“Moira, stop. Zack, just calm down.”

But Zack accepted the challenge; brandishing the metallic blade in the cold moonlight. He squeezed the hilt, relaxing his grip on the exhale. Steadying his feet on the soft earth he poised himself; readying for the attack. She was fierce in her battle stance, but he noticed a slight tremble she attempted to mask. Her presence was too suspicious to allow her to leave unchallenged. If Lex issued an arrest warrant for her, she was a threat.

When Chris blocked his path, he pushed him to the ground, toppling the picnic. She dodged the first strike, stumbling over the remnants of scattered food. She barely avoided the second attack. Running at her a third time, he slashed at her face, but she twisted away at the last moment. Strands of her hair floated over the grass. She swung her body around; anticipating a hit from the staff he ducked to his left but stumbled to maintain his balance.

He had to keep her moving; insufficient concentration neutralized her ability to summon anything. A flurry of irregular attacks kept her defense high. Her light footwork impressed him, but she failed to conduct any offensive maneuvers. Her face was flush, and a thin layer of sweat glistened on her skin. She dropped her guard, but only for a moment, and he knew she was growing tired. But his muscles rejoiced in the exercise. They flexed, stretched, and sang as he gave into his training. His heart slammed against his ribs; the blood whooshed in his ears; the thrill of battle flooded over him. And in the glorious moment, he charged into her; slamming her body into a tree. Forcing a scream from her lips before collapsing to the ground.

He rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension with a satisfying crack. He bounced on the balls of his feet, anticipating her counter. But she leaned against the trunk, her eyelids half closed. He gripped his sword, allowing the magic to radiate through his fingers; guiding him to the target. As he neared, she swung her staff; the opal pulsed with an eerie olive colour as it tapped the basswood tree. The earth rumbled. Her lips mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

His gut twisted, but the power in the blade urged him on. It coaxed him forward until he raised his sword above her exposed neck. A lump stuck in his throat, his chest heaved, and he tightened his grip. But the shaking leaves above him had another plan. The ancient branches twisted to life convening towards him. A triumphant grin creased her face as branches weaved through the air. He tried to cut them but two more replaced the ones he dismantled. The branches snaked up his body; coiling around his legs. Nothing stopped the onslaught that followed.

The ground shrank as his body jerked to the left then higher into the air. Chris, no larger than an insect, flailed his arms, shouting at Moira. The vines tightened before yanking him back and forth. His stomach twisted, hardened then turned to jelly as he experienced a force no human should withstand. The world shifted, upside down, right side up, each movement forcing the ocean winds to sting his face. He felt his stomach fly into his throat as the supernatural forced yanked him downward. Before he faced impact the vines changed direction, skimming his body against the rocky dirt. It stung his exposed skin, and he fought to stay conscious. Beside her the tree limbs extended from the trunk like a grotesque spider. And she, standing there, like a conductor orchestrating his demise.

He hadn’t trained by the best to allow unruly weeds to restrained him. His sword trembled in his grasp, the magic awakening with each branch he chopped down. Squeezing the hilt, he allowed his frustration to run its course. Whispers echoed in the back of him mind, threads of ideas tickled his thoughts. All coaxing him to fight harder. Faster. Stronger. The world around him slipped from view as he focused on her defiant glare. She will surrender to me. The metal pulsated as he envisioned her defeat. The tips of his fingers tingled; cold at first, becoming warm, then slinking through his flesh until the sword shuddered to life. He smiled as it made its demands clear. He swung at the branches; this time, dissecting them with little resistance.

He sliced through the branch around his ankle, but more hurled themselves at him. He dodged, leaped, and jumped from one branch to another. Speeding across his arbour adversary like a tight rope. He raced to the ground; leaving nothing but splinters in his wake. Send all the branches you want Mage; I’ll turn them to tinder. She remained composed, but he sensed the fear behind her eyes. Spindly claws crawled over his brain, the sword commanded, feeding his desire. A warm sensation coursed through his blood, pumping into his ears. She played with him for the last time. His feet hit the dirt, with his muscles revived with new vigor, he charged before she had a chance to counter. Impact. She slammed into the tree falling across the twisted roots.

A familiar warmth from the steel gave the encouragement he needed. She moved her staff to block; a part of him panicked but the part craving blood silenced the voice of reason. It pulsated with the strange force he recognised as the point of no return. As it radiated with a saffron light, he raised it over his shoulder. A battle cry he didn’t recognize escaped his throat, as he brought the blade down. At the last moment her body sprung to life, tumbling from the blade. But once swung, the sword wouldn't falter; it sliced through the tree. The old tree, which had stood for generations, split in half crashing to the ground shaking the cliff.

“And to think that could’ve been your neck.”

But she staggered to her feet wiping the dripping blood from her busted lip. Her hands empty, he grinned at his fortune; she had lost her staff. Her eyes darted, searching the ground but he knew it was pointless. The sword pulsed again. But this time, there was no hesitation; no fear. The power washed over him as he lunged at her again, she barely dodged it. The blade hit the ground; he felt the earth shake from under him. But the attack left her cornered with her back to the cliff; time to end it.

“Zack enough. You made your point!”

“Not until she suffers!”

“Don’t do this, this isn’t what you want." She pleaded over the crashing waves. "This isn’t you.” But he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted.

“Two choices Mage, me or the rocks,” he forced her closer to the edge.

“Give me my staff and I'll make my choice,” she scanned the ground which shuddered as he approached.

“A Mage’s last plea!”

“Zack, I need my staff. Now.” He heard the panic in her voice, but it was too late. The ground grumbled as if coaxing him on.

A crack thundered from the bowels of the earth. She launched herself towards him. Her full weight knocking him into the dirt. A splitting pain throbbed from the back of his head. Something boney slammed against his wrist releasing the sword from his grip. She jumped backwards towards the cliffs but out of his reach. As his vision returned to focus the ground trembled. It gave way from under her and she slipped from sight. He glanced at his sword; the light faded, leaving his body cold and exhausted. It left his head foggy and his memory clouded. Through blurry vision he spied Moira clinging to the crumbling cliff. As realization kicked in, fear gripped his chest; it was his fault.

“Zack my staff!" her hand slipped as a chunk of mossy earth fell loose. She heaved herself to the left just as another piece tumbled to its watery death. His muscles, drained from combat refused to move, he stretched for her staff but it was outside his reach. But a lanky nimble hand snatched it instead.

“Here!” Chris extended his reach. As her fingers grazed the polished handle the ground broke apart. The thief fell backwards dropping the staff. It and Moira fell into the watery depths. There was no scream. Only a splash. Then silence.

Chris slipped two arms under his armpits and hoisted the knight to his feet. He listened for a call for help but the splashing waves were his only answer. Chris stood near the edge, searching for a sign or a body. He swore as he kicked dirt at his cursed weapon. She pushed him out of the way; she drowned because of him. He wanted to kill enemies who threatened his kingdom, not some annoying girl. He couldn’t face Chris’s judgmental eyes. He didn’t think he could look anyone in the eye again.

“You satisfied? In the end, she saved your ass.”

“I didn’t mean…dammit!” he kicked at the ground, pulling at his hair. He glanced at the sword but what ever secrets it held stayed hidden. The trembling ground pulled them from their thoughts. But it wasn't from his dormant sword. It was from....

“Zack, over here. Get over here.” His voice was teetering between fear and astonishment. A whirling yowl shuddered from under the water's surface. He approached the cliff but kept his distance. He peered over with a sidelong glance, too afraid to spot her body floating on the surface. Chris gripped his shoulder, bringing him to the edge. He pointed to the lapping waves as they churned among the pointed rocks below. “Watch.”

The waves swirled, white bubbles lapping against the rocks below. Each crashed into each other; licking up the salty air. A whirlpool grew at the base of the cliff, small at first but grew until it would swallow a dinghy. He stood transfixed as it thundered, the swirling mass combined with debris and seaweed rushed at him. It was unlike anything he ever saw. It defied the gods, shooting up the rock face. Louder, stronger, it climbed until he tasted the spray on his lips. A strong hand on his shoulder yanked him backwards.

The whoosh of the tidal current echoed in his ears as the cyclone rose above them. It reached the treetops and swirled in place. Seconds passed like minutes; a deafening roar filled the air, as the atmosphere was sucked into its force. The tower pitched, wobbled, and then fell forward; crashing at their feet. As the ocean receded, it revealed Moira lying in the fetal position in the mud.

The bells from the boat lines twinkled in the silence as they stared at the motionless body. Neither spoke nor moved; paralyzed by what they witnessed. What it meant. Then her body heaved, coughing the contents from her waterlogged stomach over the dirt. Her staff rolled out of her hand stopping at Zack’s feet. Chris, without a pause, scooped her in his arms. She continued to cough and wheeze as her lungs filled with air. He wanted to help her, to apologize, but her glare rooted his feet where he stood.

“It’s alright, just keep on coughing, that’s a good girl,” he brushed hair, holding her as she recovered.

“How?” he stammered assessing her pale face; no one could survive that fall, “we thought you were dead.”

“You’re an idiot,” she coughed.

“Are you okay?” Chris asked.

“I will be,” she mumbled. He helped her to her feet as she coughed again, “don’t look at me like that, I’m fine.”

He lowered his gaze, after all, it was his fault. How did he go from wanting to destroy her to guilt in such a short time? His stomach knotted as he noticed the opal at his feet. He plucked it from its resting place; it was unexpectedly heavy. But she moved it fluidly like a dancer.

“My staff,” she insisted. She was soaking wet, exhausted and a scowl was plastered on her face. When he handed it to her; “I guess you do learn.”

“I didn’t want this to get out of hand.” The words were inadequate, but he didn’t know what else to say. He regretted his actions, but he still didn’t trust her. “I’m sorry.”

“Not sorry enough,” she glared with unforgiving eyes, “but one day you will be.”

“Do you want us to walk you home?”

“To be frank, no. I’ve had enough of both of you for a lifetime.” She said goodnight and left the way she came.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Chris shouted once she was out of ear shot.

“I don’t know,” he gathered his sword, replacing it in the sheath at his side.

“You could’ve killed her. Which I understand if she was a threat, but she isn't. One normal conversation with her would've let you know. What’s wrong with you?”

“I've seen both Mages and soldiers mutilated and left for dead in the canal. You’re telling me someone is abducting, torturing, and killing them. Then today Lex tells me Allan is searching for a Mage with an Opal Staff for some classified reason. She carries the exact staff! I was angry, okay, I wanted this over with, so I can leave this hellhole.”

“So, if you killed her, everything would sort itself out and you can run back home to your perfect little kingdom?”

“I don’t know!” He hated when Chris probed; he always wanted an answer; a reason. But sometimes ‘why’ didn’t have an answer, sometimes instinct ran wild.

Like his sword; most of the time there was nothing extraordinary about it. Yet, sometimes the steel would pulse as his heart pumped faster; he would feel its heartbeat match his own. Then there was a light, a strange powerful light he couldn’t explain. It was how it was, nothing more nothing less.

“You've never acted like that before."

“Can you blame me? I have no idea what’s going on anymore. My gut’s telling me she’s hiding something, and I can’t trust her until I find out. I can't ignore something like that.”

“Now that, that I can understand." Chris picked over the spilled picnic claiming a few abandoned figs. "She's guarded- the panther too. The only one who's actually honest is Sara.” He popped the fruit in his mouth, “I get you're a man of order and lines in the sand. But this is the real world, my friend. You need to start understanding the grey area the rest of us live in before you find yourself in over your head.”

“Without order, there will be chaos.”

"Well let me enlighten you before the world's swallowed up." He lounged on a broken trunk and beckoned him closer. "What secrets she has isn't related to what's happening here. Her mission is Allan and that's where she's heading at first light. So, if you want to pursue her in the morning, have at 'er. But tonight, we got bigger fish to fry."

"Bayliss."

"Lord Sexton, he's the guy giving orders and dishing out the coin."

"Who's he?"

"The snooty Lord who tutor's the king's brats. But there's more pressing matters. That ring I told you about. It's already in the trial phase. Artie, the greasy bastard from the Butchers, had one. Bayliss is handing them out to the Bosses. Who he's using to collect Mages."

"No, you're wrong. Shadow is collecting Mages."

"Shadow?"

"It's what the Mages call him. Mister Drover's convinced he's a demon or something. But he's the one taking the Mages hearts and dumping them in the canal."

"Their heart? Sick fuck."

"What do you plan we do about it?"

“Well, that depends. We can head to a tavern and nurse our wounds; my broken heart and your ego with copious amounts of alcohol or we can continue this lovely night with walking through the docks in the moonlight.”

“How much wine have you had tonight?”

“Not nearly enough,” he laughed. But pointed to the darkened warehouse across the water. “A little birdie told me Bayliss's new set up is creating a stir at the docks. What do you say, how about we go check it out, like old times—think of it as a parting gift.”