30. Archer #2
Amidst the fallen leaves, is an arc of crimson deathcap mushrooms. The tiny clusters of toadstools draw a line in the ground between us and the deepest part of the Eldergrove, and stretch either side of our company, as far as my Azkari eyes can see into the rest of the forest.
“Is it what I think it is?” Saige asks, her eyes going wide as she crouches to get a better look.
“Do not touch them,” I warn, suppressing the urge to grab her by the arm and pull her away. “And yes, it’s a Azkari ring.”
“A rather large one at that,” Daemos offers as he joins us, peering over our shoulders at the seemingly innocent precision of nature. “From the looks of things, it would take several extra days to go around. If we even could.”
“Days we don’t have,” I tell them. “My guess is that it encircles the temple, an added layer of protection.”
Saige’s expression is furrowed. “What happens when you step inside then? Do you get transported somewhere else like your portals? Are you trapped inside forever? Are you cursed with bad luck for seven years?”
“Some mortals are taught that once you cross the threshold you can’t stop dancing.” Daemos says thoughtfully. “That you’ll dance and dance until your feet bleed, until you die.”
“What a way to go,” Saige muses, scratching under Grim’s chin and peering into his face. “Yevna told me that she once knew someone who lost an eye because they crossed into one without bringing a gift.”
I shove my fingers through my hair and look up to the canopy in the hopes I find some semblance of patience. “You mortals and your tall tales.”
Saige shrugs. “We don’t have much to go off. You’re the expert. Tell us what happens then, General?”
I don’t know why, but her calling me that has started to send a pulse south in my leathers and I need to get it the fuck under control if I’m going to survive another hour with her, let alone another night.
For once, Daemos sees me struggling and actually comes to my rescue.
“It’s not just a Azkari ring. It’s a magical barrier,” he says, his hand drifting through the air in front of him, something shimmering upon contact with his fingers right in line with the deathcap mushrooms below. “It requires payment to pass across it safely.”
“Like what?” Saige asks, biting her lip. “A lock of hair? A fingernail? A bucket of tears?”
I grasp her arm without thinking, turning her to me. “You don’t ever give a piece of yourself to anyone, especially not the Azkari.”
The forest falls silent, and my stomach sinks. I’ve said too much, but I’m not sure why. Just the thought of Saige sacrificing a part of herself, however small, has my teeth on edge, and there was no keeping that warning in.
I clear my throat. “You’re sure about this, Daemos?”
A gentle wind picks up, rustling the cascading blooms and sweeping up the aromas of rich soil and moss-covered bark.
“I’m sure,” Daemos replies. “The whispers tell me.”
Saige cringes. “If you listen to every little voice in your head, that’s probably something we should talk about.”
I’m too tense watching my brother’s uncharacteristically serious expression to laugh. “What do the whispers tell you, Daemos?”
“We are in the House of Reveries, where the elemental magic is of the earth. Blood replenishes the earth, and that is the price. Without payment, this ring has a steep cost for all who cross its threshold—you will make it through to the other side, but you’ll never truly leave.
Part of you will remain forever walking within this circle.
Your physical body will continue on, but your soul…
Your soul will linger here, determined to finish the crossing. ”
“Fuck that,” I spit, unsheathing my dagger and slicing deep into my forearm with a hiss of pain—
“Archer!” Saige’s voice is distant as I let the wound weep crimson onto the forest floor, showering the line of deathcaps.
What’s a little more of my blood spilled before my time here is done?
Daemos does the same, but Saige’s hand shoots out to stay my blade, grasping my arm. “What are you doing?! You don’t heal like other Azkari.”
I look down to where she’s holding me, her fingers now stained with my blood. I gently prise her grip from my arm. “But I do heal,” I tell her. “Eventually.”
There’s a blur of movement as Daemos whirls to face me, clutching his own bleeding arm. “You’re not healing properly? What the fuck, Arch—”
With my blood still dripping onto the Azkari circle, I steel myself, hating the words that spill from my mouth.
“Not since those first few decades in Gravereach. Surely, you’ve noticed my more ‘rugged’ appearance?
My need for visual aid when I’m drawing?
The scars that haven’t vanished? Two hundred years of torture, two hundred years without a healer, will mess with even my magic, brother. ”
It’s only as the color drains from Daemos’ face, that I realize what I’ve said.
I’m sure he no doubt surmised that my stay in the prison of Morzanmyre wasn’t a fucking picnic, but saying the truth out loud in broad daylight?
A tangle of shame and guilt roils inside me.
How was Daemos to know that when I’ve been so closed-off?
And the only person I have to blame for my fate is myself.
Daemos takes a step towards me. “Arch—”
I cut him off, motioning to the generous spatter of blood across the ground. “Do the whispers say it’s safe to cross?”
He pauses, listening to the wind as he often does, his gaze flicking to the leaves dancing in the breeze. “It’s safe.”
“You’re certain? I’ll be damned if I ever let my mind be parted from my body again.”
“You have my word, brother,” he says solemnly.
“Good.” I snatch up my horse’s reins and charge across the Azkari ring, my flames coiling around my bones. The House of Reveries’ magic is thicker here, as we enter the inner sanctum, but I’m too caught up in my own head, my own poisonous memories, to appreciate it.
The crunch of leaves beside me draws my attention to my right.
Saige is silently walking beside me. There’s something in her stride that’s slightly different.
Maybe her spine is straighter? Her shoulders more pushed back?
But she looks… ready… to defend, to protect…
She doesn’t speak; she is simply there. A steady presence, a barrier between me and the rest of the world. I don’t deserve her kindness.
My voice is hoarse when I finally dig up the courage to speak.
“It’s been a long time since anyone cared.
About whether my blood stained the earth or not.
” I don’t dare look at her. If I do, she won’t see the Archer she’s come to know over the last few days.
She’ll see the Black Flame, the creature borne of necessity—and how much he took from me.
“Well,” she says, matter-of-factly, keeping pace at my side. “I’m here now.”
She doesn’t need to meet my gaze, she doesn’t need to say more. It’s her quiet, steadfast nature that does the rest, declaring to the blossoming Eldergrove around us that it’s not the world she’s shielding. It’s me.