Chapter 7
Where, Oh Where
Grayson knew he’d made a mistake the moment they all touched hands. He realized when Fiona was about to take them back to the Ever Dark that he hadn’t checked Roan for structures. And for the first time–and maybe the last–he found out what happened when Vampire magic encountered them.
It was far worse than he’d imagined it would be.
The last thing he saw was Ryder’s face. That beloved, handsome face. Those silver eyes widening. Those lips parting to yell his name. Grayson’s hand being ripped away from Ryder’s.
He still teleported, but his trip was not guided by Fiona. He was tumbling, head over heels, to someplace. His stomach merging with the soles of his feet and then the top of his skull.
And then it all stopped.
Very abruptly.
He gasped as all the air was thrust out of his lungs as he–landed? Fell?--arrived at his final destination. He was on his hands and knees surrounded by tall grass and mist.
Oh, and mud.
Lots and lots of mud. Squishy. It soaked his knees and his hands were slowly sinking into it.
The smell of it was rich and almost sulfury.
He would have been disgusted except for the fact that he seemed unable to take a deep breath.
He drew in the air and coughed painfully.
It was like his organs had slammed into the front of his chest and were pancaked there, especially his lungs.
He concentrated on breathing even as he sunk up to his wrists in mud.
Gross.
Finally, able to breathe he wrenched one hand out of the sucking ooze then the other, shaking off the excess and cleaning the rest off on his shirt. He looked up. It was night.
Two moons. I’m in the Ever Dark. But where?
“R–Ryder?” he gasped out. “F-Fiona? C-Charlie?”
His voice echoed eerily. No one answered him back. He coughed and spat. He drew in a few more ragged breaths. His lungs seemed to be refilling more normally now. He staggered to his feet, swaying a bit, as black dots flashed in front of his eyes. He blinked as if that would clear them.
“Ryder?” he called again when he fully had his breath back. “G-guys?”
But the whirring of night insects was the only thing he heard. A sort of churr-churr of them in the background that quieted down every time he spoke, but when silence answered him the hum continued. He slowly turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings.
The Ever Dark was vast. So vast that no one had ever been able to map it.
No one had ever been able to go from one city to another.
Some believed it wasn’t just the dangers of the Ever Dark that ended most of these expeditions to map the world in bloody death, but the fact that the Ever Dark cities either weren’t on the same planet, or more dauntingly, that they didn’t exist at the same time.
Grayson was apt to think the latter as Moonfall showed the Ever Dark at the very end of this planet’s existence. Not only were the twin moons raining down on the planet in armageddon, but the Ever Dark itself was being ripped apart by vast, unknown forces.
The end of all things.
Others would claim that time alone couldn’t explain the fact that one couldn’t physically cross from one city to another.
For the geological landmarks that were near each city were never found in another.
And if, for example, Foresworn was connected to Nightvallen then what had happened there with the undead would leave some mark in the king’s city. Wouldn’t it? Even if ages had passed.
There was another theory that each Ever Dark city was in a different universe. And that was why they could only be reached by the gates, which were really holes between these universes that had been anchored to allow passage.
There was a time, long ago, when he had perhaps known more.
But all he truly remembered was seeing Daemon.
That was his first memory. The first memory he could capture.
Their great king was sitting with his chin in one hand on a giant rock somewhat like a throne in the middle of a field, much like this one, with the red and blue moons shining down upon him, waiting. Waiting for them.
Had they created the cities and the gates originally?
He didn’t know. Had Daemon? He thought he might have.
But speaking of that past wasn’t verboten exactly.
But it just wasn’t done. They’d figured out–or recovered–how to use the gates, how to build the cities, how to move between worlds, how to build bodies, how to… exist.
He knew that their existence at one point had been very different. But the memories were lost or blocked and he had no desire to know. That might be surprising to some people, but memory was the bane of the immortal. The present was all that mattered. The future spread out like an unending road.
And his present wasn’t going to be helped by remembering that far past. Because while it was all fascinating to think about, he was muddy, breathing raggedly, exhausted and all too human to be in the Ever Dark by himself.
And it didn’t seem as if the others had been sent to the same spot as he was or not within his earshot anyways.
So he had to figure out what to do. And quickly. Because he was prey here. Big time.
He closed his eyes and tried to connect with Balthazar, Balthazar, can you hear me?
I’m… I’m lost. That was the only way to describe this.
He was literally in the middle of nowhere.
He found himself explaining, Roan’s soul was in my mom’s body and there was a structure.
I missed it. I didn’t even look for it. I was so tired and…
and things were bad. I made a decision. It was the right one, but it was wrong, too.
But I had to make it. We tried to bring–
Who are you? A voice asked.
Grayson stopped speaking and became very still. Was that Balthazar? It didn’t sound like Balthazar exactly. But it felt like him in a weird way. Like a distant cousin or something.
Who are you? The voice insisted.
He winced. A thin spiral of pain bloomed behind his left eye as if there were a small drill that was moving inside his head. It had to be an Eyros Vampire he was speaking with. It wasn’t Daemon nor Julian. So that left only an Eyros Vampire as his potential conversation mate.
It’s me, he said. It’s Grayson. Balthazar? It is you, isn’t it?
Who is this Balthazar? The voice asked.
But this time he did recognize the voice. The arch tone. The arrogance. The coldness. So much colder than Balthazar’s. Amused but distant. A bored Immortal who played with minds as easily as others caught a ball.
Eyros! Grayson’s eyes popped open in his shock.
The churr-churr of the night insects had stopped.
He wondered if he had said that name out loud.
His eyes scanned the horizon, expecting to see the other Immortal walking towards him on bare feet.
Eyros rarely wore shoes. Though the sticky, squelching mud that was sucking down Grayson’s boots likely wouldn’t have pleased him. But the field was empty, but for him.
Eyros, he repeated. Is that you?
You know me, but I don’t know you, Eyros answered.
How could he be talking to Eyros, but not to Balthazar? How could he not know Grayson? He’d teleported somewhere in the Ever Dark, sure, but…
Time… time… the thought whispered in his mind.
It’s… It’s Ashyr, Grayson sent.
Bold to claim to be the General. He wouldn’t like that, Eyros chuckled.
Grayson rolled his eyes. He was sure that he wouldn’t have liked that. Wait, you said wouldn’t–not won’t so–
You called yourself Grayson, Eyros pointed out, ignoring his thoughts.
Yes, just like you’re Balthazar… or will be… or… look, it doesn’t matter. I am in a spot here and I need you to–
I don’t know you, Eyros interrupted, batting his thoughts away like annoying insects once more. Then with an almost sibilant whisper, he added, But I will.
Grayson felt the other Immortal start to drill into his mind for real this time. He slammed his mental defenses shut. It wouldn’t keep Eyros out forever. And should he want to? If Eyros understood what was happening–
But what has happened?
He slowly turned in a circle. Reeds and grass and mud and mist and nothing else were all around him. There were mountains and forest in the very far distance, but that was it. There was nothing to tell him where he was.
Or maybe it’s when, he realized. This isn’t the future. Eyros would have known he was Balthazar. So it must be… oh, by the gods, it’s the past.
He stared hard at this field and realized that even though it was a relatively nondescript field, he did recognize it. He’d seen it in a vision just recently and before that…
This is where I die. Or did I die already? Is that what Eyros meant by “wouldn’t” instead of “won’t”? Am I dead?
Panic fluttered in his chest like a wild bird, beating its wings.
He put a hand over his heart and forced himself to breathe, to just breathe.
He thought he saw something moving through the grass about 500-hundred feet away.
He dropped down so that he was hidden by the swaying stalks.
The wind blew. His heart lodged in his throat.
It blew in the opposite direction of the creature.
Hopefully, that would keep it from scenting him.
He felt for the flame in his chest. It was there.
Just bare embers. He was far weaker than he had realized.
He should have insisted on getting turned.
But he knew why he hadn’t. At least, partially.
Because he’d have to make a decision about who would turn him.
His heart wanted Ryder. But he feared that this was a foolish choice made out of emotion and not logic.
He’d chosen logic with his mother, despite his father’s anguish.
He likely hates me now. I wonder if he’s still with me. Here. In this empty place.