Chapter 18 Esme
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ESME
The trees part without warning and we are no longer in Kasamere forest.
The world opens around us like a curtain has been drawn back, and the air shifts completely, crisp and fresh with a hint of salt that stings my nostrils and settles heavy on my tongue.
The scent is alien here, nothing like the earthy musk and ancient bark of Kasamere.
This smells of vastness, of depths unmeasured, of secrets hidden beneath dark waters.
The lake is enormous, stretching out wide and endless before us like a black mirror dropped from the heavens.
A black expanse stretches so wide I can’t see the opposite shore, vanishing into a hazy horizon that blurs the line between water and sky.
It shimmers like polished obsidian, but the surface is restless, moving in slow, rolling undulations that feel.
. .alive. Purposeful. Each wave glides toward the pebbled shore with deliberate intent and retreats again, hissing and whispering like it’s trying to speak in a language I’ve no way to understand.
The sound sends shivers down my spine, not quite threatening, but not welcoming either.
A cliff rises like a jagged spine to the side, gray rock reaching high into the hazy morning sky, its peaks lost in wisps of cloud.
I tilt my head back to follow the climb, heart hammering against my ribs.
The stone is wet with dew and shadows, streaked with dark stains that could be water damage or something far more sinister.
Prehistoric and weathered, the cliff face bears scars like claw marks, as if something massive once tried to climb or escape from these depths.
Seabirds cry overhead, but when I look up, they’re not birds at all.
No, not really. I’ve never seen creatures like this before, and every instinct I possess screams that I shouldn’t be seeing them now.
Their wingspans are massive, leathery and slick, like something between falcon and bat, but wrong in every conceivable way.
One dives low, close enough that I can hear the wet slap of its wings cutting through the air, and I catch the glint of silver eyes, too intelligent, too knowing, before it banks sharply and vanishes into the fog that curls along the lake’s surface like grasping fingers.
A chill skates down my spine, settling deep in my bones. This isn’t just a lake, it’s a threshold, a portal to the unknown, and every fiber of my being recognizes the danger even as I’m drawn inexorably onward.
None of us speak as we ride the last few yards forward, our horses’ hooves echoing strangely against the stone.
Locke pulls up beside me, stiff in his saddle, his jaw clenched tight.
His eyes are locked on the water like it’s something he’s seen before, but something he hoped he’d never see again.
There’s recognition there, and fear, rare for him, and it’s enough to make my stomach twist into knots.
Sam dismounts first with practiced efficiency and moves to help me down. His hand brushes my waist, steady and warm, the only anchor of familiarity in this alien place, and I let him guide me down. My boots crunch over wet pebbles that shift and click beneath my weight like scattered teeth.
There’s no sand here. Only stone, jagged and black, stretching down to meet the lake like the edge of a blade waiting to cut the unwary. The rocks are smooth in places, worn by countless years of water and weather, but sharp in others, as if the lake itself has been gnawing at the shore.
“Galin told us this was the place,” Sam says, scanning the cliffside with the methodical attention of someone accustomed to danger. “But what exactly are we supposed to look for?”
I shake my head slowly, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders. The wind here carries more than just the scent of water, there’s something else, something that makes my skin crawl. “I don’t know.”
“Can you sense anything?” Locke asks, dismounting with fluid grace despite the tension radiating from every line of his body. His hand instinctively moves to the hilt of his sword, though I doubt steel would be much use against whatever dwells in these depths.
“No,” I admit, frustrated by my own limitations.
“He told you guys the trials would come to me. That I wouldn’t need to search.
” I glance toward the water, noting how it seems to pulse with its own rhythm, like a massive heart beating beneath the surface.
“I assumed once I got to the next trial location, things would just happen.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I hear it. My name. Spoken softly, a raspy whisper on the wind that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
“Esme…”
I turn sharply, heart stuttering, eyes searching the water for something. . .someone. The voice is familiar, like hearing my own voice played back through broken glass.
Sam doesn’t react and neither does Locke. Their expressions remain focused on the shoreline, scanning for threats. They don’t hear it. Only me.
Then, I hear it again, louder this time, followed by a haunting giggle that raises every hair on my arms. The type of giggle that only the scariest of horror films can provide, childlike yet creepy, innocent yet malevolent.
“Esme. Esme.” Giggle. “Come to me. Come see.”
My body moves before I tell it to, as if invisible strings are pulling me forward. I take a step, then another, my feet carrying me toward the water’s edge despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.
“Wait—” Locke grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my bicep with enough force to bruise. “Esme, just. . .let’s scout the shore first. Look for clues, some indication of what you need to do. There could be traps, or—”
I don’t hear the rest. Not really. His voice becomes a distant buzz as I shrug him off like an irritating fly, my focus narrowing to a singular point of need.
“Esme. . .”
The voice is inside me now, pulsing against my ribs like a second heartbeat. A lure. A Tether. A compulsion so strong it feels like drowning in reverse.
“Esme,” Sam says behind me, concern bleeding through his carefully controlled tone. His hand touches my shoulder, warm and desperate, but I brush it off without thinking. I don’t mean to—there’s no aggression in my actions. Only incessant, overwhelming need. I have to go. I have to answer the call.
I continue my path toward the water despite the sound of my name being shouted behind me, despite the pleas to stop that grow more frantic with each step.
Something must be barring their way because they haven’t tried to physically stop me again, yet I keep moving forward as if walking through thick syrup.
My booted foot touches the water, cold, viscous, shocking, seeping through the leather instantly. I feel it and don’t feel it at the same time, as if my nerves can’t decide whether this is real or dream. I’m under the voice’s spell completely, until suddenly I’m not.
The enchantment falls away like shattering glass just as hands made of water, impossible, terrifying, but real, surge from beneath the surface, seize my ankle with crushing force, and yank.
I scream, or I think I do, but the sound is swallowed instantly by the hungry lake. I hear Sam shout my name, raw with panic. Locke curses violently, but their voices warp and fade, distorting into bubbles and silence as the lake drags me under with supernatural strength.
Down.
Down.
Down.
Into absolute darkness where pressure builds against my eardrums and my lungs burn for air.
Water closes over me, cold as death and twice as merciless.
I thrash desperately, but my limbs feel slow, heavy, like I’m swimming through muddy sludge that clings to every movement.
I try to reach up, to find the surface, to escape this liquid nightmare, but I see no sky above me, only endless black that stretches in all directions.
Panic claws at my throat as I struggle not to inhale, my chest burning with the effort of holding my breath.
Then, without warning, there’s air. Not quite right, but breathable.
My lungs expand with it, too fast, too full.
Logically, I know this isn’t possible. I’m underwater, deep enough that the pressure should be crushing me, yet I can breathe.
Magic, Esme, I remind myself as the pulling stops abruptly and I find myself standing upright, not floating as I would assume.
I’m held in place by some invisible force, suspended in this impossible pocket of existence.
Wiping the water from my eyes with trembling hands, I blink and the lake around me transforms. I’m encased inside what I can only presume to be a bubble.
A perfect mirrored dome, glimmering with magic that hums through the water.
The lake beyond it is frozen, literally suspended in place like time itself has stopped moving to accommodate this moment.
Fish hang motionless in the dark water, their scales catching impossible light.
Then the visions begin. My own personal surround sound of horror as the first images shimmer into view like reflections on disturbed water.
I see myself standing on the blood-slicked dais of the Blue Mountain Coven at the top of the waterfall, but this version of me is wrong in every conceivable way.
My white robes are blood-soaked, the fabric heavy and dripping with the life force of the ring of bodies at my feet.
Witches I once knew, ones who shunned me, ignored me, treated me like I didn’t belong, their bodies lie lifeless, eyes wide and devoid of life, mouths open in silent screams. All sacrificed beneath a blood moon that bathes the scene in crimson light.
The most horrifying aspect is that I’m laughing, my voice echoing off the stones with manic glee.
My hair whips wild around me as if it has a life of its own, white strands stained with red.
My robes are torn and stained beyond recognition.