Chapter Twenty-Two
And Mercy Makes Three
Outskirts of the OtherWorld
I follow the crimson-colored stream toward the outskirts of the OtherWorld.
The Foregone. It glows an annoying vibrant red as it travels further into the wooded area that leads to the OtherWorld’s end.
The Conclusion. Beyond lies The Infinite.
All that cannot be contained by the rules of the realm exist in that abyss.
Inside the OtherWorld is The Nothing. Out there is truly nothing.
As the name implies, The Foregone contains the energy of the past. Memories are stored here.
Energy from previous events, from time now past, stay here.
They travel in and around the rich red water.
They blossom from the leaves of the trees and berries of the shrubs. They linger in the air. They stink.
I loathe memories. I detest anything that invites reflection or introspection. The past is just that. The past. It’s dead, buried, over. People lost in what was cannot prepare themselves for what lies ahead … for their fate.
But the moments that came before give some souls comfort. Reflection allows for growth, learning from past behaviors to do better in the present. It invites the possibility for hope.
And where there’s hope, there’s … Mercy.
I knew it. My twintuition is never wrong, and too many alarm bells have been going off in my mind. That cloying ache in my teeth flares up every time she’s around, like the pain of a cavity while chewing on chocolate.
She stands on the far bank of the red river, staring into those depths with an expression of serene contemplation that I want to smack off her face.
She’s probably been meditating and contemplating the philosophical nature of the self, the insufferable shrew.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I announce, my voice sharp enough to cut.
Mercy doesn’t turn immediately. She continues gazing down, her bright sapphire eyes reflecting against the dark water.
When she finally looks up, her expression remains perfectly controlled and serene.
“Mercy is always welcome,” she greets me, her voice carrying that annoying warmth. “Compassion always has a place in the story.”
“Mercy is always welcome,” I parrot in a nasally impression of my smug sister. “How did you get off those mountains?”
“We don’t have time for all that, sister. A story is unfolding. Can’t you feel it?”
“I’d like you to feel my fist in your face.
You know nothing of human nature, you brat.
Self-preservation, self-importance, survival instincts—these are the fundamental characteristics of people.
They don’t love anything more than they love themselves.
Their belief in their own superiority has always been and will always be their downfall. ”
“Look in the river, sister,” Mercy gently requests.
I ignore her. “They choose to drink from the cup of revenge. They choose the whip over the blanket. When push comes to shove, they will step on their neighbor before they lift a finger for a friend.”
“I’ve missed you, sister.”
“Fuck you, Mercy. We banished you.”
“For a time, yes.”
“I should have killed you.”
“You cannot kill compassion, sister.”
“I can try.” I look her up and down across the gently flowing river. I note her silver scars reflecting in the light—keepsakes from her trials before banishment.
“I will not fight you, sister. You know that.”
“You never have been any fun.” I step closer to the edge of the water, my icy, silver eyes blazing with anger.
“You’ve been meddling in the OtherWorld’s affairs, haven’t you, sister?
Rue Chamberlain. The Lost Souls Division.
The Moonless Mountains weren’t far enough away to keep you out of our affairs. ”
“Perhaps some souls are not interested in succumbing to the dictates of fate. Maybe some believe in pursuing their destiny, in having a say in their own stories.”
“Do not speak of destiny to me, unless you want to find yourself at the bottom of this river.”
“I do not wish to suffer. I do not wish to cause suffering.”
“Well, too bad, Mercy. Because life is pain; existence is suffering. And all the kindness in the world won’t change it.”
“The OtherWorld, the mortal realm, The Infinite—they do not need to be as harsh as all that, Fate. You and Time have placed too much emphasis on pain.”
“Pain keeps order,” I snap. “Pain keeps things functioning. Pain is real. What you’re doing—this softness you’re spreading—it’s a disease. An infection.”
The Foregone’s flow comes to a complete stop. My voice drops to a dangerous whisper.
“You and that bleeding heart Rue Chamberlain have invited forgiveness into a system designed for efficiency. Now we have souls refusing their assignments, reapers questioning protocol, and a ruler who is barely holding it together. Mercy is weak; ruthlessness is strong. And the OtherWorld needs strength to grow. Go back to the Moonless Mountains—or better yet, just turn around and walk through The Last Woods there, sis. Tell me what happens when you reach The Conclusion.”
Mercy listens calmly, her blue eyes never wavering from mine. When she finally speaks, her voice is almost gentle. “No.”
The single word makes my entire body ignite with anger.
“What did you say?”
“I said, no. You, of all creatures, should be willing to keep the door to compassion open. You never know when you might be desperate for a second chance.”
“I weave the stories. Infallibly. Always.”
Mercy smiles sadly, then speaks. “On which loom did you weave a relationship to a reaper? Is it not strictly prohibited for deities to fraternize with crossed souls? Attachments create liabilities that can upset the OtherWorld’s meticulously crafted hierarchy.
Keep to your station and know your place.
I’m paraphrasing, I believe, but that’s the gist.”
My body becomes heavy. She knows. How? There is no sense in trying to deny or deflect. Mercy is unshakable in these situations.
I voice the question I just thought. “How do you know?”
“Lucky guess,” she replies, and I swear I see an actual sparkle dance off the corner of her eye.
Her word choice is suspicious as well. Luck. Our family never speaks of luck, unless …
“Chance.” I say his name plainly. “So, our brother is also meddling in our affairs? Is that where we are now, sister?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responds, the picture of innocence. “Back to the story of your undead and, from what I’ve heard, potentially unwilling lover.”
“It’s an arrangement,” I say sharply, my voice defensive despite myself. “A simple transaction. I provide him with pain—the only thing that makes him feel alive—and he provides me with physical release. No attachment. No relationship. Just two beings addressing mutual needs.”
“With a reaper,” Mercy notes. “The one whose loyalty is being questioned because he’s clearly compromised.”
“Asher is not compromised—”
“Isn’t he?” Mercy’s voice carries no judgment, only fact. “You’re not the only one making a mess of things, sister. You’re just the one pretending you’re doing it for strategic purposes rather than personal gratification.”
She turns back toward the river, effectively dismissing me.
“Mercy—”
“I’m leaving now,” she says, still gazing at the red water. “I trust you’ll figure out what comes next. But do consider that Big D wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. And that secrets have a way of unraveling everything they’re meant to protect.”
She walks away, her steps unhurried, unbothered. She doesn’t storm off in anger or confront me further. She just … leaves. Like this conversation is already over. She withholds judgment; she casts no stones. She vanishes into the air.
It’s somehow worse than if she’d screamed at me.
I stand alone by the river, my mind racing. Asher. The arrangement. Time.
A chill blankets the back of my neck, and I sense her presence immediately.
“How much of that did you hear?” I ask her without needing to turn around.
I know she’s there. I can sense her copper eyes, with their eternally turning gears, fixed with an expression I’ve never seen directed at me before.
Betrayal.
Time steps out from behind the rock formation where she’s been standing, and the look on her face is something between fury and devastation.
“All of it,” she says quietly. “I heard every single word.”
My chest tightens. Of anyone to find out, it had to be Time. My sister. The one person I’ve been aligned with against everyone else—against Mercy, against Rue, against the softness threatening to destroy everything we’ve built.
“It’s not what it sounds like—” I start, but the words sound hollow, even to my own ears.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like.” Time’s voice is sharp, cutting. “Set aside my shock for a moment that our sister has returned from a place we thought she’d be trapped inside forever.”
“Like one of your snow globes.”
“I’m talking. You’re listening.”
She stops speaking, perhaps testing whether or not I will honor her request. I do.
The silence hangs in the air, and then she continues, “You’ve been sleeping with a reaper. Breaking a thousand different protocols. Compromising your position. Sinking below your station. Giving him pain in exchange for, what? Physical pleasure?”
“You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly.” She steps closer, and the anger radiating off her is palpable.
“I understand you’ve been lying to me. That while we were united against the chaos, you were creating your own.
That while our sister snuck back from the abyss, while our loose cannon of a brother may have come back into the picture, you left us both exposed by scratching some basic itch with a common criminal. ”
“It’s more complicated than that—”
“Is it?” Her voice drops to something dangerous. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I summed it up pretty fucking succinctly.”
I try to respond, but words fail me. Because she’s right. On some level, beneath all the justifications and rationalizations, she’s absolutely right.
“How long?” Time demands. “How long has this been happening?”
“A while—”
“A while. Don’t use vague language with me, sis. I am Time.”
“Time with a broken second hand,” I dig, knowing I’ve struck a low blow.
The shift in her face tells me I’ve crossed a line.
“Even a broken clock is right twice a day, and what you’ve done is so very, very wrong.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Only anger. Or is that disappointment in her tone? “We’re Sisters, Fate. We don’t do secrets. Us against the world. We even made those T-shirts that one time.”
“Those were epic T-shirts. But things change.”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap. You didn’t need to keep this from me. You don’t need to keep anything from me.”
“Because I knew you’d react exactly like this—”
“Like what? Betrayed? Disgusted? Like you’ve just shattered the one alliance I thought was unbreakable?” Time shakes her head, her tawny eyes dark with anger. “You’re right. You should have told me. Not to ask permission, but as a courtesy to someone you claim to care about.”
“Time, I—”
“No.” She holds up her hand. “I can’t … I can’t look at you right now.
I thought we were different from them. From everyone else who puts personal desires above the collective good.
” She turns away, her silk robes swishing.
“I thought we understood that sacrifice was what kept things functioning the way we wanted. That what we had given up was worth it for all that we controlled. That our mission was bigger than simple human desire.”
She spits the last word, and I try to snap back, “It’s not about desire—”
“Then what is it about, Fate?” She spins back to face me, and there are tears in her eyes.
She stutters. She stumbles. Time is off-kilter.
Because of a decision I made. “Tell me what it’s about because I need to understand how my sister—the one I trusted implicitly—could betray me like this and expect me not to follow protocol. ”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.
My finger travels to the spot just below my sternum involuntarily.
The truth sits in my throat like poison. All the truths I’ve been keeping from her. They feel like baggage I’m reluctantly carrying with me everywhere.
“I needed to feel something,” I state plainly.
The words hang between us, inadequate and terrifying all the same.
Time stares at me for a long moment. And then, slowly, she nods.
“That’s the worst part,” she says quietly. “That I understand exactly what you mean. That I’ve felt the same way. That’s why this hurts so much—because it means you didn’t trust me with that. You chose to handle it alone. With him.”
“Time—”
“No,” she says, and the word lands like a bucket of ice water to the face. “What you’ve done is beneath you. But it’s not above reproach. You needed to feel something? Just wait until you feel the wrath of Death himself. I’ll bet numbness will feel like nirvana then, sis.”
“Time, be reasonable here. There is no me without you. There is no you without me. We’ve been through so much together. Don’t do anything foolish. We can work this out together. I’m family.”
“I know. That’s why this lie hurts the most.” She meets my eyes one final time, and I notice her rub at her twisted wrist. There is so much sadness radiating off her.
“But that’s the price of your choices, sister.
That’s what sacrifice actually looks like.
We are the deities, and there must be order.
Heavy is the crown, dear sister. No one is above the order. ”
She begins to walk away, then turns back again. “Fitting that you found yourself all the way out here, in The Foregone.”
“Why’s that?” I ask futilely.
“Because I imagine you might soon be finding out what, if anything, exists beyond The Conclusion.”
She looks to her right, where the river disappears into the grey forest, to the space beyond what any of us know. Then she winks out, leaving me alone by the dark red stream.
My hand still rests on the place where Kane stabbed me, on the scar he left behind.
I press my fingers deeper into that spot, tearing at the silk of my dress to rip at the skin underneath.
I claw and rip at fabric and flesh. I drop to my knees, shame the only thing more potent than exhaustion at this point.