Chapter 14: The Creek Bed Ambush

Ella pressed her palm against the cool trunk of the ghost gum, the bark peeling under her fingers like old skin. The dry creek bed stretched before them, a scar of white rock and red dirt winding through the scrub. Jasper crouched beside her, his rifle cradled in the crook of his arm, his face a mask of hard-won patience. Behind them, three young hunters—Noah, Tarni, and Mick—waited in a shallow ditch, their eyes bright with the fervor of the untested.

The sun was a blunt instrument, hammering the earth into silence. Even the cicadas had fled. Ella closed her eyes and reached for the serpent coiled in her chest, the bond that had been a curse and a compass. It tugged north, toward the jagged silhouette of the ranges, toward Kane. He was close. She could feel the ragged edge of his breath, the iron tang of his blood. Silas had him somewhere beyond the creek, guarded by shadow and malice.

"Three vehicles," Jasper murmured, pointing to faint tire tracks in the sand. "They'll have to slow down crossing the bed. We hit them there."

Ella nodded, but something pricked at her instincts. The silence was too perfect, the shadows too deep for midday. She opened her mouth to speak, but Noah, the youngest, was already moving, his eagerness a physical thing. He slipped over the bank, his foot dislodging a cascade of pebbles.

"No, wait—"

Her cry was swallowed by a sound like the world tearing. The creek bed erupted. Not with water, but with darkness—a viscous, living shadow that boiled from the sand, coiling around Noah's legs. He screamed once, a high, brittle sound that cut off as the shadow wrenched him sideways, snapping his spine with a wet crunch. Tarni lunged forward, but Jasper caught her, his face stricken. Ella's magic surged, a prism of light and fury, but the shadow was already retreating, dragging Noah's body like a broken doll, leaving a smear of crimson on the stones.

Silas Blackwood stepped from the treeline on the far bank, his long coat billowing despite the heat. His hands, pale and thin, were raised, fingers webbed with strands of oily darkness. Beside him, two hunters flanked a bound figure—Kane, on his knees, a gag cutting into his mouth, his chest bare and marked with fresh runes. Their eyes met, and the bond roared—a blazing, desperate thing—but Silas's magic smothered it with cold precision.

"You came," Silas said, his voice silken and calm. "I knew you would. The bond is a leash, Ella Walker. It always was."

Jasper raised his rifle, but a flick of Silas's wrist sent a tendril of shadow smashing into his chest, throwing him against a gum tree. The remaining hunters froze, their weapons useless. Ella stepped forward, her hands already alight with rainbow fire, but Silas only laughed—a dry, dusty sound.

"I have spent centuries learning the art of breaking witches. Your grandfather's magic is a candle to my inferno."

He closed his fist, and the fire in Ella's palms guttered and died. A crushing pressure descended, an absence of light and air and sound. She fell to her knees, her lungs burning, her vision splintering. The serpent inside her writhed, but Silas's hold was absolute, a weight of accumulated grief and stolen blood. Through the haze, she saw Tarni's face, the hope draining from it, replaced by the flat, gray mirror of despair. Mick had already turned away.

Silas walked to the edge of the bank, looking down at her with something that might have been pity. "I could kill you now. But where is the lesson in that? No. Live, Ella. Live and watch them remember that following you is death."

He gestured, and the shadows coalesced around him and his prisoners. In a breath, they were gone—the creek bed empty save for the body of a boy who had believed in heroes. The sun returned, harsh and indifferent.

Jasper staggered to her side, his voice a raw scrape. "Ella—"

But she couldn't look at him. She stared at Noah's still form, then at the retreating backs of Tarni and Mick as they fled into the scrub. Only Jasper remained, his loyalty a bleeding wound. The bond pulsed faintly, a whisper of Kane's agony, but it could not fill the hollow where their trust had been. She was the Dreamtime Witch, born to command serpent and storm, yet she knelt in the dirt, as broken as the promise she had made. The last of her light flickered and went out.

The Last Dreamtime Witch

The Last Dreamtime Witch