29. Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nicholas
Sky Lake was not a lake in the sky, as the name might entail.
Evera stood in front of what she claimed was an entrance to the mountain.
Nicholas saw a hole in the wall, tall and thin enough for a person to squeeze through.
The mountain envied the sky, unfurling to greet it alone at the center of a wheat field.
The tip blended in with the clouds. Grass and soil crept along the rocky crevices, making once barren rocks green with life.
“There is another opening on the opposite side, but my mother’s notes said the shadowed disciples use that entrance. They were unaware of this path last she checked, so I suggest we surprise them.” Evera leaned against the rock face, prepared to go in first.
He heaved a breath through his nostrils that didn’t aid in relieving the tightness in his chest. William laid a hand on his back, the gesture as reassuring as it could be, all things considered.
“Then let us first decide on somewhat of a plan,” said Henry. He faced the group, hands clasped at his waist. “We do not know if the patients are in there. We are assuming they are, so William and Evera should make the patients their priority.”
“I am not getting between the shade and his pet,” Evera quipped, earning a sharp elbow to the side from the shade in question.
Henry raised a hand to silence Nicholas so he could explain, “Nicholas is our best defense against Fearworn should he have awakened by now and he can do the most damage to the shadowed disciples. However, one fae should be by my brother’s side in case any of the disciples escape our clutches.
Our best bet to stop them is with those who fought against them, such as Arden, Nicholas, and Charmaine. ”
“But you haven’t,” William countered. “You do not know what they are like, Henry. They’re vicious.”
“And I will stick close to Arden because of that. If we are overpowered, we flee. It is better to fight another day than die now.”
There would be no chance to flee. The others understood that based on their solemn frowns, but all agreed, if only to lessen the worry festering within.
“Alright, let’s go.” Evera ducked in first, followed by Charmaine and Arden.
William took his hand. “Keep hold of me.” Then William entered with him and finally Henry.
Darkness enveloped him. The walls encapsulated him like a bug caught in a web.
He held William fiercely, thinking of how close they were, listening to William’s breaths and the shuffling of feet.
His breath quickened faster and faster, but there, in the back of his mind, he recalled the fight with Laurent, how he won.
If Laurent ever buried him again, he could break free. He could…
“There,” said William, holding both his hands now. The medic smiled in the dim firelight cast from Charmaine’s fingertips. “We’re out.”
“Out,” he repeated. Over his shoulder, Henry squeezed through the path. His pack had more trouble getting through than him. They were safe. They weren’t buried, not yet.
The path led into a chamber taller than it was wide. Water dripped down the rocky facade. Charmaine’s flames flickered from the drops dampening their shoulders.
“This way. My mother chose a brilliant place to bring the bastard. One would have to seek this place out, which my mother would know of, and could easily defend from unwanted visitors. The shadowed disciples had no reason to move after she left, or perhaps, Fearworn can’t be moved,” said Evera at the head of the group.
The path opened further, although Nicholas never relinquished the hold on William’s hand. He needed someone to keep him steady.
“If he is tethered to Faerie, it may be this exact location,” Henry agreed. “If we could get close to him, it could be as simple as moving him from the source he’s feeding from at this moment. We won’t let him put down more roots.”
“I doubt it will be that simple,” Nicholas grumbled. Fearworn had been a thorn in all their sides for decades. He should have known the bastard would cause trouble from beyond the grave.
If the others agreed, they didn’t verbally say so.
They continued through the dimly lit hall.
Evera took them through the secret path that swerved and fell.
At one point, they slid down the rocks, and moments later, there was sunlight.
Evera raised a hand, signaling for them to be stealthy.
She fell to the floor, crawling toward a ledge.
The sunlight came from a circular opening in the mountain.
Grass and trees once soaked in the light, but now they laid rotten around the lake below.
Evera hissed in a breath, annoyed, likely at the sight of the water.
Nicholas needn’t know that, once, the water had been serene and pure.
What they gazed upon was decay, an inky sludge-like substance that laid perfectly still, absorbing the sun like a consuming void.
They weren’t alone. Shadowed disciples circled the lake.
They had made camp among the ruined trees.
The bones and carcasses of rodents scattered around a smothered fire pit.
Beside the camp were haphazard cages, but they were more than enough to hold mortals.
Fourteen more than William predicted. Nicholas kissed his knuckles when he felt them shake.
The patients were alive, but unwell, laying about the cages in their own feces, some with their ribs threatening to rip through skin.
Henry pointed to the black lake where a single mass floated; Fearworn.
What became of him, at least. The fae was more corpse than anything, made up of thin gray skin.
His once long hair had deteriorated, little more than stray strands peeking through a scabbed scalp.
His eyes were open, black as can be, and looking skyward, yet perceived nothing.
As dead as he appeared, he remained on the cusp of life.
Nicholas felt it, a heartbeat thrumming beneath his fingers, quiet as a bird.
He wouldn’t have noticed had they not been so silent and still.
Three shadowed disciples swept over to the cages. They yanked on the door and dragged out the patients. Those with enough strength shrieked and kicked. The disciples snapped their wrists. William moved. Nicholas caught the back of his shirt.
“Whatever they are planning, they are doing it now,” said Henry. “I fear we don’t have time to conjure a better plan.”
Certainly not for the disciples dragged the mortals around the lake. Three had been caught in the disciples’ hands, standing at predetermined locations.
There would be no plans. There could be no hesitation. He wanted Fearworn gone for good this time. He wanted a life with William afterward without these troubles.
“There’s a path leading down. We’ll come out at the south side of the lake,” Evera explained.
“Too slow,” he said before he leapt.
Evera cursed at him, but the disciples were working their magic.
By the time they crawled their way down, their ritual would be well on the way, if not completed.
The shadowed disciples chanted, their voices ringing as one.
The dark sound made the mountain shake. The patients struggled in their clawed grasps, too weak to fight.
He summoned a storm-like wind that ripped trees from their roots and sent the shadowed disciples to their knees.
The patients stood in place, locked in a trance, their eyes forced skyward.
Strings of coalesced silver spun from their chests to connect near the far edge of the lake.
Their skin sagged as they whined and gurgled, incapable of screaming.
He swept a hand across the lake, sending a burst of air that knocked one patient free. Their string shuddered, blinking, then disappeared as they laid, coughing and kicking. He landed beside them, using one hand to grab their shirt. He threw them back to avoid the disciple lunging at them.
“It’s too late,” the disciple cackled. “You won’t stop this. We have more than enough.”
Nicholas had always known power. She followed him since birth, a shadow clinging to his back, ever watchful.
In the last two years, she had taken on a new form, one he hadn’t quite gotten to know.
Every moment of every day, he worried what would become of him if he let her in.
If he listened to that gnawing need forever grappling for control, what would be the consequence?
Even against Laurent, Nicholas knew he had more sleeping within him, a strength that couldn’t be explained, and that strength screamed to break forth.
The disciples would give their lives to finish the ritual that would summon their beloved master to his former self.
Nicholas hadn’t truly beaten him, and he worried he wouldn’t, for Fearworn had been living with power for far longer.
If he didn’t end it all right then and there, he imagined there wouldn’t be much of a future left, considering Fearworn or The One Who Waits would devour them all.
So, he stopped trying. He let go of those walls he fruitlessly built all his life, and let power burst free.
The disciple called upon spears of ice protecting himself in a wild dance.
A wave of Nicholas’ hand shattered each of them.
He used the ice as his own, hundreds of broken pieces to lash out.
The disciple dodged haphazardly, creating a thin sheet of ice to launch.
Nicholas shattered what would have sliced him in half.
He sent the pieces down in a crash, piercing the disciples’ heart.
With a gurgled whine, the disciple dropped lifelessly to the earth.