The sound of battle was getting louder. The clanging of swords was no longer confined to the wall, it was now spreading through Tallarin’s streets and advancing towards the palace.

For the third time, Oracus tried to stand. This time, he managed to hold himself up, despite the dizziness creeping up on him again. But it wasn’t just his head that was sore, he’d damaged his back while fighting Gravaz and now he was struggling to move.

“Oracus, sit back down!” Kivali ordered.

“But we can’t stay here,” Oracus argued. “I need to go to the palace and you all need to fight.”

“What’s going on?” Bandor said inside Oracus’s head. “I can sense your apprehension.”

“I just saw Catania again and she needs help.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Bandor insisted.

“No, Bandor. Help them to fight and make sure Kivali stays safe. I can handle this alone.” Oracus could sense Bandor was uncomfortable leaving him. “Honestly, I’ll be fine.” He turned his attention back to Kivali. “I can’t fight, but it’s unfair to have two Riders and two Lavorians sat in a barn while Jowra’s soldiers continue to slaughter ours.”

“But I can’t want to go anywhere without you,” Kivali said.

“You can and you will!” Oracus forced. “Bandor will be with you and he’ll tell you if I’m in trouble.”

Kivali frowned but acquiesced. “Fine,” she said. Then she wrapped her arms around Oracus in a farewell hug and he felt his heart lift. “I’ll see you in the palace,” she finished. With a final sorrowful look at Oracus, she led Onca and Bandor out the barn and out of sight.

When Oracus stumbled out the barn himself, he took a moment to gather his bearings and then followed the streets uphill towards the palace. By the time the palace was in sight, the pain in his back was beginning to overwhelm him and he dropped to his knees. He couldn’t walk any further, and although the palace was no more than a short sprint away, it may as well have been on the other side of Pharia. It was so close – Catania was so close – but he was too weak to get there. He fell on his face on the wet streets of Tallarin, and when he finally blacked out, he travelled further away from the palace than he had ever been before.

*

The air that had once been fresh with the smell of cut grass and pine trees was replaced with an air full of smoke and death. The stench made a young Jowra heave.

King Amarad’s forces had arrived in the small village of Emsbleek and Jowra had been ordered by his father to stay with his mother and sisters in their tiny wooden home.

“But I’m fifteen,” Jowra had argued. “I can fight with you!”

“You’re old enough to be the man of the house. And you need to keep the women safe if I don’t come back.” His father had held his shoulders with those rough but warm hands and fixed him with a challenging glare. Then he had embraced the girls and left with nothing but his pitchfork.

Jowra retched again. His father would likely never return. Emsbleek was a village of shopkeepers, not fighters, and King Amarad was ruthless and renowned for his relentless pursuit of power.

“Why is he attacking our village?” Jowra asked himself as he wiped vomit from his lips. “We aren’t a threat.”

The sobs of his mother brought Jowra to compose himself. He looked out the front of the house and saw an evening sky bright with the orange of fire, and black smoke rising in tendrils above the houses that were alight. The soldiers were getting nearer to them, and Jowra noted the closeness of the screams coming from villagers.

“We need to get out of here,” Jowra said to his mother, turning to her and his younger sisters.

“Not without your father!”

Jowra approached the three of them and held them all tightly. “He isn’t coming back.”

“You don’t know that,” his mother denied.

Jowra kissed her cheek. He moved to the back of the house and checked that the street there was empty. Then he looked at his beautiful, innocent sisters; only four and six years old and being subjected to this. “If we face the soldiers then we’ll be killed. If we hide in here then they’ll burn the house down with us all still inside. But if we leave now then Lillia and Pip will be safe.”

His mother looked at him helplessly.

“He told me to keep you safe and this is the only way I can,” Jowra forced.

His mother stared at him a little longer, and then nodded. “We leave out the back?” she asked.

“There are no soldiers there,” Jowra said with a nod. “If we cross the square then we can escape into the forest. Are you ready?”

Both Lillia and Pip had tears welling in their beautiful, innocent eyes, but they were brave enough to hold back their sobs. Jowra checked the back of the house a final time, and then led them and his mother onto the street.

“You need to keep really quiet,” he whispered. He could feel his heart thumping inside his chest. “And make sure you find a place to hide if you see any soldiers.”

They reached the square at the end of street without drawing any unwanted attention. The square was empty too, and the shops were all abandoned. Jowra stopped for a moment and focused his senses, listening for any soldiers who might be lurking nearby. All he could hear were the endless screams of the villagers who had already been caught.

“I think it’s safe,” he said. He could see the trees of the forest waiting patiently for them on the other side of the square. “Come on!”

But the moment they started crossing the square, several soldiers who had been surveying the square from inside the shops came to intercept them. “Seize them!”

Jowra didn’t need to tell his mother or sisters to run. Without a second’s hesitation, they took off towards the trees, hoping the soldiers wouldn’t be fast enough to catch them.

But their efforts were futile; the soldiers were far quicker than Lillia and Pip. And soon, all four of them had been wrestled to the ground.

Jowra kicked and punched with all his strength, but the soldiers were bigger than him and their numbers too great. Lillia and Pip’s screams cut through him like a blade and he called their names to try and silence their fears.

“You told us we’d be safe!” his mother cried.

Jowra fought harder against the hands that held him and caught a soldier in the eye with his elbow. He managed to wriggle free, but there were still too many soldiers around his mother and sisters for him to save them all. He had no choice but to leave them, and he ran to the forest alone.

Two of the soldiers pursued Jowra to the treeline but they couldn’t catch him. And once he was in the trees he knew how to hide himself. His unlikely escape drew angry shouts from the soldiers, but their shouts did nothing to drown out the petrified cries of Lillia and Pip.

In those trees surrounding Emsbleek, hiding from the soldiers who had almost caught him, Jowra made a promise to never rest until King Amarad was dead.

*

When Oracus came around, he was no longer on the cold, wet streets of Tallarin. Instead, he was being dragged through the workshop in the palace by several blue-skinned Sashtrams. When he groaned, the Sashtrams dropped him and gathered in a circle.

“We’re taking you to safety, sir,” one said.

“We saw you collapse out there,” another added.

The pain in Oracus’s body was still agonising, but the fury and guilt he’d felt while dreaming of Jowra somehow helped him to stand unaided. And his mind was now so alert he could sense Kivali’s power even on the other side of the city.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said to the Sashtrams. Then he teleported, and he landed on the long, winding staircase that led to Catania’s quarters. He tried to climb, but his legs buckled and he fell onto his hands and knees.

The palace trembled around him, and the stone walls groaned in protest. Cracks appeared in the ceiling above, and dust fell all around. Suddenly, Oracus’s vision flickered, and he could see Catania as if he was in the room with her. Her quarters were no longer pristine – there was blood on the white marble floor, with pieces of broken sculptures scattered everywhere. The window that overlooked the ocean had been smashed too, and there was a cold breeze circling the room. In the corner, Alticon was shackled to the wall.

“You remember our agreement, don’t you, Catania?” a deep voice emanated from Catania’s mouth like it was her own. “I would allow your precious Wolf to live if you surrendered your city to me.”

Catania’s eyes flashed from red to blue. “But it’s not my fault!” she cried, her voice returning to its usual tone. “I haven’t commanded my army to defend.”

The demon inside Catania became impatient. The palace shook under the force of its mind and the breeze in the room built to a destructive cyclone. Shattered glass and broken marble rose into the air and orbited Catania’s body, while Alticon whined in desperation from the corner.

“Your ineptitude sickens me!” the demon bellowed. “You have left me no choice.”

“Please, no!”

Alticon howled in the seconds that followed, and Catania walked through the cyclone towards him. She pulled an elegant dagger from under her ragged white gown and the Wolf tried desperately to free himself. But the shackles held firm, and Catania’s eyes were scarlet and mad. She stabbed Alticon three times in the chest and he quickly succumbed to his fate.

When Oracus regained control of his own body, he picked himself up and climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, ignoring the pain. He was confused and angry, and he was terrified of what he would find when he finally reached Catania, but he had no choice but to confront her.

The higher he climbed, the worse the damage to the palace became. When he reached the top of the staircase, he found the guard he had met on his first day in Tallarin lying dead. The magical sliding door had been ripped off its hinges too.

Oracus proceeded warily into Catania’s quarters and stepped through the debris that littered the floor. The winds that had roared in his vision had now subsided, but the room was in ruin. The walls were cracked and crumbling, while the ceiling was beginning to cave in. On the other side of the room, Catania was knelt in a pool of blood, cradling Alticon's lifeless body.

“I couldn’t stop it,” she said hopelessly. Her face was wet with tears. “He’s controlling me.”

Oracus approached her and her fiery eyes snapped up at him. He recoiled worriedly. “It’s okay. We can make this better,” he said.

“Nothing will make this better. He deserved a better life than I gave him.” She put her face in Alticon’s fur and sobbed.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Oracus tried.

“You know nothing,” she denied. “Everything is my fault. This whole mess is my fault.”

Oracus tried to approach her again, but the wind inside the room started to return.

“Stay away from me!” Catania yelled. “Don’t come any closer.”

“You can beat this, Catania,” Oracus urged. “You don’t have to give in to him.”

“You have no idea how powerful he is,” she claimed.

The winds built to a cyclone as powerful as the one that had destroyed the room. Catania dropped Alticon’s body and moved away from him. The debris was lifted into a whirlwind that circled her, and the wind was so fierce that Oracus was forced to take a step backwards.

Catania came to the centre of the room with her red eyes glowing. She hovered above the ground, and lightning flickered at her fingertips as half the palace seemed to spin around her.

“The boy whose powers rival my own,” she said in the voice of the King. There was an aura of supreme power about her now, like a dark shadow was shrouding her. “He stands before me for the first time, but he is alone and weak.”

“Why aren’t you here with your army?” Oracus said, keeping his voice as fearless as he could. “Are you a coward?”

Jowra returned a deep laugh that echoed off the walls. “I didn’t need to be. The ease with which your city has fallen is proof of that.”

“You haven’t won yet!” Oracus shouted.

“Don’t be so naïve,” Jowra replied. “The wall is breached and your numbers are dwindling. It has taken very little effort.”

“Then why are you still tormenting your own daughter? Does controlling her mind give you pleasure?”

“Conquering Tallarin isn’t all I am using her for,” Jowra claimed. “There is a certain boy in her city who interests me.”

“You want my power because I’m a Vassath,” Oracus said knowingly.

“Yes! Very good!” Jowra mocked. “But here is my dilemma: I could keep you in Melzor as my assistant and risk you trying to kill me, or I could kill you and take your power for myself.”

“I would never join you anyway,” Oracus made clear.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Jowra said, appearing amused. “But please humour me with why…”

“Because you killed my father!”

“It wasn’t I who killed your father. His death was an accident.”

“And I’m sure Amarad would have said the same about your father, wouldn’t he?” Oracus challenged cleverly.

The fire burned in Catania’s eyes for a second. It seemed Jowra was taken by surprise. “Then you seek revenge?” he finally said. “Which means I have no choice but to kill you. And I must use Catania to do it. Does my controlling her mind make sense to you now?”

“You could have killed me yourself instead of sacrificing everyone else,” Oracus said. “It makes you look scared.”

Jowra cackled delightedly. “I’m the most powerful King there has ever been. I’m scared of nothing.” The whirlwind inside the room expanded and debris cut at Oracus’s skin. “Have you discovered how you and I are related yet, Oracus?” Jowra bellowed over the noise.

“You’re my grandfather,” Oracus replied with a sneer.

“Very good! So you know Catania is your mother?”

“I’ve known for a while,” Oracus stated. “And I’ve come here to save her from you.”

“There is only one way to rid me from her body,” Jowra said heartlessly. “So now you are left with a dilemma: let me kill you and take your power, or kill your own mother.”

The cyclone around Catania began to diminish. Oracus saw that her eyes were blue again, and she was crying. He tried to approach her, but she held up a hand to make him stop. “Please don’t come any closer,” she implored in her own soft voice. “He’s right. There’s only one way you can stop this.”

“I’m not killing you!” Oracus yelled.

“Think of it as saving Pharia,” she said.

“Killing you will not save Pharia! Nothing can save Pharia.”

“You’re wrong,” she said with a shake of her head. “Pharia can be saved, but you need to be alive to do it.”

Tears came to Oracus’s eyes as he searched for a way to keep his mother alive. They had only just found each other, and now their reunion was to come to a premature end.

“I know this isn’t fair on you, but it must be done. Kill me and then live to kill him.”

“But I can save you!” Oracus protested.

Catania’s eyes were full of hatred again, but her voice was still her own. “Do it now before it’s too late,” she begged.

“Yes, do it now before it’s too late!” Jowra repeated.

The cyclone built to a phenomenal strength and the palace began to cave in on itself. Lightning between Catania’s fingers was crackling angrily, and her head tilted back as Jowra summoned all his power. Oracus had no choice but to pull the bow from his back. When he nocked the arrow, he hesitated for a moment, and then fired it into the wind.

The debris dropped to the floor and the roaring winds fell to silence as the arrow pierced Catania’s chest. Her body hit the floor beside Alticon, and Oracus clambered over the rubble to get to her.

Catania’s eyes were on his when he crouched over her body. They were like the sky on a warm summer’s day. She had a smile on her face, and she lifted a hand to touch his cheek.

“You did well,” she said. “He’s gone.”

He wished he could, but Oracus couldn’t find the words. He wanted to comfort his mother, to tell her everything would be okay, but his throat tightened and stopped him from speaking. He was looking down at the woman he had wanted to meet his whole life. Yet all the questions he wanted to ask her were going to pass unanswered.

Catania coughed as the final seconds came. Her hand dropped away from Oracus’s face and her smile vanished. She gasped for air, and then uttered her final words, “I never stopped thinking about you.”

Her beautiful eyes closed, and Oracus was left alone.