druids have our book!’  

They’re on their knees in a flash, Jay beginning to shake, though with fear or from the frigid wind blowing from Katja you can’t tell. Sabine’s fists are clenched. 

‘Once he is sealed, do you know how long it will be before we can attempt this ritual again?! Shall I tell you how long I will have to wait? While your useless, rotten carcasses take up space on my rig—!’ 

‘Why are we still talking?’ Jay snaps. ‘I’ll snap the little traitor’s neck right here and now.’ And their glare bores into you. You give them a friendly wave from behind Sands’s back. 

‘I always said bringing a soul rider here was a mistake,’ Katja hisses, ‘I guess you’re starting to regret losing all your friends, aren’t you?’ 

Sabine says nothing. But her eyes are black with rage.  

‘Hate to burst your bubble,’ you say, ‘Buuuut this wasn’t me.’ 

‘Like we’d trust you,’ Katja spits. 

‘SILENCE!’ Sands’s command hits the dark riders like a blow. Katja’s face contorts in pain as she tries and fails to move her mouth, before submitting. ‘I did not summon you here so you could bicker like children. We are facing the unravelling of everything I have worked to achieve – if one of you lays a hand on the soul rider before we have that book again, I will find a new dark rider. Am I understood?’ 

They nod, though Sabine’s eyes remain furious. Jay looks at you, suspiciously. Alone among the three, they seem the only one clear-headed enough to wonder why he’s suddenly protecting you. It wasn’t too long ago that, on this very spot, he gave you to Katja to torture. You wink. Jay frowns, but before any silent words can be exchanged, Sands is talking again. 

‘Those pathetic druids will most likely be holding the book in their so-called “secret circle” until the ritual can be performed. As doing so would require all riders to be present, I’m certain I don’t need to tell you what must be done. Sabine. You’re to deal with the Cloudsmill girl.’ For the first time since she saw you, Sabine’s smirk returns. Your heart sinks. ‘Katja, you deal with Peterson. Jay, you will handle the moon rider. And as for you,’ he turns towards you, and to your horror he’s smirking. ‘You and I will go after their leader. Won’t we, general?’ 

A hundred conflicting emotions move through you, too rapid to contain. But more than anything, at the centre of your maelstrom of emotions, you find a single, calm thought. 

Oh, you think. Yeah. Of course he’d want this.  

Easiest way of stopping the soul riders from completing the ritual? Make certain there are no soul riders. Anne’s strong. Stupidly strong, actually. She once said black holes weren’t entirely out of her reach... but you’re stronger. And you fucking hate that. 

They told stories about her, before you rescued her. A lot. She was their leader, their linchpin, every heroic cliche rolled into a posh and utterly uncompromising package. You remember their relief when you rescued her. Can still taste the apple juice you all drank at the ranch that night. Can still feel how painful her last words to you were, before you got yourself captured. 

Were you trying to prove a point? That you’re so much cleverer than us?  

It’s like she’d heard what your mum said. You think you’re invincible.  

You’re not.  

Obviously you’re not.  

The last fight you were in, where Alex accidentally let loose, where they weren’t actually trying to hurt you... what’ll it look like when the soul riders and the dark riders are trying to kill each other? 

Oh, yeah, fuck that. 

Fuck it. 

You can sort this! 

‘Better idea,’ you say, the volume of your voice startling Sands out of his little speech, ‘I can get into the circle. You three get some sleep, I’ll pop in there, grab it, and be back before Jay snores.’ 

Jay’s face works furiously, but no comeback emerges. Of course it doesn’t. Sands never stopped using his command... 

He’s looking at you in alarm, but as the eyes of the generals turn on him he clears his throat and says, ‘That’s not a terrible idea.’ 

You spread your hands. ‘Full of ‘em, me.’ 

‘ Right. Well. You will, of course, not be going alone.’ 

‘Of course,’ you smile. 

‘Sabine can—’ 

‘—get some well needed sleep, I agree!’ You peer over the railing at her. ‘You’re looking about a 6, and you’re usually a 10.’ 

Sabine growls. 

‘Cus you’re coming with me, aren’t you.’ You fix Sands with a look. ‘After that whole speech about how much you’ve done. You know, maybe I need to get my eyes checked, but you look the best rested out of all four of us.’ 

His face turns crimson. 

‘Or am I wrong? Four hour nap on that sofa in your office would’ve sorted most people. Ah well. I s’pose it’s your age. I hear old people start to need more sleep the older they get. You know,’ you add. ‘ Like babies.’  

‘Girl,’  he hisses, dropping his voice so the generals can’t hear, ‘If you— hrrff!’ He chokes as you drop your healing magic, just for a second. You keep smiling, but lower your voice to match his volume. 

‘Threaten the soul riders again, and squiddy’s gonna have to spend the next century trying to work out what on Earth he's gonna put on your obituary.’ You raise your voice again. ‘And so nice of you to let them speak again too!’ 

With a growl, he dismisses the command. The dark riders visibly relax, although Jay is still evaluating you from a distance. Sabine’s expression has returned to her usual superior sneer. Katja is thawing. 

‘Now,’ you say, turning back to Sands, ‘Have you ever ridden a horse?’ 

Chapter Text

'No.'  

'Come on,' you pat the saddle. 'You're the one who wanted to come!'  

Sands's face assumes the look of a dying raisin. He mutters something – probably about being forced by his illness to stay near you and the indignities of riding – and then falls silent. You finish adjusting the saddle and turn to him.  

‘You need a boost, or can you manage?’  

Sands glares at you. ‘I am capable of mounting unaided.’  

‘You sure?’  

‘Yes! Silence!’   

Despite his indignation, his flailing attempts to mount the goon-sourced steed annoy the stallion enough to buck him off, and he goes flying with a scream. You roll your eyes, and turn the healing magic up. But from the fuss he makes it’s as if his body had been as injured as his pride.  

‘Filthy, mongrel animal!’ He spits, picking himself up. You hurry to the stallion, soothing him as best you can.  

‘I thought the Baroness would’ve taught you how to ride.’  

‘On a thoroughbred, not this vile, half-breed ass!’  

‘Shh,’ you stroke the mule’s muzzle. ‘He doesn’t mean that.’  

‘I most certainly do!’  

You roll your eyes. ‘Didn’t you tell your goons to buy him in the first place?’  

Sands’s face sours. ‘This may astound you, Soul Rider, but differentiating between animals was NOT my priority when they were programmed!’  

‘Clearly.’  

‘I cannot ride this! Give me your horse. You can take the ass.’  

There’s an obvious joke there.  

‘Not happening,’ you smirk. ‘She’s particularly sensitive to dark magic at the moment, and she’s not your biggest fan at the best of times. If you don’t want to get thrown into the sea, it’s mule time.’  

‘Ugh.’ He squints at the mule suspiciously. The mule squints back. ‘Does it at least come from good stock? They bought it from that farmer. Nothing we can do about the ass, but I trust some of his horses are of good lineage?’  

You shrug. It’s getting very hard not to laugh.  

‘For what purpose was it bred?’  

‘On Jorvik? Dunno. But they’ve been around for thousands of years. Romans had ‘em.’  

‘That cannot be right.’  

‘They’re clever boys!’ You offer your hand, and the mule obligingly allows you to fuss his ears. ‘Fluffy boy, aren’t you? Aren’t you a fluffy boy?’ You look at Sands. ‘Come on. Try to introduce yourself in a less psychopathic way. You look like you’re thinking of turning his hooves into glue.’  

Sands glowers. ‘I see no reason to call this creature a fluffy boy.’  

‘Stay on the rig then,’ you shrug. ‘I’m happy with him.’  

‘No! Even were my... condition not a factor, I do not trust you to retrieve the Light Ceremony Book. You are too close to those fools.’  

‘So mount the mule, fool.’  

With as much coordination as a chameleon’s eyes, Sands fumbles his way onto the mule’s back.  

‘Easy, fluffy boy,’ you soothe. ‘It’ll be alright. The shouty, rude man won’t be up there for very long. You’ll be okay, won’t you?’  

The mule snorts. You look up, and immediately double over at Sands’s posture.  

‘What?’ he demands. You struggle to compose your face.  

‘Are you sure you’ve ridden before?’  

‘Of course,’ he growls.  

‘In the 1800’s?’  

‘Do you have some type of comment to make, girl?’  

‘No. No.’ You battle not to smile. ‘Carry on! Don’t let me stop you!’ You turn to your own horse so he can’t see the moment you break, and mount her. Sands gives you a suspicious look, before squinting at his watch.  

‘Twelve o’clock. How long do you estimate it will take for us to reach the hidden circle?’  

You shrug. ‘Depends. You comfortable galloping?’  

‘Of course!’ He snaps.  

‘Wonderful. Then I’d say ten, maybe fifteen minutes.’  

‘Good.’ He pauses, squinting down at the reigns.  

‘Are we off then?’  

‘Yes.’ He still doesn’t move. A suspicion takes root in your mind. Trying not to laugh, you lean over.  

‘Is anything wrong?’  

‘No.’ His face works for a moment, and at last he mutters, ‘How do you make it... go?’  

‘Same as with a horse.’  

‘Mm. Yes.’  

Holy shit he’s blushing.  

‘...how?’  

Chapter Text

‘Alright,’ you raise a hand. ‘Dismount here.’

Sands wrinkles his face. ‘We’re still a good five minutes from the village.’

‘Yeah, and you’re gonna walk it. Even the people living in Valedale who aren’t druids know your face.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ he grumbles.

‘Suit yourself,’ you shrug, ‘But if you ever wondered what the inside of a druid prison cell looked like, I promise it’s worse.’

Sands sneers, clearly about to make some sort of comment about hippy prisons and lavender scented drawer liners, but at this point the mule decides he’s had enough of standing still and brays loudly enough to make the old man scramble down. Whatever pride Sands pretends to have, his spine apparently remembers what happens if he annoys the mule too much.

You smirk, already readying a comment, when your own horse moves her head into your face and gives you a long look.

Do you know what you’re doing?

You stroke her neck slowly. You really hope her ability to pick up on your utter cluelessness isn’t shared by Sands. The chances you don’t run into at least one of the other Soul Riders on this mission are basically nil. As for the odds that Avalon, Evergray or Fripp aren’t in the Secret Circle…

It’s not as if you want Garnok released. Big, creepy, world-destroying squid with a personal vendetta against you was always a bit too much of a hard sell. You haven’t forgotten your last encounter either, when it tried to take over your body. It was bad enough when you had to ride out of Pandoria with just its tentacles on your tail. That’s one of the many things you won’t miss about Darko – Sands being able to use his magic to command people is one thing, but actually being able to summon parts of old squiddy… Yeah. You really don’t want that thing getting out of whatever dimension it’s trapped in. But there’s another issue. If you let the light ceremony go through before taking the book, how long will it be before the Dark Riders can try summoning Garnok again? Decades? Centuries? They’re already being run ragged as it is. If the Soul Riders succeed and Garnok is sealed, what would Sands do to the Dark Riders and their mounts? What would the druids do?

You know this is your chance to go back to them. Your horse gives you a long, hard look. You wince.

Yeah. You can easily imagine how that would go. They’d never let you be on your own again. Worst case scenario, you’d end up in a Justin situation – kept in a cell with some books and the occasional herbal tea while the druids bicker about what to do with you. Get dragged out on a mission now and then while they kept a damn close eye on you, if you were lucky. And what would happen to your horses? You can afford a stable girl while you’re out and working, but if they keep you in that cell… Did they ever talk about executing Justin? What if, once the light ceremony’s over, they decide you’re not worth the trouble and decide to speed up the whole reincarnation thing? What if—

‘Having second thoughts?’ Sands is watching you.

At this point, they’re more like fifth thoughts. You force a laugh and tie your horse to the nearest tree – not that she’d wander far even if you didn’t. Even now, after everything, she’s on your side.

‘You should be more worried than me. What d’you reckon the Druids would do if they caught you?’

‘One trembles at the thought. How would I ever endure the forced sessions of daisy-chain making?’

You squint sideways at him, searching for even a trace of disguised anxiety. There’s nothing.

‘Now, where is it?’

The path you usually take to the secret circle takes you up on the cliffs and past the druid paddock so you can say hello to Rhiannon. That’s out. She’s had enough dark magic trauma for a lifetime. That leaves two options. There’s the path that most of the riding clubs take, down by the river, and the overgrown one through the main wood and across several ponds that you’d happily splash through without a second thought on your horse. On foot, it occurs to you they’d reach your calves. Most of those ponds are sticky with the type of mud that clings to you – mud that’s ruined more than one of your Valedale champs.

Sands is wearing smart, black shoes. Businessman shit.

You take the pond route.

Maybe his inevitable complaining will distract you long enough to get rid of this festering panic. Although, to be fair, he’s been thwarting and being thwarted (thwart?) by the druids for at least the last two centuries. It’s entirely possible he knows something you don’t about their precedents for dealing with traitors. You consider this, as he’s skirting the edges of the pond with the look of an affronted cat. He must have known Justin would be taken in by them, and for all Sands’s evil you know damn well he’d never willingly put his grandson in harm’s way. Unless he just didn’t have the power to stop them. Like he said before, his magic only comes when Garnok lets him have it…

‘You’re really not even slightly worried about being caught?’

‘Are you planning on betraying me?’ His tone is calm in that annoying way that you can’t decipher.

‘Nope.’ Not at the moment, anyway. After you’ve got the book, you might have to re-think that…

He extracts his foot from the mud with an emphatic squelch and scowls at the state of his shoes. ‘As ever, this island is in dire need of roads.’

‘It’s a wood.’

‘It’s a public thoroughfare.’

‘It’s a wood.’ You pause. ‘I mean, seriously, you don’t think the druids would do anything to you?’

Sands scoffs. ‘As if they could.’ He pauses then, a frown growing on his face. ‘Girl, you’re not… concerned for me?’

‘Uh?’ Your brain stalls, and for a moment you wonder if the mud has somehow made it into your head, clogging up your thoughts. Sands’s face works, chewing over a strange sequence of thoughts.

‘Before, when I had my... episode. You made me chicken soup.’

‘Eyyuuupp...’

‘It occurs to me— BLAST THIS MUD! You’ve had numerous opportunities to betray me over the past few days. Even now, you continue to heal me. I must simply ask… why?’

‘I’m not a dick.’

Sands squints at you for a long while. Then, he releases a small noise of acceptance. ‘Well. Thank you.’

You’re at the treeline now. Looking up at the cliff where the four signs of power burn pink against the rocks, you feel an uncomfortable stirring in your gut. He’s right. You could have betrayed him by now. How many opportunities have you just not taken? Like your horse said, this is the best time to go back to the Soul Riders – get the light ceremony done, then run. Somewhere neither the druids nor Dark Core can find you. Maybe the Wildwoods. Maybe South Hoof. Dundull? Or New Hillcrest? Who visits there anymore? It doesn't even cross your mind to leave Jorvik.

Sands clears his throat. ‘Well? Where now?’

‘Maybe I should go by myself.’ You pause. ‘If the others are there, they’ll probably be more likely to let me get close to the book alone than if I’m with you.’

Sands scowls. ‘Then why did I endure the indignities of riding that animal?’

‘Because if I went too far away, your face would do its best Arc of the Covenant impression? Look, I’ll still need you if things go wrong. Just not inside the circle.’

‘Very well.’

You’re sure you’ve misheard him. ‘Eh?’

‘It’s logical enough. Go on, then. Use this blasted healing as a signal – if you require help, disable it briefly, and I will follow.’

You nod, slowly. ‘Alright. Getting into the circle’s easy – you just follow the spiral path from beginning to end, and you’ll end up in the Centre.’

Sands blinks. ‘Truly?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I had assumed it would have a more complex method of entry. Then... why do children from the village not go missing there on a frequent basis?’

‘There are no children in Valedale,’ you say, realising for the first time how weird that is. ‘Alright, see you in a minute! Try not to die.’

He gives a pointed look at the peaceful wood behind him. ‘I will certainly do my best.’

It’s a bit too quiet as you make your way up to the spiral, and your thoughts drift again to Spymaster’s agents. Why did you have to end up on the opposite side to the guy who has like a thousand squirrels working for him? You cast a nervous glance around the forest one last time before making the dizzying journey into the centre, praying as you do that no one will be there. Please, let Fripp have decided today is the day for a beach episode. Let Evergray have made some catastrophic discovery requiring literally everyone to run off to Pandoria. Let Ydris be causing complete chaos somewhere. Heck, you’d even take Sive and the other Vala witches being weird with tornadoes again.

‘What—?’

And it’s just your luck. Maybe the more you prayed no one was going to be on the other side, the more Fate was going to make sure they were there in force, just to spite you.

‘What are you doing here?’ Anne’s face comes into focus first, mouth half open in a mixture of shock, fear and anger.

You’re already conjuring a shield, bracing for Alex’s lightning, when you catch sight of her face and something inside you breaks. She’s staring at you, and she’s on the verge of tears.

‘You’re alive?’

‘Uh… yeah.’ You swallow, hard, feeling the metallic taste in the back of your throat that warns of coming tears. You won’t break, not now. Not in front of them.

‘No! Alex, stop her before she disrupts the ritual!’ Avalon cries. For the first time, you notice the levitating book spinning in the centre of the space. The light ceremony book. The others surround it, channelling their power into the book. Oh. They’ve started already.

‘No! Hold on!’ Lisa steps forward, her hands shaking, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from emotion of the effort of the ceremony. ‘Don’t we even get a chance to talk to her?!’

‘She knew what breaking the sisterhood would mean!’ The shrill voice of Fripp rings out across the circle and you tense. ‘Quickly, now!’

It happens between blinks. One moment you’re in the circle, the next…

Now, is this Linda’s illusion magic, or Anne’s portal magic? Have you actually been moved into the druid prison, or does it just appear that way? You fold your arms, not even bothering to test the walls to see if the stone is as solid as it appears. You know it will, regardless. Linda was getting wildly better when you left. Since you’ve been gone, who knows how much harder she trained?

‘Really?’ You say into the emptiness. Because they must know it won’t take much for you to break free.

‘That’s as close as you go.’ Avalon steps up to the bars of your cell, shaking ever so slightly. ‘I cannot believe— in all these years, never, never have we had someone betray their own! And corrupting your horse! Working with Dark Core! The explosions at Old Hillcrest, in Silverglade— How could you?’

You had a perfectly calm reply worked out right until those last three words.

‘I didn’t corrupt her!’

‘You most certainly did!’

‘I didn’t mean to!’

Avalon rips his phone from his pocket and brandishes it at you as if he thinks it’ll ward you off. ‘This message I was sent on here, this audio recording of you – we all heard it! Myself, my brother, the others – all of us!’ He fumbles furiously with the device, until that accursed conversation you had with Sabine all those weeks ago leaks from the speaker.

‘All that preaching about our “corrupted” stallions, when you use the same magic on yours.’

‘It’s Aideen’s light. It strengthens our bond, it doesn’t force one. And, in any case, Sands told me he’d wait for my reply. First Katja, now you. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was trying to hurry me up.’

For the first time, beneath the darkness of Avalon’s hood you see his eyes. It’s only because they’re wet enough to reflect the torchlight of the corridor.

‘How could you?’ He asks again, so much more a broken than you ever thought it was possible for a person to sound. ‘I made Catherine a promise. The day her starbreed died, I promised her the next time the horse was born I would be there to protect her! That, if it took that long, I would stop her reincarnation from making the same mistake! Have you forgotten that? Did you even know?’

‘I’m not her.’ The words come automatically – the rhetoric you’ve told yourself, over and over, to reassure yourself, to protect yourself. You didn’t mean them to hurt him. But he crumples.

‘Why?’

There isn’t a sensible answer anymore.

Maybe at first, when you’d escaped the rig with the others, you could have told him it was just to get Sands off your back. When Katja found your house, you could have admitted the truth when Avalon and the others confronted you. When Bonny was kidnapped, you could have admitted what happened to your phone on the rig, that Sands had seen her diaries and sent Sabine after her. When you accidentally corrupted your horse, your beautiful, gentle, sweet as innocence horse, you could have not followed Sabine. Not gone charging straight at Garnok in the hopes of a quick fix to controlling your magic. Not let Sands force the control cog into your neck. When you returned to the mainland with Jay to chase GED out of Silverglade, you could have warned the Soul Riders and gone back. When you attacked Old Hillcrest, you could instead have gone back to Valedale and explained. When you recovered from Alex’s accidental strike, you could have done something really simple.

You could have messaged her.

But you didn’t. At no point did you run from Dark Core. At no point did you admit you needed help. How long have you been in over your head now? Because it feels like you’re drowning.

Avalon’s still waiting, still staring at you, still waiting for an answer. Fuck. You don’t even know if he’s real.

‘I’m sorry,’ you mumble. ‘My power, I didn’t… I just didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore.’

‘What are you talking about?’ His words shake, but there’s iron beneath them. ‘You… When you set off that drakonium in Old Hillcrest, do you have any idea how many people would have died if Alex hadn’t been there?’

Your heart stops. ‘They were GED. Do you have any idea what they’ve done? How many people they’ve poisoned? How much—’

‘STOP!’

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him shout.

‘I don’t want your excuses! Just tell the truth! For once! How long were you working for them? Were you ever on our side?’

‘Of course I was!’ You cry.

‘Then how could you do this?! They killed Elizabeth!’

‘Darko killed Elizabeth, and he’s dead!’

‘He’s not, and you know that! Don’t you dare make excuses for them!’

‘I’m not making— Do you think I’d ever hurt any of you?!’

‘You corrupted your starbreed! Yes! You would!’

‘She’s fine now! I fixed—’ You stop. Avalon picks up on it.

‘You’re either lying, or you’re more selfish than I could have dreamed. We saw the other Dark Riders only today, and their horses are still corrupted. I didn’t want to believe it before, but you… you only care about yourself, don’t you?’

More than anything else he’s said, that hits like a knife to your heart.

Today is a Friday. If everything was normal, you’d get up at 5am, muck out your horses, take a couple out for a quick hack, then have them back in time for the kids who use them for riding lessons. Before lunch, you’d have made a quick circuit around the Harvest Counties, probably made it to South Hoof if you were lucky. You’d have changed the streetlights in Jarlaheim, dealt with GED plaguing the Jarlasson family on Paddock Island, raced Elli and Maya, maybe found some spiders in Epona. You’d have lunch with the Hermit on South Hoof, then on to Steve’s Farm to help set up for a club. By evening you’d have made it to the Wildwoods, where the Rangers would have some volunteer work lined up for you. You’d get back to your stable by midnight, then crash in bed some time around 1am. Saturday was a lie-in day, so you could get away with staying up longer.

And you’d still get up at 5am to feed the horses before going back to bed for another three hours.

You had cared less about yourself than you had about the island for years. Maybe it was a good thing you never tried to be selfish before.

Maybe the druids are right about you.

Maybe you are just another Catherine. Just another cautionary tale to warn the next incarnation of Aideen about. Maybe the problem was trying to take control of a life that was never, wholly, yours.

‘Fine,’ you can’t meet Avalon’s eyes, and you slouch to the floor of your cell. ‘What happens now?’

‘It’s not fine,’ Avalon snaps. ‘You’re going to put this right. They need you to finish the ceremony. Without you it won’t be as strong. We’d have to repeat this every year. With you, Garnok won’t be a threat for at least the next century.’

Ah. Century, then. Long enough for every one of the Dark Riders to feel Sands’s wrath. And more. You’ve seen first hand the effect Garnok’s wrath had on Sands. Has on Sands. Even now, you’re healing him to keep the symptoms at bay. What would Garnok do to the Dark Riders?

Nothing they didn’t deserve for failing me.

The voice enters your mind as easily as your own thoughts, and leaves behind a burning terror. Losing your magic didn’t heal you of Garnok’s influence. It never left.

Three images force themselves inside your mind, and no matter how much you fight and rage and strain not to see them, they play inside your head in horrific detail.

Jay is hunted by faceless strangers who scream and claw and stalk. And no matter how they shift, how they try to hide, how many faces they take, the strangers will always know it’s them. And when at last they find Acerbus, scared and confused, the horse will also recognise Jay, and run in terror. Without him, the strangers will catch them.

Sabine and her beloved Khaan, the horse who kept her human when her infernal magic raged as a child, the horse who first showed her how to control the inferno in her heart, find their magic turning on them. You don’t want to see what happens when the screams begin, but Garnok makes sure you do.

Katja guides Mortifa, her blind stallion, the only creature who’s never frozen and shivered to death under her touch, along a narrow bridge. Below them is nothing but darkness. And then Mortifa rears, sudden pain taking hold, throwing his rider before he can think beyond the agony. She’s at his side in a second, of course, like when your own lightning wounded Mortifa and she called her cold power to soothe him. Only this time, he withers like everything else she’s ever touched. Everything she’s tried to love. And this time, unlike the day she found him, she will be left completely alone for the rest of her life. And that life will be long and empty.

And then there’s Sands. And Garnok doesn’t put anything in your head for this. It simply halts your healing. For a minute. Two. Three…

‘Let me out,’ you grab at Avalon’s sleeve, and he twists away from you.

‘They aren’t finished with the preparation yet. When the time is right, you’ll all go to Guardian’s Dale to perform it properly—’

‘Let. Me. Out!’ Power surges from you, and you don’t know which circle it is that breaks the door and hurls Avalon away from you, but you know it wasn’t Garnok that made you do it, even as you run, even as Avalon gasps in pain and fails to get up, even as the vile, ancient thing starts to laugh, cruel and deep and sadistic, inside your head.

When you find Sands, he’s little more than a husk. A skeleton, gasping in shock as each new breath causes a fresh surge of pain. And before you can heal him, Garnok sends you a new order.

Get the book.

It doesn’t need to tell you what will happen if you refuse.

Chapter Text

You don’t remember who brought it up after training one day, when you were enjoying the afternoon sunshine and the fresh pressed apple juice from Lisa. Who would win in a fight between Linda and Batman, was the first one, you think. You all laughed, you made some joke about Batman not being able to find her because she’d still be in the library when the fight was due to start, and the suggestions got progressively more silly as the day went on. When the sun was wearing down to the horizon, maybe it was the heat or the sugar or some product of the tiredness, but you were all in a really giggly mood.

‘Oh! Idea!’ Alex cried, nearly spilling the last of her apple juice in her eagerness as she jabbed a finger at you. ‘You versus King Kong.’

You snorted. ‘I’ve never watched the films. I know he’s a massive gorilla… What powers has he got?’

Alex shrugged. ‘Just big, innit.’

‘Lightning circle then. Maybe make one of those massive ropes Rhiannon’s always getting us to jump, and make him trip.’

‘That’s not right! He’s fought Godzilla hasn’t he?’ Lisa chimed in. ‘Maybe his fur is resistant to energy pulses?’

‘Could use the sun circle,’ Anne suggested, trying to fend off the then infant Concorde from reaching her juice. ‘Just warp him somewhere he won’t bother anyone.’

‘And you can make portals that large, can you?’ Linda questioned. Anne shrugged.

‘I’ve never needed to try, but I don’t see why not.’

‘And if he doesn’t get warped?’ Alex asked.

‘You’re forgetting.’ You wriggle your fingers. ‘Aideen’s light. Make him friendly.’

There’s a collective groan. It’s been your get-out-of-jail-free card for the last three characters they’ve tried to match you against.

‘You don’t even know if it works on non-horses!’ Alex protests.

Lisa laughs. ‘She’s made enough friends on Jorvik, hasn’t she? Not all human, either, Spymaster told me about the seagulls!’

‘Maybe that’s just my winning personality,’ you shrug. Anne’s watching you with a curious expression.

‘Do you… I mean, is that why you’re able to form connections like that? I hadn’t thought before.’

‘No idea,’ you shrug. ‘I mean, sometimes it’s conscious, like when I’m trying to make a wild chill out so I can heal them, but a lot of the time with my new horses I never notice I’m doing it until… poof. We’re bonded. I mean, you’re all a bit like that, right? With your magic?’

‘I sometimes let off lightning without thinking,’ Alex nods, ‘But I’ve got to be properly angry for that to happen.’

‘And sometimes I get lost in other people’s memories,’ Linda agrees. ‘But Alex is right. I’ve got to be a bit emotionally unbalanced for that.’

Lisa frowns thoughtfully. ‘If I’m panicking too much, my magic doesn’t work how I want it to. Sometimes it doesn't manifest at all. I’ve never had it work better than I was expecting. What about you, Anne?’

‘I’ve got to concentrate with mine,’ Anne says. ‘If I don’t… well. Portals are supposed to bridge space. Where that space leads to is up to me.’

‘But none of you have ever subconsciously used your magic when you felt positive?’ You frown. ‘Not even you, Lisa? I would’ve thought the whole healing thing was closest to what I’ve got.’

‘Maybe?’ Lisa says uncertainly.

‘There’s still quite a deficit of information about fifth soul riders, if they appear,’ Linda says. ‘I’ve been trying to look through the Druids’ archives for any mentions, but there isn’t much. Not every sisterhood had one.’

‘Guess that makes us lucky!’ Alex grins.

You smiled. Of course you smiled. It was meant in such a lovely way, and the others nodded like it was a given. But inside, you couldn’t help thinking of Catherine. And how their sisterhood had been anything but lucky.

Chapter Text

There’s something to be said for training together. All the mistakes you make, you learn to predict in others, you learn to cover for. You can stop worrying about your back, knowing the others will keep you safe, and just focus on what needs to be done. Because the others will know your every move.  

You knew the moment you stepped back into the circle and their panicked eyes settled on you you’d be in for a fight. You knew the time for explanations and apologies had gone. So when Anne faltered in performing the light ceremony just long enough to shout, 

‘Where’s Avalon?’ 

you knew you had no choice. 

The one thing that always threw off everyone but you and Alex was a surprise attack. You have no idea how they felt when you hurled the lightning at Fripp. You know Alex was acting on instinct when she hurled herself, shield blazing, in front of him, because she didn’t think what the effect of stopping the ritual so suddenly would have on the others. Linda realised, though. Had the presence of mind to shout, 

‘ Down!’  

before the book twisted, pages rippling like a living thing, and spat all the energy they had poured into it out in a vast, destructive pulse. You knew it was coming, too. The moon circle has its roots in divination, after all. So you made yourself a portal, and ducked into it until the blast was past and you could charge out the other side. You came out right in Starshine’s face, and the stallion reared in shock. Before either horse or rider could think, you sent the pair of them back home to the ranch with a second portal.  

Anne had really pushed you to be able to do that in training; to hold multiple gates open at once, each with their own destination… 

She came at you with a cry of such fury that your mind went blank for a moment, automatically turning to search for the enemy she had so clearly focused on. Maybe, if you’d been with your horse, she would have kept her head and carried you out of the way. But as it was Anne and Concorde charged into you, and you were knocked backwards, through the portal you’d just conjured into Starshine Ranch. Lisa was already re-focused and ready for you, and as you got to your feet Anne, Linda and Alex followed through the portal and encircled you. Anne closed the gate with a curl of her fist. They all turned to you. 

‘Stay still,’ Lisa warned, raising her hands. ‘This should only take a second.’ 

You went to conjure a shield, but Alex shattered it with a single lightning bolt. ‘Do it!’ 

A sudden rush of warmth fills you; a lift like the first moment of peace after a long day. You felt a bruise on your arm heal, a papercut close. You know she’s healing you, that’s obvious. It takes you a moment to realise why . 

‘Lisa,’ you say slowly. ‘I’m not corrupted.’ 

‘That’s what you would think!’ Alex cries. Her hand is shaking. Aideen, what must it have taken for her to cast that lightning at you, given what happened last time…? ‘It’s fine, we promise! We can fix this! Just like we did for Justin, remember?’ 

Linda nods. ‘We’re here. We’re not going anywhere, okay? It’s alright. We can beat Sands, together.’ 

Why do they have to be like this. Your eyes settle on Anne, who responded with such sharpness to your panic before. Whose harsh words, when she confronted you about the rig, still cut you even now. 

Were you trying to prove a point? That you’re so much cleverer than us? That you can go waltzing around in their headquarters without suffering a scratch? Next time, drag someone else into your mess!  

But she looks the same as the others. Concerned. Tense. Warm.   

‘Come on,’ she says, and actually smiles at you, the sun emerging from a storm cloud. ‘You know this isn’t you. Don’t let them use you like this. Fight back . Like you always do.’ 

They truly think everything you’ve done over the past months has been because of dark magic. And that, somehow, hurts worse than any of their magic ever could. 

It makes sense. You’d assume exactly the same if it were one of them instead of you.  

Lisa’s frowning. Beginning to realise that something isn’t right. That the evil which should be flooding out of you… isn’t there. 

You give her a look. Shake your head. It cuts through her denial better than any spell or words could. She lowers her hands, but her expression is one of abject horror as her magic fades. 

‘Lisa?’ Linda asks. ‘What’s wrong?’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ you manage, though the words twist in your throat as you fight not to cry. ‘I tried to tell you.’ 

‘She’s…’ Lisa nearly chokes on the words. ‘She’s not corrupted. Never was.’ 

Alex’s eyes snap to yours. It’s not quite like Old Hillcrest; this time, she doesn’t cry. But the light in her eyes… it’s like watching the last instant before a burning monument collapses. Something important, something treasured, is gone forever. Their last rationalisation is a fantasy. 

‘Alex—’ 

‘ Don’t!’ Her hand is out, though whether to hurl lightning or raise a shield you can’t tell just yet. ‘Don’t you dare lie to us again! How long have you been working for them? Did you know? In Guardian’s Dale? When Elizabeth—’ Her voice falters. ‘We trusted you.’ 

‘It’s only since… the last time I visited the rig. February.’ You can’t meet her gaze anymore, and you drop your head. ‘I’m sorry. I have to.’ 

‘Why?’ Linda’s voice wavers, but the skeleton of the logic she holds so dear keeps her words from breaking entirely. And then Anne speaks. And the rage you expected to hear is nowhere to be found in her hollow tone. 

‘What did they do to you?’ 

It’s the same voice as the first time you found her. Trapped in that crystal, as she had been for months. Used for Darko’s twisted Dark Sun experiments. Knowing Concorde was gone. That her friends couldn’t find her. That she was, utterly, alone. 

Finding out Darko was responsible was the first time you can ever remember really hating someone. A fury that overrode your fear. You have to be honest with Anne. Of all people, she deserves to know. They all do. 

‘I didn’t send you the text to rescue me from the rig in February,’ you admit, voice as hollow as your heart now feels. ‘That was Sands.’ 

Anne inhales sharply. Concorde’s ear twitches. You swallow, and look away. 

‘You were right, Linda. They did know I’d been coming to the rig. They were waiting for me. Let Katja give me a few nightmares about what they’d do to my horse. Pandoria. Which was… yeah.’ 

Alex’s fists tighten at her sides. She’s probably remembering what Katja did to James.  

‘After that, I managed to escape. Got into a fight with Sands. Turns out, he’s got mind control powers. And I burned his creepy portrait of the Baroness which… he didn’t like.’ You stumble. Even now, you don’t want to say the words that have been burning your throat since you escaped. Since he let you go. He tried to kill me. ‘We had a little bit of a fight, I somehow managed to touch Garnok’s mind which was an… experience. Then he let me go. Said he thought my magic might be useful.’ 

‘And why did you go back?’ Linda’s voice is still steady, but Meteor’s eyes are anything but. The horse looks ready to start a fight. 

‘Forget that!’ Alex cries. ‘Why didn’t you say something?! We were hanging out for weeks after that!’ 

‘I…’ You realise you’ve been fidgeting with your neck. There’s a tendon or something in there, under the skin, that you found when examining your bruises before. A habit you didn’t lose when they faded away. ‘I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, then me and Anne had that fight, and I just didn’t want to give you anymore reasons to think I was being—’ 

‘Reckless?’ Anne’s arms are folded, and there’s a frown brewing like a storm on her face. ‘Well, you were. But we could’ve helped. What fight?’ 

‘You know.’ You swallow. ‘After the café, that one time. The one in Jarlaheim? I went to go help Steve, you came some of the way with me?’ 

‘Nnnno I didn’t,’ Anne says slowly. 

‘You did,’ Lisa frowns. ‘I remember, I put some of the photos on my story. You didn’t want to be tagged because your outfit wasn’t coordinated.’ 

‘My what?’ Anne stares at her. ‘When was this? When have I ever cared about that ? It would’ve only been the five of us looking at them!’ 

‘Does it matter?’ Alex snaps.  

Anne pulls out her phone. Lisa does the same. 

‘Look,’ Lisa insists, turning it, ‘Here. In March.’ 

Anne looks up from her calendar app, a haunted look on her face. ‘Lisa,’ she says, ‘I was in Germany that week. With my parents.’ 

There’s a long moment. Long enough for you to replay the conversation again in your mind – the words that have been cropping up in several of your panic attacks. And to notice slight differences in Anne’s mannerisms, little inconsistencies, flaws in the act. Well, why would you have known better? It’s not as if you knew Anne particularly well at the time. In fact, you’ve spent more time around certain Dark Riders than you have around her. 

‘Jay,’ you mutter. A bitter weight sinks deep in your stomach. How long have those words, that argument, been twisting your heart? How many times have you tried to justify not telling the Soul Riders things because of that exact argument. It’s why… Oh. Shit. 

It’s why you didn’t want to tell them about Katja. 

And after Katja, Sabine kidnapped Bonny, and waited for you to catch up before returning to the rig with you in tow. 

All three dark riders, in the span of a week. 

That manipulative old bastard . 

Is he even sick, now? Or is this some secret, under the table dealing with his squiddy bestie to further push you away from them? And the dam on your magic – you’ve had no ill effects since healing your horse. Not one of the symptoms he’d listed. 

Short temper. Loss of self-control. Magical outbursts. Recklessness…  

You’d said it at the time. And you were right. It’s called having a personality…  

‘I’m gonna kill him.’  

The others had been talking, but they fall silent at your words. Or maybe it’s the look on your face. 

‘He told me my magic was going to kill me. He said if I didn’t control it— Why the hell did I believe Sands ?!’ Fury rises inside you like a boiling tide. You’d actually started to trust him. You’d gone on missions with the Dark Riders, groomed their horses, organised his study, let him put an off switch on your magic, let him— You made him soup! How long has he been planning this? How much of what he said was manipulation? What he did? And today, you were… what? Going to stop the Light Ceremony for him? Steal the book for him? 

A book which is currently sitting, unguarded but for Fripp, in a circle you’ve now told Sands how to enter. 

There are about eight words you want to call him. Two of them would make your mother disown you. But all that leaves your mouth is, 

‘Oh. Fuck.’ 

* * * 

There are certain types of pain which don’t lessen not matter how much time passes, Sands had learned. And no matter how many centuries passed, his master knew the worst pain of all, the thing that would always serve both as the perfect torment and leash, was the memory of Rosalind. 

Falling in love never stopped being painful. It was a mistake he’d made more often than he should have – but never more deeply than with his first love. With Rosalind. That sweet, gentle, generous soul who they tortured to death in their primitive suspicions that she was a witch. Because she had the audacity to be kind. 

‘Stop it.’ 

The spring sunshine was breaking through a sky patchworked by clouds. Somewhere, the cows were making excited noises as they were let out for the first time in months. And she’d burned lunch.  

‘I confess,’ he admitted examining the cremated mass, ‘I’m not altogether certain what it... was.’  

Rosalind huffed, floured hands leaving streaks on her dress as she put her hands on her hips. ‘It’s your lunch. You can go find something in the woods if you don’t like it!’  

It was an option he’d been considering, right until her steely gaze landed on him. He swallowed.   

‘Right. Well. Thank you.’  

‘Ah, ah!’ She slapped his hand as he went to eat. ‘What do you say?’  

‘I said thank you!’  

‘Not to me!’  

He sighed again. No matter how many times he insisted he wasn’t religious – and even if he was, he wasn’t certain how popular Rosalind’s sect was – she still made him give thanks to Aideen for her gift of life to Jorvik every mealtime. Putting his hands loosely together, he mouthed the words she’d taught him a dozen times, and went to put the charcoal into his mouth. At which point he caught her eye. Her mouth was twitching.  

‘What?’  

‘Nothing! You go right ahead!’   

He put his fork down, and folded his arms. ‘Rosie.’  

She cracked. Doubled over laughing. He poked the ash again, and a strange smell drifted out of it.  

‘Rosie!’  

‘Aw,’ she wiped the tears from her eyes, that grin still immovable, ‘I was going to wait until after you’d tried some!’  

‘What are you trying to feed me? Is this... firewood?!’  

‘Might be! You’ll never know.’ With a flourish, she swiped his plate and replaced it with a slice of pie so infuriatingly delicious he couldn’t help but forgive her in an instant. Even if she did keep breaking into giggles.  

‘Please, stop.’ 

After lunch, they went for a long walk, right up one of the mountains. They didn’t reach the summit – it would have been too cold in any case – but as they reached a spot where the path levelled out, and a pair of giant rocks, cracked from the last ice age, lay like the perfect seats, they stopped and picnicked on the berries and other wild plants she’d gathered while they walked. She’d tried to teach him their names and uses in medicine, but when he got confused between Aideen’s Tears – the medicinal flowers – and Belladonna, her teasing was enough for him to admit he’d likely never know the difference.  

He was better with animals, though. As the sun began to set, a stunning moth passed them by, silvery wings dappled with dark spots like running condensation on a window. The Aideen’s Tear moth, he told her. Aglia Aidinia.   

‘Of course you speak Latin,’ she teased, and threw a strawberry stalk at him. Green spiders, she called them. ‘Go on then, what’s the Latin for horse?’  

‘Equus. You know that! Like equine.’  

‘Mmph. We should have brought Thornapple with us.’ She was referring to her Jorvegian Warmblood, a quiet mare who she rode almost exclusively bareback. He sighed.  

‘I always feel like an unwanted third party when you do that.’  

‘So find your own horse! I’ve been telling you to look for months. It isn’t as if—’ She stopped, staring down at something down in the valley.  

‘Rosie?’  

‘John, is that... a fire?’ She was pointing to their house.  

‘Stop! I did as you asked! Don’t make me see it again!’ 

It took two hours to descend, and by then her home, with all the memories, all the countless jars of medicine, all her watercolours and letters from him, to him, were blowing away in the breeze. The crowd hadn’t dispersed. They were waiting, as Rosie came rushing towards them, demanding to know what had happened, her picnic basket forgotten on the grass. Thornapple’s paddock was empty, and a sudden, horrible lurch in John’s stomach let him know even before the crowd started screaming that something was wrong.  

He couldn’t get to her before they grabbed her.  

‘Witch!’  

‘Liar!’  

‘Devil worshipper!’  

He fought them. Of course he fought them, no fool who got in his way escaped with anything lighter than a black eye. But he was one man. And she was exhausted from hiking.   

The next day, he was called before the magistrate for causing civil unrest – and though he’d known the man who wore the judge’s wig since the day he’d moved to Jorvik, as the man told him he was lucky not to be tried for witchcraft alongside his fiancée, he didn’t recognise a soul in that courtroom anymore.  

He was left in his cell until after they were done with her, but he heard clearly the splash of her body hitting the ice cold water. Felt with dread in his stomach the certainty that they would find some way of twisting whatever result they got into a beheading. Or worse. He’d never seen anyone burned at the stake before. Never wanted to. But he’d read the tales from bystanders of the precise smell of burning meat, and the thought made him so sick he couldn’t eat for days.  

And then she was freed.  

He was freed.  

Some apologised, though more common by far as he brought her home were the suspicious stares of those who thought her still guilty, and cursed her for a witch behind their hands.  

There was no house to return to, so he was forced to let a tiny cottage on the coast, whose thin walls welcomed in the wind and whose roof might as well have been made of mesh for all the good it did in defending from damp.  

‘It’s not as bad as it seems,’ Rosalind said, weakly. She hadn’t recovered from the ice cold water they’d thrown her into, and her hand shook badly as she touched his cheek. He held her close, though it was like squeezing the hand of a marble statue for all the warmth he found. ‘I’ve heard people say the sea air does you good when you’re sick.’  

He nodded, distractedly, unable to really take her words in. He just wanted her to keep smiling at him. Keep telling him it would be okay. ‘I can’t forgive them for this. I’ve got friends, in London – lawyers and the like. Perhaps I can do something.’  

‘Now what would be the point of that? You’d just get your silly self into trouble again.’ Her eyes were as sharp as ever as she reprimanded him. ‘Go on. Make us something to eat. It’s the best entertainment I’ve ever seen. We’ll have to take you on the road after I’m better – make you into a travelling show. The Amazing Sandman! Anything edible he touches miraculously turns to grit!’  

‘Oi!’  

She snickered, but it turned quickly into a cough. A cough which lasted far too long. And though she covered her mouth and hid her hand quickly afterwards, he saw a flash of red in her saliva. His stomach clenched as he turned to the fire, and heaped more wood onto it. Soup. She needed soup. They both knew she couldn’t taste anymore.  

‘Any sign of Thornapple?’ She asked as they ate. He’d made her stay in bed, propped up with pillows, but her hands were shaking.  

He shook his head. He didn’t want her to know, yet. Better to wait until she was feeling brighter. How could he tell her what they’d done to the horse she loved almost as much as him? It was a miracle neither of them had noticed during the fire...  

‘I expect she’s just been sold,’ he lied. ‘Maybe, if I ask another few auctioneers they’ll know where she’s gone.’  

Rosalind sighed. She put her soup down without finishing it. ‘I know. I just... I’ve got a horrible feeling.’  

He stood and kissed her on the head, squeezing her shoulder. ‘It will be fine. I promise.’ He forced a smile. ‘Maybe, when you’re better, you can come with me and help me choose my own horse.’  

She grinned. ‘You don’t even know how to ride.’  

Another coughing fit interrupted any further conversation, and he cleared the dinner things away when it became clear any attempts to make her eat more would only make her feel sick. As he climbed into bed, he could feel her shaking. Her fever boiled the air around her as she slept.  

And then his dreams began.  

Whispers leading him towards the deep sea, as they had every night since Rosalind first sickened.  

They called him deeper. Deeper into the abyss. Towards a seabed which whispered with promises of salvation.  

At first, he thought it might have been her goddess. Her Aideen. But he quickly learned not to make that mistake again.  

His nights were flooded with dreams like this, where he wandered ever closer to that whispering abyss and the hope it offered. His days, far from searching the auction halls as he told Rosalind, were transformed into long stretches of research in the few private libraries which would still admit him. Apparently being betrothed to a witch, even an innocent one, was enough for most nobles to pretend they had never known him before.  

And he made meaning from the scraps he found. Pieced together a picture of rumour and speculation, of accounts from long-dead sailors and druids. More often than not, he found himself studying her world – her faith. Which mentioned enough of the portent in the deep for him to understand what – who – was calling to him. What it wanted in exchange.  

‘I know! I know! Leave me be, I’ve not changed my allegiance! I still serve your will! Don’t make me see it again! Please! I beg—’ 

‘This is annoying,’ Rosalind hissed through laboured breaths. Her fingers bit into his, but he was holding her just as tightly. Her eyes couldn’t focus on him. She was volcanic in his grip. ‘John? Are you still here?’  

‘I’m not going anywhere. Never, Rosie!’  

‘Great,’ she grimaced. ‘I... John?’  

‘Yes?’  

‘Do you mind if I’m honest with you?’  

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure she could still see. He was shaking with fear.  

‘You can’t cook.’  

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a gasp. She grinned, though her chest began to spasm with coughs again as she tried to laugh. He held her.  

‘Don’t try to talk,’ he began, but she waved her hand at him until her coughing subsided enough for her to choke out,  

‘Don’t try... to stop me. I’m not going... quietly!’  

‘You’re not going at all.’ He gripped her with both hands, trying to make her look at him. Her eyes slipped sideways, unfocussed. ‘Rosie! Rosalind!’  

‘Wow,’ she mumbled, ‘Full named.’  

‘I’m close,’ he said, ‘I swear, darling. I’m so, so close to curing you. Can you hear me? I’ve found some... one who can help.’  

‘That’s... nice,’ her words were getting quieter. He had to strain to hear them. ‘John?’  

‘Yes?’  

‘I know you were lying. Thorny’s dead, isn’t she?’  

His heart squeezed, though not in sympathy for the poor dead horse. ‘I just wanted you to be hopeful. I didn’t want —’ 

‘I know.’ She took a long, laboured breath. ‘John?’  

‘Still here, I’ll always be here, my darling!’  

‘There’s an abbey... near Pinta. Can you make sure I’m scattered there? Please.’  

‘You’re not going to die!’  

‘You’re really bad at lying.’ She smirked, and reached up towards his face. He took her arm, and let her pull him in for a kiss. ‘Get better at it. Promise?’  

‘I promise,’ he whispered.  

‘Good. And find yourself a horse. Aideen split herself in two. One part to the people of the island, one part to the horses. If you look long enough, maybe you’ll find me again. In horse form.’ She was rambling, but he smiled.  

‘Just look for the most stubborn mare imaginable, then?’  

‘Yeah. And I’ll come for the guy... with the worst fashion sense.’ She drew a long, shuddering breath. ‘I was lying too, you know.’  

He didn’t know what she meant, didn’t care. Her pulse was slowing under his grip and his mind had gone blank. He called, desperately, to the thing from his dreams. He searched so long and so hard, he almost missed her last words.  

‘You’re actually... a pretty good cook.’  

Sands came back to himself, crumpled on the ground, tears streaking his face. His whole body was shaking, but as he rose, he felt the effects of the aging curse, his master’s punishment for losing the Light Ceremony book, begin to fade away.  

Sangordha.  

It took every ounce of will he had left not to try and run. Not that it would have done him any good. 

Do you know why I must do this to you again?  

His mouth was drier than it should have been. A metallic taste at the back of his throat led him to realise he’d been screaming. ‘No.’ 

I told you, when you called to me, what using my power would demand of you. I forbade you from forming such relationships again. Or have you forgotten that?  

Every time he’d tried, his master knew in an instant. Brought down this and worse on his head. The memories of Rosalind were agony. The looks on his lovers’ faces, when they saw his true nature, when Garnok forcibly stripped his disguise away and let them see the toll the dark power had taken... There was a reason Annabelle had divorced him and given their son away. 

He swallowed, hard. 

‘I haven’t. She will get the book.’ 

That much is not certain. I told you to win her, but your methods were crude. Imprecise. Even now, she has begun to see through your deception.  

‘I won’t fail you.’ 

Such words have been spoken a number of times before. But the book is not the issue at present. Ten years, a century or a millennia... I will be free. But who my herald shall be at that time, who shall be there to receive my Thanks, depends upon your obedience.  

You have not kept to our agreement.  

‘I’m... not entirely sure what you mean.’ 

Don’t delude yourself. I am patient, Sangordha, but not infinitely so.  

‘I haven’t seen Annabelle in decades.’ 

Perhaps you wish to once more see your beloved wither away? Try. Again.  

It took Sands a moment to realise what his master meant.  

‘Oh.’ 

Retrieve the book.  

Chapter Text

An old, broken man should be easy to break. That idea was easy to form. But after all he’d done to hold you, to keep you at his side, how could you still trust in his “sickness”, in the idea that he and his squid master had fallen out and his whole “oh I’m so weak and helpless and need you to keep healing me” schtick?   

A few months after you’d met her, while you were still getting to know her, Lisa had told you a story about the day she met Starshine. What he’d done then to control the pair. And you’d still fallen for his bullshit. It’s very hard not to feel like an idiot. But, no. Sabine told you, Jay told you, hell, Katja had told you! This is what he does. Finds people with power and manipulates them until they’re lodged squarely under his thumb. You’re far from the only person it’s happened to. For right now, for the moment, you just need to focus on kicking that old man’s arse. Guilt, blame, and... yeah, probably therapy – that can all come later.  

If he was lying to you about his sickness, and why the hell wouldn’t he have done, then there’s no reason for Garnok’s lingering threat against Sands to make your hands shake as you slip between time and space alongside the others, and fall into the Secret Circle.  

And yet.  

‘ STOP .’   

The command cuts through the five of you, the word as unfeeling as a sabre. Sands’s face is grim as he comes into focus, the Light Ceremony book under his arm. Fripp is nowhere to be seen. And despite all the annoyance that magic squirrel has caused you, worry rises in your throat at the thought of what might have happened to him. It’s not eased by the aura of satisfaction surrounding Sands as he examines the effect his power has had. His face, you notice with grim realisation, is back to normal, though you haven’t resumed your healing.   

He’s made up with his calamari master.   

As his eyes meet yours, a thin smile spreads across his lips. Slowly, deliberately, fully aware that you can’t move, he crosses the space towards you, and puts his hand on your shoulder. A bolt of cold adrenaline rips through you, but before you can even try to break free from his magic, as you did once before, he leans in.   

‘Superb job, my dear. Couldn’t have orchestrated a better distraction myself.’  

‘Get off her!’ Lisa shouts. You can’t move your head, but it’s not hard to imagine the look on her face. Poor Starshine must be battling his own fear to stay strong for her.  

‘Come now, Lisa,’ he sneers, ’Even someone as naive as you must see the writing on the wall. Your friend here has already chosen the winning side.’  

‘Yeah,’ Alex growls. ‘Ours. Now back off! You’re outnumbered nine to one, Sands!’  

Sands’s grip on your shoulder tightens. ‘Don’t be so hasty, Alex. Your friend is an adult – she can think for herself. And has.’  

‘Then why did you have to cast magic on her too?’ Linda’s voice is steady despite the fear, but Sands just scoffs.   

‘Unlike your so-called sisterhood, my newest dark rider has something of a resistance to my influence.’ His nails bite into your shoulder as he drops his voice so only you can hear. ‘ Don’t you?’   

You grit your teeth. Does he really think you’re that deluded? Of course, you’re lucky he still thinks you’re on his side, but this close... with his hand so near your neck you can feel the blood beating in his fingertips, you’ve only got one chance to knock him down before he can retaliate. It’s not hard to remember the inhuman fury in his face the first time he tried to kill you. And that pulse is rapid. It’s a surprise, given how calm he seems on the surface, but as his eyes linger on yours, for a moment you wonder if he’s trying to tell you something. But it’s probably just a signal to attack them.  

You break his power with a burst of light, and his sneering eyes flash, for an instant, with nerves. Why? Is he scared of you? Was he just taken aback? Or... has he begun to suspect the truth, that you’ve switched sides yet again?  

It doesn’t matter. He used you. Manipulated you. After all he’s done, he should be scared.  

‘Good. You see—’  

The lightning hits him before he can even look surprised, the book slipping from his grasp. You lunge in, knowing all it will take is a word out of his mouth to render your opening worthless.   

You snatch up the book, and as he gets out, ‘Dro—’ the others close in.  

Starshine’s hoof collides with his head, and he drops like a sack of potatoes. Anne takes no chances. You don’t even get a look to see if he’s unconscious before she’s portalled him away.  

The five of you are left, breathing heavily, looking around the circle, shaken from the speed of the encounter and fully aware of exactly how close you came to losing.  

‘Nice one,’ Alex says at last, nodding at you. And it’s like a weight has lifted, with just that little gesture of normalcy . You still have so much to fix, to atone for, to apologise for – you have to rescue Bonny, and apologise to Avalon and all the others for what you’ve put them through, but for just now, with Alex smirking at you like old times, you feel more like yourself than you have in months. You feel like one of them , part of the sisterhood, in a way you never quite did before.  

Even if the thought of what Sands will do to the Dark Riders when the ritual is completed fills your heart with dread. It delays Garnok’s escape by centuries. Exactly how might he take out his fury on them?  

But with Alex looking at you, you somehow can’t find the words to admit to your fear. Instead, you flash her a shaky smile, though you can still feel where Sands’s nails were biting into your skin.   

‘Thanks for trusting me.’  

‘Still,’ Lisa shudders. ‘The way he was talking to you...’  

‘Creepy,’ Linda says, at the same time as Alex mutters, ‘Gross.’  

‘Was he like that on the rig?’ Anne asks quietly, her eyes sympathetic. You shudder.  

‘I... I was starting to think I could read him. Tell when he was getting angry, and be able to re-direct it, get him to do what I wanted. I talked him down from overworking the Dark Riders, so I could come here. But... I don’t know. Maybe that was just what he wanted me to think.’ You rub your free hand, the one not holding the book, over the scar on the back of your neck where the control cog sits. What if he can force Bonny to make him a new remote, and dam your magic again? What if, next time you see him, it’s permanent?  

‘Anne, where did you send him?’  

A gleam of malice rarely seen in the sun rider rises in her mismatched eyes. ‘Oh, nowhere special. Just a certain frozen forest.’  

The Valley of the Hidden Dinosaur. Somehow, you can’t imagine him getting much signal to organise a Dark Rider pick-up there.  

Nice.  

‘Where’s your horse?’ Linda asks. ‘You’ll need her if we’re going to finish the ritual today.’  

‘Just at the edge of Hollow Woods. I’ll go fetch her.’  

‘Need us to come with?’  

‘Nah, I’ll be right back. Should be back by the time you’re done. Here,’ you offer the book to Linda. ‘You’d probably better do it quickly. I don’t know how much damage I did when I interrupted.’  

‘You’re fine,’ Anne says, ‘We’ll wait. We were expecting you to show up, anyway.’  

You hesitate. ‘Wait, why do you need my horse again?’  

‘Completes the pack doesn’t she?’ Alex grins. ‘What, did you think we could do the ritual without you two? I thought that’s why you left the book. Nearly had a fight with Fripp over that – but we all said you were still in there.’  

‘I did what?’  

‘Left the book.’ Lisa frowns. ‘I mean, that was you, right? Leaving the Light Ceremony book just outside the Secret Circle?’  

‘No?!’  

They exchange baffled looks.  

‘It was on the rig, right?’ Alex frowns.  

‘Yeah, but I didn’t take it!’  

‘We can worry about that later,’ Anne gestures to the portal. ‘Go on ahead. We need to check up on Fripp.’  

Your stomach knots as you step between worlds, time and space unfolding before you. One of the Dark Riders. It had to be – who else could have got so close to the book? But why would they sabotage themselves, knowing how dangerous Sands can be when he gets angry? Unless... Was one of them trying to get you back on the Soul Riders’ side? They weren’t exactly subtle about wanting you off the rig – none of them were. It’d be one hell of a gamble though. If Sands caught them...  

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts, you don’t notice the small child until you trip over her.  

‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ You blurt out automatically.  

She looks up at you with big, dark eyes, and for an instant you’re afraid she’s about to cry. Instead, she grabs your hand and pulls herself off the ground with a little grunt.  

‘That’s okay,’ she says, astonishingly calm for someone her age. ‘Were you in a hurry?’  

You nod. ‘Yeah, just off to grab my horse. Sorry, again.’  

‘That’s okay,’ The child hasn’t let go of your hand yet. ‘I saw one in the woods. She’s very pretty. Can I come with you?’  

‘Err...’  

You look around for the small child’s parents. No one’s about. Valedale is quiet, today. ‘Do you need to let someone know you’d be coming with me?’ You prompt.  

‘Nope!’ She smiles widely, showing off a pack of shining white baby teeth. ‘My uncle’s close-ish, and he doesn’t care where I play!’  

Negligent twit. Although, in fairness, Valedale’s probably one of the safest villages in Jorvik for a kid – not that you’ve seen one here before today. Actually, are there kids in Valedale? You could’ve sworn not. Most of the villagers you know are old and live alone. Of course, there was that time the family of German tourists passed through with their kid...  

‘Are you here on holiday?’ you ask at last. The kid’s still holding your hand, though she starts to skip off, dragging you with her. She giggles.  

‘Yeah! I’ve been away for a long time, so it’s nice to be back! All my friends forgot me, though.’  

‘Oh, I’m sure that’s not true!’  

‘Yeah, ‘tis.’ She’s still smiling. Brave little thing. You squeeze her hand. ‘It’s fine, though. Will you be my friend instead? Just until I make them change their minds.’  

‘Uh...’ You’re suddenly very aware of how creepy her uncle might find a nineteen-year-old dragging his niece around the woods with the promise of pretty horses. You don’t have any younger siblings, so for the moment you’re blind as to how to handle this. ‘Wouldn’t... you rather be friends with someone your own age?’  

She giggles again. ‘You’re funny. You can be my friend now. Do you want to meet my horse?’  

Shoot. The child’s led you to completely the wrong end of the woods for your horse. How hard would it have been for you to not get distracted?!  

‘Uh, yeah,’ you say, ‘I just need to go get mine first...’  

‘That’s okay! I put them together.’ She grins at you. ‘I think they like each other.’  

What?  

The child pulls you into a clearing with a huge tree at its centre, and puts a finger to her lips.  

‘Stay still now, okay? You should be okay, cos you’re my friend, but she can be a bit silly with new people.’  

You force a smile. ‘I’m a bit like that, too.’  

The child grins, dropping your hand, and darts out of sight behind the tree. She emerges from the other side after a moment, holding the reins of a horse you can’t yet see. You can’t even hear its hoofbeats. And then it emerges from behind the tree, and all you feel is confusion. Because the patchwork thing with its blinking button eyes shouldn’t be able to move under its own power, as it very clearly is, and most certainly should not be able to turn, lower its head and snort at you from nostrils that have clearly been embroidered on.  

You gape at it.  

‘Oh, that’s a funny face!’ The child giggles. ‘This is Nihili. Say hi to her!’  

You stare. ‘Are you... a Pandorian?’ It’s the only explanation you can think of, because this is surely the type of thing only one of Ydris’s people would do. The child pouts.  

‘That’s rude. You’re being rude! Say hi to Nihili!’  

‘...hi,’ you manage, though you move no closer to the strange cloth creature. Then, a horrible thought occurs to you. Ydris’s people always need a physical creature to transform... ‘Where’s my horse? What did you do to her?!’  

The child sighs dramatically. ‘She’s fine! Probably. She was when I left to come find you. My uncle’s looking after her!’  

‘To... come and find me?’  

This is wrong, this is so very wrong, and you can’t fight the fear beginning to pool in your stomach at the wrongness of it all.  

‘Uh huh!’ The child grins, swinging up and down on the points of her toes. ‘I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while! I’ve heard a lot about you!’  

‘Who’s your uncle?’ You ask at last, hoping to Aideen it’s anyone but Ydris. You get your wish. And regret it.  

‘That would be me.’ A cruel, smug voice rises from right behind you. A voice you know only too well. You whip around to see your horse’s reins in the hand of a man you’d really hoped was dead. ‘Hello, Soul Rider,’ says Darko. ‘Thank you for dealing with the old man for us. Makes things... so much easier.’  

And the child starts giggling again.

Chapter Text

Don’t panic. Don’t let a single emotion that he could use cross your face. You’ve seen how easily Darko finds the chinks in people’s armour, how he uses their moment of weakness to destroy them. And with your horse so close to his cane… You know what his magic can do. You still remember the look of shock on Elizabeth’s face.

The child beside him giggles, rocking up and down on the balls of her feet. ‘She looks scared!’

‘Good,’ Darko sneers. ‘That means she’ll pay attention.’

‘How are you alive?’ You have to risk the question. For a brief instant, you dare to hope this might mean Elizabeth is alive too – but the gloating laugh that escapes his lips robs you of the hope.

‘Let’s just say that a mutual acquaintance felt a change of leadership was needed. After all, that stupid old man let you get one horse away from locking poor Garnok away for another century. And we can’t be having that.’ He puts his cane to your horse’s neck, and every thought deserts you.

‘Don’t—’

‘You’re going to behave now,’ Darko sneers. ‘Garnok isn’t too happy about your dithering loyalties. I think it likes to make sure its followers stay loyal. So, you’re going to make a show of your sincere devotion to its cause.’

‘What do you want?’ You ask, though you already know. What else would he want but the Light Ceremony book?

His smile widens like the mouth of Hel itself. Slowly, he strokes your horse’s mane, and you can see her shaking under his touch. She, like you, knows the risk she’ll run by bolting or kicking out at him. Fire moves faster than flesh.

‘For a start, obedience,’ he sneers. Next to him, Erissa huffs.

‘You’re so slow. Just tell her already so we can go play!’

‘Patience, Erissa, or you can go back in that tree.’

‘You’re mean.’ Erissa scowls, but falls silent. Her restless energy moves to her hands, which begin unpicking the threads of her jumper, coiling them into psychedelic new shapes. Darko continues.

‘There’s only one thing I need from you, girl. You softened the old man up for me beautifully. I think you might be a better manipulator than he was! When I found him, he was a wreck, crying over his dead wife of all things! I would have put him out of his misery, but, if there’s one thing Garnok won’t let me do, it’s harm its so-called herald. Even now. I just threw him into the depths of Pandoria instead. But you…’ Darko leans forward, eyes burning with fanatical glee, ‘You can.’

‘What?’ You blink. ‘I thought— Don’t you want the Light Ceremony book?’

‘Obviously,’ he snorts, ‘But it’s not as if they could complete the ritual without you and your nag.’

Your horse’s ear flicks, and she gives him the dirtiest look you’ve ever seen a horse give a man. If that cane weren’t in his hand, if you were a bit closer and Erissa – whose magic is still an unknown quantity – weren’t there, you know this would be the moment she’d bite his hand and snap his leg with one good kick. Your eyes meet. She sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry for what might happen to her, and all the betrayal of the last few months, the guilt you still feel, is dismissed by her furious snort. She wants to be unleashed. And you really wish you could let her.

‘Well?’ Darko says.

‘What do you want me to do to him?’ You ask, thinking of stalling for time. Maybe trying to distract him.

‘Kill him.’

The words barely register. Then they strike you with all the blind fury of lightning. ‘What?’

‘Kill him! I doubt it will be difficult, the state he’s in. I’ll put you in Pandoria to deal with him, and then, when I’m ready to use you for our ritual, I’ll fetch you back. Oh, don’t look so shocked. It takes at least a month for the first scars to start showing. Of course, time flows quite a lot faster in there…’

‘No chanc— No!’ You stumble over your words in your fury. Have you ever been this angry before? You can’t have understood him correctly, surely not even Darko is this evil.

But he is.

Of course he is.

‘I thought you’d jump at the chance for revenge,’ Darko sneers. ‘Aren’t you bitter that he manipulated you? Used your trust like that? Or perhaps, you just don’t care about your precious little pony.’ And the tip of his cane bursts into flame, just for an instant. The stench of burning horsehair sets your stomach tumbling.

‘That’s— What— Why do you need him dead? He’s trapped, isn’t he?!’

‘No one knows better than me how impermanent being “trapped” in Pandoria can be. Or don’t you remember how you stole back my dark sun?’

Your hand twitches. Poor Anne had to listen to this psycho ramble on for what must have felt like years…

‘No,’ Darko continues, ‘I need something more permanent for my former colleague. Why are you still hesitating? I thought you hated him.’

Erissa snickers. ‘Nah. I bet she likes him.’

It takes all the self-control you have left not to swear at a child, but BOY you come close. About Sands? Fucking Sands?

‘Huh,’ Erissa squints at you. ‘That’s a weird colour. Why’s your face that colour?’

‘He’s like three centuries old, mate.’ You spit.

Erissa giggles. ‘You’re fun. Aw, now I really wanna play with you. Do we have to send her to Pandoria?’

‘Work comes before play, you know that, Erissa.’ Darko smirks. ‘Now, I’m expecting swift results from you, girl. If you fail to perform… I’m sure I still know a few glue merchants.’

Every part of you wants to jump him and see just how flammable that hairspray-stinking mohawk really is. Instead, you look again to your horse. She snorts, one hoof pawing the ground. The message is clear.

I’m ready to go, if you are.

Shit.

For the first time in your life, you wish she didn’t understand, that you didn’t understand her. That the link you’ve had no choice but to form with every horse you’ve ever ridden didn’t exist. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so guilty about stamping all over her wishes. Again.

Knock. Him. Out.

But you can’t. She’s too close to him. Erissa looks far too calm, and you don’t even know what she can do.

As Darko notices your hesitation, his cane again begins to spark…

‘Fine!’ You snap. He tilts his head.

‘Fine what? Little more sincerity, please, or I might think you’re having second thoughts.’

Fuck you, Darko, you think.

‘Fine, I’ll do it,’ you growl. ‘But I’ll know if you put another finger on her.’

‘I’m shaking,’ he sneers. And, just to spite you, his cane flashes out and burns a lock of her mane off.

Something snaps.

‘You should be.’

‘Hey—’ Erissa’s hands pause, the strands of her jumper still tangled around her fingers in half-formed shapes, ‘What… is that? What are you?’

Darko’s sneer vanishes. He’s seen it now.

What did Katja call you once? An ‘eldritch fucking god’? There’s a magic in you that isn’t theirs, that isn’t Aideen, or Druid, or Dark Core. That will never be.

You’re you.

‘For the record,’ you spit, ‘I don’t hate Sands. I hate you, Darko.’

He takes his hand off your horse to put both on his cane, his shoulders beginning to tremble.

‘D…’ He swallows, hard, and casts his pathetic little spell. ‘Do your job! Or your horse… you know!’

Tentacles erupt from the rift he’s conjured, but you’re not finished talking. A raging light more terrible than the sun rips through the tentacle as it attempts to grab you, and the monster retreats just long enough for you to spit one last piece of advice at Darko.

‘Start praying.’

The tentacles battle through the blaze and seize you. And though you’re dragged into Pandoria, Darko knows damn well you didn’t mean to Garnok. If he touches your horse, you’ll be worse.

Chapter Text

You’ve only ever told Evergray this, but returning to Pandoria isn’t a new thing for you. Once you found that first rip in reality, that little weak spot that moved around Jorvik each day, how could you resist? Of course, however reckless Anne might think you are, you took some precautions. You trusted Evergray not to snitch on you to Avalon or Fripp, but even so you kept your questions purely hypothetical at first.

How long can you spend there without getting scars?

Did your eye becoming corrupted mean you can’t see out of it?

What did you eat?

How many Pandorians behave like Ydris, or is he just special?

Does it rain?

He didn’t even hesitate to answer. Exploring Pandoria had been his passion for twenty years; how could he not ramble on about it?

They weren’t the most reassuring conversations you’ve ever had. All Evergray’s trivia, however interesting, always looped back to one immutable rule. The longer you spent in Pandoria, the worse the effects would be. Discolouration and numbness of the skin, eventual loss of function in those parts affected, sickness and… well, you both knew how Concorde had died, didn’t you?

You couldn’t remember off the top of your head how long Anne had been trapped, but you knew it had felt like years to her. Anne was rarely metaphorical. Crystals could provide some shielding; apparently that was what Pandorians carved their masks from, though the world was toxic even to them.

But Evergray’s eyes when he talked about that place were compelling. That familiar ache in your chest returned, that need to explore further, to see places no one had been able to spoil… surely, if even the edges of Jorvik couldn’t sate that desire, a new dimension of magic, even corrupting magic, would.

Your trips were always short. Never longer than an hour. But at the last official druid meeting, before the February when you were captured on the rig, Evergray had given you a look, raised an eyebrow, and asked you how the manta rays were. No one else heard. Since then, however, he’d sent you unprompted information about Pandoria every so often. Little texts which proved, however cool he might be, Evergray is as bad with technology as his brother.

It has been a long time since you were last in this part of Pandoria. Pulling yourself up from the ground where you were unceremoniously thrown, you squint against the light from the poison pink sky to make out the patterns of the caves before you. Time and space unfold here, always in motion, making mapping the landscape impossible. But you know the signature of each fragmented piece. The smell, the fingerprints of rock formations yet to never be until they regrow again, and again. The colour of the rock, and where the mantas choose to fly, knowing that some time soon, a mountain will be where there never was before, yet again.

All that to say, it isn’t the large pink crystal which tips you off. Nor the proximity of Garnok’s grasping tentacles. You know what the Prison Island where Anne was trapped and used by Darko as a test subject looks like. The only difference is, now it isn’t her in the crystal. Twisted, pitiful and weeping tears that run green from one eye is Sands. He hasn’t even noticed you, too wrapped up in self-indulgent misery.

Even as you watch, his lips form the name, Rosalind.

A vile part of you urges you to do it now, to strike before he gives you a moment to second guess yourself. He used you. Tricked you. Lied to you. Made you think your magic would devour you unless you submitted to his control, to his wants and desires. And you folded. Helped him, healed him, tended to the Dark Riders and cleaned up his office. You attacked your friends for him. Corrupted your horse because of him. Broke Avalon’s trust when all he wanted was to keep you safe...

It would be so easy to kill him now.

So satisfying.

You want to.

But you don’t. That isn’t who you are. Darko’s sneering command, his arrogance, his sheer lack of care for the lives he ruined; all of it runs through your mind, and you despise him more than you ever have Sands. You don’t have any doubt he’ll kill your horse if you refuse to do this, even if your momentary show of power frightened him. So you’ll just have to trick him.

You cross the sugar dust ground and put your hand on the crystal. The surface is frigid, at odds with the rest of the warm plane. Whatever the colour scheme, this is Darko’s magic more than Pandoria’s, and your skin revolts at the contact. It’s like he’s walked behind you and caressed your face. All the more reason to blast it apart.

‘Rosalind?’

You flinch back – he’s staring at you, eyes wild and shot through with that green substance. It’s a miracle he can see at all.

‘Rosalind!’ He calls again, hands pressing against the inside of the crystal. ‘You can’t be here! It isn’t safe! Run!’

What did he put in that crystal?

‘Oh, good,’ you mutter, ‘You’re hallucinating.’

This is going to be a fun few days. Months. Years? How long did it take you to walk here again? You can already feel your skin prickling from contact with the air. It’s the sensation you get on the inside of your mouth when you eat a pineapple, too gentle to be acidic, too present to be ignored.

You raise your hand, and blast the crystal open. Sands falls out, a featherless bird surrounded by its shattered egg, hair slick with the green fluid that might have been his tears. He stares up at you, blinking, and draws a harsh, racking breath.

‘It’s... you.’

‘Get up.’ You snap. ‘And take that stalker coat off.’

‘What...?’

‘We need to fake your death.’ You pause, midway through a plan. ‘You’ve done that before, haven’t you?’

An ageless smirk curls his lip. ‘Of course.’

He pulls himself up, a little unsteady, and slicks his hair back into what he assumes is a style. ‘So, Soul Rider. Tell me. For whose sake am I faking my demise this time?’

‘Darko’s back.’

‘I am aware.’

‘Didn’t think to tell me he was still alive though, did you?’ you snap.

‘And what use would that have been? Don’t tell me you’re trying to protect me from that usurping worm.’ His eyes gleam with dark delight. ‘So you do care.’

‘Shut up.’ You pull the sparks back into your palm before they can ignite, berating yourself for letting him rile you. ‘He’s got my horse. And some new Dark Rider. If I don’t at least make it look like you’re dead, my horse is—’

‘Erissa’s free?’ Sands’s smirk fades. ‘How? When? No— Do they have the Light Ceremony book? Girl!’

‘That’s the least of your problems now.’

‘Hardly!’ Sands snaps. ‘If that... fool is the one to release my master instead of me, I’ll be... Rosalind will...’ He curses and storms to the edge of the island, squinting into the fog below. Then he turns to look back at you, his eyes unsettlingly resolved. ‘Your horse won’t die. We need the pair of you for the ritual. And unlike myself, that fool is not long lived enough to try again should you perish.’

You blink. For a moment you want to correct him – you form the same bond with every horse you ride, whether you want to or not – but you know instinctively that isn’t true. There’s always been one you understood better than any other. And she understands you.

‘Come over here,’ Sands gestures to you.

You hesitate, remembering the last time he commanded you. But there’s no magic in his words this time, if Garnok would even let him use it. When you’re next to him, he gestures down into the infinite emptiness of Pandoria. Fog flowing forever, falling forever, into nothing.

‘There’s another way out,’ he says, speaking rapidly. ‘If we are to stop him from beating me, from performing his ritual before I can conduct mine—’

‘You know Garnok’s not going to bring her back.’ The words are out of your mouth before you can think what effect they might have. Because you aren’t meant to know about her. No one but Sands is.

‘Who?’

‘Rosalind.’

His face turns white. ‘How...?’

‘I read your journals when I was sorting your office.’ You swallow, realising as you do the scale of your intrusiveness. ‘Sorry.’

He says nothing, though his hands begin to shake.

‘Listen,’ you start to say, ‘Garnok’s a liar. It will say anything to get people on its side, because it knows being freed would destroy everything on Jorvik! That’s why—’

‘I know.’

You look up and see a hatred in his eyes you’d forgotten he possessed.

‘You reincarnate. She never had the chance to come back.’

‘You can’t just destroy the world because your girlfriend died! What do you think she—?’

He shoves you. Your feet scramble for purchase but miss the ground. You fall before you can even think to scream, and Pandoria’s clouds rise to swallow you.

Chapter Text

Without a horse, a rider cannot be a rider. But without a rider, a horse remains a horse.

There was a time, when she was brought to South Hoof, when she considered how easily she could throw her rider and run. It was a fleeting thought, and one she later felt guilty for having, but seeing those wild horses, and the pleasure they took in simply being, in grazing the island, in competing… well. It made those stable squabbles with her neighbouring mares feel so small.

But then that feeling nudged her mind, and she felt again the bond that kept her with her rider. The wordless exchange.

If you ever want to go, you can.

Her rider didn’t see her as a possession. As a tool nor, even in their darkest battles, as a weapon. She was a friend. A gentle confidant. And though her rider forged this same bond with every horse they rode, she knew each relationship was unique, and unaffected by the others. Her rider’s love was unconditional. And it wouldn’t be destroyed if she made the choice to go.

They shared a sense of curiosity for new places, a drive to explore made better by the reassurance of the other’s presence. Because, for as much as she might want to, she knew she wouldn’t have the courage to go far without her rider. Her friend.

So when they proposed a trip to mess with Dark Core, those vile bullies, the horse agreed in a heartbeat. She wanted to see if she could find Mortifa, Khaan or Acerbus. There had been moments, in their previous battles, when she could almost see the regret behind their dull, glassy eyes. The longing to be free.

When her rider had been caught and she’d been dragged onto the motorboat by that panicking skipper, she’d nearly thrown him into the sea. If she was a starbreed, she could have sprouted wings and flown to her rider’s rescue, but she wasn’t. And so she’d ripped her reins out of his hands the moment they were back in Cape Fishing Village, and charged off to get Linda. Silverglade library was the closest, after all, and Meteor knew when jokes weren’t appropriate. She wasn’t entirely sure Tincan would have been as quick to react, and grab his rider’s attention. But, by the time they all returned to the rig, it was too late. Her rider had already been hurt. Wounded right to their soul. And she didn’t know how to help besides simply being there for her.

She’d wondered about that, in the dreadful days that followed. If she’d spoken up, challenged her rider when they used their magic to suppress her emotions, asked her to stop, would it have made things better? Or worse?

And then had come that awful day when Big Bonny was taken and Silverglade village set ablaze, and her rider, worn thin by lies and insomnia, broke.

How to describe having your very soul taken over, corrupted?

It was like being a puppet, forever dreading the hand which would move your mouth. A marionette only given purpose by the strings that bound you. The gargoyle, frozen in a scream by the very stone that was your body, permitted tears only through rain.

Without the corruption you were, truly, nothing.

Without their control, you would not even dare exist.

The humiliation of having your own thoughts, of knowing that you were, was a taboo too awful to bear, and so you turned on yourself, buried yourself deeper, dragged your thoughts into the quietest recesses of your soul. It was the fear of the whip, the boot, the brand. The eyes which pierced your mind and judged your every free thought as a failure.

She had always wondered why the Dark Riders’ horses never tried to resist. Now she understood.

And then, for just an instant, the control broke. And she was not destroyed. A shaft of sunlight broke through the bitter clouds, and she saw her rider’s anguish before she was dragged, once more, down.

But this time, she didn’t stop. She raged against the hateful magic, she fought the ruinous thoughts. She challenged the absolute control, and felt her rider’s spirit flicker, distantly. She fed it. She didn’t know what, if anything, would happen out in the world beyond her own mind if she did, but she kept that image in mind, building the inferno inside her rider until it was bright enough to illuminate them both.

And then they were together again, her rider sobbing on her flank, and chanting, I’m sorry.

She didn’t care. They were together. But she saw her rider still lost in a maze of their own corrupted thoughts, of obligations to that hateful old man, and she vowed to free her too. Because what ever that geezer had done to her rider, they weren’t the type of person to imprison their horse and deny them freedom.

And now she stood with Darko and Erissa, both exchanging looks as the portal to Pandoria closed.

‘That girl’s not right,’ Darko mutters at last. Erissa giggles.

‘Think she’ll actually kill him?’

‘Well, it’s not as if the old man can fight back.’

‘She won’t, you know,’ Erissa sings, swinging the hobby horse behind her back. ‘She’s too much of a goody two-shoes for that.’

‘True.’ Darko pauses, turning to the horse. ‘It’s a shame corrupting the horse doesn’t corrupt the rider…’

‘“Four keys will break my shackles and four candles will light their way”.’

‘So?’

Erissa sighs. ‘Do I reeeeeally have to spell it out? The big fella doesn’t care when it happens. Because it just will happen. You need to stop being such a control freak and just watch the chaos unfold!’

Darko’s eye twitches. ‘Spoken like the rider of discord. I’m beginning to remember why we put you in the Wild Weave to being with.’

Erissa’s smile wavers. Darko makes a sudden, strangled noise as he’s yanked back by invisible strings, and the horse stumbles back. Erissa doesn’t even look at her, just twiddles her fingers in the air as if unravelling the wool of some invisible jumper. Darko’s body forcibly straightens, his eyes wide.

‘He never talks about you,’ she says. ‘Always us. Always the riders. I don’t think he actually needs a herald. And if he does, he doesn't need it to be you.’

Darko’s face is turning blue. ‘You,’ he chokes, ‘Didn’t argue about dealing with the old man!’

She shrugs. ‘I want to see how things go. But if you’re going to be mean, maybe I’ll change my mind!’

The horse takes her opportunity. It’s Thursday – out in Epona, in Old Stormgarden, there will be a Pandorian rift. It’s a long ride from Valedale, but maybe if she takes the portal in the Valley of the Hidden Dinosaur as a shortcut… or is it quicker to just take the bridge her rider built in her first week on Jorvik?

She makes her choice. She bolts.

Darko shouts something, and for an instant she feels the pull of something beneath her skin. Then she jumps a log, and it violently snaps. Somewhere behind her, she can hear Erissa giggling.

‘Aw! At least someone wants to play with me! Come on Nihili, let’s go say hi for real this time!’