"So . . . swamp hermit?" Gandriel's voice broke the silence of the last few minutes as he gestured vaguely at Icarius with his surprisingly well-carved spoon, the tendrils of broth dripping from its edge glistening in the firelight. "It's definitely an . . . aesthetic."
Celeste side-eyed her first mate, arching an incredulous brow at his comment.
He'd been back to his usual chipper self the second he'd understood they were no longer in any immediate danger. In fact, he'd chattered the entire trek back to Icarius' home, leaving her and their silent host as reluctant captives to his nonsense.
The male had been near gleeful when he'd realized their mysterious savior was no threat and, instead, had taken it upon himself to become fast friends with the towering, hooded male.
Celeste had never seen such a one-sided friendship.
"Living here alone with absolutely nothing to do . . . do you, I don't know . . . make jewelry or something? Pottery?" Gandriel gestured vaguely to the mismatched containers lining the shelves of the little hut, each filled with mysterious but undoubtedly strange ingredients. "Baking, perhaps? Like . . . monster-eyeball cookies, moss souffles . . . ?"
Celeste suppressed a groan at the asinine questions and settled for another bite of soup.
He could have talked a Suriel into complete submission, if only so the creature could get him to stop his never-ending line of bullshit.
She watched as Icarius paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, to stare blankly at the inquiring blonde sitting cross-legged next to him, his hulking form still shadowed in the cloak he hadn't deigned to remove in their presence.
Silence settled back over them like a blanket, broken by a combination of soft sounds that lent the downtrodden hut an oddly comforting air: the soft clink of spoons on bowls, the crackle of the small fire in the grate. Outside, the distant whickering of kelpies echoed throughout the stillness, accompanied by the gentle lapping of the pond and the occasional croak of frogs reverberating beneath them. Celeste found herself more relaxed than she ever would have expected to be in such a place.
It was nearly homey, in its own odd way.
She could almost see why the male had fled here.
Almost.
Gandriel took another bite of his meal and continued his one-sided conversation. "I'll take that as a maybe."
Celeste kicked him.
"Ow," he whined, glaring childishly at her before whispering with a sidelong glance, as though they were sharing secrets, "What was that for?"
Apparently he'd somehow forgotten Icarius was sitting two feet away from them.
"Your incessant chattering," she replied, spooning another bite of the weirdly delicious soup into her mouth before swallowing, trying not to linger on the memory of the creature it had been made from. "Now, eat your dinner." She paused. "Quietly."
For all our sakes, she mentally added.
Icarius snorted.
The sound startled her and earned a look of intrigue from Gandriel.
Sensing their attention, Icarius quickly stilled, the bit of amusement he'd shown instantly gone.
Another silence enveloped them.
Gandriel opened his mouth to break it for the thousandth time but was instantly cut off by Celeste.
"Icarius," she addressed, the male angling his head at her in acknowledgement, the shifting of his hands and shoulders telling her she had his full attention. "About the caoin banishing spell– when should we begin?"
Her mind had been sifting through the limited information she had on the wraiths, on the bits of lore that might prove useful in freeing her sister from the creature's mark.
It wasn't much to go on but . . . it was something.
Certainly better than trying nothing at all.
Their host had procured a list for her earlier that evening, the instructions laid out neatly in a scrawling yet surprisingly beautiful script inked in a suspicious green color across a thinly stretched hide that had served as his parchment.
Her eyes had quickly devoured the list.
Many of the ingredients Celeste recognized, simple things that were required for such a banishing ritual, items such as salt and the goats' blood that Ithaca had so thoroughly complained about. Yet, there had been other components that had left her scratching her head. Things she certainly couldn't find on her own.
Not that she was entirely sure she wanted to know what a "fermented specter's tongue" or "wisp essence" were.
Icarius paused for a moment, considering, before he shook his head. "Tomorrow."
A tendril of annoyance flitted through Celeste.
There was time to waste, they would need to start working now if they had any hope of beating the full moon, now mere days away, before the mark became permanent.
The male rose swiftly and discarded his chipped and misshapen empty bowl into an empty bucket which presumably served as a sink. This was twice now that he'd postponed her efforts. Twice he'd ignored the urgency of her quest.
She half-wondered if she and Gandriel would have to attempt it alone.
As though sensing her thoughts the cowled male shook his head, then paused as he realized he'd have to voice his explanation. "Daylight."
At that she huffed.
He had a point.
Even with the newly established wards Icarius had replaced in the wee hours of dawn, just being in this place . . . it was a risk.
Better to not even attempt anything and to remain quiet until morning came, then. Frankly, it was a miracle Gandriel hadn't already called the attention of more beasts with his non-stop chattering.
Celeste suspected the blond had created the most noise and social interaction Icarius had seen in quite some time.
She almost pitied the male.
Nodding, Icarius gestured towards the pallets, indicating that they should sleep. She watched as he eased himself down in a free corner for the night, mindful of the bulk of his back, and settled into a pile of fresh greenery he'd collected for himself, having left the pallet for his guests. He didn't even bother to remove his boots as he turned his massive frame away from them.
"I bet he only laughed for you because you have boobs," Gandriel whispered conspiratorially once more, his own bowl of soup now empty.
Celeste leveled a glare at him.
"You do realize he's not deaf, right?"
At that she heard the Icarius shift on the floor, snuggling further down into his makeshift bed.
Thankfully, he certainly seemed tolerant.
Surreptitiously shifting her position, she could have sworn she saw the slightest bit of a smirk form from beneath that deep cowl.
It was a miracle, really, that he'd even taken the time and effort to help them and hadn't left Gandriel to be monster food.
She gave the blonde a pointed look, hoping it conveyed that thought and more.
He waved her off, easing himself onto his feet. "I call dibs on the side of the bed with the glowing mushrooms."
Of course that was his concern.
Ah, to live in such a simple-minded way.
Celeste sighed. "Whatever you want, Gandriel."
Cenric had never felt such rage directed towards him, such unending fury that he almost found himself flinching under its might as Nesta cast that flat silver gaze towards him, heavy as any anvil as she turned on him in the garden.
The power of the Other.
A promise of unending, ruthless pain and punishment.
And somehow . . . a petty part of him steeled at it. Sneered at the audacity of her thinking he could be intimidated into a corner like a cowering child.
He was a male fully capable of defending himself and the ones he loved.
Even if it only really amounted to spite.
It was that same part of him that had the nerve to push back, challenging Nesta's silver flame with his own night-kissed darkness. He challenged it with enough force that he heard one of the beautiful, overfilled vases of flowers lining the lit pathway in the garden crack sickeningly.
He tried to ignore the pang of guilt that wove through his chest.
Elain had spent a long time arranging those, personally fitting the blooms in the beautiful blown-glass casing that was now spilling water onto the lawn.
The guilt evaporated when he heard Nesta's answering snarl, the flash of her silver jewelry as she strode closer to him, her beautiful gown shimmering like armor, eyes narrow in the shadows of the night.
"You lied to me, betrayed my trust." she stated in that flat tone, edged with a sharpness that cut deeper than any blade.
"Last I checked," he snarled back, condescension saturating his voice, "I didn't make any promises to you, or to anyone for that matter."
No, in fact last he recalled he'd plainly told them all to piss off and had winnowed away into the wilderness so that no one could find him.
The only promise he'd made had been to Valka, to keep her safe from whatever forces she felt she'd had to hide from. No matter her reasons.
He felt no shame in that, in protecting the warrior who had put such feeble, fleeting trust in him. The first bit of trust he suspected she'd put in anyone in a very long time.
Cenric stared his aunt down, cobalt against flaming silver, fully aware his words were the absolute worst thing he could have said.
The sound of another vase shattering echoed to his right.
Azriel was going to kill them both.
Celeste had once read that the world had been born from darkness, that from the coldest whisper of nothingness a spark of creation had ignited and all life had flown from it. A darkness that all emerged from and were returned to upon their departure from this world.
And beyond the forest in which she now walked . . . it was that darkness she wandered toward.
Into the heart of creation, the beginning, and the end of all being.
Toward that female wailing in anguish, who cried for the help of anyone who would come to her, to any who could hear her mournful lament.
To the child she had sent into the world for a price, one touched by her very power, the only one who might undo the cataclysm that lay before them—
That same child who now wandered in her woods.
So Celeste strolled the length of the dirt path before her, the cool breeze whispering like fingers through her hair as she drifted into the depths of the swirling mists and looming branches. As she passed, the trees filled with faceless spirits who watched her descent, their voices little more than a soft, melodic hum as they watched her pass.
The faceless ones who wove the strings of fate, they who foretold which souls would step free from the darkness and those who would return to its depths, down to the very day and time.
The handmaidens of the one who ruled all existence, the one whose hands from which the cauldron had once flown.
She'd met them once, on that night so many years before, when she'd plummeted into this same strange place as a child, a weeping, sobbing mess of fear and despair.
This place had become a mirage of a memory now, something her waking mind could not recall. Yet here, where spirit bled into the living . . . this place had the clarity of a pale pool.
A few more steps, she noted as she trailed into the endless abyss, mindful of the cool, smooth stones beneath her feet, the steepening incline. Only a few more steps and she would find the mourning wraith.
Something in the females' song called to her, willing her forward into the darkness's embrace.
She brandished the flickering lantern in her hand, willing the silver light at its core to peel back some of the impenetrable shadow, seeking for that crying woman in its heart, willing the light to reveal her-
Child of life, a voice called to her, a whisper of familiarity dancing over her skin as the gentle voice sang out to her. Child of life, you must hurry. The abyss leaches ever further.
"Where are you?" Celeste called into the darkness, brandishing the lantern in her hand, the dwindling silver flame doing little to light the way before her. "Please," she begged, "You must tell me where you are – how can I help you?"
My heart was stolen long ago, encased in the stone where life and death become as one, the female recited, her voice a trilling melody of haste. It was one forged in cruelty that shattered the pool of truth, and one born of weakness that crafted its reflection, now a cracked spider's web.
Celeste took in the words one by one, committing each to her tangled memory, begging them to stay.
In its core the beast now slumbers in waiting, finally found by that which he cannot escape. Speak the truth of his name and awaken the one who bears a broken crown. From blessed hands life poured waters to craft this world, an arm which controlled its eddying flows, now sought by the mistress who lost favor with the divine by yielding no power to man. She who crafts-
Abruptly, an oily voice overtook the female's soft melody, a horrendous, screeching thing that plummeted the temperature around Celeste so violently a shiver raced up her spine. Lies spooled from the lips of a deceiver, what was is now gone. The wheels of fate have already begun to turn, the cogs of destiny already set into motion.
The silver flame illuminating the ancient stone died, and the lantern yanked free from Celeste's hand, plunging everything around her into impenetrable darkness.
You cannot escape me, life-giver.
At the new voice's call, the spirits peppering the trees around her wavered, nearly trembling as their iridescent bodies wicked away into nothingness, spiraling until nothing remained. In their places, specks of darkness bloomed, shadows of malice that watched her with white, pupil-less eyes, their bodies growing and twisting, beginning to form wicked claws and gaping mouths.
Celeste's breath billowed in front of her as ice cracked over the trees and ash began to rain down from the sky, the stench of death filling her with dread. It was the scent of war, of endless decay, the destruction of all things living.
She needed the lantern, the only fire that could follow her into this abyss–
The beautiful female voice rose again in a wail, a begging plea high above the cruel laughter of the thing crouching in the dark.
Run! Into the night! Go!
Turning on her heel, Celeste made to bolt back up the path away from the rumbling blackness when she found herself staring into the blackened eyes of a familiar female with bronze hair and a gaping smile.
Warped far beyond what her feeble memory could recall.
The female dug claw-like hands into Celeste's arms, spilling blood where her nails punctured skin.
"Give us what is rightly ours, Celeste." That cool voice – a face formed in Celeste's memory, a clear image of something that had long escaped her.
Memory spiraled into her like a tidal wave, saturating her to the brim.
A name, a library, and a beautiful silver ribbon purchased in the heart of the Rainbow.
"A marker, so you'll never forget what page you left off."
Celeste pivoted, fighting against the female's death grip.
"Nesta!" she cried, yanking at her aunt who fought to drag her into the darkness, the overwhelming stench of rot wafting from her angular form, nothing more than a walking skeleton now. "NESTA!"
Her words fell on deaf ears as a hand gripped her hair and skull, ripping her forward into the awaiting pit.
Seething, she stomped and pivoted, trying and failing to wrangle free.
Panic consumed her, fear of what they had done to the beautiful female before her, one who she once loved. "LISTEN TO ME–"
A cracking sensation raced through her head, an unbearable pressure – the monstrous fingers released her and immediately swiped down her chest, gouging marks and pulling a scream of agony from her throat.
A smile bloomed on its face, the look of victory, as it whispered, "We've found you."
Celeste bolted upright and immediately felt a pulse of power race through the shadowy hut like a call, a beacon summoning all things of malice—
The floor beneath her instantly crusted over in ice, the bellowing of beasts rising suddenly in the night into an unearthly keeling.
A scream, shrill and ear-splitting, rose above the din.
The Lurker.
Ice pooled in Celeste's blood at the sound, a memory of dark membranous wings and the metallic tang in her throat as she'd bled to death, begging for mercy—
Why had Nesta not come for her, then?
"MOVE!" Icarius' command shook her back to the present, his deep voice the loudest she had heard it since meeting him. He dragged her upright, yanking her to feet before shoving her towards the exit, his bulk moving with surprising agility as he kicked the door open and all but tossed her down the stairs and out into the night.
Skidding to a stop, Celeste froze as she took in the swamp before her, at the utter chaos that had unfolded.
She had dreamt of the darkest pits of the world, had felt the awe and terror upon seeing what resided in them, how they writhed in the darkness. Had watched in fascination as her subconscious had scrambled to understand those that did not wish to be seen.
But this . . . this was a nightmare made whole.
It echoed all around them, the wails of agony, the desperate scream of disembodied spirits as they raced from the earth into the sky, fleeing the pooling darkness leaching tendrils of shadow across the land, chasing them from their slumber.
And that call . . . it had not been the call of creatures who merely loitered in the shadow, where mystery and fear were merely bred into their bodies, their bones.
No, it had been calling of the Nothing.
A beast poised to devour everything before it.
And that terrible song, it was as though it had summoned every horrible creature in the swamp to this place, that pulse of power rattling through the night like a beacon. Creatures of scales, wings, and gills all raced across the land in a mindless fury, hissing and snarling as they fought one another, clawing and tearing for dominance, forced into a mindless blood frenzy.
Summoned by whatever manner of being had worn her aunt's skin.
Nesta's skin.
The tang of its corroded magic against Celeste's tongue . . . it was the same power that had taken hold of her on the island so long ago, where she'd found the amulet to control Ithaca.
Void.
A warm hand clamped down on her shoulder, sending her heart jumping in her chest.
"What in the Mother's name are those?" Gandriel breathed, fear drenching his voice as the static in the air around them suddenly built, his bulk shifting closer to her as electricity prickled along her skin.
Following his line of sight, she felt her breath catch in her lungs.
In the distance beyond the screaming, flailing creatures, innumerable golden eyes stared at them from the night, peering around the foliage and the looming trees – monsters crafted from the earth itself. Celeste and Gandriel watched in mute horror as they emerged from the darkness, one by one, their sharp features barely discernible, movements jerky and uneven, lumbering.
Like captured marionettes on fine strings, sluggishly dancing at the behest of an invisible puppeteer.
And there between them . . . stood their masters.
Wraiths with glowing white eyes, so similar to the demons who had infiltrated her dreams, their heads crowned in horned headdresses of antler and bone, bodies clothed in wisps of tattered cloth.
Recognition saturated her as an entry from her childhood compendium of legends began to emerge from the recesses of her foggy memory. Once spirits of sacred knowledge, they had been twisted by the greed and power of the world, forged instead into harbingers of death and destruction. They were known to have powers of possession, allowing them to control the bodies of those they sought with exemplary ease. An ancient Lord of Autumn had nearly burned them to extinction centuries ago, banishing the few survivors to the darkest corners of the world.
"The Shaman of the Grove," Icarius breathed beside her in an echo of her thoughts, having appeared on feet so silent Celeste hadn't even registered his approach in the commotion.
Her heart stuttered a beat at the realization.
These were beings so rare and ancient that were little more than hearsay and myth, yet to be standing before them . . . a thrill of excitement wove through her fear.
Gandriel, not sharing her fascination, took a precautionary step back, his fingers gripping her arm to drag her away, his head turning as he frantically sought a way out of the death trap they'd fallen into.
She watched as the specters raised their hands in unison, pointing at her as one.
"Life-Giver," the middle shaman called, its voice carrying across the roiling waters like the crunch of old bone as it ordered the ambling beasts through the forest, their claws dragging through the muck and rock. The garbled cries in the trees around them reached an ear-splitting peak. "Take the Life-Giver–"
Celeste heard the beat of wings a second before the Lurker descended on them, disintegrating Icarius's home in an instant as it landed with a boom, the swollen, rotted wood flying in every direction. Twisting, she felt Gandriel stumble away from her as she dove, his grip on her lost as he rolled away, barely avoiding flying splinters.
Icarius had vanished in the chaos, her frantic gaze unable to track him.
Forcing herself up on her palms, Celeste turned to face the beast as the foggy memory of another night filled with darkness and fear filled her mind, unbidden.
Through the blur of terror and confusion, she had half expected dark, membranous wings and the face of the nightmares that had haunted her for so long, yet what she found . . . it was horrific, yes, but it wasn't him.
Wasn't the only being she truly feared in this life.
Something like relief stole through her with that knowledge, even as it entangled with tangible horror.
Before her was a creature of splotched, pale skin pulled taut over an elongated bony skull that bore no eyes or ears, but was instead crowned with twisted, wicked horns. Its sinuous body twined through the wreckage of the hut, full of rotted holes and loose, tattered skin. The skeletal face ended in long dark slits that flared as it evaluated the world around it, sniffing, searching.
For her.
Celeste braced herself as she watched the creature, biding her time, awaiting a moment to run. She nearly cursed as it stopped suddenly, its large, tattered wings snapping wide as it turned knowingly towards her and hissed, icy breath fogging frost across the rows of deadly teeth, coating them in an iridescent sheen.
This seemed some make of creature similar to the fabled fire drakes but . . . undead, entirely unholy, and wielding ice as cold as death.
She cataloged the information like some sort of scholar, even as she tightened her body, preparing to bolt.
Sensing her attention, it released a shriek so earth-shattering Celeste stumbled to her knees, her hands instinctively clamping over her ears as her eardrums reverberated to near bursting.
Shit, she needed to get to high ground where she could hope to gain some advantage—
A burst of sizzling light blinded her as a flash of lightning snapped through the atmosphere like a whip, hurling straight into the body of the Lurker. The blow landed like a hammer, tearing a scream of rage from the creature and sending it tumbling across the dark expanse of the swamp.
Unfortunately, with her proximity to the beast . . . the shockwave of the bolt hit her as well, sending her flying backwards.
Celeste could have sworn her lightning-blinded eyes caught a flash of movement in the moment before murky pond water closed over her head, a glimpse of dark claws seizing the Lurker from the shadows, dragging the beast away into the depths of the night. Could have sworn she saw a glint of emerald in the distance as she crashed into the heart of the pond, a flash of light that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, like a predator peering at her through the brambles before dashing off into the night.
The last thing she needed was another beast as strong as the Lurker after her.
As though she had the time to even consider such a possibility.
Fighting the muddy waters, she choked on the taste of pond scum as she fought to right herself, forcing her legs deep into the muck, trying to gain some type of leverage in the slippery, slimy clay beneath her.
She came up gasping, whipping her head around as she frantically looked for Gandriel and Icarius, eyes darting desperately through the continued chaos unfolding around her . . . and immediately found herself surrounded by two of the earth-made golems – hulking constructs of dark clay, figures swiping massive limbs at her.
The shallow water around her seemed to pull at her legs as she barely moved quickly enough to dodge, the golem's massive hand plunging into the surface mere inches from her face, instead embedding itself in the mud and muck.
She nearly tumbled into another as it rose behind her, sloppily diving for her.
Celeste hissed a curse as she dodged again, fumbling as she dug in her boot for her spare blade, her hands slippery against the leather as she grappled for the handle. She'd just freed the blade when the golem let out what passed for a yelp of surprise and simply disappeared beneath the water's surface, bubbles rising in its place.
Confusion filled her as the bubbles popped on the surface, followed by a familiar form emerging beneath her, the figure of one the kelpies materializing as it rose from the depths of the pond. Instinctively, she grabbed for the creature's watery mane to steady herself as the beast snarled at the approaching golem with a fury that made her skin prickle.
Kelpies were notoriously territorial . . . of both their home and those they claimed as their own.
One of the clay beasts let out a bellow before making a vicious swipe in Celeste's direction, no doubt attempting to knock her from her seat atop her mount.
Unperturbed, the kelpie simply reared in response and squarely kicked the golem in the chest with a sickening squelch, further mangling its disfigured form and sending it flying back into the water where one of the mare's sisters dragged it to its final resting place. It took every ounce of control Celeste had to stay seated on the furious beast's back as it lashed out again against the creature of clay grasping for her.
The fifth had collapsed with a screech, sending liquid splashing across Celeste's face, when the kelpie beneath her snorted and glided away, as though called away by some unheard signal, dodging between the golems still continuously forming around them, dashing straight for the pond's edge.
She turned to glance back as more screeches echoed behind her, watching as dark water splashed and ominous ripples formed, the annoyed snarls and snorts of kelpies echoing as they continued to drag the clay golems to their watery graves, defending their territory with a cool amusement that made goosebumps fleck up her arms.
"Thank you," she breathed as the kelpie quickly darted between the dark foliage, racing through the night like a phantom on the wind, to what destination she did not know. "We have to find Gandriel and Icarius." She whipped her head back towards the clearing, praying the beast beneath her understood. "We have to turn back-"
The kelpie spared a moment to turn its head over a shoulder and looked at her with what Celeste swore was amusement before snorting and continuing its race across the landscape, expertly ignoring her words as it carried her away into the night, stride smooth as a rolling river over earth and water alike.
She had opened her mouth to desperately protest once more when a smaller, scaled creature leaped at her from the treetops, landing squarely atop her and raking claws down her arm, sending her blood spilling onto the ground and nearly knocking her from her mount's back.
The moment the scent of her blood hit the ground . . . there was a sudden quiet, as though every beast in the swamp held its breath for a moment – then the previous chaos bled into uncontrolled pandemonium.
Every creature that had been mindlessly roving, driven into a frenzy . . . their attention had instantly focused on her.
A cacophony of feral cries and the rush of claws and feet erupted as they began to pursue, seeking the trail of blood dribbling freely down her arm.
Fucking wonderful.
Driving her knife up, she tried to pry the snapping bastard from her, its claws embedded deep in her arm. A yelp of pain escaped her as the creature dug deeper and hissed at her, refusing to release its grip as it tried again and again to unseat her into a sharp, thorny grave.
She'd nearly tumbled from her mount's back when a pulse of power suddenly warped the air in an onslaught of whispering shadows so familiar she nearly lost her grip on her kelpie's mane. Tendrils of darkness wrapped around the creature on her arm, giving it a single moment to struggle before crushing it with a crunch that sent it tumbling into the brambles.
The shadows disappeared in an instant.
Celeste gaped in bewilderment where the shadows had been a moment before, the gears in her mind turning as she tried to place them, a headache beginning to bloom as she struggled to remember who had once wielded such a power –
"There you are!" Gandriel's shout cut through the night as he appeared on her right atop another of the kelpies, the beast beneath him viciously trampling smaller creatures in its wake as it raced across the swamp.
She was relieved to find the male seemed uninjured, although it seemed he'd gone for a few unwanted swims if the state of his clothes was any indication.
There was still no sign of Icarius, of where they might have left him in the carnage and how their mysterious savior fared–
Gandriel's tawny eyes snagged on the blood dripping down her shirt. "You're hurt."
"Later!" she snapped back, hearing the cracking and creaking of branches accompanied by the hissing and snapping of jaws as the creatures of the swamp gave chase behind them. "We've got bigger problems—"
The furious, rage-filled scream of the Lurker echoed through the night.
"Much bigger."
"For fuck's sake," Gandriel growled as he ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, a flicker of lightning forming in his palm as he sent it into the menagerie of snapping jaws behind them, eliciting a satisfying yelp. "I'd hoped hitting it with that lightning had done the trick—"
"I think you just pissed it off." Another scream tore through the night sending a shiver up her spine. That had likely been the only thing he'd done. "We can't feasibly outrun them all."
And even trying to do so would risk taking all of the creatures back to their camp.
Straight back to Ithaca.
To Anelisse.
"Are you suggesting we stop and fight them?" Gandriel hissed back incredulously, wrapping his legs tighter about his mount as they finally hit the expanse of the dark lake they'd first found in the swamp. "As much faith as I have in your fighting abilities, I don't think even you could take ALL of them."
She heard some of the beasts hiss in annoyance as they came to a halt at the water's edge, and the gurgling of others as they slipped beneath the surface, built for this environment.
Shit.
"Not now!" she barked back, her mind racing as she evaluated the land around them, trying to conjure a solution, anything, to cease the pursuit of the menagerie of beasts behind them, watching as her kelpie easily moved through a set of brambles that would have torn at any ordinary horse's legs. "The Shaman are driving them into a frenzy, we have to break their hold if we have any hope of stopping the rest."
At that Gandriel snapped his attention towards her.
"You mean those white-eyed creeps with the freaky little crowns?" Exasperation filled her first mate's voice. "How the hell do you suppose we take them out? Can we even fight them?"
"No," she growled. "They can't be killed, but they have some weaknesses . . . a few things that could slow them down."
A singular weakness, in fact.
One they could exploit under the right circumstances.
A racing shadow materialized on her left, so silently she nearly flung her dagger at it.
Relief stole through Celeste as Icarius emerged, matching her canter atop the moon-white mare who had carried them to safety that first night, no doubt having heard her proclamation to Gandriel. His cloak and hood somehow remained in place, though she noted his shoulders were tense and near trembling, his gloved hand woven a little too tightly through the mane of his mount.
Like he'd barely escaped one of the beasts.
She'd almost ventured to ask if he was all right when he interrupted her in a whisper.
"It might work." He'd deduced what her mad plan was, his logic no doubt following her own with his knowledge of the Shaman. "Though it's a risk."
More so than any of them could honestly fathom.
"We have no other choice," she muttered, watching the rippling of the dark water behind them, the non-aquatic beasts circling the banks of the lake to meet them on the other side. "You're going to have to trust me on this."
Somehow, she sensed the male did.
Guilt settled on her like a shroud as she realized what situation they'd dragged the hermit into, all that he'd lost, and would likely lose tonight, simply because he had chosen to help two injured travelers to whom he owed nothing.
The image of the Lurker shattering his simple home and belongings into shrapnel drifted through her mind. She'd been fearful of the worst when they'd been separated, afraid he'd been dragged to a watery grave.
She was glad he'd managed to escape.
Endless apologies and favors were owed, ones she'd make sure to pay personally.
She dodged out of the way of a swooping winged creature that narrowly missed her and crashed into a tree trunk before whipping her head toward Gandriel. "I need you to summon a warm, heavy wind, and force it through the trees behind us. As strong as you can conjure."
"You want me to buy us time?" At that the male nodded, the air crackling as his storm magic rallied, the gift of wind from his father entwined in it. "It's mad enough it might work."
Celeste didn't bother correcting him as a violent gale tore through the swamp with a whipping howl, the trees and waters shaking violently beneath its power. She heard the distant bellows of angry creatures ripped away by the wind as they lost ground.
A bit of a reprieve and . . . fodder.
She leaned forward in her seat, struggling to see as her hair whipped wildly about her head, hardly keeping her seat as the mare beneath her shot across the dark expanse of the pond like a fallen star, its hooves barely tapping the water's surface.
The swamp seemed so much smaller now atop the mare, the distance crossed in only a fraction of the time it had taken them to wind through what had seemed an endless labyrinth.
Yet it couldn't have been more than several minutes before they hit land again, the landscape beginning to shift from dripping trees bedecked in moss and brambles to the familiar wall of thorns that they'd trekked through with Anelisse and Ithaca less than a week prior.
And those towering thorns . . . she tugged at her steed's mane, directing the racing creature towards the left, toward the base of those dead, twisted branches.
Through the brambles, the expanse of a valley gleamed with an array of bone shards glinting in the dregs of moonlight slipping through, their opalescent faces showing a path where they thinned near the valley's edge-
Celeste felt the air shift before she saw them, the hiss of magic spiraling through the world as they materialized on the path before them, their crowns of antlers glinting like the bones around them.
The Shaman.
Celeste yanked at her mount's mane, bracing herself as her steed slid to a halt, bones splintering beneath it. The kelpie tightened; annoyance palpable as though it wanted to do nothing more than stomp the phantoms into carrion.
Frankly, the feeling was mutual.
Icarius and Gandriel followed suit, their own mounts snarling at the wraiths before them, previously hidden fangs flashing in the moonlight.
At a distance, the Shaman had been otherworldly, ethereal even, but up close . . . there was no denying they had been twisted by the most malicious forces of the realms.
"Life-Giver," one called, revealing rows of stubby teeth in an eerily wide mouth, the skin about it split into fissures as though the flesh itself had peeled away from the horrors that passed those lips. "Remain, and your companions may pass."
Celeste tasted the lie the second it left the shaman's mouth.
Catching Gandriel's furrowed brow out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he had sensed it too. Icarius's kelpie outright snarled at the shaman, a sentiment no doubt echoed by its rider – he knew their nature well.
The hatred crafted into their eyes flashed as they honed in on her, the bone necklaces around their necks clicking as they raised their hands in unison towards her once more, the earth at their feet beginning to quake as they summoned more clay golems.
She straightened her spine and glanced skyward, those twining, thorny branches looming over her like the fingers of a puppeteer watching his stage.
One chance.
Gandriel caught her line of sight, understanding blooming in his gaze.
"Why are you here?"
"We do not answer the questions of the prey we are summoned to hunt," a second shaman hummed, the golems beginning to take more monstrous forms. "We answer to only one Mistress."
"And who might that be?" That was Gandriel, following her line of thinking as he inched his kelpie forward, all poise and aristocracy, biding his time as the sound of scraping claws and angry roars swept in closer.
The frenzied beasts raced in by the second.
The ground beneath them gave a sickening warble, churning deep beneath the soil, the dry clay at their feet cracking like pottery.
To their credit, the kelpies beneath them didn't budge an inch.
"Foolish little fae lordling," the last shaman cackled, arrogance lining its boney form as it stomped its staff into the dirt, the golems behind it giving a bellow. "Your kind knows so little of what came before, what exists outside of your precious, protective walls."
"Walls you were driven from?" As he had spoken more, Icarius's initial unused, gravelly voice had been replaced by a deep timbre that startled Celeste, the sound sending goosebumps flecking up her arms. His kelpie inched closer to her own, some secret language between the mares.
Gandriel's followed suit, packing them together tightly, their thighs brushing.
An amused chuckle like nails down a chalkboard sounded as pale eyes shifted to Icarius. "Walls even you are not welcome in, pariah," a disgusting smile, "or is it messiah?"
Icarius stilled.
"Doesn't answer the question," Celeste tsked, redirecting their attention, the hair on her neck beginning to prickle, " is it shame in that knowledge that someone holds your leash?"
Her attempt to rile them failed.
Instead, the shaman merely smiled knowingly at them, their decaying lips sealed.
The golems made to advance, the sound of snapping jaws echoing loudly behind them.
A sharp smell of ozone and a prickle along the skin was the only warning before several bolts of lightning split the sky, striking in an array around the three the wraiths, sending sparks flying and further cracking the already fissured clay beneath them, bits of molten glass sizzling into the ground.
"One so weak should not wield such unfathomable power," one of the shaman chided, nearly laughing at the attempt. "Such a fragile offspring selected to bear the power of a Lord—"
"Who said I was trying to hit you?"
Celeste felt it then, the vibrations beneath her mount as they truly began raced towards them, the thundering of ancient, wicked hearts. She'd noticed them the first day she'd stepped foot in this valley, their tell-tale markings that she'd instantly recognized.
Creatures so far beneath the surface that the Shaman's call had not reached them.
The Shaman noticed it then, screeches of disbelief escaping them as the earth gave a sudden, sickening lurch and monstrous maws shot up from the ground, rings of razor sharp teeth and pale, fleshy skin.
Several Middengard wyrms, free and wild in their natural home.
Eager to hunt.
The same creatures Gandriel had let slip that Feyre Cursebreaker, her mother, had hunted before she'd been turned immortal.
The thought sent a tendril of pain lancing through Celeste's skull but she paid it little heed.
Especially not as the bellows of beasts grew louder behind them, the cries of the wyrm's future dinners blindly racing to their doom.
"Pests!" the Shaman sneered as they warped away, their staffs lighting up as they prepared to summon more golems, even as the clay bodies cracked under the onslaught of the wyrms.
"NOW!" Celeste barked at the storm mage.
The male summoned more and more lightning, each bolt striking the canopy hanging above them, the sparks instantly igniting the dried thorns and foliage, the same ones Gandriel's blasts of hot wind had wicked the moisture from for the last several miles.
Now all dry and volatile as kindling.
Like a breath of fire from the belly of a dragon everything around them went up in an uncontrollable inferno, trapping every beast and monster in this tiny, death trap of a valley. As the flames roared to life above them through the canopy . . . the shaman shrieked in utter terror, their shadowy bodies fleeing from the fire roaring all around them, no doubt experiencing a visage from a time long past when a Lord of Fire had driven them from his lands.
The kelpies, sensing their chance, immediately wheeled around and began to race away from the burning pyre, expertly weaving between the falling debris. Celeste felt the familiar twist of magic warp around her as Gandriel folded them into nothingness and sent them, and their mounts, flying through the world.
The kelpies hit the ground beneath them mid-stride and quickly regained their balance as the male winnowed them just far enough outside the inferno that none of them risked injury, but the brilliance of the flames lit up the entire landscape in a golden gleam.
The mares whickered their delight and amusement.
"By the Mother, you did it," Celeste breathed as she turned and looked over a shoulder, shuddering as the screams of agony from the beasts roared through the night, succumbing to either the flames or the enraged wyrms. "I'm impressed."
Gandriel had singlehandedly leveled their enemies in a few well-placed blows.
"Unfathomable power" indeed.
Gandriel let out a whoop of victory that resonated around them, his face lighting up in pride as he roared his delight to the sky. His kelpie shook her head and pawed at the ground beneath them as though to celebrate as well. He gave the mare a tentative pat on the neck, looking slightly less afraid to lose his hand.
Sparing a glance to her left, Celeste found Icarius seemed none the worse for wear, even as he watched the roaring inferno before them, the firelight revealing the handsome planes of his face to her for the first time.
She traced the lines of his high cheeks and straight nose, the chiseled jawline that kindled some part of her memory.
Sensing her gaze, he flicked his attention towards her, eyes gleaming with a hint of green beneath his hood, twinkling with something that looked akin to delight, even if she could finally see the hints of sorrow in their depths, the weight that he bore in his features.
Handsome but . . . hardened.
Sad.
Her stomach twinged in guilt.
"Icarius," she addressed, dredging up as many promises as she could fathom, the places she could take him, anywhere he might want to go, the money she could offer him for his help. Even if they'd lost the ledgers in the end anyway, he'd still helped them beyond repayment, had given them all he had, quite literally. "I—"
"What in the Mother's name . . ." Gandriel's cheering had stopped, his voice dropping as he pointed at the top of one of the rolling hills ahead of them, all the joy drained from his features. "Celeste, look."
She followed the line up from where he pointed, straight to atop the hill's crest.
A beautiful, iridescent, transparent form clothed in a billowing white dress stood there, its pale light faintly illuminating the crinkled grass around it. Familiar eyes watched her from delicate features, eyes she could never forget, now set in a phantom's face as they watched her from a distance.
The caoin.
Wearing Anelisse's form.
Celeste's heart stopped clean in her chest.
"No," she breathed, her skin chilling as the wraith watched her, smiling sadly and waving in that gentle way that her sister always had, as though in a final farewell that she could not stop. "Absolutely not, please, no—"
Everything went silent in Celeste's mind.
A mistake, this had to be a mistake, some trickery or mischief from the shaman perhaps—
They had time, they'd had a few days to reverse the curse, time to unravel what had been done–
"GO!" Celeste dug her heels into the kelpie's sides, begging any deity who would listen to not let the message that lay before her be true, willing to bargain any part of her life, her soul away to make it not so. "PLEASE!"
Sensing her desperation, the creature's joy shifted into focus, its legs moving impossibly faster, sending her racing into the night toward a fate she could not accept.
Cenric had been mid-tirade, slinging insults and petty nothings at his aunt when he felt the first wave of . . . something echo through him, like a fluttering of a moth that tightened his chest.
He'd mindfully ignored it as he cleared his throat, pushing the sensation down as he continued arguing with Nesta, hellbent on making his point known.
She had already dragged him down every alley of irresponsibility and disrespect she could conjure, peppering him with insults that she had crafted specifically to sting. He'd kept firing them back, their voices having grown loud to the point that Cassian had actually shushed them for the sake of the rest of the wedding guests.
Most of his family had ventured into the garden too, watching as they'd thrown blows at one another. More than once he was certain his mother had considered stepping in and had instantly decided against it, purely because she didn't want to trample on the unstable peace they'd just established.
And blessedly . . . Elain and Azriel had disappeared, nowhere to be seen and hopefully far away from the shitshow that was unfolding by the riverside.
He tried not to roll his eyes as he heard Mor pop the cork of another wine bottle, having settled in one of the remaining chairs in the garden, accompanied by the low huffs of amusement from Helion seated next to her.
As though this were some sort of spectator sport.
Insufferable, the entire lot of them.
"Are you even listening?" Nesta snarled, her lips peeling back from her teeth, "or have you drifted back into that invalid state you've been living in for–"
It was then that the second wave hit him, so molten and splicing he'd stumbled, bracing a hand on the low table in front of him as the world spun, the candlelight blurring and swimming in his vision.
Something was wrong.
Terribly.
He tried to right himself when the third and hardest wave hit him, tearing through him so fiercely and unyieldingly that he collapsed to his knees with a gasp, his heart thundering in his chest. It ripped through his soul, the searing, agonizing agony of something vital being ripped from him, as though a part of his very being were being torn away.
Nesta stopped mid-snarl, the fury on her face instantly melting into concern, ". . . Cenric?"
He couldn't hear her anymore, couldn't hear anything.
All he could register was the pounding of his own heart in his ears, as he was slowly and agonizingly ripped into a million pieces, like an iron poker shoved into the depths of his chest and twisted again and again.
This was an agony that made the bloodbane feel like a hangover.
Torture.
This was what torture felt like.
And the pain . . . he would have screamed if he'd had any breath, but none would enter his lungs. He was slowly choking and drowning in his own blood and despair, unable to get to the surface, unable to escape whatever had taken him–
He couldn't breathe, his lungs were failing him.
He was dying.
The most brutal, painful death he could have ever imagined.
There were voices all around him, shouts of concern and warm, familiar hands on his face calling his name but none of it registered, nothing could overshadow the sensation that was tearing his heart from his chest, his mind from his body.
Like he was losing the last, vital piece of his already weary and tattered soul.
By the time Celeste hit the camp the sun had already begun to peek up above the horizon, dousing the dreary, soaked landscape in golden rays, the pale rocks painting the landscape in somber, muted tones.
After the chaos of the night it was calm, peaceful really, filled with the lament of mourning doves awakening as the dregs of sunlight began to reach their cleverly hidden nests.
Anelisse would have called this place hideous, drab and unsightly.
She would undoubtedly inform her as much when Celeste came barging in at the crack of dawn, groggy and frustrated with her for waking her at such an unholy hour. Would be furious with her as Celeste wrapped her in her arms to ensure she was okay and would grumble relentlessly as her sister loaded her onto one of the kelpies to hunt that piece of shit phantom down to steal back what did not belong to it.
Celeste paid none of it any mind as she galloped right into the heart of the camp, Icarius and Gandriel lost behind her, unable to keep up with her frantic flight. She'd ridden the kelpie with a skill she hadn't realized she'd possessed, and the mount hadn't slowed for a second, some silent bond having formed between them in that endless race across the gloom-shrouded wasteland.
She wasn't too late, it wasn't possible, there was no way Ithaca would have allowed it. And even if she had wished to, the order Celeste had given would have prevented disobedience. It was foolproof—
Ithaca wasn't here.
Celeste felt it in her bones, in the bond that she shared with the uncanny woman.
Ithaca had found a loophole, had left—there were the remains of marks on the skeletal trees that surrounded the amp, seals and wards that should have triggered as soon as she'd hit the campsite—
They'd been broken. Shredded to nothing.
Impossible, it was impossible–
Every part of Celeste's body was numb, honed to a razor-sharp edge of focus–
The kelpie hadn't so much as slowed from her gallop before Celeste threw herself from the beast's back, her knees popping as she sloppily landed, screaming her sister's name with every ounce of her soul.
Tripping, she raced for the tent cleverly hidden behind an array of ancient, withered trees, the flaps of the pale canvas loose and billowing casually in the light breeze.
As though her sister were merely letting in a cool morning breeze before the treacherous heat of the afternoon sat in, but there was no humming, no muttered curses or quiet monologues.
Nothing but silence, and utter lack of movement from the tent.
Celeste's fingers had barely brushed the opening of the tent when the wind shifted and the stench hit her, the undeniable scent of rot and decay that already warned her of what she would find as she tore the tent flaps open and found the corpse before her.
A pale, tiny thing, covered in wounds, agonizing torturous ones that said she had not gone easily, that they had been inflicted with a care and malice that spoke of making torment an art. And the body itself lay swollen and bloated beyond recognition beyond the tattered blue dress and tangled silvery hair, as though it'd been several days since it had happened, as though she had laid in the blistering heat and freezing cold through several cycles.
Far too warped and decayed to be revived by Celeste's power.
She felt her feet go out from under her as the rest of the world whirled out of reach, everything around her irrelevant except for the small, mangled body before her. Shaking, she reached for the slender, discolored fingers, tears streaking from her eyes unbidden as she tucked her sister's remains close to her.
She had failed in every way that mattered.
Anelisse was dead.