Chapter 34
When I tear a hole in the boundary between our world and the spiritual plane, it rips a hole in me.
I grit my teeth so hard I’m afraid they’ll shatter. My arms, straining with the tension of summoning a horde of spirits, spasm as I hold them in front of me. The cataclysmic power of what I’ve done jolts from the bottom of my feet to the top of my skull.
The spiritual plane looks as it always does: peaceful, unobstructed by material objects or structures.
The silvery, translucent spirits drift on a nonexistent breeze.
Some of them ignore my presence while others immediately notice the gaping hole in the protective veil, a wispy curtain of silver fog that’s supposed to separate the living from the dead.
They rush forward to investigate, and I struggle to hold them back.
While the spiritual plane itself, just beyond the veil, serves as an in-between space between the living world and the world beyond, their curtain is not easily torn. I don’t know if it’s ever been torn.
This is where the plan gets intense. The tear should allow many spirits to pass through, but only those I allow.
Spirits race toward the tear. Their eagerness—their curiosity—becomes mine.
I find myself wondering what it would be like to let all the spirits through.
Would I have the strength to keep them from overrunning our world?
I can’t think like that. Hold them back.
Vaguely, I’m aware of Ivander and Alana shouting my name. Asking if I’m okay. I shut them out. I can’t return to their world yet. I’m not finished in mine.
With a powerful shove of my flexed palm, I push the spirits back. That’s when I start to summon the spirits I really need. The ones who hurt the most. The ones who cry out to me, begging for a chance at justice.
The spirits come to me fast and without warning, the way a light rainstorm shifts into a sudden downpour.
They rush through the crack in the veil.
I expect to struggle with knitting the fabric of the spiritual plane back together, but it’s as if the spirits know what’s going on and want to help me. I slam the hole shut behind them.
When I open my eyes, every hair on my body stands on end. My fingers sting as I concentrate on the tethers between so many spirits. I’ve summoned more than I ever have before, but it’s not the number of spirits that matters. It’s who they are.
I have summoned the spirits of Morphics who died in this prison. The ones who died at my father’s hand as they waited for a war that never came. The ones who died because of my grandfather. His grandfather. Those who perished on the ship as it sucked them dry and consumed them.
A voice from below startles me. Ivander’s voice. “As the dead rise, so will you.”
What I take as encouragement is much more.
I realize I’m suspended in the air, floating with the energy of the spirits. I hear screams from the prison guards before I see them. For I can see them now.
I can see everything through my spirits’ eyes.
With so many spirits now in the prison, I’m unable to make them all solid. Most are half formed, composed of exposed bone, blackened, decaying flesh, and sunken, bloodshot eyes—if there are any eyes at all. But I want it that way.
I want Father to be terrified of what he’s done.
“Can you see him?” Alana whispers.
“Yes,” I say, now effortlessly calm. I no longer see Alana; I’m rooted to my spirits’ eyes. “He’s near the prison entrance. At the top between the two towers.”
But Father’s prisoners are now spilling out of their cells and onto the walkways.
They take stumbling steps on unsteady legs.
A few, out of practice, fall right off the side of the walkway, tumbling to their deaths below.
I take a breath. They’re technically in our way, but they’re still entranced and unaware of their surroundings.
I see him. My father controlling his prisoners from the bridge. His bushy brows lift, as if he’s surprised at the strength of my power. But the stern set of his jaw reminds me he’ll show no mercy.
The spirits wait for my command, hovering in midair. The prison guards lose color in their faces as the spirits descend around them.
Father regains his composure, a flush returning to his cheeks. He licks his lips, then bellows, “Don’t let her trick you! They’re only spirits. They can’t hurt you. She won’t be able to use so many at once.”
My vision snaps back to the tunnels as someone pulls hard on my calf.
“Can’t let you float around up there all day,” Leith says. He guides me back down to the tunnel floor. A rush of relief overtakes me as the other half of our group joins us in the tunnel. The spirits will continue to wait for my signal.
Eliza guards one end of the tunnel with her arrow strung while Gray brandishes a pistol at the other. I look Leith up and down, searching for the potion vial. Even with the spirits I’ve managed to conjure, it won’t be enough without him. “Did you do it?” I ask.
He reaches into his coat and pulls out a cylindrical bottle with a wooden stopper. The potion inside is a deep shade of cobalt blue. “If this works, thank Eliza. She’s the one who brought the ingredients I needed. Wasn’t too hard to mix them together.”
“Tell her the problem,” Gray growls.
Leith sighs. “He’s the lead with the bad news type.
When I uncork the bottle, the potion comes out like a storm.
It spreads and multiplies in the air, but downward, like rain.
It should work its way through the prisoners, but we need to find a way to get it to all of them.
Someone needs to get to the top of the prison and upend it over them. ”
“The staircases are too crowded,” Gray says. “And the tunnels will be swarmed soon. Even with your spirits giving us backup, we can’t get high enough, quick enough.”
“Damn,” I mutter. Our best chance is to keep using the tunnels to make our way up, but all of us know that’s going to be too slow.
We need some way to get up there faster.
The only thing I can think of is handing the potion off to a spirit, but I’m not sure I trust them to remain solid long enough to carry the bottle.
Ivander clears his throat. “I can do it.”
When we turn to face him, he continues.
“I’ve been a performer since I was a kid. Practically all my skills require upper body strength and balance.” He nods to me. “I’ll climb. There’s a bar that runs all the way up to the base of the bridge between the towers. If your spirits can give me cover, I’ll get to the top.”
My heart drops at the idea of him making this climb alone, but I force myself to nod.
Eliza smirks, clapping Ivander on the back. “I say give it a try. The rest of us will use the tunnels and meet you at the top as soon as we can.”
He straightens and takes the potion bottle from Leith. Leith holds up his finger. “Be careful with it. I don’t have enough materials to make more.”
Ivander nods and pockets the potion. He flexes his fingers and holds his arms over his head, stretching his shoulder muscles, then bends down to touch his toes.
As he bends in half, his fingers unravel his boot laces.
He removes both shoes and socks. Leith and Gray raise eyebrows as he stands and flexes his feet.
He shrugs at them. “Better traction.”
Panic rises inside me. He’s about to scale a slick iron beam, with guards and my father trying to stop him. If he falls, he’s dead. There’s no net. Nothing to catch him. It’s hard to breathe knowing I could lose him.
I stand across from him, aware there’s no more time to waste for any goodbyes.
But my fingertips brush the sharp edge of his shoulder, and I long to pull him close to me.
This boy who became my first window into the truth.
My first completely real person, not an illusion or a nightmare, on a ship full of them.
We let go of our fears together and trusted each other.
Now, I stand up for myself and my friends. Maybe I can rewrite my family legacy.
I work hard to keep the tremor out of my voice. “Be careful. Just pretend we’re onstage.”
He pauses, takes a breath. Then leans down to kiss me.
His lips brush against mine. His hands trace from my hips up my abdomen to the slope of my shoulders.
Then he pulls back and turns away. Leith and Gray smirk at me, but I don’t spare them more than a passing glance before my attention returns to Ivander.
As he heads down the tunnel with all of us watching him leave, he takes one last look back at me and winks.
Before he’s out of sight, Gray begins ushering us through the tunnels.
He kneels, examining the pattern of footprints and dirt to determine which turns to take.
Sometimes he holds up his hand to stop our progress.
Other times he signals for Eliza and me to pull back on our bowstrings and loose into the stretch of tunnels ahead.
Eliza’s crafted arrows always find their marks, slicing through throats before the prison guards can scream.
Mine are less dependable, puncturing shoulders before Gray and Leith run ahead to finish the job.
My nerves are getting the best of me. The farther we get, the more stops we make.
Guards and prisoners spill through the tunnels, either on their way to get weapons below, or coming up behind us as they try to make their way out of the prison.
Soon, we’re forced to guard both sides, and our progress is painfully slow. I can’t wait any longer. “Alana,” I say in a hurried whisper. “I need to help Ivander. Just keep an eye on me and make sure I don’t run into any walls. Eliza, you’ll be the only one with the bow for now.”
“Fine with me,” Eliza shoots back. “You haven’t exactly been helping.”