She awoke to a world of enervating cold and stabbing, bone-grinding pain. Cassandra levered herself up on shaking arms from the puddle into which she had been ragdolled. She had to blink repeatedly to clear her eyes from blurring moisture, and she couldn't tell if it was mere water or tears.
Several bodies lay scattered about her, but she could do little to help in her current state, and so she sat, hugging herself meekly, her body wracked with incessant shivers and intermittent hiccupping sobs, the only other sound in the clearing to play a jarring melody with the calming waves.
Slowly, the others began to stir. Kattala clutched her knees tightly to her chest, her long curtain of hair obscuring her features. Tristan propped himself up against a tree trunk. Blood flowed freely from his temple and his eyes stared blankly out over the Lake. Clip had been floating out on the surface of the water. He splashed to the shoreline and flumped down among mud-coated stones. The driving rain sheeted off his brow, unnoticed. Fred was nowhere to be seen.
The four of them shared the small clearing, sat at each point of the compass. Each was less than a handful of paces from the other, but for that moment each was wholly and unequivocally alone.
Cassandra allowed thoughts of defeat to envelop her in that moment of solitude. On a deep, buried level a small part of her was satisfied, for she had been right, after all. She was not cut out for this. She had known it from the beginning. She had amassed eleven years of empirical evidence to the fact that she was not the adventuring sort. And then somehow she had thrown that away within days of meeting James Potter. She had tried to tell herself that it had been a decision based on more than the fact that she had longed to make up for the long years of friendlessness that had been her Muggle schooling. She had argued and rationalised into the small hours many a night of that first year, warring with that logical part of her that insisted this life wasn't for her.
But her grades had, if anything, improved; she had spent more than her allotted time studying and she had discovered a base, almost primal sense of enjoyment that she had decided came from the pleasure of good company, of belonging. She looked around the clearing at the tattered remains of those to whom she professed to belong.
She had failed all of them, because she had been too scared to tell them that she was, in fact, an outsider in their midst. As she studied their blank faces and inward, defeated gazes, she knew that they were all thinking the same.
She would have to leave the group; it was the only logical decision. Once they got out of this – if they got out of this – she would have to tell them. More tears began mixing with the rain running down her face. She scrunched up her eyes so hard until she saw bright lights, snapping them open again only when she heard movement in the clearing.
Clip was levering himself to his feet unsteadily. The rain was plastering his hair to his forehead, and the way his robes clung to his slender frame made him appear tiny against the towering firs and pine of the Forest.
'Well,' he called over the steady hammering of rain through the trees. 'We'd best get a move on.'
Cassandra blinked rather dumbly back at him. Move? She gazed at the others who remained seated, unmoved. The similarities in their body language were apparent. They were defeated, waiting for the end. Be that what it may.
'I can't even…' Cassandra trailed off, gesturing meekly at her damaged leg. The pain from which sent lances of agony up her entire left side should she even consider applying weight.
'That's easy,' Clip countered. He turned and strode to Kattala, weaving slightly over the slippery, uncertain footing of the mud-soaked clearing floor. 'Cat, do you remember that Prehniian Pressure Sling you showed me for bandaging Bowtruckle injuries? I need you to do one of them on Cassie's leg, if you could.'
Cassandra looked at Clip as if he had gone mad. 'A Bowtruckle bandage? Clip, this is a little more complex than a broken twig. I-'
'It's the knee that hurts, isn't it? I've seen the way you walk on it. As it happens, on a larger scale this particular method of bandaging is unparalleled in redistribution of weight, and removing strain on load-bearing joints. I've been looking into a way to Charm it to allow the leg to better absorb shock but, well… I'm not that good with the magic.'
Clip, whose hand had not left Kattala's shoulder, suddenly looked a little sheepish. Cassandra stared openly, her misery momentarily forgotten.
'So can you do it for us Cat? Please?'
Cassandra didn't know she had been holding her breath until she let out a single, relieved sigh as the curtain of Kattala's hair nodded once to the affirmative. She watched Clip help her to her feet, and Cassandra could do little more than squeak a frail little 'thank you!' as Kattala bent down and tore a strip from her own robe to begin the work.
Clip had now turned to Tristan, and was trying in vain to coax him to his feet.
'We've got to get going, mate. Look out there, the water's rising, I don't want to be anywhere near here when that comes for us.'
Cassandra followed Clips gesture, to see a flickering melange of vivid pastel colours interspersed with darker, midnight streaks warring beneath the surface of the lake. The lightning above was ferocious. Her gaze was drawn almost magnetically to the spot where Renshaw had stood. All that remained was a crater, even now beginning to fill beneath the rising waters and tempestuous rain. Frost rimed the margins, and was beginning a slow, indomitable march across the nearby stones and sand out to the surface of the Lake proper.
A shiver wracked Cassandra that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.
'What does it matter?' Tristan mumbled listlessly. 'We've no wands. We crossed a low point between the castle and here that's probably already flooded. We're cut off in here, stranded.'
'We're not going back that way,' Clip stated matter-of-factly. 'We're going forward, to find James. He still needs our help.'
'A fool's errand; none of us know our way around here, and besides, we haven't any wands.'
'Well,' Clip announced, raising his voice as if to address the clearing at large. 'I should hope that someone with a heritage so steeped in acquiring items they ought not be able to acquire would at least be able to put that talent to use in such a time of need as this.'
Cassandra frowned, unsure what on earth Clip was talking about, and briefly wondering if, in fact, he had lost the plot, when the bushes to her left rustled and she let out a yelp of fright.
'Aw man, you ruined my grand entrance,' Fred grumbled. Everyone in the clearing gaped as, sitting in a relaxed grip in his left hand, was a collection of very familiar wands and the Atlantean Spear. 'Shoulda seen the looks on those prefects' faces.'
Fred strode into the clearing as if they were gathered for little more than a Sunday afternoon picnic. He rested a hand on Clip's shoulder, looking down at Tristan.
'C'mon mate, we best get a wriggle on. I'm not letting James have all the fun for a second year running.'
'How do we have any hope of finding him in this?'
'I happen to know you're a decent hand at bushcraft,' Clip grinned smugly.'
'It helps us out on the farm. Why?'
'I saw James get washed over in that direction, into that bush with the scraggly grey flowers. A full Galleon says you can find a trail leading out from there. Even in this.' He held out a hand to collect a palmful of the rain.
Tristan hesitated for a long, drawn-out second before taking Fred's outstretched arm.
'Careful now,' he said with the shadow of a grin. 'You start talking about bets and you'll bring the Lenders down on us. That'd be the last thing we need.'
Cassandra watched on in shock as Tristan shuffled off in the direction indicated and began scratching around near the base of the shrub. Clip stood in the centre of the clearing, his wand in hand, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
How effortlessly he had played to each of their strengths, asking for so little from each of them. In reality it was nothing more than a set of menial tasks, alone mattering little in the face of such adversity, but together… and here, Kattala flashed Cassandra an unexpected smile which made her heart blossom with something that felt dangerously like hope. Together, they could do anything.
Sweet Merlin, but she loved the feeling of being alive.
As a jet of light tugged at Holly Brooks' raven hair and left a bloody kiss upon her cheek, she let out a shrill laugh up into the night.
The rain answered in the only way it knew.
The thickly-forested stretch of lakeshore upon which they were huddled was awash with rivulets of run-off, all cascading down towards the hungry lakeshore. The air was thick with a rich, earthy smell, and so cold as to sting her nostrils each time she inhaled; a sensation that was beginning to make her feel a little queasy. She swept a palm across the wound and cupped her nose, drawing in the hot, steely scent of her own blood. She smiled out toward the source of the spell.
A once-dusty ephemeral stream stood defiantly before her, roaring with newfound life. Silt-laden water bit and cut at poorly consolidated banks. With every minute that passed clumps of dirt crashed down to join the turbulent swell, dragged under immediately and dissipated among the muddy wash discharging out into the Lake nearby. Soon, it would become impassable. Soon, they would have a problem.
The caster of the spell leaned out from the tree behind which he was huddled, firing off a wild barrage of spells. The last of the prefects, in a vain attempt at making himself useful, had Stunned Rain in the chaos and fled. Now he stubbornly refused to back down. Every few seconds he would call out for the Headmistress. As his cries continued to go unanswered, a satisfying undertone of desperation began to seep through; music to Holly's ears.
'She's not going to co-ome,' Holly sing-songed out over the creek. The high-pitched falsetto ran eerily through the trees alongside the thunderous crash of rain and wave around them.
'I'll have you expelled, Brooks! And you Potter. Attacking a prefect! You won't have any house points left when I'm through with you!'
The blood from Holly's cheek was seeping down to the corner of her mouth. She sucked it in sharply, revelling in the taste. She flashed a blood-streaked smile at the cornered prefect.
'Come on out Rawlins, what's the matter? I only bite a little.'
From behind the next tree over, James let out a grunt. He was looking impatient; always business, he never liked to play with his food. She'd see to that, eventually.
Rawlins fired another spell that went well wide. Holly knew him from her first year. He had been one of the first to turn a blind eye when Greengrass and Braithwaite's bullying had been at its worst; always the last to step in and break things up, as long as it was Holly on the receiving end.
A well-aimed cutting hex from Holly was rewarded with a satisfying high-pitched scream, and she had to suppress the urge to let forth a gleeful titter. This was entirely too much fun.
She and James both started as, nearby, a sapling tumbled and was claimed by the greedy, all-consuming current. To cross the creek was already an uncertain leap at best. Any longer and Rawlins – and by extension an unconscious Rain – would be stranded on an ever-shrinking island within the Lake. And no matter how fun this entire evening had been so far, she was not going to dip so much as a pinky toe in that water tonight. She had a fair idea of how that would end.
They had to move.
An icy wind gusted in from across the Lake like Death's own kiss. With it, came a thin, marching band of ice, forming along the margins of the creek between them. The ice shone as if under non-existent moonlight, and every time the fat, driving raindrops hit it they fizzed as if falling on a grill.
From his cornered snarl, even Rawlins knew that he had nowhere left to run. The stream was far too wide to leap while carrying an unconscious body. He'd refused every offer of surrender thus far, which was a shame. Holly would have let him go… at least until his back was turned.
A little bubble of laughter rose to the surface, and she tossed her head gleefully.
'Reducto!' she roared without warning, aiming at the centre of a puddle at Rawlins' feet.
The water exploded in a violent cascade, sending a terrified Rawlins tumbling as he tripped over a concealed root.
Holly had been buffing her nails arrogantly on the breast of her robe, when she was yanked unceremoniously forwards towards the water. Sensing their chance, James was making a break for it.
No time at all for fun.
All of a sudden, the pair stopped as abruptly as they started, Holly colliding into James' back with an indignant 'Oof!'
James had frozen in place, as what little was left of the bank beneath Rawlins had tumbled away under Holly's aggressive spell, sending him down a short fall, directly into the clutches of the waves below.
The ice that had been gathering in glassy sheets in the shallows spilt beneath Rawlins' weight with a thunderous crash, cutting through the night like a whip. Holly clapped hands to her ears – managing to poke herself in the eye with her own wand in the process.
The pair stood dead still for a moment, as even the rain and the rushing water seemed to hold their breath.
A momentary glance down confirmed her fears, as the once-raging water was rapidly growing a thick sheet of frost all across its surface. James – bless his soul – stepped up as if to protect her from it. Floundering out in the muddy shallows of the Lake, Rawlins was likely wetting himself. Holly knew she would be in his situation.
A final, resounding crack sounded, as the ice met in the centre of the creek, and Rawlins jumped to life as if electrocuted. He scrabbled desperately up the bank, tripping and sliding on hidden icy stones. A small swell in the lake began to build behind him, unseen. Within it, like a beating heart, pulsed a single shimmering streamer of pale pink.
The swell grew to a wave easily as high as Holly was tall, gathering speed as if it were rushing downhill towards them. Rawlins let out a cry as he finally looked back. Roots and clods of dirt gave way traitorously beneath his frantic clutches, struggling to make it up the mud-soaked slope and free himself of the gathering wall of water that was bearing down upon them. As the pair took a tentative step forwards, Holly saw a fan of mud-streaked, red-gold hair splayed out behind a tree: Rain.
That sight gave the pair the jolt they needed to snap free of their reverie and lunge forward over the creek, towards their stricken friend. Before them, Holly saw Rawlins finally scramble free of the waterline. Immediately, the gigantic wave began to recede, losing its momentum until it was little more than a bulge in the surface once more, little more than the height of a tall man.
Holly made the leap over the creek, and instantly felt the ground give way beneath her on the far bank. She flung out a hand desperately, but grabbed hold of little more than leaves, sending her careening down the short drop. Her foot momentarily collided with something solid, before punching through into the freezing depths below. The sheer cold of the water knocked the breath clean from her lungs, as her leg was submerged up to the thigh. She gasped frantically as James' face appeared at the bank, lifting her to safety. Out over the lake, the shimmering form within the wave coalesced into the figure of a human, impossibly tall, crowned by seething foam, clad head to toe as if in startling pearlescent armour. The figure stood within the wave, and she saw it turn to face her. It raised a single arm, and beckoned.
Holly was glad that she would be able to pass off what happened next as excess water from her dip in the creek.
Rain was shivering uncontrollably and disoriented, but otherwise fine. The small group found a slight rise in the topography suitably away from the lakeshore. Rain leant heavily on the nearest tree trunk for support. James fussed over her endlessly. Holly strode off rather forcefully to scout their position. She told her self that it was certainly not because she couldn't bear to watch the display.
When she returned, Rain proffered her hand. Confused, Holly slowly took it. It was icy cold; the fingers clenched shut around something in the palm. Gently, she prised them free one by one. They felt so brittle that they might shatter like ice. Holly thought to jam the hand up her shirt to share some body warmth; but the constant chattering of her own teeth and frigid temperature of her skin suggested that she was little better off herself.
Holly knew what she was seeing long before she pried the final finger free; the fat, blue gemstone sat heavy in Rain's pale palm. It seemed to reflect a starry night sky that didn't exist, tiny pinpricks of light glowing as if from within. At Rain's gesture, Holly leaned in to take it, gasping in shock at the soul-rending cold of the stone to the touch. She stared reverently from the stone to Rain, and then to James, who wore a cautiously optimistic grin for the first time that night. He was holding up two fingers; the message was clear. They had the Stone and Rain; two down, one to go.
Any real hope of tracking James had died almost as soon as it had started. The driving rain and constant torrents of water running about their feet rendered the forest floor useless for reading signs of passing. Tristan had been reduced to following the natural lie of the land, in the hope that it would lead him on the path most likely taken by James. The occasional unnatural crater or shattered bough spoke ominously of heavy spellfire, and stood to assure them that they were likely headed in the right direction.
It reminded Tristan eerily of a time his father had asked him to located a wounded Demiguise high up in the steepest ranges of their farm. The creature had been beset by something, and was wandering, lost and disoriented. Tristan had headed to the highlands with little more than a thick coat and a stick for walking, expecting the job to last less than a day.
But signs of passage in that rocky, bare country had been next to nothing, and coupled with the fact that the creature would only become visible once every few hours to recover its strength, had meant that it had been three days until Tristan had found it, curled up beneath a rocky overhang. It could have been asleep but for the way those sightless eyes seemed to follow Tristan no matter how he had tried to escape them.
Those eyes were haunting him once more, as he momentarily paused next to a swollen, tumultuous creek that now surrounded a tiny island out within the lake. Signs of fighting were thick on the ground here; scattered branches lay all about, and green needles flowed freely on the myriad currents underfoot. A slash of red on a nearby tree could have been blood, but it was gone before Tristan could investigate. The eyes of the Demiguise had been a pale brown in death; almost identical to James'.
He held up a hand to halt their progress as a new sound began to emerge; something crashing through the undergrowth, headed towards them. The group fanned out, facing the sound. Fred lowered both his wand and the Spear. Thoughts of wild tales of what lived in the forest flashed through Tristan's mind: Thestrals and Werewolves and worse. But the shape resolved into human form; one of the prefects – a Slytherin. Rollins, or something, was his name. He pulled up short when he saw five wands lowered at his chest, and favoured the group with a derisive sneer.
'You freaks are gonna get yourselves killed out here,' he snarled. The look in his eye was wild, almost feral. He gnashed his teeth at the line of wands before him.
'Where're our friends?' Tristan yelled through gritted teeth. If this prefect had done anything to James…
'Dead, probably. Hopefully. You're all insane. If whatever's out there doesn't kill you, Renshaw will.'
'Renshaw is gone.' Tristan's voice was flat.
'Then we're all dead!' he snarled, lunging at Tristan.
But Fred was too quick, and bound the prefect in a quick Leg-Locker, causing him to fall flat on his face in the mud. He looked up at them, almost a pitiful sight, covered in mud and dirt and smelling vaguely of piss.
'Where are our friends?' Tristan asked again, making sure to point his wand square between Rollins' eyes.
A shift came over his expression then, from mad to calculating in the space between heartbeats. All too soon it was gone, and the feral smile returned.
'Gone,' he giggled madly. 'At least the red-head one is. I stunned her. Bound her up good. Had her on yon island over there, waiting for Renshaw. When the creek flooded I cut and run.'
Tristan's chest went cold as he surveyed what was left of the island indicated; little more than the raised roots of a giant fir. There was certainly no body in sight
'And the girl?' Though he was almost too afraid to ask.
'Ditched her, didn't I? She's the one that caused all this, only seemed right. No one will miss that freak. You ask me, she's better off dead!'
Fred's spell broke under the shock of that revelation, and Rollins pushed himself up to his feet. He took a moment to spit vehemently at Tristan before turning tail and fleeing back the way they had come, continuing his senseless flight through the Forest.
'Could she really be…'Clip started a sentence that he clearly wasn't able to complete.
'We need a light,' Tristan murmured.
'There's nothing there mate,' Fred replied. The island's gone, now. Water's up the trunk of the tree.'
'I said, give me a light!' Tristan yelled. His breath was coming in short sharp bursts. His hands shook too violently to trust himself casting the spell.
Cassie sent an orb hovering out over the water. It illuminated the bole of the tree in a ghostly silver light, clashing with the ethereal pale colours that were spilled across the starless sky.
A huge sheet of green lightning illuminated the once-island clearly, and Fred gasped, gesturing with the spear.
'What was that?' He yelled. 'I saw something floating on the water, a body, I'm sure of it!'
Before anyone could respond, he had dashed to the very edge of the rising water and was tearing off his shoes and robe.
'Don't be ridiculous, Fred,' Tristan warned. 'Even if it is Rain… You've seen what the water can do, there's no way you can go in there.'
'And there's no way we can go on without Rain. We need her to do whatever it is we're going to do. It was her plan. Without her and Renshaw, we're doomed.'
'Well let me go,' Tristan offered, taking a step towards the water.
'Don't be ridiculous. You're the only reason we haven't been eaten by a bloody Werewolf or ended up in Dorset. You need to keep going and find James, all of you. It can't be more than fifty yards out there; I'll catch you up in no time.'
The pair shared a long look. Fred's gaze was bordering on pleading.
'Fine,' Tristan finally grunted.
'Besides, I've got a secret weapon, I'll be fine.' Fred hefted the Spear confidently as he strode out into the surf.
Before the group could waste any time on farewells, he lunged forward and dived beneath the water, disappearing almost instantly beneath the murky depths.
As even the glow of the spear was eventually swallowed up by the rain and the distance, Tristan couldn't help but remember their Headmistress standing confidently, spear in hand, not too long ago.
Some good it had done her.
'And that's why we need to have the Spear,' Rain finished. As soon as she stopped talking her teeth went back to chattering uncontrollably, and she hugged herself beneath hers and James' robes.
They were huddled together at the edge of a small promontory overlooking the Lake. Waves bit and crashed at the rocky base, but their position some metres above the surface of the water was likely to remain safe. Their view ran unimpeded out across the water as far as the incessant rain would allow them to see. Tattered streamers of pastel pinks and blues hung both above and below the surface alike. Every so often a great flare of light would illuminate the scene fully, and a sickening flotsam of dead Merfolk bodies bobbing on the surface of the water would be revealed. It was clear that they were losing. Their time was running out.
Rain had chosen this ledge as their spot from which to make the stand against the Atlanteans. The Stone lay in a small depression between them, and they were huddled around it like a campfire, but the lazy streamers of smoke that trailed upwards from its surface gave off a numbing cold rather than any form of heat. Holly had gone to scout the area, and look for any sign of the others, in the hopes that they had obtained the Spear, the final piece of the puzzle.
'So let me get this straight,' James said, rubbing his hands together in the vain hope of creating some warmth. 'The Spear isn't actually a spear, it's a tiny Atlantean?'
'It's not an Atlantean, all of the Atlanteans. It's a piece of them, of each of them, that anchors them in this world. The decay of their prison was only the start. No matter how much the Stone becomes damaged, they won't be able to manifest in this world for more than a short time, a few hours at most. Hence the random violent storms throughout the year; but once they gathered enough of their strength, they were able to bridge the gap between their Prison and our world by tying themselves here with this. It's almost like a physical rope; no matter how much we banish them, as long as the Spear still exists, they will always be able to claw back up the rope and make their way into our world. It might take months, years even, but it will always happen.'
'And to destroy the spear, I would have to Enchant it – Bind it to the Stone permanently?'
'Exactly. That will destroy the spear, allowing it to be consumed by the Prison once more. And again, like a physical rope, it will drag all of the Atlanteans back into the Prison, anchoring them there, where they should be. Forever.'
James ran a hand through the hair plastered to his head by the rain. All he needed to do was Enchant the most powerful magical object he'd ever encountered before the Demons it belonged to broke free and destroyed the now-leaderless school. He wondered if his father had ever felt this terribly, horribly out of his depth.
'But the last we saw of the Spear was in Renshaw's hand, ready to give back to the Atlanteans.'
'It wasn't the Atlanteans who attacked her, it was the Merfolk. She had manipulated them into defending the school with their lives, and they wanted revenge.'
'So the Merfolk have it?'
'No, I can feel it. The Stone can feel it approaching. It is getting apprehensive.'
James turned his gaze upon the blue Sapphire, now vibrating slightly in the depression in which it lay.
Suddenly, a brilliant green flash lit the sky from horizon to horizon. It displayed the grizzly scene below, countless bodies floating on the surface of the Lake. No wonder the Merfolk had wanted revenge.
'No!'
Rain's cry cut through James like a knife, he lunged towards her, grabbing her by the shoulders, staring into a gaze malformed by anguish.
'The Spear! They- it's…'
From their vantage point they could see clearly a score or more jagged forks of lightning beneath the surface of the waves all rush to converge on a single point. Where they met a huge fountain of water erupted, high above even their heads.
'…it's gone.'
'What?' James shot his gaze back out towards the lake, but it was now ominously quiet.
'What can we do? We need to get it back!'
'We can't, we won't. Not… not if they have it.'
There was no need to ask who they were.
'There is a way, but- but it's too dangerous. You're not strong enough James, I can't let you.'
James' gaze hardened, to the point where Rain shied away. 'We need to fix this, Rain. Hundreds of lives could be at stake. If the Atlanteans make it to the castle… Tell me what to do, please. I want to protect those people, Rain. Merlin, I want to protect you.'
'The only way to do it is to fight them James, to bind them to the Stone; every single Atlantean out there. You must locate them within the Trance, and bind them as you would have the Spear. They are not living things, they are machinations sustained purely by magic, bastardised by being given the memories and emotions of a hundred trapped souls.
'It will be like binding the Spear, but at the same time nothing like it. They will fight back, they are sentient, they will resist you, and they will not want to be imprisoned. James, I don't think you are strong enough for this, please.'
'I can do it Rain, I will do it. Tell me how.'
James reached out and took her hand in his own as she began to explain.
Meanwhile, in the waters below, deep beneath the waves, all of those tattered shreds of pale light now began to flow. They were moving with purpose, as were the ones that hung low above the waters' surface. They flowed like veins carrying lifeblood, all to a handful of locations which began to burgeon down by the shore. As James and Rain remained locked in tense conversation those points of light became so bright they illuminated the swamped trees. Raindrops glinted and winked momentarily as they flashed through the light.
All around those points of light the Lake began to freeze solid. The Atlanteans had arrived.
Tristan led the sombre group onwards in silence. The absence of any hint of quip or joke from Fred was glaringly loud, even with the rain making speaking difficult. He plodded along at the head of their pitiable column, splashing one muddy boot in front of the other, looking up only occasionally to ensure they were still headed towards the dim light they had seen atop a small shelf jutting out over the Lake.
Behind them, a growing light was beginning to flicker through the trees, illuminating the undergrowth in a ghostly monochrome. Tristan tried hard not to think about how those lights seemed to be coming from the exact point where Fred had left them.
He was sure that their listless pace would have long ground to a halt, but for the ever-advancing sheen of frost that was freezing the flowing water solid behind them. What had once been hundreds of rivulets and runnels was now an otherworldy surface of ropy, glass-like ice, steaming gently, and sparkling beneath the alien lights. The advance was moving at a fast walk, forcing them to do so as well. No one wanted to touch the ice. They were cut off from Fred entirely.
As he stepped carefully around a sodden patch of Stranglegrass, Tristan sensed a blur of movement to his left. Too late, as a pair of arms snaked their way around his waist, gripping his wrist fast, immobilising his wand-hand. A voice sounded so close to his ear as to send a wave of shivers down an entire side of his body.
'You've got to be careful crashing about out here. There are scarier things than me lurking.'
Initial shock over, Tristan turned to face the voice, his lips mere centimetres from the source. They drew upwards in what felt like the first smile all night.
'Ordinarily, I'd be only too happy to find myself in such a compromising position and at your mercy Miss Brooks, but I do think you just made my heart stop just a little.'
'Wait till you see what I can do when I'm actually trying.'
'How about you swing by when this is all over and you can show me.'
Tristan didn't miss the fleeting gaze she sent up towards the promontory where James must have been. That boy was clueless.
Holly disentangled herself abruptly as the others arrived, dishing out a round of greeting. She looked well and truly worse for wear; her long, dark hair was matted thick with mud and blood, adorned with twigs and leaves from the forest around them. A nasty gash high on her cheek wept a steady stream of blood down her grime-streaked features. Her robes looked to be more hole than actual robe, and she was missing a shoe. A sock that was once bright pink squirmed wetly in the thick mud underfoot.
'Where's Fred?' she asked pointedly.
'He went to get Rain,' Tristan replied, suddenly sheepish. 'We saw her floating out on the water. He went to save her, and took the spear with him. But we- we haven't seen him since.'
Holly's face instantly fell.
'Oh. Oh no, that's not good. That's really not good.' The scraggly strand of hair she had been sucking on was ground mercilessly between her teeth.
'But we need Rain to finish this; it was her plan to begin with. Without her, we're groping around in the dark.' There was a little more bite than need be in his retort, but Tristan suddenly felt a need to defend his decision, a need for someone to tell him that it had been the right one.
'We do,' Holly agreed, placing a hand on his shoulder consolingly. 'And we have her. She's right up there on that clifftop with James.'
Tristan heard Cassie give a choked sob behind him, he heard Cat's gasp of shock, but they felt a million miles away. He felt as if he were looking at the cliff from the castle, through a great tunnel. Holly was speaking to him, but the words were echoing through the tunnel, bouncing around in his head until he couldn't make sense of them in the slightest. He'd killed Fred, more than likely. He'd killed Fred, and he'd given the Atlanteans that Spear which had been so precious to them. He knew now that it was no coincidence that as soon as Fred – and the Spear – had entered the water, they had been able to leave it. They had taken the Spear, the Spear that James needed to stop their advance.
Renshaw was gone, her fate unknown but certainly gone the same way as Fred's.
There was nothing left to stand between the Atlanteans and Hogwarts, and it had been all his fault.
Holly was shaking him now, jarring his neck, though not even the discomfort could break through his fugue. Clip was talking – most likely saying something reasonable, as was his wont. He should have left him by the lakeshore, staring, dazed at the base of the tree. If Clip had just carried on without them, they'd be fine, They'd have the Spear, and probably have defeated the Atlanteans by now.
He wanted to punch something, someone. He wanted to take the first Atlantean that came through those trees and set it on fire to burn for a thousand years. He'd take them all, one after the other, until they were all gone, or he was. It was the only way he would be able to live with himself. It was all that was left for him to do.
'…that's better Tristan, that's the fight we want to see in those eyes,' Holly was saying. 'You're going to need it. We've got a half dozen Atlanteans with a severe case of claustrophobia coming our way, and they really don't want to be stuffed back inside that tiny Stone. I need to go and tell James about the Spear, if they don't already know. They'll need to change their plan. He'll be glad to know you're safe.'
She added the last sentence as an afterthought, a weak attempt to console him, but he was beyond that now. He knew what he had to do. A tongue of flame leapt to life from the tip of his wand, snaking its way around his body hungrily, like a snake coiled to strike. The friends, less Holly, arrayed themselves at the foot of the path up the cliff, wands faced outward.
The ice advanced ahead of the approaching misty light. It grew thick upon the ground, coating everything and then coating itself once more, until the forest floor before them became a crumpled, chaotic melange of broken shards and frozen mud. The deep, penetrating sound of ice cracking echoed through the trees, shattering crystallised pine needles and reverberating through Tristan deep into his chest.
Their breath misted in the air, hanging in thick, lazy streamers and clouds that refused to dissipate beneath the rain. One look down the line either side of him showed the black-and-white illuminated faces of his friends, ready. No words were shared between them, for there was nothing left to say, all that was left was to do.
Tristan could make out footsteps now, nearing, unhurried, relentless and indomitable. The ice approached their feet, and Tristan let the fire that cloaked him flare as bright as he dared. He set it free to leap defiantly over the soaked ground. It burned fiercely at their feet, a burnished, golden hue that gave colour to their features and warmth to their limbs. The ice advanced no further.
Four figures stood, lit now by a warm, golden light. It was only their shadows that moved. Their arms, wands raised, did not waver. Their gazes did not leave the point among the trees from which a figure was beginning to take shape. They were ready.
The thing that finally took shape through the trees appeared alarmingly close to human. It was almost three times Tristan's own height, and clad head-to-toe in some kind of armour that glistened with the pale pastel colours that he had seen within the lake. In the eerie white light that emanated from behind it, the armour glowed, pearlescent. Tristan cracked a frown, as he noticed that he could see through what he had originally thought to be armour – through the entire creature itself. When the light fell just right, he could see a warped, distorted version of the forest beyond through the things chest. It looked as if the entire creature was made of ice.
Its face turned toward them, perpetually contorted into a vicious snarl by the hatred of an entire people that it harboured within what could only laughably be called its soul. It had no words to speak, but merely raised a taloned hand in the direction of James and Rain.
'No,' Tristan growled. The fire at his feet flared defiantly.
The thing – the Atlantean – took a step forward, sending a radial array of ice blossoming from its footfall, adding another layer to the gnarled and churned forest floor. It began to advance. Its gait seemed uncertain, as if it were unused to walking altogether. For a moment, Tristan had hope. They might have an advantage after all.
Mesmerising ribbons of colour swirled within the Atlanteans chest in place of flesh and bone, as if those streamers of colour were its very lifeblood, as if they were the entire entity of these creatures, housed in what was merely a glass shell. Clearly thinking along the same track, Clip fired off a Blasting Hex. The creature didn't so much as flinch as the spell fizzled uselessly against its shoulder. Not so much as a smudge was left as evidence.
Tristan's brief flowering of hope suddenly faltered.
At ten paces away, Cat and Cassie together yelled 'Incendio Maxima!' Blue and yellow ribbons of flame assailed the creature, causing it to halt momentarily. But little more than an arm movement was all that it needed to brush the flames aside, and again it began to advance. Each footfall seemed to radiate the very essence of cold out through the ground and up through Tristan's own boots. His wall of fire shrank back as if scared, and no matter how much effort he put into sustaining it, it continued to bow before the attacker.
Tristan chose his moment, when he could sustain the blaze no longer. The Atlantean seemed to stumble momentarily on the uneven surface, nearly falling to one knee on its ungainly feet. Tristan locked on to where its eyes would have been and charged, yelling a wordless snarl and gathering his trail of fire about him, drawing it to an inferno, lunging at the creature's face, hands out as if to tear the head from its body.
He felt as if he collided with a granite pillar. The Atlantean didn't so much as flinch beneath his onslaught. Tristan dashed his fists against its body, trying to climb it and find eyes, face, any sort of weakness. Beneath his palms what had looked like glass felt like solid rock, and flash-froze his skin to the surface. He tore his hands free again and again, leaving bloody prints up its body with each desperate lunge. The air around the creature scalded his throat and nose, so cold was it to breathe. The fire around him flickered, its heat but a distant memory. Beneath him, the Atlantean rose to its feet finally. Tristan tore his palms free with a last, painful rip of flesh and fell from the body of the creature as it lunged to grab him, no more than a minor annoyance.
He hit the frozen ground hard, cracking his head on a sharp splinter of ice. He lay for a second, stunned, wondering at the curious fan of red that seemed to be blossoming from the corners of his vision. Above him, the creature of swirling light raised a heavy foot. It came down centimetres from where Tristan had been laying. He pushed himself up onto unsteady feet, facing the beast once more. He was faster than it. Perhaps he could outrun in, wear it down.
As another Blaster from Clip failed uselessly against its arm, Tristan wondered whether it might be easier to wear down the granite the thing seemed to be made of.
Cassie conjured an array of ropes and chains in a clever attempt to snarl its uncertain footing, but it waded through them as if they were little more than shallow water. Tristan tried and failed to resurrect his cloak of fire, but his thoughts were scattered, and he could barely grip his wand, his palms a bloody torn mess of blood and raw exposed flesh.
It clearly had registered Tristan as useless, and turned its attention to the greater annoyances. Clip brought down a branch onto its head, which Cat set ablaze. For a moment Tristan thought they had it beat, until it grabbed the branch – fire and all – and whipped it back around, collecting Clip in the midriff and sending him flying several metres through the air. He crashed to the frozen ground hard, slumped against the bole of a tree and did not get up.
Fighting the burning desire to run to his friend, Tristan rejoined the line in Clip's place. His wand was a blood-soaked mess, and he could feel blood flowing freely down the collar of his shirt. His vision was beginning to tunnel. Cat and Cassie huddled close to him on either side. Their wands shook as they levelled them.
'Defodio!' Cassie yelled, gouging out a section of the dirt just as the Atlantean was set to make another Cyclopean footfall. It stumbled once again, and Tristan sent out a whip-like tongue of flame to encircle its neck in an attempt to throttle it, if it could even be throttled.
On his other side Cat conjured as many ropes as she could manage, anything to foul the beasts footing. Cassie worked on its hands, preventing it from knocking the fire aside as Tristan put all of his might into shrinking the rope of flame around it's neck. If he couldn't choke it then he'd damn well pop its head right off.
But once again their efforts were not enough. First the creature turned to Cassie, gripping one of the ropes as it was unfurling from her wand. A high-pitched rushing washed over them, and a column of ice leapt up along the rope so quickly that before she could do anything about it, it had entombed her entirely. She stood, frozen in her terror, and the beast was free. It made short work of Tristan's noose, snapping the flame and collecting him with a kick to the chest that sent him skidding along the frozen ground, curled around his damaged body protectively. He tried and failed to stand, managing only to cough up an explosion of blood.
Finally, it's over. He thought, as he watched the creature pick Cat up off the ground in one hand. Such a shame. As the creature drew her overhead, making to strike down onto the frozen form of Cassie. Cat's screamed would have curdled Tristan's blood had he any left at his disposal.
He had to blink, then. He thought it might have been his failing vision, but something had seemed to make the creature flinch. And again, it staggered half a step, an argent flash of light spoke of a chip of that stone-like glass flying free from its shoulder. It dropped Cat bodily to the ground and turned to face the new attacker.
Tristan managed to push himself up to a sitting position using the tree at his back. Foamy blood frothed at the corner of his mouth, and wild thoughts ran through his mind of Harry Potter, or Dumbledore, or even Renshaw coming free from the deep to save the day. It burned his entire left side to turn his neck, but he managed it to see their saviour.
It was Holly.
She stood at the foot of the path, facing down the beast with an unflinching gaze. And how wrong Tristan had been earlier to think her looking haggard, for now she was a picture of fiery vengeance. The tattered robe was gone, instead she wore loose black silks, not unlike those Renshaw often favoured. Her ivory skin glowed in the faux-moonlight brighter even that the body of the Atlantean. The mud and blood on her face was no detriment to her appearance, it was instead a warpaint, and as she lowered her wand and fired off another spell, she rushed down to fight.
Tristan wanted to yell a warning, to tell her not to run, to save herself, to gather James and flee. There was no way they could beat this thing. But those reservations died on his tongue the moment she stepped up to the creature.
It made a slow, cumbersome lunge at her, an overhead, two-fisted smash. Holly flitted to the side casually and a great crater was left in the soft mud where the Atlantean struck. Before it could raise its hands, hundreds of roots snaked up from the earth, ensnaring its hands, sticking them fast. Holly let out a sound that might have been a giggle, before a jet of carmine light collided with the creature's midriff, rocking it bodily and sending another splinter of ice to the ground.
The moment the ice came free of the creature, it became blackened and dead, where it hit the ground it shattered so violently that Tristan couldn't make out a single shard of it remaining. With something resembling a roar, the creature tore free, whipping a viciously-clawed arm at Holly with speed Tristan hadn't known it possessed. Before he could yell a warning, Holly had twirled just out of its reach, her silks billowing around her for a moment like a ball gown woven from midnight itself.
The Atlantean summoned a shard of ice up from the very earth, one that would have skewered Holly had she not pirouetted free at the last moment. Tristan heard fully-fledged laughter now, as the Atlantean made lunge after lunge that Holly nimbly evaded. Their charade was broken momentarily by a thunderous crash from deep within the lake, whereupon the Atlantean turned back to face her with renewed vigour.
Whatever had happened had been a signal of some kind, and the thing had clearly lost its patience. Tristan gasped, as a wicked curved blade of the same material as the spear appeared in its hand, or rather, grown from its hand. Holly's smile faltered for only a second.
'I'm flattered. Of course I'll have this dance.'
On that last word the creature struck, and Holly spun away yet again. They were back at it.
But this time, there was something different. No, Tristan corrected himself, this time everything was different. The creature was moving with speed and precision, unlike anything they had seen before. It cut and slashed and whirled in a display of appalling speed and power. Small sticks and clumps of ice flicked up from its feet, catching in the light and winking. Against the washed out light of the Atlanteans, Holly was a streak of midnight, a blur of darkness standing against the onslaught. Each time the creature thrust, she spun, throwing her arms wide and sending her silks billowing. Her hair fanned behind her, sending a curtain of droplets that sparkled like a handful of tossed stars.
Any thoughts Tristan had possessed of rejoining the fight were well and truly abandoned. This was occurring on a level far above anything he could dream of. Holly would never stop moving, spinning and dipping and curving her body around the attacks of the Atlantean that was so mesmerising as to possess an almost sensual undertone. Tristan knew he couldn't tear his eyes from the gracile curve of her neck as she arched backwards beneath a crosshanded chop, or the way her hips swayed as she pirouetted away from another pillar of ice.
He counted his breaths to the flashes of pale skin that were offered, the way her hands worked her wand back and forth, never ceasing in casting spells, constantly chipping away, wearing the Atlantean down in a way Tristan had believed impossible. For a second, she was on all fours, nearly flat against the ground in a position Tristan hadn't believed humanly possible, and before the next heartbeat she was leaping high over another attack, her arms gracefully flung wide, already preparing to balance for the next move. Even when the creature did land an attack, she made it beautiful, with ribbons of red now trailing in the air behind her in sweeping, graceful arcs alongside the streamers of black and ivory.
And those were the colours in which she painted her defiance. And against all that he thought possible, Tristan watched her beginning to succeed. He noticed that the creature now only used one arm; that it could only pivot on a single leg. More and more of the ice fell away to shatter into nothingness, and still Holly continued to dance. The ground around them was churned and shattered, uneven for even the most sure-footed-, but Holly continued to dance across it as if it were a ballroom floor, and she the main attraction.
It was on a clumsy, single-handed lunge forward, where the Atlantean had thought to pin Holly to the ground with its giant blade, that she struck. The sword dug deep into the ground, and once again the roots and vines rose to ensnare it. Holly leapt nimbly up the arm holding the sword, springing onto the Atlanteans shoulders like a river of pitch. Once there, she aimed her wand clearly at its head and said so even Tristan could hear.
'Nighty night.'
Whatever spell she used, blasted the head clean off the creature, and sent her flying a ways in Tristan's direction. Alarmed, he pushed himself up weakly against the tree and staggered a step towards her. He barked a single cough of a laugh as she wobbled to her feet and made her way to him.
Now she was looking haggard. Her face was ashen, drained of all colour, her lips a faded, dead purple. The whites of her eyes were stained red, and blood flowed freely from her nose. Out where she had fought, Tristan noted with shock just how much red was sprayed amongst the dirty white ice. A gust of wind stirred the tatters of Holly's silks, and she stumbled, her coordination gone as if that fight had drained it all from her.
'Reckon I got him,' she managed, before spitting a wad of bloody phlegm at her feet.
'Reckon you did.' The pair limped and shuffled their way towards one another, tears streaking both of their faces.
So intent was Tristan's gaze upon Holly that he didn't note the shifting among the ice behind her. He failed entirely to see the now mostly-darkened shape of the battered Atlantean rise from the surface, sword once more in its one good hand. It wasn't until sword and creature alike were raised that he registered something was amiss, and the arm he threw out to Holly – still a dozen yards away – did little more than cause a confused frown to mar her brow as that wicked icy blade rushed to impale her from behind.
James was floating, floating in a sea of utter nothingness. He was deeper in the Trance than he had ever been before. Everything but the strongest magical signatures had been filtered from his world. There was only himself and the Atlanteans. Rain had insisted it was necessary if he were to have any chance of overcoming the Atlanteans. He was so deep, that she was having to sit next to his body, wherever it lay, and constantly whisper to him, to caress him with her magic and her touch to let his body know that it was still, in fact, alive, and not to give up and let his consciousness drift free forever.
It had taken him three painful attempts to get here. Gritty determination was barely able to overcome a debilitating fear of what he faced. Fear less for himself than for the consequence should he fail, of what would happen to his friends and all those he loved.
And so here he floated, with only a single instance of successful Enchanting and a handful of instructions from Rain, he was here to face down an otherworldly threat. If he had possessed a throat in this bodiless state he would have swallowed nervously.
Space meant nothing more to him here than he expected of it, but he allowed himself plenty of time to approach the pulsing, convoluted knot of golden dust before him. He was understandably shy; the first attempt he had made to subdue the magical 'heart' of an Atlantean had nearly tore him free of the Trance altogether. He had felt it onslaught rending his consciousness from his flesh and had fled only just in time, barely able to recall who he was or what his purpose had been. And this was no place to wander lost.
There was something different about this light than the last. It was fitful, flickering, as if on the verge of going out. Perhaps it was weakened, had the Mermaids succeeded in taking one down before they had reached the shore? If so, it was reason to celebrate; one fewer that his friends might have to face.
He approached the entity, questing with his senses, testing and darting away, but no answering snap came. He prodded and teased it, eliciting little more than a bright flicker. Gathering in confidence, he set himself up, preparing for the mental exercised of Binding this bundle of magic to the Stone, its rightful prison.
The Stone he could sense, it was his one anchor to reality, the magical signature which he had impressed upon his consciousness as fervently as he could in the small amount of time given him. It was a familiar voice in a sea of confusion, a heartbeat that hammered in time with his own. The refreshing scent of rich earth and a touch of sea spray. The smell of Rain.
Conversely, the knot of golden dust before him was as unfamiliar and alien as anything he had encountered. Where before he had seen rivers and flows of the stuff, these Atlanteans were wholly self-contained, tightly knotted and twisted into a single tiny package. And should he approach he knew that the innocuous bundle would attempt to sweep him up on a raging torrent of foreign memories and emotions, to assimilate him into an entire generation, an entire people worth of hatred and loathing, to dissipate his own mind until he knew nothing but anger, trapped as just another once-human soul used to fuel the machines of hate that were the Atlanteans.
But this one he could resist. He could resist, and he could begin to tease the strands out from that tightly furled knot. He teased and gently coaxed the strands away from the feebly pulsing core, urging them up to the sweet, welcoming melody of the Stone. It was like teasing a single hair at a time, their number was never ending. Each one he had to handle as if it were spun glass, should he be too rough and get pulled in, it would be the end of them all.
He worked tirelessly. Time did not rule over where he was, but he felt as if hours passed as he deftly unravelled. Mercifully, he needed only to feed the strands to the Stone, and it hungrily sucked them in. As more and more followed, the remaining few became desperate, frantic in their movements. Images flashed through his mind, scenes of hate played out in a world unfamiliar to him. Mother beat child, father beat brother and friend turned against friend time and again. The raw, animal emotion of it grinded on James' consciousness, flensing strips of himself away, threatening to grab at them and draw him, too into the eternal prison.
When the final strand finally disappeared, he allowed himself a brief moment of reprieve to gather his thoughts, before turning his attention to the nearest bundle.
Space meant nothing to him, but out over the Lake, not a hundred metres from where his body lay, a great, thunderous roar shook the Forest to the very roots of the tallest trees.
The first of the Atlanteans was gone.
James flitted around the remaining number, wary to approach. All seemed at full strength; he didn't see how he could face them in such a manner. Suddenly, another flickered. The furthest one from his consciousness. It wavered once, and then returned to shining. A moment later, another stutter. He lingered at the fringes, adding his own harassment, nipping and tugging at strands of its magical being like a terrier at the heels of a Great Dane.
He felt as if he, alone, achieved nothing, but time and again the knot of magical awareness that was animating the Atlantean flickered as if under assault. Slowly, gradually, it appeared to get dimmer, and slowly, James found himself able to tease and yank and the fibrous, golden strands of Dust. First a single one, and then another whipped past him to the Stone, trapped. Whatever this thing was going through on the outside, James was trying desperately to hinder it. Were the Merfolk putting up more of a fight than anticipated? Or… he shuddered, was this one attacking his friends?
His efforts redoubled, and he tore at the golden strands desperately, slashing and hacking, letting their own innate hatred fuel his rage and strength, turning it into fuel to destroy itself together with the valiant defender that was fighting on so bravely.
With a start, the light dimmed almost into non-existence. Momentarily disoriented, James allowed himself a moment to celebrate. They'd done it! Whatever it was had been defeated. The colour faded to a dull, murky bronze, the pulsing feeble and fitful, little more than once every handful of seconds. James thought to leave it there, to save his energy on attacking another target, as this one was clearly not going anywhere. If he had this mystery attacker could work together… maybe there was hope, after all.
He turned his attention away to the remaining knots, all approaching his position together. Which looked the weakest? How would he go about tackling so many together, could they band together in some way to defend against him? If so, he was surely doomed. He began to shift himself towards them, just as the being behind him flickered into life once more.
James froze, torn. He shifted between the group and the individual, finally settling on the individual, working rapidly to unravel it. Something primal was giving him a sense of desperate urgency, as if everything hinged on this one being. He frantically tore and pulled at the remaining threads, feeling them flash past on their way to eternal imprisonment with grim satisfaction. The last remaining strands flared golden for a moment like the sun, and then it was done, this one, too, was defeated for good.
He turned back to the group.
Again, did one shine more dimly? He approached cautiously. The others seemed to be undeterred. If they were all moving they appeared to be leaving this straggler. James reached out a tendril of his mind, a single finger to touch the unknown entity-
Which instantly locked him in an iron grip, flaring before him like the sun itself. All around him the others shone erratically, almost excitedly. Through them all a single thought, the mere feeling of the word filtered through to him: trapped.
The sword was flying true, right towards the centre of Holly's back. She limped another step, before interpreting his look of horror and beginning to turn, but it was far too late. The blade seemed to whistle gleefully as it parted the air, and Tristan could do no more than cry out.
His scream died in a gurgle of confusion as, just as the blade made to pierce her flesh, the Atlantean burst in a violent show of light, shooting a rush of warm air over Tristan's face. When he regained his sight he rushed the final few steps to where Holly stood, rooted in shock, wrapping her up and bringing them both to the ground in a sobbing, laughing mess.
Their relief was short-lived as behind them, no fewer than four Atlanteans began to appear from between the trees. Tristan swallowed, Holly gulped and took a half-step backward.
'Oh, shit,' she eloquently put it.
Tristan could only agree, as the light from behind them began to grow. They tracked the same path that their predecessor had taken, slow and unrelenting, ignoring unfortunate saplings and boughs in their path.
The light was becoming blinding now as the four halted. No longer the ghostly silver, it was appearing almost tinged with gold. Tristan squinted, a hand shading his eyes. 'What the…' Holly muttered beside him. The light grew and grew, as if it were an incorporeal entity rushing through the Forest towards them. It engulfed anything it its path, and seemed to make even the Atlanteans uncertain. Tristan struck a ready pose, knowing already that it was useless as the wall of light washed over him, and he knew nothing more.
James would have screamed, had he possessed a throat. He tore and yanked free of the golden strands that began to encircle him. Every way he shifted his consciousness, the golden strands barred him. Just like his own prison, he mused.
He could feel himself slipping away once more, the edges of his mind becoming ragged, providing purchase for the grabbing hands and tendrils of the Atlantean's consciousness. The gold was filling his own vision, becoming brighter, swallowing all that he was and knew. He floundered meekly in defiance, but it did little good.
The gold was so bright that had he eyes, he would have squeezed them shut. It enveloped him and everything he knew, flooding him with a welcoming warmth. Is this what dissolution feels like? He vaguely wondered, as something, someone reached out to him. Not grabbed, but reached, a gesture of friendship, of companionship. His last conscious effort was to reach back, based on primal instinct alone.
The light gave him a familiar warm rush, a presence he knew. He saw in his mind's eye an image of dark lipstick and raven hair, of heeled boots, high collars and haughty demeanour. It was the image of Galatea Renshaw.
The light that was Renshaw forced back the cage around him, engulfing the Atlantean wholly, swallowing it and dissipating it in a heartbeat. James felt her place herself between himself and the remaining bundles of consciousness, now arrayed against him. As the scene faded around him, the last thing he saw was Renshaw's consciousness rushing headlong into the knot of Atlanteans, fearless, to save James.