This was suicide. It wasn’t the first time that thought had floated through my head. I’d known this mission would be dangerous; Neda had too. That didn’t stop my brain from screaming those words as I blasted another zombie moments before its decayed hands latched onto my arm.

“Hurry the fuck up.” Neda shot me a glare over her shoulder before swinging her broadsword, bisecting the arc of zombies that had surrounded her. That she could take out four combatants at once and still have breath to talk made the criticism in her voice sting all the more. I adjusted the pack on my back and hurried to catch up.

Neda barely looked back as she cut a path across the field. I did my best to watch our backs. Undead hordes weren’t smart enough for tactics, but they were everywhere, and it would be easy to be overwhelmed. When I was confident our flank was safe, I glanced forward toward Neda.

She was a battering ram. Her sword swung left, right, up, down. Where it went, rotten flesh went flying, and animated bones burst into dust. She moved it like an extension of her arm. Even with nothing but moonlight to guide our path, I could see the bone dust and sweat that covered her arms. There was blood too; she’d taken some hits while dishing them out.

Stepping to the side, I pulled the metal claw I wore on my left hand over my right arm. Blood dribbled to the surface. I focused on its heat, focused on the pain, forced the sensation to the center of my palm. Then I pulled my arm back and made a throwing motion.

Nothing—Neda turned toward me; I could see the words forming on her lips (get back behind me, idiot)—then BOOM! An explosion tore through the rear of the undead horde before us. Flames climbed to the sky, eerily red, obviously arcane. I hadn’t hit the ones closest to us—didn’t want to risk us getting burned—but it didn’t take Neda long to carve us an opening.

She practically shoved me behind her. “Don’t do that again.” I bit my tongue. Unlike her, I lacked the stamina to fight, run, and hold a conversation.

My magical flames had burned out quickly, leaving a blackened circle in the grass. We hurried through; I could already see more figures shambling towards us in the darkness. I could also see the steps to the monument we’d come for.

“We’re almost there,” I gasped.

Neda rolled her eyes. “Yes, I can see the giant building too. We’re in a field for gods’ sake.” Her eyes landed on the cut on my arm. “You gonna have enough blood to do your thing?”

It was my turn to roll my eyes. “I didn’t use that much.”

“Shouldn’t have used any.” Neda clutched her broadsword and pushed forward. I couldn’t tell her that seeing her bleed scared me. I was a blood mage; she’d never let me hear the end of it. Even if we weren’t running for our lives, I couldn’t find the words to explain that her blood dripping onto the grass as we ran hurt more than drawing my own.

We reached the stone steps and started to climb. Gods, I was out of shape. Neda’s breastplate clanged as she marched, but she didn’t seem phased. I would need to tell Master Aelwyn that we needed to add more cardio to the mage training track.

We reached the top of the monument, which was shaped roughly like a pyramid with a flat top. At the center was a raised column ending in a bowl. It was surprisingly bland, design-wise. I’d seen bird baths with more intricate sculpting.

Neda gave me two seconds to catch my breath before talking. “Is that what you need?”

I nodded, patting my pack. “I brought the ingredients. I just need time to set up.”

We looked to the base of the stairs. A new wave of undead had almost reached the bottom steps. The skeletons shone bright under the moon, while the muted colors of the zombies helped them melt into the shadows. “How long do you need?”

“A few minutes.”

“Fuck me.” Neda gripped her sword. “Better get started. I’ll keep these guys busy.”

I considered throwing another explosion at the base of the stairs, but the look on Neda’s face stopped me. We both had our own jobs to do. I turned and ran to the stone bowl.

Up close, the stone was remarkably smooth. Despite being open to the air, it looked untouched by the elements. I could sense the underlying thrum of magic in the place. Jackpot. I dropped my pack and threw it open. Before we’d left, I’d made sure to organize everything carefully. I’d run through this ritual over and over again; I knew what ingredients I’d need first; they were in my hand before I realized it. I dropped an opal, a ruby, and a long, foul-smelling feather into the bowl. I pulled out a sealed pot, popped off the top. The smell of wet ash and blood met my nostrils. I was too used to the smell to flinch. I jammed two fingers in and got to work.

Now I understood why the stone was so smooth—it made it easy to trace the arcane runes along the surface. Whoever had built this place had done so with care. I was grateful; a poorly made amplification point was worthless. As I reached the base of the column and moved to writing along the floor, I heard Neda swing her sword to greet our enemy. The moans of the undead almost drowned out Neda’s grunts of effort.

I did my best to tune out the sound. I couldn’t worry about Neda. If I did, my heart would get all twisted, and I’d lose focus, make a mistake. That would be fatal for us both. Focus on the work—that’s how I could help.

I finished tracing the runes around the column. I scanned for errors—none. Standing, I allowed myself a single glance towards Neda. She was at the top of the stairs, wailing down on the corpses as they climbed. I whispered, “Just a little longer,” and turned back to my pack.

The final ingredients were two glass jars of blood. I’d collected it a couple of days earlier, so I wouldn’t be too lightheaded to perform the ritual. I uncorked the first jar, tipped it over the runes on the floor, drawing crimson lines between them. As I poured, I chanted. Wake up, I urged the ley line beneath our feet. I’ve fed you my blood; please listen to my request. When I was done, the runes were connected in lines and circles, like spokes pushing through larger and larger wheels. I uncorked the last bottle and dump its contents into the bowl, drowning the ingredients I’d added previously.

I hadn’t stopped chanting. I could feel my own magic starting to hum in time to the ley line. The connection was there; now I needed to channel it. Drawing the metal claw over my arm once again, I let fresh blood drip into the bowl, awakening what was already there.

Ripples moved from the center of the bowl, out to the edges, then back to the center. The runes along the column and floor began to glow. I kept chanting, kept my eyes on the bowl, watching for any sign of something going wrong. The magic was building. I could no longer feel the difference between my magic and the ley line’s; I couldn’t even feel the difference between my magic and my heartbeat. It was all the same. I was as much a conduit as the monument now. My breathlessness had vanished; I could keep chanting for eternity. I was so focused; I didn’t notice the skeleton until its bony fingers sank into my shoulder.

Even as I cried out in pain, the ancient words continued to spill from my lips. This was the skill of a practiced mage—it would take more than small cuts to stop me once I got going. I assumed the skeleton was too stupid to realize that, but it didn’t matter; it was going to keep tearing into me regardless. Pointed bone sank into flesh, ripping a path down. My shoulder was on fire. My own hot blood spattered at my feet. That was fine—my blood was already integral to the ritual. A little more wouldn’t hurt.

The blood-filled bowl was beginning to glow. Almost there. I ignored the skeleton ripping into me, channeled the pain into the spell. I would use it all. With a scream, I recited the final verse, unleashing the magic that had been building, soaked in my intention.

In the bowl, my blood burst into scarlet flame. It blazed bright, but I felt no heat, just a pulse of magic. It rippled out, past me, past the monument,  for miles and miles. Most creatures wouldn’t notice; the magically inclined might feel something, but it would pass through them, unharmed. I had made my targets clear, and the magic listened.

I felt the skeleton behind me shudder. Its fingers released me with one last scratch, bones clattering onto the stone. I closed my eyes, imagining the same thing happening wherever the dead were walking. It was magic that compelled them to move; now, a more powerful spell compelled them to rest.

I basked in the sensation or a spell well served. It was easy at this point—I was so deep in the magic, a dragon flying overhead wouldn’t be able to draw my attention.

As the spell drew to a close, its targets diminished to nothing, I began to return to myself. I opened my eyes, releasing the last of the magic. Neda was staring at me. She was drenched in sweat, her bare biceps streak with bone dust and blood, bracers and breastplate just as filthy. She looked horrified. “Hoa, your shoulder.”

Taking her words as instruction, I turned to look. My left shoulder was a bloody mess. It looked like the skeleton had started chewing on it at some point. I watched the blood well over the muscle, mesmerized. “I barely even noticed.” I took a step toward Neda and collapsed.

She’d crossed the space between us before I hit the ground. “Shit. Please tell me you have a healing potion in the bag.”

My mind was swimming, both from the after-effects of the ritual and blood loss. “I think so.” Neda ran to my pack and rifled through. I heard her curse. “Check the front pocket.” More rustling sounds, then Neda appeared in front a me, a tiny vial of red liquid in her hand. Without a word, she held it to my lips and tipped it back.

An overwhelming herbal taste washed over my tongue, followed by an intense heat, like Neda had poured whiskey down my throat. I shuddered as the heat moved through me and settled into my shoulder. The wound grew smaller but didn’t close completely.

“Is that all you brought?” Neda’s eyes were fixed the wound, as if she could intimidate it into closing all the way.

“I didn’t have room for more.” I examined the horror show that my shoulder had become. “It stopped the bleeding. I’ll be fine until we get back.” My eyes moved to Neda. “What about you? Are you okay?”

Neda grunted. “Just minor scratches. I’ll be fine.” Her words had a bite.

I looked at her, surprised. “I thought you’d be happier, considering we just destroyed an undead army.”

“You destroyed it. My job was just to get you here safely.” She motioned to my shoulder. “Clearly, I couldn’t even do that.”

“How did the skeleton get past you?”

“There’s a second set of stairs on the back side,” Neda explained. “It must have wandered around the base and gotten lucky. Fuck, I should have checked the perimeter as soon as we got up here.”

She fell silent, but I could see frustration in her eyes. She was in the middle of some mental self-flagellation.

Without thinking, I pushed myself closer to Neda. I placed my hand on her cheek, forced her to look at me. “Neda, this isn’t your fault. We both knew the risks. If you hadn’t been here, I would have died long before reaching the monument. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve saved me. Don’t punish yourself because you missed one of a hundred skeletons.”

Neda’s eyes burned back at me. I was still a little whoozy, and I couldn’t parse her expression. Suddenly, one of her arms snaked forward to my waist. She pulled me in close. She was so tall—the first time we’d met, I’d thought she was the size of a bear. She’d said it was obvious I’d never seen a real bear then. I relaxed against her, careful of my shoulder. I felt the barest touch of her lips across my forehead. “Don’t tell me what to do,” she whispered.

I smiled. “But it’s so much fun.” I sank into her embrace, basking in the moment.