Chapter 37
STEPPING THROUGH THE LIQUID SILVER was an experience unlike any other I’d ever had in all my years of questing. The magic poured over me like warm water, hovering over my skin but not quite touching, raising the fine hairs on my arms and the back of my neck.
One moment I was on the rugged, rocky ground, and the next I was in a…
meadow. But not like any meadow in our world.
The grass was a soft blue and springy beneath my feet.
The trees climbed dizzyingly high and had purple trunks and pink leaves and twisting violet vines.
The sky was a bright green—like the Northern Sea I’d just flown over—and it rippled with frothy clouds.
My eyes burned, as it was all almost too much to take in—the vibrancy of the colors, the flip of the sky and the ground, the warmth of the air, humid and damp, heavy in my lungs.
Silver droplets of water slicked my skin, beading on my clothes, making them appear as if they’d been sequined.
Aven gasped as they stepped through the eye and joined me, their eyes wide, their grasp tight on my arm.
“What is this place?” they breathed, taking it all in.
“The invisible realm of the Elder Beast, I imagine.” On the other side of the eye, I could see Dave waiting for us, though he was muted, like a painting where all the colors had washed out—or that could be the result of staring at the spectrum of color on this side of the needle.
They gulped. “Well then.” They pulled an arrow from their quiver and nocked it on their bow. “We should be prepared.”
I nodded and drew my sword, the weight of it comforting in my grasp, the leather-wrapped hilt plush against my palm.
Together we crept through the meadow, our footsteps flattening the blue grass.
The air we breathed was sweet yet cloying, almost as pungent as the perfumes some of the lieges and courtiers wore in court.
I wished for the canteen I’d left on the other side, and I didn’t dare sip from the puddles of silver water we avoided.
We stepped around pink bushes with black buds, over sprawling white roots of trees, and past beds of green and deep-blue flowers. I wanted to pick one for Aven, but the petals were odd and waxy to the touch, and I didn’t want to risk inciting the Elder Beast’s ire before we’d even met it.
“We could get lost in here,” Aven muttered as we came to a flowing river, the water tumbling over golden rocks. On the other side was another blindingly bright meadow.
We stopped at the bank. “Should we… call for the Elder Beast?” I asked. “Let it know that we’re here?”
“You want to invite it to kill us quicker?” Aven asked, hands clenched around their bow.
“If William Smith lived to tell the tale, surely we’ll be fine.” I held on to that hope, because as Dave had said, there was no defeating a primordial in a battle.
“What’s your plan, then? Care to let me in on it?”
“Well, remember how I confronted Lord Ethan… twice? That. That’s my plan.”
“Seriously? And what am I to do while you’re distracting it?”
“Shoot it if you can, I guess. If things go wrong.”
“Great. So I can die first.”
“Love interests often do.”
Aven stopped short. “Is that what you think I am? Because—”
A twig snapping near us silenced us both, and we tensed.
I reflexively dropped into a battle stance, while Aven drew back their arrow.
A rustle of bushes followed, and from between two purple-and-silver trees, the Elder Beast emerged, walking toward the river as if Aven and I didn’t exist at all. Or, more likely, posed no threat.
It stood on slender legs akin to those of a bull.
It had the face and torso of a brown spotted deer, and the wings of an eagle sprouted from its back.
A black horse tail flicked behind it. But the most important detail was the bone-colored horn that sprouted from its forehead.
It was long and sharp, gently curving upward.
The Elder Beast lowered its head and drank from the river, unbothered by our presence. Its magnificent, feathered wings flexed, then folded against its back, and its large hooves carved furrows in the dirt as it pawed the ground.
Aven and I stood frozen, unable to do anything other than watch as it drank.
It lifted its head and stared at me, and its eyes—dark, limitless pools—met mine.
“Ellinore the Brave,” it said with a small bow of its head. “And Princet Aven of the kingdom of Avoury. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”
I dropped the tip of my sword, awkwardly standing from my crouch. “You know us?”
“Of course,” it said, its voice high and soft. “I know all the heroes. Those who came before and those who have yet to come.”
“Heroes?” Aven asked. They eased the tension on their bowstring. “But I’m not…” They motioned at me. “We’re not…”
“Not yet,” the Elder Beast said. “Someday.”
Aven’s mouth fell open. They dropped their arrow, blinked as if coming out of a daze, then scrambled after it. I’d have to tease them about it later. If there was a later.
“So,” I said, “you know why we’re here.”
The beast made a noise like birdsong, as if in thought. “You’re here for me.” It nodded toward our weapons. “Those won’t help you. I am immortal, like the Hydra you awakened.”
I held up my free hand. “To clarify, that was not us.”
It made another noise, this time like the bark of a fox, and I realized it was laughing. “Luckily for humanity, my fellow immortal returned to sleep until a time arrives when the world requires a new ocean.”
My mouth went dry. “So the Hydra did shape the world?”
“Of course,” the Elder Beast said, tilting its head to the side to regard me like one might regard a child. “All of the immortals had a hand in creating the world in which you live. Do you not know?”
Aven and I exchanged a glance. “No. Not really. A lot of that is… lost.”
The Elder Beast blinked, its eyelashes long and curled, framing its large doe eyes. “A shame.”
“Yes. But that’s not why we’re here.” I had no idea if changing the subject was rude, but we had only two days left. And if sunsets worked here the same way they did outside, the sky’s shift from a frothy turquoise to an eye-watering yellow indicated we might have even less.
“Please, tell me why you’ve disturbed my rest.”
Oh. That wasn’t quite hostile, but I did detect a little annoyance behind that statement.
“My brother made a bargain with a council of mages.” Aven, thankfully, did not correct me.
“He wagered that I could find the mythical, powerful, graceful, and beautiful”—no hurt in buttering it up a bit, though Aven’s incredulously raised eyebrow might give me away—“Elder Beast and retrieve its horn. If I lose, he has to give the mages his heart.”
The Elder Beast tilted its head at me once more.
“He’ll die,” I added. “My brother. He’ll die if I don’t bring back your horn.”
It laughed again. “I will not willingly hand over my horn.”
My whole body went cold. “But… my brother—”
“I’ll make you a different sibling,” it said, pawing at the ground. “Humans are easy to form.”
I flinched. Aven stepped close to my side, seemingly as fearful as I was at how nonchalantly the Elder Beast had suggested swapping out one human for another.
“No. No. I would like to keep the brother I have. He may be annoying, but I love him. We haven’t been on the best of terms, but we’ve just started to rebuild our relationship. ”
The Elder Beast regarded me with a critical eye.
“Please,” I said again. “I know it’s a monumental ask, but is there any way you would… give me your horn?”
“No.”
My heart sank. I tightened my grip on my sword. It would be a horrible idea to try to fight the beast, then take the horn, especially if the Elder Beast was half as powerful as the Hydra. But I wouldn’t give up. We’d come so far already. The horn was within my grasp.
“I understand your attachment to your horn, but I am very much attached to my brother, my twin—”
“You humans. You take, and you kill, and then you celebrate it all. You have driven my other creations to the edges of the world. Among the ancients, only two dragons remain. A handful of Harpies. A single manticore. And I haven’t felt or seen a griffin in years.
And the others—the folklores—are just waiting to suffer the same fate.
Why would I give you my horn when I am the only being who can right the balance that humans have threatened? ”
Its eyes bored into me, and I had to look away.
My face prickled with shame. And if Aven’s hand squeeze was any indication, they were feeling ashamed too.
I may not have joined the quests with the intent to harm ancients and folklores for sport, but I’d participated nonetheless (and won most every time, but that was the last thing the Elder Beast needed to know).
Dave was living proof that I had done my best to protect them when I could.
My head shot back up as an idea zinged through me.
I found myself stepping forward, even as Aven tugged me backward.
“What if we struck a bargain?” I asked. The Elder Beast regarded me shrewdly. It jumped over the river, as easy as breathing, and landed on the bank next to us. Aven and I skittered back in unison. Aven’s grip tightened on my wrist. I held my breath as the beast eyed us.
“What could you possibly offer me?” it said, and I could feel the warmth of its breath.
“Protection.” When it snorted, I rushed to continue. “For the other creatures, I mean. Back in our world. I can work to keep them safe.”
The Elder Beast tossed its head in irritation. “You two have killed your share. Why should I believe that you’d stay true to your word?”