Chapter 4
Chapter Four
After leaving Rose Point, I ended up wandering through the surrounding wilderness for several hours, still unable to stomach the idea of trying to sleep.
Orin was waiting on the front porch when I finally returned. His eyes darted between the trees as I approached, narrowing at every odd sound as if expecting to see some dangerous fiend following me.
He didn’t ask where I’d been.
I suspected he already knew, given how sensitive he was to the various magical energies of the world; I likely reeked of the magic bleeding from that wound the Light King’s sword had left behind.
It was an energy specific to Rose Point—although, in recent months, weaker shades of this rottenness had started to spread beyond the borders of my old home, despite Aleksander’s magical barrier. Truthfully, it felt like the rot was stretching farther outward with each visit…which was partly why my step was more hurried than ever, my tiredness forgotten as I met Orin’s gaze, hoping for good news.
He offered that news immediately, holding up a small drawstring bag. “Your ticket to death, my lady.”
I mirrored the grim smile he gave me as I took the bag and carefully pulled it open, dumping its contents into my palm.
A bracelet fell out. One far, far heavier than any of my others, yet still delicate in its appearance, with leather segments braided like twisting vines and holding pale amethysts between them. The two largest jewels were evenly spaced, so that when I slipped the piece on, one sat on top of my wrist while the other pressed underneath. One radiated warmth. The other pulsed with occasional bursts of cold. It made me think of the world above and below, with my racing pulse caught in between.
I stepped off the porch and into the daylight, holding the bracelet up to better inspect it. The sun’s rays pierced through the pale purple jewels, revealing a swirling cortex of different energies within them. In one of the larger crystals, I thought I caught a glimpse of blooming red—the essence of the crimsonlith flowers, maybe? There one instant, gone the next.
The same unnerving sensation that had overtaken me in Lord Roderic’s manor tried to sink its claws into me again, but I quickly shook it off.
“Stunning, as always,” I told Orin.
He waved the words away, the way he always did when he was pleased with himself but didn’t want to admit it. “More importantly,” he said, “it’s infused with all the substances necessary to guide its wearer into the Underworld. Though I caution: It will work differently than anything I’ve made for you before.”
“How so?”
“Well, all your other accessories channel your own innate power. The crystals on this bracelet, however, were forged and spelled so they would draw in magic from outside of you—but only a specific type of magic, of course.”
“The type flooding the road that once connected the living and dead worlds, I presume.”
“Exactly.” He beamed, as though this was just another routine lesson—one I was actually paying attention to, for once. “Now, according to all the research I’ve done, there is a lot more chaos on that route than there used to be. But this bracelet should help you navigate through it, drawing you to the right energies that will lead you fully to the other side.”
“…How much chaos should I be expecting on this road, just out of curiosity?”
He propped a hand under his chin, considering for a moment. “You may have to dissolve some of it with your own power—absorb the excess to help you see things more clearly. Your siphoning bracelet should serve you well, regarding that.”
I reached for that bracelet, absently squeezing the red beads making up the bulk of it. Soundlessly, I counted them, feeling my way toward the triangular golden charm hanging from the center.
It was one of the four bracelets I always wore. I had other accessories spelled with minor powers that I sometimes experimented with, but these four—well, five , now—were made of something stronger, both physically and magically speaking.
The original four were all intimately tied to my innate magic. The power the red bracelet helped me channel more effectively had been one of the earliest kinds to naturally manifest: The ability to drain energy from things.
It was the same ability I’d been practicing in the garden the night of my last conversation with Aleksander, before everything had gone to shit. I couldn’t forget any of the details of that night, no matter how hard I tried—and maybe because I associated this power with that moment in time, I’d struggled to practice it every day since.
So of course it would be the one I needed to use.
I spoke none of my concerns out loud, but Orin picked up on them anyway.
“You are more capable with siphoning magic than you give yourself credit for,” he insisted.
I ignored the praise and promptly changed the subject. I could handle my fears better when I didn’t dwell on them—which was why I’d made myself a master at burying them so I could remain, as Phantom put it, exhaustingly optimistic .
“And what about Phantom?” I asked Orin. “Will he be able to follow me through this chaos?”
He looked to the trees again, to where the creature in question was a blur of darkness weaving in between the trunks, likely chasing a squirrel. Some doglike habits persisted, however much he’d changed after his near-death experience.
“I’m afraid I can’t say. It will be an interesting experiment,” said Orin. “He exists just fine within this world that he doesn’t fully belong to, though, so hopefully, he’ll manage in the netherworld, too.”
I watched Phantom for another moment, fighting off a frown. Part of me didn’t want to risk bringing him. But I knew he would never let me go without him; he hadn’t even let me go as far as Rose Point on my own.
“Tomorrow, more will become clear,” Orin said, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze before nodding toward the house. “Now, this time I’m ordering you: Get some rest. I’ll finish packing your things. We leave for the Nocturnus Door at first light.”
How does one pack their things for a trip to the afterlife?
It was the question I’d fallen asleep pondering, and the first one that came to mind as I blinked my eyes open to dreary sunlight.
The scent of spiced tea wafted up from below. The tip tap of rain on the thatched roof fell from above. Most of the windows were open in spite of that rain, allowing the sound of the creek to rush in—not with its typical babbling, comforting trickle, but with a roar of swelled-up and swiftly-moving water; I’d slept through what must have been a heavy storm.
I imagined myself caught in that creek’s rushing current, letting it pull me toward my destination. It yanked me around, tumbled me out from under the covers and through the motions of dressing, before it tossed me—off-balance, but doggedly onwards—toward the stairs.
I descended with as much steadiness as I could muster, greeting Orin the same cheerful way I did most mornings.
Breakfast was a quiet, resolved affair. I tried not to think about how this might be the last time I sat at our table, with all the scratches and dents and burn marks I’d come to know and love over the years.
After breakfast, I went through my bag one last time, took a few quiet moments to mentally bury the fears trying to wrap their fingers around me…
And then it was time to leave.
We took a carriage out of Luscerna, driven by one of the few acquaintances Orin trusted in this city—Alistair Finch.
Finch had always seemed a bit… off to me, with his heavily-scarred skin and a penchant for bursting into strange songs without warning. But he also never questioned Orin whenever we needed a favor from him. And we needed his indifference this morning; anybody else would have surely wanted to know what the hell we were doing—why we were asking him to take us to such an odd location.
While Orin made small-talk with Finch—and occasionally hummed along with his songs—I stayed curled up in the back corner, watching the countryside blur by.
I’d left my newest bracelet on my left wrist, separate from the others. Keeping it alone on one arm helped me feel more balanced, given how heavy it was.
I absently plucked and pinched at the beads and bands of my original four as we bumped along. The black-rose bracelet—probably my most-used and trusted piece. The red-beaded bracelet I’d apparently have to rely on once I was on the Nocturnus Road. A wide bracelet made of colorful string, woven tightly into a pattern featuring multiple diamonds, which helped bolster my innate ability to speak with the dead; I suspected it was also a force that kept the communication between Phantom and I consistently smooth.
And finally, there was the bracelet my father had given me on my eighteenth birthday—one that still occasionally vibrated with the same, unmistakable power I’d felt when I first slipped it on…though it was a power I remained clueless about.
Orin proved evasive every time I tried to press him for details about it. He was the one who had made it, but it seemed my father had pressured him into the task; without my father mandating the lessons, Orin seemed content to let me figure out this particular power on my own.
The most I’d ever pried from him was a cryptic reply that the magic it channeled would reveal itself on its own… if it was meant to be.
As our ride stretched on, I found I couldn’t take my eyes off the turquoise beads of my father’s gift. Couldn’t bring myself to stop studying the strange symbols carved and painted on some of the larger orbs—letters, I’d decided, but ones I’d failed to decipher, despite many hours spent flipping through Orin’s books full of ancient languages and long-forgotten history.
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
Phantom—who had shifted himself into a small, shadowy, mouse-like creature and curled up in the pocket of my cloak—poked his head out and swiveled it around. He sneezed. He was not a fan of storms. His spectral body trembled, and my chest tickled with the nervous energy rolling off him.
I curled a finger under his mousy chin, giving it a reassuring rub even though my touch went right through him. “It’s fine, Phantom. We’re heading away from it, I think.”
( And likely into something much worse. )
“Must you always be so pessimistic?” I said under my breath.
( I like to think I balance out your ridiculous optimism. )
“You can always stay here in the land of the living, you know.”
( You’d be lost without me .)
“True enough,” I muttered, grinning slightly as I sank deeper into my seat.
Finch dropped us off, as requested, at the head of an overgrown trail, right at the edge of a forest known as Ashenveil. He helped me down from the carriage, his eyes and his touch both lingering a little too long. A frown twitched at the edges of his thin lips as I pulled away from him.
His expression unsettled me. It felt like the lingering look of a person watching a knight heading off to war, knowing their return was unlikely—but how would he know? And why would he care? Finch and I had rarely spared each other more than a glance. He knew little about me. He certainly knew nothing of the war I had ahead; no one did, except Orin and me. We’d made certain of that.
Convinced I was imagining his concern, I offered a brisk thank you and then quickly turned to the path we still had left to travel on foot.
Once well-used, the trail before me now appeared ominous at best. Weeds and fallen tree limbs claimed much of the walking space. Bits of broken, rusted lanterns gleamed in the sunlight—the remnants of ornate, bright sentinels that had once stood along the entire route.
Our real destination was a few miles south along this ruined path.
We started down it without a word. The silence—an unusual occurrence between us—settled deeper during our walk, lasting until the top of a steeply-pitched roof came into view. This was our true target: an abandoned shrine to Calista, Argoth’s beloved queen. It was one of several scattered throughout Eldris.
Once upon a time, through the doorways within these shrines, one could supposedly access various points along the Nocturnus Road with relative ease.
Now that I was truly approaching it, doubt threatened; I still wasn’t entirely sure portals like this could truly be real, even through the use of the correct blessings and spells or whatever else. But Orin was convinced. And his spells were successful more often than not—however messy that success ended up being—so I didn’t hesitate to jog after him when he called on me to hurry up.
We made our way down paths that meandered through dried up fountains, through bits of crumbling statues, and then up the leaf-littered steps to the doorless shrine.
Inside, it smelled of dust and dead flowers. There was a hint of something waxy, too, as if melted candles had been stashed somewhere, though I never managed to spot them. The windows were missing most of their glass, but judging by the colorful, jagged teeth still around the edges, they had been beautiful during their better days.
Those teeth glinted in the early morning light, throwing radiant patterns across the entirety of the large space—save for one corner.
There, a spot for a door was set into the stone wall…but there was no actual door in place. There was only a frame with strange symbols etched deeply into its dusty wood.
The bricks within this frame were different from the walls around it. Newer—as if there was a room on the other side that had been closed off well after the shrine was completed. The whole area was cast in darkness. It seemed to absorb all the bright colors from the broken windows, no matter how the sun shifted and threw its beams through the glass.
Unnatural .
There was definitely something about it that was—
Orin cleared his throat. “Come look at this, Nova.”
I hesitated, my gaze still on the odd doorframe.
Phantom leapt from my pocket, his mouse body twisting, turning into shadows that reshaped themselves into his usual canine form. He hit the floor silently and, ever the curious one, he padded over to the long, narrow table that Orin stood before. Lifting onto his back paws, he appeared to brace against the edge of this table—though in reality, his near-weightless body was merely hovering over it, studying the art it contained.
I followed slowly, taking the space beside him.
It was a story that stretched before us—one told through scenes carved into thirteen separate slabs of marble affixed to the table’s top.
In the very center was a particularly eye-catching panel. On it, a man stood before a coffin covered in flowers and flanked on either side by two crimsonlith trees. Countless soldiers surrounded him, their heads bowed while the man’s face was lifted, staring upward. Looking at the scene, I was gripped with a feeling I couldn’t easily describe—a strange kind of… grief . A hollowing cold that was survivable, yet miserable. That look in his upturned gaze…
Alone .
Despite the dozens of people set in stone beside him, he appeared utterly lost and alone.
I shuddered. I knew the feeling. I’d spent most of my life trying to bury that feeling. And something about looking at this man brought it rushing to the forefront of my mind with a quickness that took my breath away.
I forced my gaze to Orin. “King Argoth?”
“Indeed.”
“He built all of these shrines, didn’t he?”
“So it’s said,” Orin replied. “All intended to bring him closer to his beloved, dead queen. It took him several tries to create the first one that properly opened into the Underworld, however. After he managed to open that first path, he went back to the shrines he’d previously attempted to build, making them functional as well, and continued to build upon the road on the other side—a road they all lead to.”
“Nocturnus.”
“Yes. The temple we stand in now is the last one he built, but the first one to succeed at his ultimate goal.” His voice was somber, his expression more serious than I’d ever seen it. His eyes misted over as he swept them around the dilapidated space. “Quite a miserable state it’s fallen into, isn’t it?”
He didn’t seem to be expecting an answer; he looked lost in his own thoughts. I wondered at the breadth of those thoughts and the memories he had—how many times had he visited this shrine, and others like it, when it was still a functioning throughway?
So much had changed in Eldris over the past century, alone. And I shuddered to think about the changes to come, should the King of Light go unchallenged in my kingdom.
I searched for something to say to soften the mood, but I came up with nothing.
Orin inhaled a deep, rattling breath—one that reminded me, again, of how old he truly was. “It’s time, I suppose,” he said, his gaze lingering on my new bracelet for a moment before jumping up to my face. “Trust yourself. And don’t be afraid of your darkness. Your magic will protect you, if only you let it.”
I nodded, even as I fought the urge to recoil. I didn’t want to be reminded of that darkness within me; I merely wanted to use it to get through what I needed to, and then go back to my usual survival method of pushing it all down deep enough to ignore it.
“Nova, seven years ago, when I first offered to take you in…” He trailed off, fidgeting with one of several rings on his gnarled fingers, swiping at what looked like spell-ingredient residue underneath the gold band.
I let out a nervous laugh. “We don’t need speeches, Orin. This isn’t goodbye forever.”
“I just wanted to say…”
“I know. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes. Of course you will.” He molded his mouth into a forced smile and rolled up the sleeves of his patchwork coat. With a quick wink, he said, “Now, stand back and watch me work.”
I stepped aside as he moved toward the corner where the strange doorframe stood. Once he was facing it, he reached into the bag slung against his hip. He pulled out a small jar sealed with cork and twine and started to carefully open it.
Humming a tune under his breath, he swiped a finger through the violet-colored contents of the jar, and then he proceeded to mark the bricks within the frame.
For several moments, nothing happened.
Orin closed his eyes and whispered something under his breath.
A deep rumble vibrated through the room; I couldn’t tell if it was coming from inside or outside of the shrine, but it made both Phantom and me jump. I braced a hand against the table while Phantom curled behind me, pressing into my legs, his ears flat against his skull.
We watched as a spinning vortex of black and grey appeared in the center of the bricks, swallowing up the marks Orin had painted.
Another rumble. This time, a cold breeze swept through the room along with it, leaving the taste of ash and decay on my tongue when I breathed it in. The colors on the bricks continued to spin for a few beats before stretching into a more defined image, one that flickered and seemed to be a glimpse of a realm beyond—a shadowed landscape filled with jagged mountains and swirling mist.
I blinked, and the scene was gone.
In its place was a door.
It looked perfectly average and unassuming, as though it had always been there. The longer I stared at it, the more I found myself questioning how I’d missed it before.
A sudden, unseen force grabbed at my body, pulling me forward.
Before I could lose my nerve, I reached for the silver handle in the door’s center and pulled it open.
And with Phantom at my heels, I stepped over the threshold, immediately falling into darkness on the other side.