Chapter 2 A Lost Legacy #2
“One of these pyromancers—the High King’s brother—rose to become arch-druid,” Mor continued. “He encouraged the king to push the boundaries of his power … to take control over life and death itself.”
The fine hair on the back of Lara’s neck stood to attention. That was quite an ability—one she wouldn’t want. To wield it was to make yourself a god. It was risky. Arrogant.
“The arch-druid chose The Shattered Crown for his ritual … a broken stone circle in the far north, on the shores of the Darkmere,” Mor said.
“The veil was thin there. Like the other standing stones of Albia, it was made long ago by the Ancients … long before my time. However, The Shattered Crown has always been different from its cousins … it holds no earth magic and has never provided a portal between Albia and Sheehallion. No one is sure why the Ancients built it so, or of its original use … but your ancestors decided it was perfect.”
“What did they do?” Lara asked, though dread was already pooling in her gut.
“They created a breach in the veil between this world and The Threshold.” Mor’s expression remained impassive.
“The arch-druid had an iron ring forged with a piece of amber set into it … amber he fed with his own blood over many moons of ritual, binding it to his fire magic. He and a group of pyromancers then traveled to The Shattered Crown and, together, they burned a narrow tear in the veil. The arch-druid then used that ring—the Ord-ree seal—to stabilize the tear and keep it open.”
Lara frowned. The Threshold was the liminal space between worlds, where spirits of the dead lingered for a short while before passing to the Otherworld or Underworld.
However, some malevolent spirits, like the Slew, remained there.
“I can’t believe my ancestors would mess with something so dangerous. ”
“They had to … if they wished to bring back the recently departed,” Mor replied.
“Those of their choosing, of course. Shortly after the breach was created, the High King lost his beloved daughter to illness. He wanted her resurrected.” She paused.
“And through sacrifice at the stone circle, they brought her back from the dead.”
Lara’s throat suddenly felt dry and tight. Gods. They’d actually done it.
“The ring was designed to be worn by fire-wielders,” Mor went on.
“It needs to be actively maintained … fed power through the bloodline connection. As long as a fire-wielder wears it, the tear will remain stable and controlled. Small enough for their purposes, yet preventing anything undesirable from escaping.”
“What went wrong?” Cailean asked.
“The fire-wielders were slaughtered.” Mor’s voice flattened.
“All of them. Ill-feeling had festered for decades. There were tales of villages burned and power abused … of pyromancers going mad and incinerating everything within reach. When Albia outlawed fire magic, the Marav made it a death sentence … and they hunted the fire-wielders down. They dragged them from their homes and put them to the sword. And when the last one died, knowledge about the tear in the veil and the ring went with them.”
“So, what do you know about the ring?” Lara’s voice came out hoarse.
“For centuries, the rulers of your line have worn the Ord-ree seal as a family heirloom, not realizing magic lay dormant in their veins or what the ring truly was.” Mor’s gaze fixed on Lara’s hand.
“Without a fire-wielder to maintain it for so long, it’s likely the ring has been slowly failing.
Like a fire starved of fuel. The ‘controlled tear’ has been gradually widening. ”
Lara’s chest tightened. “But I’m wearing it now. Shouldn’t that help?”
“You’ve awakened it,” Mor said, her tone softening slightly. “But I fear the damage has already been done. Indeed, given recent events, you may have made the situation worse.”
Lara stared at the ring on her finger with new horror. “I’m the reason the spirits are flooding through?”
“The ring is the reason,” Mor corrected her. “Your family created this crisis over two thousand years ago. You simply … woke it up.”
A brittle silence fell.
“What if I took it off?” Lara’s pulse quickened, panic fluttering up. “Would that help?”
Mor huffed a sigh. “I doubt it … the rift isn’t likely to shrink.
” She paused then. “After consulting with my archivists, I sent warriors to The Shattered Crown a few days ago. It was a risky mission, but they managed to climb up to the stone circle. They returned with ill news. The tear is wide now … wider than it’s ever been.
Wraiths are flowing through in numbers we've never seen before. And the more of them there are, the bolder they become.”
“That’s why the Slew are so restless these days?” Lara breathed.
“Aye … they grow in number and in strength. Unchecked, they will likely challenge Shee and Marav alike for the rule of Albia.”
Cailean made a noise in the back of his throat. “You believe the Unforgiven are capable of marshaling themselves into an army … of taking us on?”
“They already are.”
The chief-enforcer’s jaw flexed. No doubt he was remembering what had happened at Duncrag the previous Gateway. Lara didn’t argue with Mor on that point either.
Despite the chill night, she started to sweat. There was no denying that the spirit world had grown problematic. There was no denying they were in trouble. She cleared her throat. “Can the gap be sealed?”
“Perhaps.”
“That’s why you’re here, right?”
“Aye.” The Raven Queen stepped forward then. Next to Lara, both Cailean and Bree stirred. Skaal began to growl, low in her throat. It took all Lara’s self-control not to reach for her cairn stone.
But Mor ignored everyone except her. “I can’t make you any promises,” she said firmly. “But if we want to have any chance of fixing this, we will need to work together.”