Chapter 30 Who Is Your God Now?
Who Is Your God
Now?
T
he moon is low in the sky as I traverse the woods, settling at Azaire’s tree. The rift I made in the world sits before me, and I stare into the abyss. Would darkness be better than life?
I twirl my fingers through the grass, soaking in the life left. Before the boy, this was my company. Nature. When it all became too much, I would feel for her—Zola, the goddess of balance, present in every inch of the ground.
I pull the grass from its roots and grow it again, twice as strong.
No matter how many times I do it, it offers no peace of company.
In the end, I close my eyes, searching for the boy.
In my mind, Azaire’s tree is vibrant, bright. A beacon of light. Even in my soul I cannot escape the destination of my mourning.
The boy stands before the tree, nearly blending in.
His gaze meets mine, offering a solemn nod.
“You’re unsure,” he says. “If you are going to kill her or not.”
I inch back, angry at having the question voiced so simply. To kill or not to kill—it isn’t so clear cut.
The grievances that others feel by my power are understandable. My ability sees what should be kept concealed.
“Yes,” I answer.
The boy takes a deep breath, stepping forward as he takes me in. “Death stains a soul.”
“I know.”
“For as many woes as this life has dealt you, you have handled them with grace.”
The boy offers me a hand. I take it, and he begins walking toward the cottage.
I stop as quickly as we started. “I don’t want to go in there.”
“We must.”
It’s against my will that we enter the house. Walking past the purple kitchen, up the colorful stairs, and to the second story, with the stained-glass window and the tree growing through the floor. Hundreds of memories here turned to two deaths. Thousands of smiles turned to one frown.
“When it comes, you will put up a fight. Promise me,” the boy says.
I stare, as if I don’t know what he is saying. But it’s there—the burning in my lungs, stealing my words.
“When what comes?” I ask.
“You feel it. You’re ignoring it. But that burning is arriving, and you are stronger in a place with emotional roots.” The boy pats the top of my hand. “That’s why I brought you here. You have moments. Fight, Wendy.”
My eyes open against my will. It’s so rare for the boy to send me away—it’s only happened once before. Normally, I push him out. But the moment the thought passes, something else arrives.
The burning. The anger. The disgust. Something is approaching. I gaze out the window, waiting for a sign.
A tall, dark creature appears in the woods. Unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
Its skin is blackened like charcoal, cracked with glowing red veins. Boils and cysts throb across its arms and shoulders—some burst, leaking a dark sludge.
Arcane.
Its head tilts unnaturally, as if studying me. Blood-red eyes glow like dying stars, fixing on mine through the glass.
It doesn’t blink.
From the safety of the second floor, I wrap the Arcane’s ankles in vines. They’re thick and thorned, writhing up from the soil like serpents, tightening against its limbs.
The boy was right—my power is stronger in a place of emotional attachment. Because it’s my pain that pries the world apart. Breaking it like a heart, the way I had the last time I was in battle.
I force the ground beneath the Arcane to split.
The world shifts, the trees begin to collapse, and I tell them to. I will them to with every ounce of anger, of grief, of emotion.
The thing that once tore me apart, now shattering the world.
A tremor shudders outward. Roots rip free, the ground crumbles, and the trees fall.
Every ounce of rage, every shadow of grief—I pour it into the soil. Into the world. Into breaking it.
The Arcane jerks, fighting my restraints, but it can’t. Because I am powerful, too. I feel its fear, and it strengthens me.
The thing looks up at me as it falls into the world. I assume in despair.
Then it’s mouth opens wide, revealing a row of shattered and decayed teeth.
A smile.
As it falls, my hands explode in heat. Blistering heat, turning to burning agony. I scream as I fall to the ground, the pain sizzling through my skin. Burrowed into my blood, my bone. Spreading across my entire body.
I’m being roasted over an open fire.
But there is only wood beneath me.
It lasts for an eternity, and I know I won’t survive this.
My skin falls from muscle, muscle falls from bone, all burnt to ashes. Until there’s only darkness.
Slowly, something rounds the bend—the academy. Lucian.
But I know soon there will be nothing.
The creature inside of me—the Arcane. His name is Icarthus. He speaks to Lucian… his son. A highly-prized piece of information, one I won’t get to keep. I feel my body wither away beneath the Arcane who now wears it. Bits and pieces of the real world make it through the cracks.
A fight begins, but the Arcane does not want to fight his son. As Lucian sends me to the wall, the Arcane leaves my body.
Life suspends to something slower. My last breaths slip through my fingers. I reach for air, like grasping at smoke, knowing I will not be able to hold it again.
“Fight, Wendy!” the boy screams at me. “Fight or you will cease!”
My being is dissolving. The threads that once sewed me together are coming apart. Where my body once held the fabric, there is now a tear. A hollow ache, an endless void, swallowing my light.
It feels like my soul is being torn from existence.
“I’m ready.” I close my eyes. Finally resting. “I’m ready to give up now.”
“Wendy, don’t you dare!” he bellows.
Tears slip from my eyes, somewhere inside my mind. “Tell me I fought valiantly. Tell me I had a good run.”
“Wendy—”
“Hold me,” I say. “And tell me I did my best.”
Everything crumbles around me. I am in a world of make-believe, of red and white. The boy stands over me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him from above.
“Take my hand,” he says, reaching for me. “Take my hand, and I will bring you through this.”
I look at his hand, outstretched. He thinks he can save me. He pleads, he begs, but I can barely feel it.
I’m tired.
It’s a nice sort of tired. The peaceful kind.
But even my own mind won’t believe that.
Even my own mind denies what I long for.
I shake my head, denying his hand. “I don’t want to make it through this.”
“Wendy!”
“I give up,” I cut him off, bracing for the impact. “I give up.”
The boy says nothing, only picks me up, slinging me over his shoulder like a coat. I don’t fight because I don’t believe in what he can do.
The boy walks through this strange world. It looks like ours, except everything is tinged. The trees are red; the floors are white. The walls shatter slowly, the academy crumbling around me, and the boy runs. The trees fall; the buildings collapse. The boy pants.
Slowly, the whole facade falters. The white and red crumble into a ceaseless darkness.
“You can’t save me,” I say with a smile, feeling as my consciousness slips from existence. “It’s over.”