Obsidian Star
**Author’s Note - A short telling the story of how the parents of my protagonist met**
Bryn Archer cursed the full moon. If it hadn’t been for the glow of its iridescent light, he would have been in and out of that castle within a matter of minutes and on his way home.
Mission completed.
As it were, the bloody thing beamed with all its might and dominated the sky as he stood looking out from the edge of the world. His destination, a sharp-angled castle, protruded from the back of a huge stone beast, an ink-black sea lapping at its paws. They only had an hour as it was,the time when the potion the High Witch made them to be able to see through the castle’s veiled protection would wear off.
“Can’t you do anything about that bloody light?” Bryn hissed over his shoulder.
“How many witches do you know that can make the moon disappear?” said Connor Phillips.
“You’re the only one I know with lunar manipulation and I don’t want it gone just…” Bryn brushed his thick fringe out of his eyes and chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Less.”
“My, you are a man of words,” Connor’s older brother Shane stepped out from the cover of the dense forest, chuckling to himself.
Bryn ignored Shane and whirled round on his best friend. “Can you do it or not?”
Connor Phillips pushed him out of the way muttering under his breath. “Can I do it?” He strode until he stood where Bryn had been, toes over the edge of the cliff at the most North-Eastern point of the United Kingdom.
“Shake a leg Connor. We’re in Scotland in November and it’s fucking freezing,” said Shane.
“Behave you two. Let’s remember we’re here for Jack. In and out. A five minute job. Or I’ll kick your arses.”
“Ha ha. You could try, Archer.”
Bryn smirked. “Well, the High Witch could.”
Shane rocked his head from side to side. “Fair point, my friend. Fair point.”
“Will you two shut it? I need to concentrate.” Connor closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Normally, either one of them would have taken the piss at Connor’s sharp tone. But not tonight. Both Bryn and Shane were aware how important it was that they rescued Jack Middleton and in order to get to Jack, they needed to sneak into that foreboding castle.
Bryn and Shane watched, shoulder to shoulder as Connor raised an open palm up to the moon. His shoulders rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Then the wind increased. Gales hurtled from across the open sea aiming right for them. Except they didn’t come within an inch of their faces. A tornado of wind, sea spray, leaves and dirt wrapped itself around Connor. It tore at his hair pulling it upwards. The fingers on Connor’s outstretched hand began to flex. Open then closed. Again. Finally, his hand tensed turning rigid like the rock beneath his feet before his fingers closed in a painstakingly slow movement.
And the moon’s light dulled as if someone had turned the brightness down using a dimmer switch.
Bryn would never understand Connor’s unique gift. He had a core manipulation, they all had but once in a while a witch would receive an extra ability making them highly prized by High Witches of all covens.
As bright, silver rays rotted to darker grey, the wind encircling Connor died, dropping leaves and mud onto the cliff edge. His shoulders drooped and his body shuddered.
Bryn started to count in his head. Force of habit since that incident. He formed a fist by his side, hidden from Shane. One. His thumb jutted out. Two. Forefinger followed. Three. Middle finger. Come on Connor. Four.
He didn’t realise he had been holding his breath until Connor turned around with half-glazed eyes and a lazy smile for the two men he called his brothers.
“Is that good enough for you, Obsidian Heir?” Connor arched a brow.
Bryn breathed a sigh of relief. If he could use his title in a sarcastic way, it was proof the boy was alright.
“Let’s go get Jack.”
Bryn and Connor turned to look at Shane.
“What?” he asked. “Oh. Don’t worry everyone, I’ll fetch the brooms.” Shane rolled his eyes and headed back towards the tree line.
The three men mounted their brooms on the cliff edge and held out their hands to the brush end. A burst of white magic crackled from Bryn’s hand as he fed it into the broom. Air. Once he felt his power hook into the broom and control take hold, he pushed off with his boots towards the castle. Pale light trailed his flight path.
Connor and Shane followed, their own brooms painting blue and green pathways on the black backdrop.
The sea roared beneath, angry and unrelenting. Bryn would never admit it, particularly in front of Shane but water terrified him. Always had. Whenever he neared it, there was a tightening around his lungs, invisible hands wrapping around his throat. He shook it off and focused on the door at the base of the castle. The door that old plans found within the coven archives told him led to the dungeons.
And that is where they would find Jack. Bryn just hoped they weren’t too late.
They landed right outside of their intended target with no problems. With the rocks slick beneath their feet because of the constant battering from the sea, they dismounted with care and propped their brooms up against the aging castle walls.
How typical of the Iron Moon Coven to live in a castle but that was the Darkmores all over. Pompous and stuck up their own arses. They’d always thought they were better than any other coven. Bryn pulled a face in disgust and turned the heavy iron handle on the door.
“Let’s make this quick,” said Connor, struggling to catch his breath. The other two didn’t need to say anything for him to know they agreed.
Bryn entered first. Water sloshed beneath his shoes from where the sea had penetrated the gaps in the door.
And the stench nearly floored him.
“Ugh!” moaned Shane. “What the hell is that smell?”
“Death,” said Bryn, grimly. “And decay. Come on.” Either side of him were barred cells, dank and dark. Grim indeed. He couldn’t see who or what was in each one because the only light came from Connor’s dimmed moon rays.
Bryn moved forward flanked by Connor and Shane. “Stick to the middle. We’ve no idea what’s in those cells.”
They moved quietly but nothing could stop the sound of the water under their boots.
“How do we know which one Jack’s in, if he’s even down here at all?” asked Shane. “Shall we just call his name?”
“He’s not a dog,” said Connor. “And I think shouting just might alert the Iron Moon we’re here.”
“Well you come up with a plan, smart-arse.”
“I will and it’ll be a damn sight better than yours.”
Bryn whirled on them. “Will you two shut up? Shane watch it!”
But it was too late. Shane turned to argue with his brother, his shoulder brushing against the metal bars. A clawed, scaled talon snapped out between the gaps.
“Fuck!” Shane’s hands clutched his shoulder where his now bloodied skin lay bare between the torn scraps of his shirt and coat. His knees slammed into the hard floor.
Connor reached for his brother while Bryn stepped between Shane and the cell. He raised his palm up to the cell and sent a bolt of white lightning flying through the bars. Whatever it was let out a piercing scream.The whole cell was illuminated in brilliant light. Lightning seared a mound of green-grey flesh, electric weaving in and out of its scales. Its glazed eyes bulged from a fish-like head, limp fins splayed across its face.
Connor helped Shane to his feet, the older brother hissing in pain.
“When we get back to the village I’ll ask the High Witch to check that wound out for you.”
“Why? Is it bad?” The pitch of Shane’s voice hit a note he didn’t know he was capable of. He craned his neck trying to get a better look at the damage to his shoulder. “This is a three-hundred pound coat!”
“Now it’s scrap.” Connor laughed.
Bryn gave Connor a reproachful look. “You need to get it checked because I’ve never seen a demon like that before.” He cast an eye over the still crackling flesh. “God knows what it can do.”
“Why is it here though?”
“No idea,” said Bryn. “But what’s betting these dank cells are just full of weird and wonderful creatures?”
“Bloody hell. He’s an ugly bugger,” Shane sidled up to get a better look at the now dead creature. He wrinkled his nose.
“I’m sure he thought the same of you,” smiled Connor.
“Bryn?” a broken voice spoke from the cloaked darkness of a cell further down in the passageway.
Bryn’s head snapped in the direction of the voice. His legs had engaged before his brain had and started moving. “Jack? Jack, where are you?” His eyes darted from one side of the passage to the other looking for any sign of him. Then a trembling hand crept out low between the bars of a cell a door length away.
Bryn dived for him, grasping the old man’s withered hands in his. He did a sharp intake of breath when he saw him. Jack was nearing his sixties but had always been healthy and full of colour. More on the plump side than lean but this person slumped here was a shadow of that man. A spectre.
“God boy, you’re freezing,” Jack coughed spluttering bile and blood over the floor.
“You can talk.”
Connor and Shane rushed up to them.
“Are we glad to see you!” beamed Connor.
Jack looked up through the bars with grey eyes. “Things must be bad if you’ve brought the Chuckle brothers.”
Bryn hid his smile. “Come on old man. Time to go home. Can you stand away from the bars?”
“I might be able to manage a crawl, lad.” Jack groaned as he dragged his body across the floor.
“Where’s the door?” asked Shane.
“There isn’t one,” Jack wheezed. “There’s a witch here who can bend bars with her mind. It’s to make sure we don’t escape.”
“Right. Brace yourself.” Bryn blasted the bars, wincing as he saw Jack flinch and curl up into a ball.
The bars rattled and clouds of dust fell from where metal penetrated stone.
Connor checked the first bar and then the next. “You’ve only cracked them. Try again.”
Bryn aimed a second blast at the bars. And then a third. Each time a black line snaked further around the rods.
“For the Goddess’ sake Bryn, make this one count. With those blasts I bet half the Iron Moon are on their way down here now.”
Bryn looked to Connor.
“Make this one count.”
He nodded in agreement. Digging deep inside himself, he summoned as much power as he dared without hurting Jack and sent one huge sphere of magic at the bars.
The world trembled.
As did the walls holding Jack prisoner.
The two brother’s surged forward grappling for a hold on Jack while Bryn caught his breath. He leaned against the crumbling wall for support.
“Shit,” said Shane. “Footsteps.”
Bryn turned towards the looming darkness at the end of the passageway. It was true, their steps reverberated along the stone walls. Two people were heading their way. “Right, you two get Jack outside and get your brooms ready.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Connor as he and Shane buckled beneath Jack’s weight.
“Buy you time. Now go.”
“We’re not leaving you, idiot!”
“You know me,” winked Bryn. “I’ll see you in the skies.”
Relief came when Connor and Shane got Jack to the door and Bryn would deal with whatever came his way. The footsteps grew louder until at last, two figures emerged from the shadows. A cherry-haired witch was the first to step out, her mouth twisted into a scowl when she saw him.
“Wait, Leda,” said another voice and a second woman stepped out.
Bryn rose his arm with every intention of throwing a shot of air hard enough to knock her off her feet. But he hesitated, the slight dilation in her eyes staying his hand. In one sweep, he took in as much of her as he could from the straight length of dark gold hair that fell to her waist to the beautiful curves highlighted by a shining black bodice.
She made no move against him, only stared clutching a broom tight in her hand.
His own hand fell steadily back down his side and he noted how her eyes, god he couldn’t tell what colour but they were large and kind, floated between him and the three struggling their way to the door. Bryn felt a flutter of wings in his chest, a caged bird wishing to be freed.
Then she focused on him, biting her lip.
Electricity pulsed through Bryn and his breath caught.
“The High Witch will return to the fortress any moment, so you must make your escape now,” she said.
“What are you saying?” said the witch with the short, red hair but the other girl held up a finger to request her silence.
Bryn’s throat bobbed. Her voice, those softly-spoken tones like gentle rain patting the floor, comforted him and excited him all at once. “I’ll have your name before I leave,” he breathed.
Boots pounded the flagstones behind him. “Archer! Get your arse into gear,” Shane returned for him and lunged for the sleeve of Bryn’s coat.
“Your name,” he struggled against his friend.
The girl cocked her head to one side. “Celeste Darkmore. Now get out of here you stupid fool before my mother catches you and skins you alive.” Celeste thrust her own broom into his hand. “I’m assuming you didn’t bring transport for him?” Then she forced him out of the door.
