Chapter 11 Caelus
Caelus
The first thing that hit me when we shadowstepped to the Isle of Judgement was the chaos and cacophony of death.
The second was an errant shade. It passed through my skull with an icy wail, in a much too violating way, causing a violent shudder. And while I couldn’t see the shade in question, I could hear it. Feel it. Smell it.
Something within me had been inextricably altered when I died and came back again. My soul had brushed up against that veil between life and death, ensnaring something — or perhaps ensnared by something else — as Nyssa dragged it back down into my broken body.
Maybe I didn’t fully come back. Maybe I was doomed to walk both sides of that intangible veil. My gaze flicked over to Nyssa’s profile — maybe she was doomed in exactly the same way.
I now knew that shades felt cold — painfully, achingly glacial. They smelled of frost on an early winter morning; crisp, clean, and so icy that inhaling burned your sinuses. And Furies, they were loud — keening and wailing — singing the last songs of their mortal existences.
Hephaestus and Archimedes carefully set the repaired keystone in place at the top of the first arch. They were seemingly unbothered by the riot of tortured souls raging around them; unaware that we were wading through the remnants of vociferant, displaced souls.
Solely a death god thing, then — noted. Lykos, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Too much to list, godling. He sniggered at his own, rare joke. But in this case, death has staked its claim on you. What that means, we are yet to realise.
Brilliant.
Hephaestus straightened as we approached, inclining his head respectfully. “My queen—”
“None of that, please.” She waved her hand airily. “You might as well call me Nyssa since you’re currently bending over backwards to repair what I broke.”
He quirked a crooked smile. “Not quite — these old bones aren’t what they used to be. But as you wish. We’ve completed the Elysian arch just now, although I can’t tell if it worked.”
Nyssa approached the gateway, frowning as she swatted away what I could only assume was an errant shade hovering around her face.
“You’ve repaired the stonework perfectly,” she began with a tone that promised more, “but the magic is incomplete.”
“Dare I ask what else they require?” I ventured.
She levelled me with her steely, emerald gaze — a pulse of sorrow lancing my sternum. Whatever she was about to say was not going to be pleasant news.
“Life.” Her gaze wandered back to the rebuilt arch, her fingers brushing over the impeccable stonework as she chewed on her next words.
“These gateways were built in the Underworld for a reason. Not only for Hades’ convenience, but because they ferry” — her lip trembled as the phrase slipped past them unbidden — “the dead to their earned afterlives. Afterlife. Death and life. They work in tandem here. They both hold power here. And they both must sacrifice here.”
Arch chose that moment to step forward, examining his handiwork. “I’ll do it,” he said softly. “I’ll give what needs to be given—”
“No!” Hephaestus barked, inserting himself between the arch and his son.
His thick, black brows drew down and together like warring caterpillars, framing eyes that had gone dark and flint-hard.
His blacksmith build froze, more taut than the skin of a drum, as though he were bracing for an incoming blow.
The muscles visible between the long, ebony curtains of his hair and beard stood out like twisted rope as his teeth snapped together audibly, his weathered face paling.
Nyssa placed a steady, calming hand on the Primal’s forearm, cutting short whatever it was he couldn’t bring himself to say.
“Neither of you will pay my price.” She eyed the gargantuan god with severity. “Although everyone knows I brought Caelus back from the dead, few know how I actually did it — or how close we — how close I came to losing him forever.”
Her sorrow coiled around my heart like a scaled serpent, squeezing and entwining with my own until I couldn’t tell them apart.
“It seems I inherited dual powers,” she explained, startling them both into stunned silence. “Death from my father…”
“And life from your mother,” Hephaestus breathed, staring at her. The lines of his face crinkled into awe — I knew that feeling all too well.
She nodded.
“I possess the tiniest, purest remnant of life. And while I don’t yet know how to wield it, I will learn.
Quickly. So that I can offer the gateways that which they crave, without taking it from elsewhere.
Please repair the other two as quickly as you’re able to.
I know you aren’t aware of it, and count yourselves lucky” — she grimaced — “but you’re drowning in shades. ”
Arch’s face fell into a look of pure disgust.
“And sooner or later, they’re not going to be content with staying down here.”
“They’ll leave?” he asked.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
My input was cut short by a static zap — a sharp sting across my cheekbone.
These blasted powers. Can’t even control them when I’m not using them.
I hadn’t sent the words to Nyssa, but she stared at me with wide green eyes as I thought them.
What is it? I asked her.
She jolted. Nothing, she answered slowly. I thought… no. No. It was nothing.
I frowned but let it go. She had enough on her plate right now, what with war looming, and the mountains of displaced souls — including her brother, in all but blood — who was potentially my brother in blood.
That was a problem for tomorrow, too.