《Fulcrum: Season One》6.3 Let Go
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Concentrate!
Corva forces her eyes open against the air rushing by her. Even before she gets them all the way open, she can hear the Old Beard’s raspy laugh. She sees him looking down at her. The rat, Caffiel, peeks over Thegn’s shoulder at her. She can feel Zeke clinging to her back, his paws clenched to the shoulder strap of her pack as well as her shirt.
“Still haven’t broken your sigil, it seems. Pathetic. You used to control legions.”
Corva hazards a glance below them. At this distance below her dangling feet, Bule looks more like a child’s diorama than a functional canyonside town. Umbrati grunts spread over Upper Bule like a swarm of ants. A mass of them work their way through Lower Bule, following Jack’s disorganized path and converging on the rooftop Thegn had just pulled her from.
The sheer number of Umbrati in the town is disturbing enough, but the accuracy of their tracking feeds a feeling of despair in the pit of her stomach. There are pockets of resistance here and there. Gunfire echoes across the canyon as Bule’s militia tries to hold back the wave and protect the siege caves. Most of those pockets look like they’re getting overwhelmed, though. No way Jack and Lyia can outrun that. Definitely can’t fight them off.
Thegn lifts his scythe, pulling Corva closer to the putrid folds of skin in his face. “Your friend, the kid with my mark, I’m really hoping he stays alive a bit longer. I have a whole bunch of questions for him and it would be an incredible waste if the horde got to him first. They don’t hold soulmancers in quite the same esteem as the hive. Probably will just turn him into a seeker.”
Let go of the scythe.
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“What?” She feels Zeke’s grip tighten, but looking up at Caffiel, she can’t tell which one is speaking to her in her mind.
“I see your manners haven’t improved, either.” Thegn doesn’t give her the chance to explain that she wasn’t talking to him. He spins them into a short dive.
Corva’s feet start to swing forward from the shift in momentum, pulling the rest of her body right into his knee as his wings beat downward, swooping them back into an ascent. The blow forces the air from her lungs and spit from her mouth. It feels like everything in her chest has been crushed against the back of her teeth. Her left hand loses its grip on the scythe. Below her, the ground spins as they spiral farther upward.
Corva! Let go. You can’t win up here. Not yet.
Her eyes widen. It’s Zeke. Immediately, she lets go with her remaining hand and allows herself to fall.
Little monkey, you better tell me how exactly I’m supposed to land.
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