Chapter Thirty-Three
While Cal Anore itself and the lives within it aren’t what I expected, the ritual sanctum is. A wide, windowless, circular room with a high, vaulted ceiling, it resembles the same blood magic dedicated spaces in the Tower of the hells.
Hundreds of floating black candles aflame with red light hang high above, casting the room and everything below in an eerie wash of crimson.
The light exposes the lingering traces of blood magic seeping from the walls.
It crawls over my skin with a spider’s touch, and I suppress yet another sharp shudder skittering down my spine.
It’s unnerving.
Gods know how many rituals have taken place here.
This space has yet to be cleansed. Until the lingering coat of Nether has been swept away, all rituals and rites performed here are at risk of drawing more attention in the veil. Errant souls flock to surges of magic—innate, Aether, or Nether—knowing the living will be nearby.
In the hells, the same blood magic ritual wouldn’t leave the space tainted. Hard to taint something already saturated. And unlike the living, demons and undead are impervious to the costs of blood magic rituals. Nether is a magic meant for the dead. When the living use it, they’re punished.
It’s not enough to stop them.
And they pay the price in blood.
Hence the colloquial term blood magic. Despite the costs, Cerwidens and likely a number of hidden Eldoterrans, attempt to wield Nether all the same. Ask for too much, fail to properly prepare a ritual site, use the wrong materials, or recall the wrong rune, and a life is forfeit.
Usually the caster’s.
The cost of what Cenviri and his Generals are doing isn’t something I can ignore. Lives may be lost today. And I’m sure they know it without me having to tell them.
I have always been intricately entwined with death.
But I never feared it. Until recently.
As Ryc and I approach the center of the room, following Zirzol’s silent lead, Cenviri lifts his eyes from the pages of the black-bound book. It, along with several others, lies open upon the long, obsidian altar before him.
It’s a sacrificial altar.
Much like the one I saw during Celesta’s ascension.
Ahead, Zirzol stops, his eyes lowering to the floor. His toes edge a line painted upon the obsidian in dark, near-invisible red. A casting circle outlined in blood. Malbolge runes stretch across the floor, repeating a short sequence of three phrases.
Shed this flesh. Traverse the veil. As above, so below.
Ryc also takes note, turning his attention downward. His wariness trickles through our bond, and I offer his arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. All of this must be wildly strange. While Cal Anore has been strange for me as well, it’s likely for far fewer reasons.
Cenviri nods and Zirzol steps over the arching runes, lifting his robes to avoid smearing the slow-to-dry blood.
My grip grows firm on Ryc’s arm, keeping him beside me as I make no motion to follow.
“You’ve not cleansed this space,” I say and Cenviri flashes a warm, yet confused smile. “I can sense the lingering Nether. It needs to be addressed.”
His brows crease for a flash of a moment before he tucks the thought or concern away. A placid, welcoming smile remains.
“Not yet, il-akiv,” he replies as Zirzol stops at the foot of the altar. Cenviri swings around to stand beside his First General. “A ritual of this nature requires more than one caster for adequate cleansing. Once my Generals return, the process will start.”
“How does this work?” Ryc asks with a gesture toward his feet. “Will we be confined to this area once in the veil?”
Cenviri folds his arms across his chest, leaning back against the altar. “You’re not part of my House, il-akiv’ae cris. I can’t tell you what to do. You’re welcome to wander where you’d like. Though, I do strongly advise against it.”
“Here, this space will be protected. Our bodies preserved for the duration,” Zirzol adds, turning his violet eyes in our direction. “In the veil, it will be curtained, so to speak, from the rest of the realm.”
It’s hard not to notice his common tongue isn’t as clear as Cenviri’s. It’s not unintelligible, but he certainly isn’t as confident speaking it as he is Malbolge.
“And that will be enough?” Ryc places a hand over mine tucked into the nook of his elbow. “This curtain will be enough to repel the dead?”
Cenviri chuckles. “My new friend, we are intruding upon them. Traversing their domain. It does not matter how many shrouding spells I cast, they’re bound to take notice with time. We work against multiple clocks.”
It’s a truth I don’t like.
Errant souls are going to sense us like a warm breeze through an open window.
They’re going to be drawn, wanting to escape the veil.
The longer we linger, the greater the chance of the spell being overwhelmed by the dead.
The quicker we can make this, the better.
Less time for dead to accumulate around us, and for Vaelyn to send one—or a few—of my siblings.
It’s a small comfort to know Ylara is no longer among them.
“How long will this take?” I ask and Cenviri’s eyes meet mine.
“Hard to say,” he answers quietly with a downturned smile. “I’m confident in my ability, but you are the first Fated soul I’m attempting to mend. I’ve no means to make an adequate estimate.”
The answer settles right next to his earlier truth.
Ryc, Eve, Cyran… their first foray into the veil may very well end with them fighting for their lives if this ritual takes too long.
“That being said,” Cenviri continues, “I do wish I could tell you what to expect.”
“Expect me to survive,” I counter, my tone lacking warmth.
Again, Cenviri chuckles. “I hold no doubts you shall.”
“How many will be joining us in this endeavor?” Ryc asks and I peer up at him. He keeps his stare focused on the necromancer and the First General.
“Given the current… tensions between Vaelyn and myself, all thirteen of my Generals will descend with us,” Cenviri answers.
“Both il-akiv’ae First General and the king’s captain have agreed to veilwalk,” Zirzol says, his voice low.
Cenviri’s brows raise with the new information. “Let us hope that will be enough,” he says with a firm nod. “For the majority of us, we are to soul project into the veil.”
My mind flashes to the last few moments I met Cenviri in the hells—the glimpse of the darkened room through the portal he’d opened. His body knelt upon the floor in a ring much like this one.
“Il-akiv will have to reach the veil as one should,” Cenviri says, his voice shattering the memory.
Meaning, I have to die.
“Which is why this requires a life tether,” the necromancer finishes, and his lips work into a fine line.
“How?” Ryc asks and his eyes race to mine. “How will she reach the veil?”
Blunt apprehension and building anger strike me in the chest. Ryc’s protective instinct leaks through our bond as he fights to keep it hidden under a nonchalant mask.
Genuine remorse flickers across Cenviri’s features as he answers.
“Her heart will be spelled to stop. Once her soul is mended, I’ll force her through the veil, and your tether will reverse the spell’s effect.
” He pauses, drawing a deep breath. “It will be painful. For both of you. But remember, the death is temporary, despite the madness your bond will force upon you.”
Ryc offers a single, silent nod.
“If you are ready, let us establish the tether between you,” Cenviri says, pulling himself from the altar.
I’m not ready, despite the nod I give as I hold Ryc’s intense stare.
It shouldn’t, but the silence grows reminiscent of a reluctant goodbye. This will not be the last time we stand together in the living realm. Following Ryc’s lead, we step over the runes and approach.
Cenviri withdraws one of the three daggers at his waist, setting it on the altar between himself and Zirzol. It’s a gleaming, curved silver blade, no longer than my hand. It’s not meant to kill or maim, it’s meant to carve.
Generally speaking, the concept of a life tether is simple enough. Cenviri will bind Ryc’s life to mine—as long as Ryc lives, so do I. But the intricacies of the tether make it far more complicated.
Ryc, along with everyone else entering the veil, will need to keep themselves alive.
If his body or his soul projection are lethally injured, it will be lethal for us both.
I’m not as concerned about his body. It will be safe within the ritual space.
Anyone who steps in will be plunged into the veil.
But his soul projection… that’s where my largest concern lies.
That’s why this needs to finish quickly.
I want there to be no opportunity for him or anyone else involved to have their bodies stolen by an errant soul. It’s a common outcome befalling overconfident necromancers who linger too long in the veil. Desperate dead will pummel their souls and steal their flesh.
“Il-akiv’ae cris bear your right arm. Il-akiv your left,” Cenviri instructs.
As I pull at the buckles of my bracer, Ryc asks, “Any last minute advice I should know?”
I could lecture on this for hours.
And it still wouldn’t be enough.
“The veil is dangerous,” Cenviri answers.
“From the air you breathe, to the creatures lurking in the shadows, to the way you’ll be changed by what you’ll see.
Wounds obtained in the veil will be mirrored upon your flesh.
Acquire too many or one too great, and you’ll be unable to return to the living realm, to your body. ”
Freeing my arm from the last bracer buckle, Zirzol offers to take it. Handing it to him, I pull back my sleeve with little care.
Cenviri’s eyes fall upon the dark runes inked into my skin and narrow. “A House brand?”
“A very recent development,” I reply, unwilling to meet his stare.
“Nether is wise not to ignore you.” The small smirk on Cenviri’s face is evident in his tone. “Lady of the Veil,” he says, his voice low as he reads the runes. “Fitting.”