14. Absolute
14
ABSOLUTE
Finnian
The Present
Everett.
Finnian repeated the name in his mind as an attempt to stir awake buried memories.
He followed the passage outside of the village, through the market, past the homes. The river cutting through the middle of the valley came out into a grove of wisteria. The ends of their blossomed branches swayed with the breeze, kissing the edges of the stream.
After the reunion with Eleanor and Isla, he needed solitude to sort out the emotions gnawing in his chest.
He felt adrift all over again. To see them after missing them for so long, it had slit open the scar of their deaths and the wound throbbed now. Some part of him found peace, while the other refused to acknowledge the feeling. The fact remained that they were still dead, and it was tiring to convince his brain that nothing had really changed, leaving him to sit in the agony of their absence all over again.
Out of habit, Finnian’s eyes scoured the bank and the ground cover over the small patches of grass for anything to forage. There was nothing but velvet violet poppies and blue irises. The oils extracted from both flowers were beneficial, but they weren’t ingredients for the potion Finnian’s fingers were itching to make.
He was no stranger to creating elixirs to awaken long-forgotten memories, having perfected the craft over the course of his days to sell in his black market. Though, he was doubtful any of his current potions would be strong enough to devour the Kiss of Delirium. He would need to craft a new one from scratch to counter its symptoms. But it wasn’t as if he could concoct a tonic without a cauldron or ingredients or, worst of all, time.
He walked, the tips of his fingers rubbing against the pad of his thumb, his gaze shifting to the tranquil river running alongside him. The water was transparent and glimmered beneath the lingering golden hour. Souls lapped in the current of the River of Eden, luminescent masses of ghost-like whorls that reminded Finnian of the way an octopus carried themselves across the sea. These souls were migrating to the Land of Entity to reincarnate.
The idea seemed like such a ruthless cycle—to be reborn into an unfair world, forced to go through childhood and adolescence again, if they made it that far. It baffled Finnian by how little time a mortal received to mature when it had taken him no less than a century.
He continued down the path woven between the wisteria. Amongst the weeds sprouting around their trunks he identified hawthorn and goldenseal.
Back in his apothecary days, he’d often use the herbs to create draughts for mortals with high blood pressure and diabetes. For magical use, the blossom, stem, and root made excellent ingredients in many elixirs.
It took a generous amount of self-control for Finnian to silence the instinct within to pluck them.
He missed his freedom and his craft room, full of centuries of books he’d collected, grimoires he’d written with his own quill. His uninterrupted days surrounded by plants he’d spent decades cultivating; the steam billowing from his cauldron and climbing up the walls; a giddy tingle in his fingertips as he chopped and ground the greenery. Creating something from nothing gave him a sense of satisfaction that he was addicted to.
Mid-step, a thrash of pain blanched throughout his insides. He winced.
The binding potion.
Quickly, he stumbled back on his heels. The splitting agony spasmed in his organs, and he curled over with a hand on his stomach. “Fuck!” he grumbled.
Like a thick fog, the High God’s divine power emanated from the ground and coiled itself around his legs. Cassian was about to teleport him away.
A clear sign he’d gone too far outside the proximity Cassian allowed. It meant he was close to something he shouldn’t be.
Finnian snapped his head up, searching through the thickening smog. His eyes stretched along the River of Eden as far as they could reach, through lavender stalks, where it merged with the River of Souls.
Beyond it was a forest of bald cypress, beech trees, and evergreens. Smooth, pale branches reached over the deep green like elongated fingers. An opaque fog hovered over the forest like a cloud, monochrome and pale against the vibrancy of the sparkling river and lilac meadow.
The Serpentine Forest.
The gathering of energy dropped his stomach and lifted him from the ground. Cassian’s power swallowed him like a vortex and spit him out into a different terrain.
His conviction grew stronger than ever that Moros had to be on the other side of the Serpentine Forest.
Finnian clenched his fist, frustration burning in his blood. The invisible chain locking him to Cassian’s side felt tight, suffocating, like a collar. He detested being restrained.
Releasing a terse exhale, he straightened, relieved that the grueling squeeze of his insides had given way, and took in his new surroundings.
Before him was an olive-dusted highland covered in flowing, cornflower blue grass.
In the distance, he could see the basalt bluffs of the valley and the twinkling River wedged in between the village, the sounds of music and voices carrying from Caius.
Cassian’s ivory-blond strands caught his eye, glistening like a pale citrine against the backdrop of the champagne horizon.
The High God jogged in a large circle, chased by a pack of dogs at his heels.
He leisurely pulled back his arm, grasping a ball of tightly wound vines in his hand.
The ball flew gracefully through the air and the dogs raced across the field to fetch it.
Cassian stood back and watched, his demeanor more at ease than Finnian had ever seen. That singular curl over his forehead dangled in his eyes. His suit jacket was strewn aside on a branch of a nearby wisteria, and his waistline and toned shoulders were accentuated by the crisp button-up tucked into his tailored pants.
Finnian’s eyes floated up to the rosy tint of his cheeks and over the blissful grin spread across his face as the dogs trotted back.
Cassian stooped over slightly and took the ball from a golden retriever. The other dogs crowded around him.
“Good boy!” He petted their heads one by one. “You all did wonderful. But Linus, how about you let another have a chance this time?”
A flutter quivered in Finnian’s chest as he observed this version of him.
As if he sensed his presence, Cassian twisted his head towards Finnian. From a few meters away, Cassian’s eyes reflected in the honey-glow sunset, two golden gemstones dripping and filling Finnian’s ribcage.
Repulsed by the feeling, he squashed it away and started towards Cassian.
The sound of his footfalls shuffling in the grass called the dogs’ attention. Heads swiveled in his direction. Tongues hung out of the side of their mouths, tails wagging. They quickly gathered around his legs. Dogs of all sizes, all breeds, left slobbery kisses over his pants.
He wanted to reciprocate their greeting and pet them, but as he assessed each one and the cosmic phantom glows atop each of their heads, a depressing thought met him.
They are all dead.
A copper-haired poodle nudged the ball of vines against the back of his fingers. He dropped his head to regard it, unable to reject its doe-eyed look.
Sighing in defeat, he held out his hand, and the dog plopped it in his palm.
Finnian reared his arm, and the dogs moved as a collective, preparing to run. The excitement of their open mouths and beaming eyes coaxed a weak smile out of him as he threw the ball.
They all sprinted across the clearing.
Cassian came to stand in the space at his side, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. “Was the village to your liking?”
“Mm.” Finnian had no interest in reliving his reunion with Eleanor and Isla for him.
Cassian gave him a squinted sidelong glance from the brassy sunlight hugging the mountaintops. “Eleanor and Isla ask me about you every time I visit.”
Finnian kept his gaze fixed on the dogs as they made their way back. “If this festival is in your honor, why aren’t you there celebrating?”
“I like to see it as a celebration in the honor of my realm.”
“Sounds like an excuse.” Finnian raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t particularly enjoy the attention.”
Before he could make a remark, the dogs bombarded their legs in a frenzy of wet-nosed nudges and eager tail wags.
“Good girl, Maple.” Cassian scrubbed the ears of a brown Boykin Spaniel, accepting the ball from its mouth.
Finnian crossed his arms, not looking too long at the glittering, nebulous clouds crowning each of their heads. “These are souls?”
“Dogs of the Land,” Cassian said, continuing to give affection to each one in a series of ear massages and relaxed pats. “Most animals reincarnate, but some wish to hold out until they are reunited with their loved ones.”
The notion of a dog meeting the soul of their owner at the entrance of the Lavender Fields snagged in his chest. An endearing sentiment, but hardly enough to erase the time forced to spend apart.
“You seem well acquainted with them,” Finnian murmured.
Cassian looked up at him, the curl caught in his eyelashes.
Like a reflex, Finnian’s hand lifted to push it away. He caught himself quickly and folded his fingers into a fist at his side. The innate reaction took him by surprise.
“I am acquainted with all of my souls,” Cassian said, “but yes, I enjoy playing fetch with them. Souls of humans are more complex beings. They require lessons and experiences to learn unconditional love, not take it for granted. Dogs do not.”
I do not , he wished to say, but he knew it was a lie. Regret ate away at him each day for failing to appreciate his father during the short thirteen years he’d gotten to spend with him. If he knew their moments would’ve fallen short, he would’ve taken the time to really look at Father, appreciate all his kind qualities, and tell him how much he admired him.
“Right there.” Cassian pointed to a mixed black Labrador with floppy ears and animated eyes. “Do you recognize that one?”
The stray from Augustus that Finnian had found in a trash bin and brought back to life.
He recalled the day vividly. He’d almost missed the decaying odor. It was thanks to the shift of current that the stench hit his nose. It was what prompted him to stop and pick up on the dwindling energy of a dying soul—like catching the brief flicker of a dying flame.
Finding the deceased dog with a broken leg, abandoned so carelessly, smashed any hope that the Mortal Land and its occupants differed from the barbarity that existed in Kaimana with his mother.
Apathy, unfortunately, bled everywhere.
Finnian crouched down, and the dog came up and sniffed his hand, giving it a few licks.
“He remembers you,” Cassian said.
Finnian bore into its eyes. Within them, there was a stillness epitomizing a deep peace. For that, he was glad.
He scratched its furry neck. “I suppose he does.”
“Souls do not forget their mortal lives, unless they wish to.” Cassian snapped back his arm and sent the ball flying.
Rising at a leisurely pace, the dog trotted after the rest of the group.
“By ingesting one of the pomegranates grown in the Land.” Finnian straightened up and looked at the High God.
Cassian’s brow quirked, shooting him a bemused glance. “Does my Land interest you?”
Finnian gave a small shrug. “Know thy enemy, they say.”
“What else do you know?”
“I know that you have a place called the Paradise of Rest where the souls can choose to go if they seek… Well, rest .”
Amusement curved at the corners of Cassian’s mouth as he peered into the distance of the pack. “I prefer to keep things self-explanatory, to avoid confusion.”
Finnian followed his gaze onto the dogs. He held it there to avoid the light-hearted smile on Cassian’s face, noting how it softened all the angles of his sculpted features. “Or you simply lack creativity.”
A feisty, black Dachshund jumped up and snatched the ball from a Great Dane’s mouth. The short-legged furry companion took off through the sea of dogs, its long ears catching in the air like the wings of an airplane as it ran.
“I have a feeling you resented my creativity during your time in the Serpentine Forest.”
Finnian shot him a deathly look. “The Achlys are despicable creatures.”
Cassian laughed and Finnian could feel the sound strumming in his chest, clear and leveled out through his hearing aid. It appeared his brain was finally adjusting to the device.
He rubbed at the curse mark on his pec, the conversation with Isla and Eleanor resurfacing in his mind.
If you do not know what is real or not, try asking Cassian.
He expected such an insane suggestion from Eleanor, but certainly not from Isla, who had been the one to say it.
While she’d always had a way of granting perspective and simplifying matters, Finnian would be an idiot to trust anything that came out of Cassian’s mouth. But what other option did he have? Without the ability to create a draught, his memories would gradually disappear without his consent.
It took him a long second to work the confession from his throat. “Your curse is messing with my memories.”
The High God rotated, studying his face intently, as if searching for something.
Finnian inclined his head, locking eyes with him. “Can you tell me who Everett is?”
A flicker of affliction crossed his face, and he turned away. “I believe he was your lover.”
An emotion that Finnian could not translate saturated in the space between them; a heaviness soaked his skin.
“So I’ve been told,” he said with perfect indifference. “Is his soul here in the Land?” According to Isla and Eleanor, Everett had swooped in and saved them from the triplets and Cassian. Which meant Everett had to have been a deity or a witch.
“Yes.”
A witch then. A dead one.
“He must’ve meant a great deal to me for the curse to target my memories of him.” As he said it, a thought chilled his blood.
Did I recall Everett prior to being cursed?
He thought back to the days isolated in his cell in Moros. The grim hours spent in the dungeon with Shivani’s blade fileting his skin from his flesh. Where had he drifted off to in his head? Who did he hang onto during those moments of misery?
His mind drew blank.
He felt sick.
Finnian couldn’t recall thinking of anyone other than Naia and Father.
The vibrational hum started beneath his ear. A reverberating in his jaw irritated the nerves up into his skull.
He ground his teeth.
An itch spread like tiny spiders breaking through their sac and swimming in his blood, scratching and burrowing into the flesh of his brain.
The curse. He’d triggered it. By thinking of Everett. Someone of importance. Just as it had with Naia in the Serpentine Forest.
He dug the heel of his hand into the spot on his chest and swallowed to counter the dryness of his throat.
Calm down.
He removed his hand from the curse mark, curling his fingers into a fist until his knuckles went white. A physical sensation. A distraction from the paralyzing fear flaring through his system.
Anything could be an illusion. A fabrication of his worst nightmares.
The dogs gathered at Cassian’s legs. He took the ball and tossed it with less vigor. It traveled half the distance across the field than the other times.
“I suppose so,” he finally said. “Though some say you loathed him just as much as you longed for him.”
The words made no sense. Finnian stared at the side of his face, watching the muscles of his jaw jump beneath his skin. It was clear this topic was affecting him, and for whatever reason, Finnian was determined to know why.
Approach him with kindness.
“Why lavender?” Finnian jerked his head to the horizon, past the valley of the village to the field. Despite the trembling in his fingers, he did well to speak casually. “Is it because of the calming effect the herb has?”
Cassian did not look at him as he said, “After I became the High God of Death, I was tossed into this realm. Only, back then, it was barren. After I endured seven days and nights of the Bleeding, I was wandering around when?—”
“The Bleeding?” Finnian shook his head. “It sounds like a malicious ritual.”
“After obtaining my divinity, I bled out every last drop of my mortal blood. The ritual was slow and brutal. The Bleeding took place in what is now the Serpentine Forest.”
Cassian took a heavy breath before continuing. “Back then, my emotions were heightened, and I was overcome with sorrow, unable to process the pain and devastation of my death as a mortal. I collapsed in the field and dreamt of my mother’s lavender tea. She would crush dried stalks of it with the tips of her fingers, which always left the pleasant fragrance embedded in her hair and clothes. It was a cherished memory that brought me comfort. When I woke, the Land was a lavender meadow.”
Finnian imagined Cassian, young and wounded, dropped in a vast realm full of gray nothingness—right after being murdered and forced to duel the personified being of Death. It must’ve been difficult to bear the weight of such turmoil.
“And the Grove of Mourning?” Finnian crossed his arms, holding his gaze on the side of Cassian’s profile, coaxing him to look over.
“It is where I wandered during my time of denial, refusing to accept my new responsibility as the Ruler of Death and leave behind the only life I’d ever known.”
Lower your guard.
“That is precisely what led me to the apothecary you first found me in.”
Cassian took the ball from one of the dogs and stared down at it in his palm. “Is that so?”
Become someone to him.
“My time of denial was working in that apothecary, refusing to accept that my actions were what led to my father’s demise. As well as abandoning my sister to endure our heinous family alone. After many failed attempts trying to sneak back into Kaimana, I learned Mira’s word was absolute.” Finnian paused, the harsh fact clotting in his throat. “And I was doing alright until you came and disrupted my peace.”
Cassian looked over then, eyes shining with a sentiment lost on him. “I?—”
Abruptly, his attention shifted as he tilted his head down, dropping his gaze from Finnian to the ground.
Finnian assumed the interruption was a summoning. Not that he had much experience with the unexpected disruption—thanks to Mira wrecking his ear. Apparently, his impairment blocked all connections to hearing summons.
A beat passed.
Cassian twisted around, handing the ball off to a Doberman. “Keep them in line, Lucy.”
He disappeared and reappeared a few yards to Finnian’s right, beneath a wisteria where his suit jacket hung on a short branch jutting out from the trunk. He dusted off the wool material and slipped it on.
Clasping the center button of the jacket, he took a step and materialized in front of Finnian. A gust of citrus and spice lightly swept across his face. “You are wrong about something.”
“I doubt so,” Finnian said in a snide manner.
“Mira’s word is not absolute.” Cassian pushed back his windswept strands, completing his immaculate look. “Mine is.”
Finnian’s pulse fired at the mention of his mother. “I take it you are going somewhere, then?”
He flashed Finnian a sly look, his lips slanting, as he held out his hand between them. “Come along, Little Nightmare. It seems a middle goddess has challenged your mother for her title.”