Her parents' home is no more.
No more than the tongues of fire licking through the wild, swallowing everything where a stone cottage should have stood.
Neva remains rooted to the spot,
waves of heat sweeping over her skin while she struggles to make sense of it.
"The twins," she whispers.
"Angel—" He cuts himself off.
She takes a step forward, but a grip clamps around her elbow, halting her mid-step.
"We need to leave," he says.
It's as if she's slipped out of her body, watching him pull her away, bushes igniting in quick flares around them.
And yet, all can see is her children screaming for her as fire races across the wooden ceiling above them,
threatening to collapse at any moment.
Terror consumes her.
No. No, no, no. She has to get them out.
He sweeps her off her feet when she tries to run toward them.
"No!" She claws at his arms, her legs thrashing frantically in the air as he drags her back into the open field.
"Let me go!" she cries out. "My babies—"
"There's no one inside."
Did she lose them? Did she lose them both?
What is she going to do?
What is she going to do—
Shock crashes through her in a numbing paralysis.
"They aren't here, Angel." He cups her face, but she can't make out his expression through the blurriness. "The house is gone.
We need to go find them, alright?"
He can't... He can't do this to her.
Distant cries pierce through the branches crackling overhead in bursts of flame, smoke writhing through the cypress grove in a gray maze.
Her breaths become labored as he pulls her onward.
A sea of pagan believers ripples through the avenue of stone buildings, the fire intensifying at the edges of her vision.
Deafening moans of worship worm through the womb of the altar, Leviathan mourning under the full moon in restless dissatisfaction, until a priest lifts a wriggling child high above the flames.
Rot churns through her soul as the priest hurls the child into the pit of smoldering embers, where dripping tongues slither and bloodied teeth gnaw through a grave of writhing bodies and sightless eyes.
It builds in slow waves,
in raw ravenousness,
in a hollering daze of gasping and fracturing, under fire torches,
under neon lights,
under bright smiles and decayed eyes, hunger for more, and more, and more,
until all creation collapses beneath the insanity of glamouring curses,
the abandonment of souls,
and the devouring of flesh and bone.
Inside and out, inside and out, inside and out, inside and out,
darkness and warped faces,
a nail scraping across her breast,
scarlet and shredded hearts,
blood dripping down her mouth,
feasting and reveling,
a tattered Lamb and a river of red,
wolves lapping and rebelling,
a slow lie of beauty,
becoming and drowning,
a swift love of mirrors,
screaming and suffering
through never-ending gyres of demons and vermin and—
A loving voice whispers within her mind, the arms around her drawing her back into herself as she claws and claws at the grass.
Hands, hands, hands, millions of hands crawl over her, tearing at her flesh, breaking her bones as she cries out His name.
"It's okay, it's okay..." His voice breaks as he traces soothing circles across her back.
Her fingers dig into his shoulders as the images blur and burn behind her eyes, until a shadow emerges from the smoke.
An arrow whistles through the air.
With a jolt, he rolls them aside just as it buries itself in the earth where they had been kneeling just before.
His gun is out the next instant, a shot ringing through the night as he fires at the silhouette drawing another arrow.
The man falls with a thud, when long shadows stretch around his body.
Pagans and idolaters step from the smoke, hatred their armor, violence their only creed.
He catches her arm and hauls her to her feet when her knees buckle in protest.
Curses rise before them, voices crying for the Prophetess's death as he swings her over his shoulder in a single fluid motion.
Arrows rain around them as he carries her across the field through the blur of smoke.
Shadows shift and steel flashes as the wilderness cloaks them in darkness.
"Smite them both!" A roar cuts across the field, a unison of cries cutting through the haze of nightmares still clinging to her.
Dim moonlight swirls through the gaps between the trees as the forest deepens, the voices fading farther into the distance.
She feels herself being gently lowered to the ground, his hands sliding down her arms, searching for harm, before cupping her face. "Are—are you alright?"
No. She nods faintly, a tightness climbing from her chest to her throat. "Are you?"
He rests his forehead against hers as he gathers his breath. "I am," he says, when a wrathful cry, like that of a raging beast rips through the forest,
shattering this short illusion of peace.
When does it end, Lord? When does it end...
"Come on." He takes her hand. "We need to keep moving."
He guides her through the haze, lit just enough to show them the way.
"Can you walk?" He slows slightly,
as though remembering how her legs had given out so close to death.
"Yes," she whispers.
"I'm sure they're fine, Angel," he says softly, and only then does she realize how tightly she's gripping his hand. "Ace is with them."
Her grip loosens, when a gasp escapes her as she frantically tears at the strands of what feels like a spiderweb clinging to her face.
"What is it?" He pulls her close at once.
Her fingers brush across her cheek as the filthy sensation lingers. "Nothing."
A faint murmur of water lapping against the shore reaches them as he guides her onward.
It grows louder when moonlight breaks through the whispering canopy above.
White snowdrops bloom along the shore, light rippling across the emerald lake.
"I want to rest," she murmurs, her head heavy and dizzy.
He looks around uncertainly,
but she makes her way down the shore before sinking to the ground.
Her breathing grows ragged as she leans against a tree, silver spots and bizarre shapes flickering behind her closed eyes.
She feels him in front of her, his fingers lightly brushing her forehead.
"Are you—"
"Please," she whispers, cutting him off. "I don't want to be touched."
He hesitates, then withdraws.
"It's not safe here," he says.
"Go find them," she says, glancing at him through hazy eyes. "I'll follow in a moment."
"I'm not leaving you." His voice is low, grim.
She doesn't protest as he rises and moves toward the lake.
A numbing, feverish ache seeps into her bones as fragments of the vision flicker through her mind.
They've finally come for her. And this is only the beginning.
There will be more. So many more.
He crouches along the shore and splashes water over his face.
Her eyes close once more, praying that her children will be kept from harm,
that they will all find their way from this wretched island, for spring has come, and she longs for home.
Something ripples inside her, so faint she might have missed it had she not known the feeling before. Yet she catches it, for it is not the first time a life has grown within her.
She should have felt joy.
But she remembers the last time she'd been pregnant. She remembers clawing at her belly, desperate to rip the babies out.
And she relished the horror and rage in his eyes when he saw her stomach, raw and bleeding. Yet the babies were still moving.
Maybe this time, she had finally lost them.
Maybe she's okay with them being gone.
No.
The thought is a lie of short relief,
and she won't look into the mirror reflecting her heart in a flicker of darkness threatening to swallow her whole.
She needs her children back.
She wants them safe in her embrace, and never let go. Never let go.
Awareness returns to her as the lake settles into focus around her.
Birch Lake. The place where Jacob had told her to meet him almost a week ago, a week stretched thin into what feels like forever.
"We can't stay here for long." He walks back toward her. "I'll carry you if you're not well."
"I'm fine," she says, slowly rising to her feet. "I know the way from here."
"You do?" he asks.
She nods, pulling a neatly folded handkerchief from her dress pocket and passing it to him.
"Thank you," he says, wiping his face.
When he lowers the cloth, a small frown creases his brow. "But do you feel better?"
"Yes." She entwines her fingers with his.
He smiles and lets her guide him through the darkness, following the path she hopes still leads to the dirt road Jacob had shown her.
"Are you sure you won't trap us out here?" he asks, attempting lightness.
"Of course not," she says.
Though with every passing minute, she prays she isn't leading them toward the very people hunting them.
Out of nowhere, he tugs her back.
That's when she sees it.
An SUV parked at the corner of the road, moonlight glinting off its black exterior.
Her pulse quickens at the sound of muffled cries.
She prays it belongs to Inaya and Isaiah. It has to be them, safe and unharmed.
Yet the vehicle's number plate remains hidden from where they're standing.
And they aren't the only people in Miraeth with access to a car.
"Stay here," he whispers, then moves toward the SUV.
She lingers behind, silent as anxiety tightens every muscle in her body. The tinted windows doing little to ease her nerves.
Yet she still sees her husband's silhouette as he slips behind the SUV, weapon ready.
Then he disappears around the far side.
Her entire focus narrows to him, so much so that she nearly misses the faint knock and the name he calls out. "Ace."
She takes a step forward when he signals to her that it's safe.
He moves to meet her,
then halts mid-step, shouting, "Stay back!" as an arrow tears through the air and strikes the earth between them.
She freezes as the command to take cover is swallowed by the crack of gunfire ripping through the forest.
He seizes her arm and drags her toward the SUV, arrows pouring around them as dark silhouettes surge from the trees and the engine growls to life.
Headlights flare across the assailants as they charge with a battle cry. He yanks the door open and pushes her inside.
She barely registers the small figures huddled close together.
He stumbles back with a curse.
An arrow has hit him.
Her hand slams against the glass.
Shots rip through the air as the SUV starts to move.
"Wait…" a choked sound slips from her.
The passenger door flies open and he throws himself inside.
"Go, go!"
Arrows hammer against the window, leaving only scratches as Ace drives straight through the charging assailants.
They scatter once the SUV surges ahead.
In a lost space between disbelief and relief, she finds herself clinging to her children, whispering gratitude
to her Father over and over again as they cry softly against her chest.
While the deeper they venture into Miraeth, the more the flames consume it, and louder the cries of rage and torment ring in her ears.