22. The Land of the Dead
22
THE LAND OF THE DEAD
Tremors rumbled from the Mortal Land. Sorrow seeped beneath the soil of the earth and bled into the Land of the Dead. Cassian could feel it. A twinge of despair, a cresting storm preparing to uproar.
His stomach twisted with each passing second, anticipating the call of his name through a summons.
He stood on the bridge overlooking the glittering lilac water of the River of Souls. Their wraith-like forms crawled onto the bank and took form. Nathaira greeted them with white butterflies adorning the air around her.
The Errai guided the souls on their journey to the Lavender Fields of Healing. While their personas could not match the cheeriness of Nathaira’s, their layers of silver chiffon and marble masks were far less daunting than the executioners’ attire.
Mavros appeared at Cassian’s side, the sound of his presence like water being sucked between teeth. “My lord, it is done. The executioners are on their way with Tamesis.”
A middle goddess of slaughter. Also the daughter of the High Goddess of War. They both favored Silas, the mortal, with bloodlust and a vengeance against his family for banishing him years prior.
Cassian balled his hands in his pockets as Julian Vincent stepped onto the bank. Silas’s brother, the one who longed for peace.
It appeared there was finally a victor in the War of Sons.
“Take him to the Grove of Mourning,” Cassian ordered. “His death was gruesome, and he will need time to heal.”
The situation was tiresome. Tamesis had stepped out of line and murdered the mortal that the High Goddess of Peace favored. She would be punished for interfering. Not on behalf of the mortal she’d slaughtered in a vile, repulsing way, but because if she went without punishment, the High Goddess of Peace and the deities who had sided with Julian would retaliate.
Cassian despised politics, but it was the Council’s duty to maintain the order and law of their world.
“Right away, my lord.” Mavros said, bowing his chin.
As the attendant backed away, preparing to teleport, Cassian lifted his hand to stop him. “Mavros, one more thing.”
Mavros paused and slightly angled his head towards him. “Yes?”
“Please go to Finnian and inform him that I am dealing with a matter.” Once Tamesis arrived, he would be responsible for her punishment. “I will come to him when I am able, or he may come to me, if he wishes.”
“Of course.” Mavros vanished.
In the three years they’d been together, it became a norm for Finnian to ask about Vale or the way the Land operated, but when Cassian offered to bring him to his home, the idea never sat well. Whether it was facing the reality of his father or simply being surrounded by a permanent end, it was clear that Finnian had no interest in stepping foot inside the Land of the Dead.
While Cassian respected his feelings, he longed to share it with Finnian; to show him death wasn’t as grim and hopeless as he believed it to be. That, and there was the simplicity of how much he missed Finnian. Two weeks in the Mortal Land had waned by since Cassian had visited, and it felt like his own personal prison sentence.
Cassian let out an exhale. The ripples of his divine energy encased around him in dark tendrils as he prepared to teleport to Moros.
The iron door to Tamesis’s chamber swung open and Cassian strode out. Her wails echoed down the corridor as the door fell shut behind him.
Her punishment had been decided among the Council. Cassian was to do to her what she had done to Julian, and then she would suffer her sentence in isolation, under an illusion of eternal starvation.
Cassian’s performance of torture smeared specks of dried rust down the front of his waistcoat. The urgency to clean it was sharp, but he settled for pulling his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe away the blood drizzled across his cheek.
After finishing the most macabre part of his job, the scenery distorted and Cassian’s foot touched down on the stone pathway, surrounded by the sage and freshly budded rosemary of Finnian’s Grove.
He needed somewhere tranquil to come down at, for the dissociation to fade—the void that overtook him each time he was forced to inflict pain on another. Contrary to his title and reputation, he never took much pleasure in his divine power or the strength that came with it in his seasoned age.
Loosening the cravat knot at the base of his throat, he made his way around the overgrown hemlock to his favorite bench.
Only, it was not empty.
Cassian skid to a stop, admiring the back of Finnian’s inky-black strands tied behind his relaxed shoulders.
The heaviness in Cassian’s chest gave way to the sight of him.
He’d dreamed about this moment. To have Finnian sitting in the grove he had crafted for him. To spend mornings sitting on that same bench and watch Finnian foraging the herbs for whichever potion or spell he was currently working on.
Cassian walked lightly, his limbs feeling weightless as he drew closer.
“Finny,” he said as a greeting. A gentle way to announce his presence, knowing since he approached from the right that Finnian’s hearing aid may not pick up on his footfalls right away. “You are here.”
Finnian angled his head sideways to regard him. “I am,” he said, smiling warmly. “Though I think your attendant is paranoid that I am going to steal the souls. He has checked up on me every ten minutes.”
Cassian chuckled and claimed the seat beside him. “I have no doubt that he recited a lengthy set of rules to you.”
“The Ruler of Death’s job is endless, it seems.” He swiped his thumb over the blood smudge on Cassian’s cheek. Magic prickled in his pores.
“I guess my handkerchief didn’t suffice.”
Finnian wiped another spot along his brow and surveyed his face for any missed spots. “I know how you loathe the feeling of blood on you.”
Cassian’s heart warmed, and he gave Finnian’s hand a light squeeze. “I appreciate the gesture.”
It had been over five thousand years since the day he and his siblings were murdered, and how he’d been forced to lay and bleed every last drop of mortal blood from his body in the Serpentine Forest. Memories weathered and stripped from the time that had passed by.
Though, no matter the years, a speck of blood on his skin still made his pulse jump and his vision tunnel.
“What is this place?” Finnian lounged back on the bench and peered through the garden. “Mavros was vague when I asked.”
Cassian stretched out his leg and rested it against Finnian’s. “It is called Finnian’s Grove.”
Finnian turned his head to look at him, eyebrows raised, eyes widened slightly.
“I do enjoy evoking new expressions on your face.” He grinned, reaching up and playfully pinching at Finnian’s cheek.
“ My grove?” He straightened on the bench and peered out at the blossoms, the hawthorn trees budded with berries, the calm current of the stream.
Cassian joined his hands together in his lap. “Yes, it has all the magical herbs and plants a mage could desire. It was after I left you at the cemetery. Five years went by and each day was insufferable. To cope with the ache, I would come sit here in my free time and daydream about what to fill the empty space with. All the ingredients you needed for your witchcraft, a place to wander when you desired to clear your head.”
Finnian grew quiet, his eyes drifting in thought. “To waste the day away in bed together,” he murmured. “Spend my days foraging and crafting potions, uninterrupted. Never burdened by the stretches of time we are forced to endure now without seeing one another.” He turned to Cassian with a sad slant to his lips. “Sounds like a dream.”
A long strand of hair escaped his tie and fluttered in the breeze. Cassian reached up and pushed it behind his shoulder. “Anything you want, Finny, and I will make sure it's yours.”
“And if I said I want forever?” he asked with a sense of deliberation, searching Cassian’s gaze.
It was a loaded question.
A somberness hardened Cassian’s expression.
Thinking too far into their future twisted his gut. Ruelle had cast a toxic shadow of her presence everywhere in their relationship. Through each moment of tenderness and happiness, Cassian had to wonder when such joy would be taken away from him.
He had not spoken to Finnian of Ruelle in years, and Finnian had not brought her up once. It was a topic neither wished to face the reality of.
Although Finnian did not know the details, he was smart enough to assume Ruelle was a thorn in Cassian’s side. She had become an item on their to-do list that they both willingly kept overlooking.
Then there was the secret that had its teeth in Cassian’s throat, biting deeper each day.
How was he supposed to tell Finnian of his plan to curse Naia? Not once, but twice? Chain her to Kaimana and then take her child. Finnian loved his sister dearly and would put her happiness over his own. And if Cassian had to choose between the two, he would always choose Finnian.
No matter how grim the road would be, Cassian would possess the Himura demigod blood and inject Ruelle’s heart with it.
His jaws pulsed, and he lowered his hand to his lap. His stomach soured with the secret burning on his tongue. “I will do everything in my power to grant it to you.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
“You once told me long ago how you were tired of life.” Finnian’s eyes pressed with intensity into his, touching the deepest parts of him. “Is that still the case?”
Cassian recalled the moment he referred to. In Augustus, on the bank of the stream, sitting next to him while he twirled a moonflower in between his fingers. It was the first time in a long while he’d felt a semblance of contentment.
He reached over and lightly squeezed Finnian’s hand. “Life is never tiring when I am with you.”
Finnian held his eyes for a moment longer, pleased by his answer, before he straightened and looked out past the entrance of the iron gates towards the rows of lemon trees.
“You really do enjoy the taste of lemon.” A lightness fell back into his tone.
Cassian rested his arm along the back of the bench, enjoying the tickle of Finnian’s strands. “It is nostalgic. Iliana used to squeeze the fruit and garnish the beverage with mint during hot summer days when Acacius and I were children.”
“During your mortal days?”
“Yes. Our mother died shortly after Acacius was born, so Iliana filled that motherly role for us.”
Finnian rotated his head and Cassian noted the subtle interest in his expression. “Do you ever see her? Your mother, I mean.”
“She chose to move on to the Paradise of Rest. A place souls can reside peacefully and?—”
“ Rest ?” Finnian teased.
Cassian rolled his eyes, amused. “I see her every once in a while, but only when she calls for me. I try to avoid disturbing those in their eternal peace.”
“It is nice.” Finnian stared out at nothing in particular, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth. “That you can see her whenever you desire.”
Cassian sensed the anguish drowning him. He saw it in his eyes when he spoke of Vale. Each time he had told Cassian a story of his childhood with his father and Naia. His voice lowered almost into a whisper, and he always averted his gaze.
“If you wish to see him?—”
“I don’t wish to.”
“But if you did, all you need to do is call out his name.”
Finnian turned his head towards him with a touch of bemusement. “Simply call out his name?”
Cassian shifted in his seat, running his tongue over the back of his teeth. He rarely said the next part aloud. “Vale is in Moros, yes, but I do not confine him to his prison. He is wise and knows if he were to try to escape, he would not benefit from it. From time to time, when Acacius is not in the Land, he will visit Nathaira in her meadow, but he rarely does so. The Council believes he is wasting away in an illusion of eternal thirst.”
“If I call for him in your Land, he will come to me?” Finnian asked, dubiously, brow knitted. “His name alone, or can I call him by father ?”
A small smile formed on Cassian’s lips. He loved how thorough his Little Nightmare was. “Either. Vale would recognize one of his children by their breath alone.”
Finnian nodded slowly in agreement, eyes gleaming and drifting away from Cassian. He leaned over and propped his elbows on his knees, running a hand over his face and gripping at his chin. “I suppose he would.”
“Your father would love to see you?—”
“Show me your Land.” Finnian abruptly stood and looked down at Cassian. The trace of his frown, the moisture pricking at his eyes, the sadness pulling at his features, all of it was gone.
The belief that his father would be disappointed in him was a burden he would continue to carry. Cassian could tell him hundreds of times how Vale didn’t feel that way at all, but those were words Finnian needed to hear directly from his father.
The fact was, he was there, showing interest in Cassian’s Land, and that was more than enough. Death was something he vehemently disagreed with, and yet, he’d come, despite the discomfort it brought. Cassian would take the opportunity to show him around, hoping to change his perception of death—even if just by a little.
He let out a breath as rose to his feet and held out his hand for Finnian to grab onto. “How do you feel about pomegranates?”
“Let me guess.” Finnian intertwined their fingers together. “It’s called the Pomegranate Orchard ?”
Cassian laughed, leading him to the hawthorn coppice. “Let us start there.”