10. Chapter 10 #2
So much in the underworld was lifeless. Devoid of the simple things one takes for granted as a living, breathing person. The only real sign of life I’d seen down here were glimmers in the eyes of the spirits as they passed through the portal.
As if they’d started to remember that there were existences away from this place, and that finally, they might get the chance to experience something beyond the dark snares that entrapped them here.
The rest of the underworld was nothing more than a hollow echo of things I’d once loved. A dismal existence to be sure.
“Explain to me how the Darkest Lord plans to rule in the land of the living, if he were to ever be successful in taking control of our island,” I said. “Flesh-weaving can only get him so far. Spirits can’t exist in our realm for long.”
“Are you sure that’s true?” The man cocked his head, his hood slipping further down his face.
“I can manufacture a body for the Darkest Lord to rule in. Will it be the same experience as being human? No, but who says he wants the same experience; maybe the one I can give him will be better. And that is why he will never forget my name.”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“What if the body I create for him is more powerful, stronger, indestructible?” he continued. “Your flesh is weak, your blood fickle, your heartbeat extinguishable at any second. All trappings of humanity. When he returns, he won’t have those trappings. He’ll be invincible.”
“Nobody’s invincible. The Fae Queens were powerful, and look what happened to them.”
“They weren’t invincible,” he scoffed. “Powerful, sure. But not the same thing. Too many emotions. Too much empathy.”
“Ah. Which isn’t a problem for you?”
“I’ve evolved. I’ve tried empathy, and where has it gotten me? Nowhere. Forgotten.”
“Just because I can’t remember you,” I said. “Isn’t a reflection on you. I can’t remember much about my world anymore.”
“I don’t believe that. I believe the memories are still in there, at least for now. I just wasn’t important enough to make the cut.”
“How did you do it?” I asked. “How did you genetically alter the kraken and the crimson lycanthrope?”
“It’s all part of the flesh-weaving experience.
” The man backed away from me, leaned against the iron bars on the cell.
“I started small in my experimentation: I isolated the DNA, studied the genetics, broke it down to its simplest level. Then, slowly, I started making changes. Slowly reprogramming living creatures to suit me.”
“To suit you, or to suit him?”
“We worked closely on it together. The Darkest Lord will not forget my name.”
I cleared my throat. Shook my head again.
“Once I mastered the slight alterations to existing creatures, I started thinking bigger. I worked toward manufacturing entire bodies, entire vessels that needed only a spirit. Which is a match made in the underworld. After all, he is the king of lost spirits.”
“You’ve chosen your side, then.” I paused.
“It’s still not too late. If you help me out of here, back to the realm of the living, I am willing to help you in return.
I can open a portal for you, or find a better place for you to exist. A place where you won’t be forgotten.
A place where you can do your own work, not work suited solely to him. ”
“I’ve already chosen the winning side. And I think you know this too.” He cocked his head up, ever so slightly. “If you thought you could win this war, you wouldn’t have sacrificed your soul to enter the underworld. You’re desperate.”
He wasn’t wrong about the desperation, so I said nothing.
“Alas, I’ve had enough of this conversation.
” He straightened, no longer leaning against the grimy bars.
“You’ll wait here until your memories cease to exist. Then, once he’s decided how he’d like to use you, I’ll return.
It won’t take long. Once we’ve disposed of you, he’ll march on and take the rest.”
“No!” I extended a hand toward him, just as his figure shimmered and he began to disappear. “It’s not too late to help me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Alessia,” he said, his figure barely visible. “It is too late. I’ve made sure of it.”
The man left me then—alone, in this cold, forgotten chamber, in the depths of the underworld.
The second he was gone, I felt any lingering hope I possessed slipping away.
I was well and truly alone now, trapped in the underworld, the outcome that everyone had cautioned me could happen—an outcome I’d promptly ignored because I believed it would never happen.
And yet here I sat. Alone. Disconnected. Hopeless.
I’d come down here hoping to convince people to go through the portal, hoping to weaken the Darkest Lord’s spirit army before they attacked our realm.
But all I’d done was get myself trapped.
If the man in the hood—the Harbinger—was to be believed, then I had effectively split my soul from my body, and that didn’t bode well for my return to the land of the living.
Everyone had warned me of the dangers of coming to the underworld, and I’d done it anyway.
Where had it gotten me? I’d released a few spirits—maybe a few hundred—but most hadn’t been part of the army.
Just lost souls seeking release. Meanwhile, I’d left my post as Fae Queen.
I’d disappeared from the people I loved.
I sat on the floor of my cell, feeling the grimy dirt beneath me.
A far cry from the circle of stones where I’d sat for hours and hours.
The circle of stones . A memory, a clear memory, from the realm of the living.
I closed my eyes and clung to that memory.
It was vague, distant. But I could feel the dryness of the tiny stones against my leg.
The hunger in my belly. A visceral, colorful memory.
What had I been doing there?
“Training,” I said aloud. “I was training to be the Fae Queen.”
As I focused on these bits and pieces of memories, other ones emerged in my peripheral vision. Memories that must have been deeply rooted in my subconscious: faces. Silas, Lily, Millie.
These memories gave me some resolve. If I was truly trapped here, if this was really it, then I needed to give escape one last go. I couldn’t wallow until the Darkest Lord claimed me.
But it was hard. This place crushed hope like metal jaws.
The despair here was deeper than anything I’d known: it stole the breath from my lungs, made me feel like there was nothing left to live for, and on a level unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
But maybe if I could concentrate on the memories I had left, I wouldn’t get swallowed whole.
Liza’s hand in mine . I could still feel it. Her little grip. Her smiling face.
Who is this man who visited my cell? If only I could remember his name. It must not have been someone I knew well. I had even remembered Fenlon, a man who I had clearly disliked enough to remember. But the man’s name still escaped me.
Training. Liza. Silas. Gravel.
Fae Queen. Sisters. Ancestors. Fae Powers.
I had been in training to be the Fae Queen in my corner of the living realm.
I was confident in that. There had to be something from my training that I could use to escape the clutches of the Darkest Lord.
I knew I still had a connection with my ancestors; just because my spirit wasn’t attached to my body didn’t mean my spirit wasn’t attached to past spirits.
I replayed those thoughts on a loop. As I did, I felt it—that subtle thread connecting me to them. It was tenuous, fragile, but there. I wasn’t alone. I held on to it until I saw them. Until I heard them. Spirits.
I was a spirit now, existing in a spirit realm. Maybe, just maybe, I could transfer to another. After all, I’d opened a portal here for other spirits to transfer through. What if I could do the same for myself?
I couldn’t do it without help. But I did have help.
Take me home, I whispered to my sisters. One last time.
Then I closed my eyes. And the next time I opened them, I was home.