Chapter 67 #2
Reaching the exit, she squinted, her eyes adjusting, and scanned the horizon. The orb had brought her to a vast field of nursery grass and wildflowers. Aster and coneflower rustled in a warm breeze, sending petals and pollen scattering across rolling hills and glorious blue horizons.
This place was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It wasn’t just the mesmerizing beauty or the vast open space that stole her breath, though. The air here felt alive. Like the winds were its breaths. The ground beneath her expanded and retracted like inhaling lungs.
She traversed the field, letting dew-damp blades of grass lick her ankles with each stride.
The orb dimmed, but Tethys didn’t need its guiding light.
Somehow she knew which path to take. Maybe it was some long lost memory, or perhaps the Rift whispered in her ear, pointing the way, but regardless she put one foot in front of the other and kept going.
In the lee of the hill was a group of small figures. Her heartbeat thrummed as she followed the sloping trail toward them. She didn’t have to see them clearly to know these were the missing children.
“Hey,” she called. “It’s okay. I’m here to take you home.”
A boy, barely over eight, sat clutching his knees, his face pale and streaked with salt-dried tears.
Beside him was a girl with flaming red hair, the oldest of the group, her hands laced together in her lap.
She couldn’t have been a day over ten whilst the youngest, barely a toddler, clung to the girl’s shirt with fear flashing in his little eyes.
“Let’s be quick,” Tethys said, gesturing toward the path she’d come down.
“Goddess?” the oldest said, her dirty brow etched with trepidation. “Is it truly you?”
Tethys smiled and grasped her hand. It was so frail and colder than ice. “Yes, sweet girl. What’s your name?”
“Helen,” she replied, her voice hoarse.
“Helen…” Tethys’s heart lurched. “I know your mother.”
“You do?” Helen asked, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Yes, she told me to give you this.” From her pocket, Tethys retrieved the tonic Leda gave her so many months ago. “I need you to be brave now, because I promised her I’d bring you home. Can you help me guide the others?” Tethys gestured to the group. Misty shadows slithered across the grove.
The orb flared to life, circling the group in silvery light. Tethys’s breath caught as the shadows crashed around the circle, like silent waves against the shore.
Helen nodded and sipped the tonic.
“Okay, great. We’ve got to be quick.” Tethys hushed the other children’s quiet sobs, her heart splitting at their shallow cheeks and blanched faces.
She took the toddler from Helen and tucked his little head into her cloak. His small frame against her calmed the storm now raging through her chest, and she thought of her own little light, merely kicks and movements here and there.
“Is he coming back?” a younger boy asked, clutching Tethys’s skirts as they followed the orb’s guiding beam. He glanced up at her, terror filling the whites of his eyes.
“Who, little one?” she asked.
“The man with red eyes,” he replied, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow. The orb flared once more, but the shadows didn’t retreat this time. “I hear him whispering to me. He says you shouldn’t be here. He says…you’re going to take us away.”
“Take you away? No sweet boy, I’m taking you home. Let’s keep going. Your parents are waiting for us,” she replied, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Mama is waiting for me?” the boy asked, his eyes returning to the shadows lurking in every direction.
“She is, and she’ll be so excited to see you,” Tethys replied, planting a gentle kiss on the back of his hand.
She guided the children over the hills and back toward the cavern entrance.
With the arrival of the shadows, the world had fallen into silence.
The flowers stiffened and the grass stilled.
The breeze that once breathed life into this place fled.
Tethys waited until the last child crossed the cavern’s threshold to fall into line behind them.
Encased in the orb’s protection, they continued into darkness, only their footfalls echoed through the depthless black.
She knew what awaited just beyond the orb’s silvery light, watching for any slight falter.
Vorthal’s shadows slithered around them like claws scratching down her spine.
As long as she had Eos’s relic, they’d be safe.
Tethys quickened her pace, the doorway’s iridescent shimmer now a faint ripple on the horizon. The orb’s beam blazed as she carved the path for the children.
“Goddess…” the boy whispered, tugging on her skirts. “He’s here.”
The orb’s light flickered, like an electric surge.
Shadows, darker than the blackest of nights, shrouded Tethys’s vision. Her eyes strained as she tried to distinguish each child’s figure, taking count of every little head. Then, a voice, deeper than the lowest of ocean trenches, slithered up her neck and burrowed in her ears.
“What a welcome home gift this is,” it said. Tethys, with gritted teeth, tightened her grip around the youngest child’s hand. “But why, Daughter of Dawn, do you take what’s mine?”
The goddess froze, her boots ensnared by wriggling tendrils of chaos. They wove themselves up her legs and around her wrists. Her heartbeat frenzied.
“Helen, take this,” she whispered, slipping the orb into the eldest child’s hands. “And run. My siblings are just beyond the door. Guide the others out but be quiet.”
“I can’t. Not without you, Goddess.” Helen’s eyes flashed in the darkness.
“Yes, you can. I need you to be brave now, remember? The orb will keep you safe. Follow its trail until you reach the door,” Tethys replied, her voice trembling.
“My siblings are waiting for you there.” Helen wiped her eyes and nodded, gripping the orb with white knuckles.
It flickered softly, then illuminated the path once more.
A boy whimpered, his frail body trembling as he trailed Helen closely behind. The other children followed suit. One by one they passed Tethys and disappeared into the hazy shadow toward the gate, until the orb’s light was a mere blink in the darkness.
If this were to be her end, at least Tethys could rest knowing she’d kept her promise to their mothers. She clutched her belly, feeling the flutter of her unborn son react to her frantic heart. Her throat tightened, welling tears in her golden eyes.
The whispering voice clicked its tongue. “Oh Daughter of Dawn, there’s no need to cry. It isn’t yet time for your demise. Your fear is far too sweet, and that babe, still small in your womb, will be a delicious treat once I’ve had my fill of you.”
“I’ll kill you before you can even try,” she hissed, clawing at the shadows holding her captive. Behind her, the darkness coalesced, forming a shifting mass of ultimate malice. Two luminous red eyes glared from its shadow, like venomous gemstones.
“Such a brave little thing,” it whispered, shifting toward her. Tethys cried as each tendril of shadow burrowed into her flesh. “Unfortunately, Daughter of Dawn, you’re powerless.”
The mass clarified into a male. Standing before her, with ruthless crimson eyes and predatory grin, was the keeper of chaos. The primordial banished to the Rift, sentenced to suffer in empty solitude until the end of time.
Vorthal.
His straight auburn hair hung to his shoulders, loose strands curtaining his brow. Tethys sucked in a breath as he clasped his spidery hands together and approached. His stride was silent as a lion approaching the unsuspecting gazelle.
“I can taste your heartbeat, Daughter of Dawn. Like a frightened little mouse,” Vorthal purred, brushing a pale thumb down her cheek.
The touch seared her skin, as if the primordial himself dripped with suffering.
His black leather coattails rippled as he closed the distance further, their noses practically touching.
“I may be powerless, Keeper of Chaos, but so are you,” Tethys spat, jabbing a sharp index finger toward the gate. Vorthal laughed, flashing his dagger sharp canines. His skin stretched across his hollowed cheekbones as he laughed low in his throat.
“The thing about fear, fierce goddess,” he said, licking his lip.
“Is even the smallest seed, just as your saplings and bulbs, will grow and spread. Look at your world and ask yourself if you truly believe my power to be null.” The primordial tapped a sharpened fingernail to her forehead.
“One little thought was all it took for your realm to burn.”
Tethys flinched, her blood roaring in her ears. She wriggled against the shadows, feeling them slither up her thighs.
“What a wonderful partnership this will be,” Vorthal grinned, his sharpened canines flashing with bloody delight. “Do you feel how much power we could take together? The world bows at our feet, little goddess. I know you’ve sensed it, too.”
“Sensed what?” Tethys struggled again, desperate to rip herself free. “You’ll never escape the Rift. Not if I have anything to do with it.”
Vorthal huffed a ruthless laugh and paced beside her. He outreached a palm and the darkness bent and curled over his fingers. Like a nightmare come to life, visions of bloodshed and chaos illuminated the void. Screams of mortals and gods alike echoed around them.
“It is written, Daughter of Dawn.” The vision flashed and changed to a bloodied dais.
Bodies leached into the white marble flooring, their lives mere crimson pools around them.
Atop a matching marble throne sat two figures.
Although their faces blurred, Tethys recognized the prism key chained around one of their necks, and the glowing red eyes of the other.
“No. I will never aid you in murdering my people,” Tethys spat, drawing her eyes away from the violent scene.
“You will, Daughter of Dawn. You will...”