Chapter Twenty-One

The carriage came to a halt, and I stirred from the hazy state of half-consciousness I'd been in. My nerves had finally gotten the better of me the night before, and I'd been unable to sleep no matter how much wine I had. My head pounded from over-indulgence, and I rubbed at my eyes. Murphy and Reaver sat across from me, both looking solemn—Reaver being the more austere of the two. His eyebrows raised, as if to acknowledge me, but his eyes quickly turned toward the opening door.

Reaver and Murphy exited the carriage first, and it was Murphy who extended his hand to help me down. Reaver had swept off without a glance backward to hiss orders to the coachman who now looked quite frightened as he retrieved our packs of supplies.

I supposed it was fair that Reaver was holding onto his bitterness. It had been days since the confrontation at the factory, and he was still steadfast in his anger with me. My husband could certainly hold a grudge. We were very much alike in that way, it seemed.

As I stepped out into a particularly fierce, biting gust of wind, I was forced to squint to survey my surroundings. To the North was Wraithmarsh which was seemingly painted in a palate of all grays, deep mossy greens, and black. The road that lay behind us was colored like any typical scene of autumn in orange, red and gold. It was such a sudden transition between the two environments, that it was like straddling two different worlds.

"It's like night and day all at once," Murphy commented, his thoughts obviously echoing my own.

In my unintentional expedition to Wraithmarsh only weeks before, the contrast between it and the outside world hadn't been so distinct. Then again, I had been delirious and even more sleep deprived than I was standing there with Murphy and Reaver.

"I'll wait here, then," The coachman said with a shaky nod. He didn't look too eager for the hours of waiting that lay before him. He would be alone, but I was sure that outside of the marsh, he would be safe. "What if-"

"If we return, and you are nowhere to be found, no matter the circumstance, then know that I will find you, and you will regret it," Reaver snarled through clenched teeth, grabbing the man by his collar, but he released him so that he could turn to Murphy. He leaned in, murmuring something quietly into his ear, and Murphy nodded in agreement.

I figured it would be better not to ask what had been said. I pulled the hood of my cloak up, and I moved to grab my rucksack from the coachman. I dug out the worn, but utterly warm leather gloves that I'd favored in my days before the revolution—my days of adventure. I pulled them on, and I took my weapons as they were handed down to me. I fixed my sword and scabbard to my belt, and I checked the holster of my pistol on the opposite hip. The last time I was in Wraithmarsh, I'd been assured by the false specter of my brother that I would come to no harm because of his presence, but I couldn't be sure that the same protection would be extended to us on this trip.

Murphy, too, was checking himself, though he was packed considerably lighter than I was. He had only the clothes on his back, a small, nearly-empty satchel, and his pistol. He pulled his unkempt pale hair out of his face, and he moved toward me, taking my rucksack from my hands. Before I could protest, he offered me a modest smile, "G-gives me one last chance to be helpful before all this is done."

Reaver turned his gaze to us, and his eyes rolled with vexation. "Could we please be on our way? I would prefer that we set out before we lose the day."

He was dressed for the expedition into the swamp, which I can't say I expected. His black duster was the perfect length to keep him covered and warm, but it was not long enough that it would drag in the thick mud we would likely be trekking through. The rest of his clothes were simple and black—no vest, no cravat, no flashy belt—and his thick hair whipped freely in the wind. His eyes briefly sought me out, but still he couldn't hold my gaze for more than a moment before turning it away.

I spared Reaver the trouble of having to constantly look back to me, and I strode to the front of our formation. As I drew closer to the beginning of the swamp, I paused. There was a well-defined line of where the healthy, living brown soil ended, and where the dense, black, barren land began. How did such a place come to scar the land of Albion? I didn't know as much about Wraithmarsh as I probably should have. I knew what most others knew. I knew that Oakvale was once a prosperous, peaceful place centuries ago, but somehow the shadows had claimed the land.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and my heart leaped into my throat.

"We truly do not have all day," Reaver said, urging me forward across the border between Wraithmarsh and the rest of the world.

I shrugged his grip from me, and I marched forward, my heart still racing from the surprise. I would need to pull myself together. I would not let this place get the best of me again.

The first hour of our trek into Wraithmarsh had been silent and uneventful. The further we ventured into the dead place, the more I could feel the temperature of the air lowering. I was glad to be walking and not trapped inside a carriage any longer, and I was also glad that I was ahead of Reaver and Murphy. Looking at them would be a hard, constant reminder of what was about to happen. I couldn't dwell on what was going on inside of me right now. I needed to stay sharp. There was always the chance that we would be attacked by one of the vicious creatures rumored to live in this place.

The fog that clung to the ground was growing thicker, and I felt the uneasiness in my stomach spreading. Things were starting to look familiar to me. We had entered the ruins that once were Oakvale. We were much closer to the lair of The Shadow Court than I thought we would be after only an hour of walking. My blood ran cold, and my skin prickled up into gooseflesh. I tried to cleanse myself of the anxiety, to clear my thoughts as I used to when I would fight, but even the deepest meditation wouldn't remove the apprehension.

The mud beneath us was getting more difficult to wade through. It seemed to grip onto my boots with each step, as if to hold me in place. I was forced to adjust my stride to be slower and more deliberate. My eyes continued to move steadily back and forth, scanning the area. It was hard to see very far ahead, but we had to be very, very close. The gnawing disquiet within me made me very sure of that.

"You'll feel better when this is all over," I murmured quietly to myself. I knew that wasn't true. I knew that Murphy would go into that sunken temple of shadows young and lively, but he would come out old and decrepit. For a moment, I tried to justify that at least Murphy would be leaving with his life, but what kind of life would he have? How long would he live after this deed was done?

It was getting dark, now, and I knew that we would need a torch. I had a dispensable shirt in my rucksack, and I was positive that Reaver had a flask full of alcohol strong enough to be flammable somewhere on him—he almost always did.

A sound, almost a sigh, was carried by the wind, and the sound of a pistol being drawn followed it. Stopping in my tracks, I whipped my head around to look over my shoulder. Reaver had taken his Dragonstomper into his hand, his eyes darting to take in our surroundings.

"W-was that the wind?" Murphy questioned, his hand hovering over his own pistol.

"No," Reaver said, his face suddenly a shade paler. His voice was quiet and shaky, and his posture was noticeably stiffer. He was completely ill at ease, and for a moment, I was curious. "Draw your pistol."

Though the instruction was meant for Murphy, I obeyed as well. I took my own Dragonstomper from its holster. "What was it?"

A haunting melody filled the air, and the world seemed to come to a halt. I turned my head, and I saw a cloaked figure dressed all in white moving toward me at a lightning pace. I tried to raise my pistol, but my arms were so heavy. I sucked in a breath of surprise, and before I could let it out as a scream, the Banshee had seized me by the shoulders and lifted me into the air.

My eyes darted to Reaver and Murphy. Time seemed to be slipping by slowly, for their movements seemed sluggish and labored compared to the speed at which the creature and I traveled. Their mouths were open, moving, clearly shouting something to me, but I couldn't hear them. All I could hear was the song.

The wordless notes flowed until it finally sang, "I will bring you peace..."

I turned my eyes to the creature in front of me, and I could see its...no, her face. It was pure white. Even her eyes were glazed with white. She had silvery blonde hair that fell in her face. She was not ugly as I would have imagined a banshee to be. She was ethereally beautiful.

I felt an impact, but I was still entranced by the melody. I felt as if I was pressed against cold stone, and pain throbbed gradually through my body, but I didn't allow myself to dwell on it. It wasn't as vital as hearing the song. My eyes wandered to Reaver and Murphy once more. They were shooting at a flock of dark beings that danced to the deep, macabre melody of the banshee's song.

"The soul of the one you killed wanders here. She shrieks in suffering..."

My heart filled immediately with all the sadness I had ever felt at once—all of my missteps, my misdeeds. It was unbearable. I wanted to scream, but I was smothered by the weight of my emotion. I trembled beneath the banshee's grip. I wanted to beg forgiveness, to give her my life as payment for all of the wrong I'd done. I'd been responsible for so many deaths—Walter, Logan, Constance, the thousands lost to The Darkness during the war...I tried to pull in a deep breath, but it was useless. I was suffocating.

Her song grew louder, but I saw something coming toward us at amazing speed. It cut through her hood, and buried itself in her slender white neck. Her song shifted from a dark tune of beauty to a shrill shriek of agony. Time suddenly flowed normally, and I could hear the rapid sounds of gunfire. I could breathe again. My first instinct was to raise my hands to my ears to muffle the sudden onslaught of noise—the shrieking, the gunfire—but her grip had grown more fierce.

"Keira!" Reaver shouted, running with his pistol still raised to the banshee that held me. He was so far down...or rather I was so high up. "Don't listen to it-"

The banshee turned her face toward Reaver, and he fell silent, his eyes grew wide with pure horror. He dropped to his knees in the mud, his eyes glazing over, utterly spellbound. The pistol slid from his hand, and I felt the banshee's grip on my shoulders loosen.

She was gone in a flash, and I fell the long distance to the ground. The wind was sucked from my lungs as I made impact with the mud, and I rolled onto my back, gasping, tears springing up in the corners of my eyes. I scrambled to get to my feet, and I saw the Banshee pulling Reaver to stand, her thin, skeletal fingers cupping his face. She leaned closer, her shrieks coming to a chilling crescendo.

"NO!" I screamed, drawing my sword and limping toward them as quickly as I could.

Gunfire sounded, and I saw that Murphy, his pistol in one hand and my Dragonstomper in the other, was firing relentlessly into the airy, wan creature. His face was a sneer of pure determination.

The banshee's screams stopped, and she retreated quickly into the deep, thick mist, her white, tattered robes trailing behind her.

Reaver sank to his knees in the mud once more, his eyes rolling back, then finally closing. He fell backward, his legs bent awkwardly beneath him. I reached him first, dropping my sword into the mud, and my hand went immediately to find a pulse. It was strong, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I reached to straighten his legs and to pull him across my lap. Murphy rushed forward, his eyes flickering between Reaver and the the direction in which the banshee had fled.

"Are you hurt?" Murphy asked, crouching beside us. When I shook my head in reply, he reached to touch Reaver's face, and his hand recoiled. "He's frozen..." He then cupped my cheek. His hand felt feverish against my skin, and he shivered. "Both of you. I need to build a fire." He stood, holstering his pistol, and holding mine out to me.

"Is it really wise to stop?" I asked, my eyebrows raising. I took my weapon, and I slid it back into its place. "I know we are very close. We can-"

"We can't move while Reaver's p-passed out like that," he interrupted me with a decisive nod. "He's not due at the court until midnight." He pulled out the pocket watch tucked into his vest. "We have time, I think. So long as another b-banshee does not find us."

"If he wasn't due for another few hours, then why did he push to set foot into Wraithmarsh so quickly?" I murmured, turning my eyes down to my husband. He was pale, and the application of kohl around his eyes was smudged and almost worn away.

"Did you not see the state he was in?" Murphy answered my rhetorical question. "I...I can understand not wanting to feel that way."

I raised my gaze to Murphy. His eyes were turned down to Reaver filled with concern. He never ceased to surprise me. How could someone be so understanding, so noble to a fault. Part me me thought that maybe he wasn't always that way, that he was making up for something in his past. Whatever it was, I was thankful that he was who he was.

"Thank you," I said, the words coming before I could think about them.

He raised an eyebrow at me, silently inquiring.

"You saved my life, and you saved his life...when you could have just let it take him," I said. "It would have made your life a lot less complicated to just..."

"Stay here," he said, holding up a hand and dismissing my words—as if they were too preposterous to even consider. "I won't be t-too far away." He set my rucksack down beside me, and he took off, almost disappearing into the fog.

I reached into my bag, pulling the canteen of water from its place toward the bottom. I opened the water awkwardly with one hand, and I took a deep draw off of it. I shivered, and it wasn't until then that I noticed that my cloak was missing. I glanced back to the place where the banshee had held me, and I saw that it was laying in the mud, likely wet and useless to me now.

I exhaled, and my breath showed itself on the misty air. Perhaps Murphy's idea of building a fire wasn't a terrible one.

Reaver's eyes moved beneath their lids, and a soft groan rumbled in his chest. He stirred in my arms, and he woke, his eyes dark eyes opening slowly but immediately finding mine. Drawing in a shaky breath, he pushed himself into a sitting position.

I reached to steady him, but he gently pushed my hand away. I watched as he rubbed at his temple. "Are you alright?" My voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm fine," he said defensively, snatching his Dragonstomper from the ground and shoving it back in its holster without so much as wiping the bits of mud from its handle. He looked anything but fine, but I let him climb to his feet without assistance. He seemed to be truly affected by what had just happened, and I had to wonder why. Was it this place? Perhaps that creature had stirred something long-dormant within him. Maybe it had made him feel as down-trodden as it made me feel...perhaps more so. Reaver had lived a longer life. He'd definitely done more evil deeds than I ever had. The weight of all of them on his heart all at once...I couldn't imagine. "Where has Murphy gone off to? Has he taken the opportunity to run, tail between his legs?"

As if summoned, Murphy appeared through the fog, and he dropped a bundle of dead branches at Reaver's feet. "What would I have to gain by running?" He questioned, cocking a brow at Reaver. "I know that you'd only f-find me and kill me."

"That is a good point," Reaver murmured. "Stay here." His eyes moved to focus on me, and he tacked on, "Both of you." He strode off in the direction that the banshee had carried me. I saw now that it wasn't stone that I had been flung against. It was a tree—long dead and petrified by the centuries. He crouched down, moving my cloak out of the way and digging his hands into the thick black muck of the swamp.

I looked to Murphy, who had speedily gotten the wood and kindling prepared for a fire, and he patted himself down. Perhaps he was looking for a flint or a lighter.

I took off my glove, exposing my Will gauntlet, and I produced a small flame that caught quickly.

Murphy's mouth turned up into a small grin of wonder, and he crouched down in front of the fire, fanning it, encouraging it to spread. "I forget that you can do things like that."

"It's not all it's cracked up to be," I said softly. "People find out you can make fire with your hands, and they are either amazed or terrified. Both can be equally frustrating in their own way." I stripped off my other glove, and I reached my hands out toward the strengthening flames, warming them. If only I could take off my boots and do the same for my toes.

"I can imagine," Murphy chuckled.

I stared up to him, and I bit my lip, holding back a question. I didn't want to upset him or worry him, but I was so curious. "How are you optimistic...even through all of this?"

His eyebrows raised with surprise, and he glanced around, maybe making sure Reaver was out of earshot. "Because I care for Anabelle...and Reaver." He blinked for a moment, the wheels turning in his mind, trying to string together the words. "He took me in when no one else looked twice in my direction. He may have been cruel, but cruelty was all I knew. It wasn't as bad as you might think. He saved my life. I couldn't just run away with a c-clean conscience."

I stared at him, unable to think of what to say. I instead nodded, my heart catching in my throat and forming a knot there. I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to keep warm, and I glanced back to Reaver. He had obviously found what he'd been digging for, and he was stowing it in the breast pocket of his coat. He leaned to pick up my cloak, but it was as I assumed. It dripped with moisture, and he dropped it, shrugging his shoulders gently and bringing his hand to his weary face.

"But anyway," Murphy said, wrapping up the conversation. "It's Anabelle that saved my heart, my soul, and she's the main reason that this must be done. Her debt will be d-dissolved, and she will be around to raise my child." He poked at the fire with a spare stick. He cleared his throat. "Could I...p-possibly ask a favor of you?"

I tilted my head to the side, and I nodded quickly for him to continue.

"When you return...would you watch after her for me?" He asked. "She is alone at the castle, save for you."

"I doubt she will want to see very much of me," I said, my face flushing a little. After her reaction upon our departure, I was confident that she would probably move back home to Brightwall. The castle would probably hold too many painful memories for her, now.

"Regardless of whether she wants to see you or not..." He said. "Would you?"

I pressed my lips together, and I sucked in a breath. After a few moments that felt like an uncomfortable eternity, I nodded. He wanted to know that his wife would be alright after he was gone. I couldn't deny him that, could I?

We sat there in silence for a few minutes. Murphy poked at the fire, his face looking much more solemn than it had only moments ago, and I warmed my hands, trying not to seem like I was staring.

Reaver returned to us, his stride heavy and full of an exhausted temper. "We mustn't dally here. That thing will merely return, and we will be late for our appointment."

I opened my mouth to protest, but it was clear that Reaver was nearly on his last nerve. I pulled my gloves back on, and I nodded, saying, "I agree."

"My, my. Aren't we suddenly agreeable?" Reaver noted, raising a brow toward me.

Murphy piped in, "The sooner we arrive, the sooner this will be over with."

"It seems everyone has suddenly come down with a case of compliance," Reaver said, his face finally looking a little softer. "Well, let us be off. We will make it there before midnight, but I am quite sure that our hosts will not mind that we are early."

Murphy rounded the fire to grab my bag, and he looked me over. "Would you like my coat, Keira? I imagine you're still-"

Reaver, without a word, slid his own coat off of his shoulders and draped it over mine. He strode off swiftly, not acknowledging his deed, and we were forced to follow.

I slipped my arms into the the sleeves of the coat, and I wrapped its warmth around me. My eyes drifted back to the place where my cloak lay discarded. I wondered what the significance of that particular tree had been. I was half-tempted to reach into the pocket and retrieve whatever he'd put there, but I restrained myself. I didn't want to stir up a confrontation—especially now of all times.

Murphy hurried his pace to walk alongside Reaver. The two regarded each other silently for a moment before Reaver finally leaned over and murmured something too quiet for me to hear. Murphy nodded, and Reaver brought a hand to pat the man on the back. It was the most affection I'd ever seen Reaver show another person. It was merely a simple pat on the back, but even so...

He withdrew his hand and put it in the pocket of his trousers, his posture suddenly more formal. He turned to look at me over his shoulder, but the glance was fleeting, perhaps just to make sure I hadn't been stolen away by another banshee.

Walking behind them, I felt more isolated than I had when I led the group. My muscles were considerably weaker than usual. Maybe the banshee had done more to me than I thought. I tried to push the memories that the encounter had brought bubbling to the surface, but it seemed useless. Maybe it was my surroundings, too. My mind lingered on thoughts of those I'd condemned to death—of my own choice. Constance had been a hasty decision, but it was still wrong. I knew that, and I knew that flippant decision would haunt me.

Logan's fate had been something I'd debated for months before I even stormed the castle. I was so angry with him for making me choose between someone I loved and innocent people that wanted nothing more than fair wages and the freedom my mother had promised all citizens when she first claimed Albion. I held onto that anger, letting it grow within me with each passing month I was forced to fight to survive. I had a final moment of hesitation as he stood before me in the throne room, but I still ordered that he be put to death. It was justice...or so I had convinced myself at the time.

Now, I was standing idly by while another person was about to lose their life. I knew there was a great chance that Murphy would not die in the process of restoring Reaver's youth, but he would still be losing his wife, a chance to raise his child. He would likely live the rest of his days in seclusion. I crossed my arms over my chest, and I looked up to see that Reaver and come to a halt.

"There," Reaver said, pointing through the fog.

The entrance to the haven of The Shadow Court's was within sight, and my stomach turned. My heart thudded uncertainly against my ribcage, and I straightened my spine as a chill ran down it.

"Now, you are to wait outside, is that understood?" Reaver asked, turning to face me. "No harm will come to you as long as you comply." His eyes penetrated mine as he took a step toward me. He looked exhausted, but still deathly serious.

"Reaver, you don't need to shield me-"

His finger pressed against my mouth, silencing me. I was half-tempted to bite him, but I stood there quietly, stewing in my anger. "You will stay here. When I summon you then, and only then, you will come to ask any questions you may have of our shadowy friends."

I pushed Reaver's hand away from my mouth, and I nodded in agreement, my cheeks suddenly warm with a flush of anger for being treated like a helpless, foolish child. I had so many questions, but at the moment, the only question at the forefront was: what would happen to Murphy once this was through?

I looked to see that Murphy had already started toward the grim-looking place. "I-"

Reaver cupped my face in his hand, and he interrupted, "It is done. There is no time for substitution." Without another word, he released me, and followed the same path as Murphy,and soon enough, they'd disappeared into the dark, dank place.

I drew in a deep breath as I slowly made my way toward the entrance. I would wait until Murphy resurfaced. I wondered what sort of state he would be in. How old would he be? How much life would be left within his aged, depleted body?

I brought a hand to my temple, rubbing gently, and I could feel the knot in my throat tighten. This felt so wrong. I should have done something, but what could I do? If it wasn't Murphy, it would be someone else. I would never feel right about this, just as I would never feel right by fulfilling my bargain year in and year out.

Hold it together...

I found myself thinking of Anabelle. She loved a man that was good and righteous, and she would lose him. Whereas, I loved a wicked, selfish man, and I would get to keep him forever. The world was not the place I once thought it was. It was a cruel place—a place where the people who thought only of themselves survived, while the people who tried to placate everyone were stepped all over.

Anabelle knew what she was getting herself into when she agreed to take up her brother's debt. Just as Murphy knew what he was doing when he offered himself in her place.

No matter how much I tried to rationalize the situation, it did not seem right at all. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes, and I shook my head.

This isn't right. This can't happen. I have to do something.

But what could I do? Would I break my own heart by denying Reaver his sacrifice? Would I let the shadows take him?

I exhaled, and I faced the entrance. I dashed inside, avoiding the dangerous twists and curves and murderous, steep staircases. My pulse pounded through my body, and my lungs burned with exhaustion as I ran as fast as I could possibly manage.

As I drew closer to that dreadful chamber, I heard voices echoing off of the bare, stone walls.

"Your sacrifice is sufficient," said the chilling voice that had haunted my dreams since I'd encountered it.

"Yes, yes," Reaver said hurriedly. "He's very pretty, now can we please move on? I have some questions to ask of you."

I sucked in a hasty breath, and I skidded down the last few stairs before I saw the large archway to the Shadow Court's throne room. Reaver's back was to me, and he tapped his foot impatiently while Murphy produced the Dark Seal. It glinted sharply even in the dim light.

Everything went silent, just as it had when the banshee had me in her grasp. All I could hear was my heartbeat, and I ripped off my gloves, discarding them. A cloud of dark smoke was descending on Murphy—on my friend. I darted past Reaver, and for a fleeting moment, I felt his hand lock weakly around my wrist, trying to stop me. I pulled free, giving him a short, soft glance. His face was riddled with confusion, but most of all distress as he kept his arm extended, beckoning me to him.

I snapped my attention forward, my eyes fixed on the seal in Murphy's hands. I tore it from his grip, and his face was one of sheer surprise as I summoned my Will to shove him backward toward the doorway. I hugged the seal against my chest, and the smell of harsh, acrid incense filled my senses as the cloud enveloped me.

"KEIRA!" Reaver's voice was full of anguish, and I heard his heavy footfalls coming closer.

I closed my eyes, and then there was nothing but darkness.

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed this one! If you did, don't be afraid to leave a review to let me know what you think, and if you haven't favorited/followed this story already, do so!

I'd like to thank angelacm, as always, and I'd also like to thank those of you that have left reviews so far. They really keep me motivated!