Elder
There are no strings to pull. There are no chinks in her armor. She has no family to be manipulated or lovers to be slain. Her iron will is drenched in the blood of those who stood between her and her desires. She is a leader and an empress. She is the greatest threat this world has ever seen.
The castle’s metal doors open to a stone antechamber. A pair of braziers sit in recesses bookending another passageway that leads further down.
Above the passage is a chiseled message in the same unrecognizable language. I glance at Mary, who’s watching me closely.
“What’s that say?” I ask, pointing to the markings.
“For in time we all die,” she says quietly, looking up to the lettering as well. “It’s in a dead language.”
“You sure do have a time motif here,” I mumble as I follow her deeper into the passage.
“This is the Cradle,” she says, taking the steps like she knows exactly where they are, not caring about the pitch-black darkness like the rest of us mortals.
“Cradle?” I huff out and miss a step, nearly careening forward if it weren’t for a flash of shadows that spike out and prop me upwards.
I hadn’t meant to do that.
“Our origin. The first of the buildings carved under Old Chicago,” Mary continues as if I hadn’t nearly broken my back.
Again.
She’s quiet as we continue down the stairs. Instead of doing so blindly, I let my shadows spill out so they feel each of the stone steps before I reach them.
The lights brighten as we reach the floor of the stairs. I glance behind me and see nothing but an inky darkness. The entire place seems devoid of Affliction-related power.
Which is highly unusual, given the prevalence even outside in the main cavern.
“Speak only when spoken to,” Mary orders, tone somehow more icy than before. She doesn’t even look at me before pushing open a set of doors between two lit braziers similar to the ones upstairs.
“Sure thing,” I grumble. “I’ll sit here with my ghosts and mind my damn business.”
Clearly my charm is broken again, because Mary doesn’t look back as the doors begin to swing back on me.
I lengthen my steps and close in behind her as the doors swing shut, echoing loudly.
The interior of the Cradle seems to be like a meeting place, an unoccupied podium at its center.
Along each wall is a balcony that circles the recessed bowl. A lavish-looking chair sits at spaced intervals, six in total. And in each is a person that looks down on me like a bug to be squashed.
To my left is a particularly were-wolf-ish man.
Beside him is a man in dark green robes.
The firelight behind his head only gives me the barest hint of lighter skin and blindfolded eyes.
Next to him is a cloaked figure with an all-white mask.
The mask is fixed in a neutral expression and looks like the kind you might see in a pre-Second Disruption theater.
Beside them is an empty seat that looks a little more important than the other three.
On my right sit two women, I think. The first is definitely a woman. Her blood-red hair seems to undulate in a windless breeze. She wears a revealing cloak that shows off enough cleavage for me to see even from down here.
And beside her is a person who seems slim enough to be feminine. They have a mask that looks like a large, carnivorous cat. Beside her is a staff that they roll between gloved fingers. The staff itself looks unadorned, but I can only imagine the damage it could do.
“Took you long enough,” the werewolf growls from his position. The man beside him laughs softly.
I glance to Mary, but she’s gone. And the sixth chair is filled. Which leaves me standing at the center of the room.
Alone.
“I introduced Hiraeth to the people, as is our way, Beowulf,” Mary says, tone brooking no argument.
Of course his name is Beowulf.
“Ah,” the man in the green cloak leans forward, his blindfolded eyes becoming much more clear now. Even so, he looks down at me like he can see through the thick cloth. “Is that what we’re calling her now?”
“That is the identity she chose,” Mary responds, tone tight and authoritative. Almost uncaring.
Mary sits forward in her chair and snaps her fingers. Fires blaze to life across the room, transforming the entire scene into something far more ghastly.
Rather than bathing the room in light, the fires only cast further shadows. And the spirits seem to dance in their excitement at the thick patches of darkness.
They multiply even as I watch. A few appear in the silhouette behind Mary. Some behind the red-haired woman, and quite a few simply stand around me. Their voices already turn to hisses and whispers as I wait for the council to continue.
“They’re going to kill you,” one hisses and I flinch at its proximity.
The movement doesn’t go unnoticed by the cloaked figure beside Mary.
“Is something wrong, Hiraeth?” their voice sounds masculine but it’s monotone, like their mask might really be their perpetual mood.
My eyes flick to Mary before I shake my head, “No, just tired.”
“You slept for a week,” the man in green says, voice much higher pitched than I’d have expected.
“She broke her back fighting Darkrend, Loki,” the red-haired woman says, scowling at the other man. “Bite your tongue.”
“Enough,” Mary’s voice echoes through the room.
I return my gaze back to her. Her expression is an unreadable mask—like it had been this morning. Whatever warmth had been there seems to have been doused with the return to this place.
Typical.
“Yes?” Mary directs the question at me, and I realize I must have snorted in my derision.
“Am I allowed to talk?” I ask, titling my head. “I’m a little fucking confused right now. And as much as I love being in the dark, I’d like to know what’s going on.”
My attempt at a jab misses entirely as Mary’s hardened expression deepens.
“This meeting is not to inform you,” the figure beside Mary says. “It is for the God Queen to debrief us.”
“Oh, God Queen, is it?” I ask, shooting Mary grin that no longer feels very warm. “My powers are back, and unless you need me, I’ll be heading out.”
“No,” Mary says, leaning forward. “I wish to discuss the next steps. And as an acolyte, you will heed my instructions.”
My jaw tenses as I bite back words that would end up hurting me more than her. Physically, at least.
Because there’s no way I beat Bloody Mary on her home turf. Or at all, really.
“Darkrend knows her true identity,” Mary continues, looking to the council now. “He had the other subject in the room with him before she and Omen escaped.”
Subject?
The fire in my chest burns out immediately as I realize the gravity of her words.
“Told you,” A voice whispers and I see the movement of something in my periphery.
Anxiety erupts from the smoldering ruin of anger, and I take a tentative step backwards.
“We are still no closer to understanding Darkrend’s plan nor why he seems to be working with Damien Roberts and DAEMON,” she continues. “I believe the next steps will be to investigate that connection now that we have successfully taken a piece off the table.”
The portal opens behind me as I try to think of anywhere that might be safer than here. I’d been so stupid to believe her.
“Hiraeth,” Mary’s voice cuts through the spirits whispering. It’s so fucking loud.
“Don’t worry,” I say, my voice disgustingly broken despite it all. “I’ll be out of your hair. Enjoy your war with Darkrend.”
The darkness swallows me whole and I float weightlessly in the silence.
Maybe I can just stay here. It would be safer. But safety doesn’t get rid of the voices. The magic did—whatever that means.
I fall lightly out of the shadows and into the room I’d woken up in. It’s unchanged from before, but I hear something like thunder in the distance.
“Fuck,” I grunt and push open the door tentatively. Like before the place is deserted.
And the elevator sits at the top of the hill.
The cry of a creature splits the air. A vastly inhuman cry.
And I see her above the buildings now. I can’t beat her. Especially not when she’s strong enough to take Darkrend one-on-one. The asshole all but broke me with a single swing.
I reappear at the top of the mountain, the lofty underground shadows making it easy to move without many stops.
I jam my thumb into the elevator’s button, but it doesn’t move. The damn thing looks older than God with rust and exposed gears all around it.
“Arya, let me explain,” a soft voice comes from behind me.
Shadows flare at my ankles and launch at Mary. I don’t turn to look but can sense the way they shrivel and die before they even reach her. Fear pushes my power further and one licks at her arm, drawing blood.
I keep jamming at the button, hoping it changes.
“Fuck this,” I growl and fall back into the shadows.
Only instead of appearing on the surface, I fall from the vaulted ceiling. The entire facility is insanely huge and, apparently, able to block my power from letting me out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I scream out and spread out tentacles of darkness, exhausting whatever reserves I had from my time unconscious.
They latch onto the buildings as I fall and I hit the dirt roughly beside where I’d been only moments ago. A sickly pop accompanies the impact, and I fail to breathe around lungs that no longer have air.
“Shit,” I gasp out, not knowing where Mary is. “Stay away from me. I’m not—”
A sharp burn coats my insides, cutting off my tirade.
“I’m not your fucking test subject—” my head swims with what looks to be two of Mary standing over me. I can’t even see the look on her face.
Probably nothing. Probably emotionless.
“God,” tears form at the corners of my eyes. “I can’t even get out. You’ve trapped me down here. Good fucking job.”
There’s voices somewhere nearby. Angry voices.
“Kill me,” I let out in a wet sob. “Just end it. I don’t want to be your weapon. You fucking promised.”
The shadows darken and my sight fails to pierce them. They descend on me like I’m wounded prey.
“It’s because you are,” hisses one.
“How the fuck can you read my mind now,” I wheeze, the sharp pain in my side feels similar to when Darkrend had hit me.
The world fades into muffled noises and then just the thudding of my own heart.