thoth
we spend all our time running for our lives, going nowhere
The rolling thunderclouds overhead turned out to be more of a hindrance than a help, blocking out what little light penetrated to the forest floor. Thoth brushed them aside irritably, jettisoning off a would-be attacker with a well-aimed blast of steaming water simultaneously, but it made no difference. He risked a brief glance upwards, which was all it took to identify the problem. Mordred’s troops had attacked the camp at sunset, when the rebels were drowsy and weary from another day of fighting to stay alive. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon and a pepper of stars were visible against the darkening sky.
Thoth couldn’t afford more than a brief peek: three soldiers wielding swords were making directly for him. Twisting his wrist, he hardened the swampy ground beneath them into ice, sending two of them slip-sliding in opposite directions. The third stayed on his feet, but was slowed down enough for Thoth to halt his approach by thrusting a block of water at him. One metre squared of water weighed a metric ton. It would have been like being hit by a brick wall.
One of the others had found her feet and was picking her way back over to him. Thoth started pulling back the water into another giant glob, but ended up blinking in rapid succession when, of its own accord, the liquid fell through his fingers and crashed to the floor. He tried to summon it again in vain. The water swirled stubbornly at his feet with not so much as a drop condescending to allow him to lift it. He refocused his attention and tried to generate a block of ice instead. Nothing. Not a hint. His magic was gone.
“Um – ” Thoth ducked and skittered to the side as the soldier thrust her sword at him “ – Tris – ”
Tris was dealing with his own demons. Thoth hopped backwards and kicked mud at his attacker, managing to buy just enough time to pull his dagger from his boot, his expression grim. His little knife wasn’t going to do much against a trained soldier wielding a sword, but without magic, it was all he had. Unlike most of the rest of the camp, Thoth had never received any practical training in how to use a weapon. He ducked and dodged, kicking mud and stones where possible, searching for an opening.
A reverberating bang echoed off the trees and his attacker dropped to her knees with a startled expression, a dark red hole burnt through her forehead. Thoth twisted around and felt a surge of relief at the sight of two professional-looking adults charging up to him and Tristan. One of them, an unfamiliar woman with olive skin and a green pixie cut, dropped him a wink and aimed her pistol at someone else over his shoulder. The other, instantly recognisable figure ignited a spark of understanding.
“Mace!” Thoth yelled, leaping sideways to avoid an arrow. “Magic!”
He ducked a sword swing and threw his knife instinctively at the exposed torso. The soldier staggered backwards but didn’t go down, and now Thoth had lost his only weapon. Instinctively he reached for his magic again and felt a surge of relief when it responded, obediently dragging just enough water up in time to shove his attacker back again. Back, but not down. As the soldier menacingly stepped forward again, Thoth’s eyes flicked over his shoulder and noticed the sea of blue uniforms behind him. Most of the rebel forces were either down or in retreat. Grinding his teeth, heart pounding, Thoth thrust another burst of water at his attacker. Flinging a little water around wasn’t enough. What he needed was a boost.
Moonlight.
This time, instead of focusing on the water, he concentrated on pulling the clouds back to expose the clear night air. As the soldier charged forward for the third time, sword erect, Thoth took a gamble and glanced upwards, seeking the soft glow of the moon. If he could stand in direct moonlight, it should revitalise his magic enough to boost not only the power behind his attacks, but the speed at which he could recuperate between them.
His coffee-brown eyes found the glowing silver disk in the sky. Later, when he tried to piece together the events of that night, that would be the last thing Thoth could remember clearly.
His heart thudded so powerfully that his chest heaved at an increasingly rapid pace. He stared forward, unseeing, the brown colouration retreating from his irises as a sharper, more vibrant hue took its place. Even the soldier hesitated, his sword arm raised. Thoth’s nose and chin lengthened, hair sprouted along the back of his hands and down his spine, his fingers shrank back into his palms and his shoulders broadened. He writhed and yelled. Somewhere in the middle of it, his voice box constricted and the shout became a deep, thunderous growl.
The thing – the animal – the beast dropped to all fours, its gleaming black fur quivering. A giant wolf, twice the size of any found in nature. The attacking soldier stood frozen and did not even defend himself when the wolf knocked him to the ground with its front paws as easily as though it were brushing aside a veil. It lifted its head. The howl it released was long, piercing; the answering howls from across the forest, some distant, some frighteningly close, were almost immediate.
The wolf dropped its head and leapt forward in a single bound, knocking one of the rebel fighters to the ground. With a swift, decisive movement, the wolf bit into the teenager’s neck and thrust its head upwards, ripping the flesh from the spine. A waterfall of blood gushed onto the earth, reddening the water which still swirled over the ground. The wolf glanced backwards, its sharp, vibrant blue eyes penetrating the souls of its horror-stricken audience.