30. Asha
Asha
We are washed up on a shore that is hard rock and sharp enough to scrape my palms raw.
I cough until my chest burns, sprawled on black stone while water pours around me and retreats through the broken doorway behind us. Hale lands beside me with enough force to grunt. Tobin hits further up the shore, dragging Leith by a silver binding that vanishes the second they stop moving.
The opening seals.
One violent flash of purple, then solid rock replaces it.
I died.
I’m not horrified, scared, or any other pathetic emotion. I’m annoyed.
Because now I know what dead feels like, and this isn’t the first time. The first time was when Z-man and his cronies banished me. They weren’t trying to banish me; they were out to kill me, and they succeeded. Only somehow, by some twist of fate or whatever the fuck, I landed alive at SilverGate.
But for a few measly seconds, I was dead. Gone. No longer an immortal being but a dead one.
“I’m going to kill you,” I rasp. “Rip your head off and shove it so far up your arse, you will be able to see me out of the gaping hole where that smug face used to be.”
“Excuse me?” Tobin growls. “I just saved us.”
I groan and roll over, getting on all fours, dripping wet and mad as a snake. “Not you, you arsehole.”
“Then who?”
“I can’t say his name, but the blithering idiot responsible for landing me in this godforsaken place with you arseholes.”
“Nice,” Hale comments, shaking out his hair.
“No, not nice. Not nice at all. I want to go home.”
“And we are trying to get you there, in case you haven’t noticed,” Leith snaps.
I swing my head towards him.
Blood streaks his face. His skin is drained of colour, and black magic still flickers over his fingers in weak bursts. He looks close to collapse, but the irritation in his blue eyes remains viciously intact.
Guilt tries to surface.
I crush it. “I noticed. I also noticed that our latest attempt ended with me dead at the bottom of a pit.”
“And who pulled you free?” Leith asks.
“You did.”
“Who forced the dead back?”
“You did.”
“Then perhaps save your temper for the person responsible.”
“I am. He just isn’t here to receive it.”
Leith wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his hand. “A tragedy for him.”
Tobin gets to his feet and surveys the cavern. His wet clothes cling to his body, which is distracting enough that I lose some of my anger.
Hale rises beside me, takes my upper arm and hauls me upright.
“You weren’t exiled,” he says quietly. “They tried to kill you.”
“They did kill me. Briefly. I understand now,” I say, chin raised. “That was their first mistake.”
“What was their second?”
“Not making sure I stayed down.”
“Nice,” Leith says. “I’m a bit turned on.”
“Your timing needs work,” I tell him.
“So does yours. Dying before I get my turn is extremely inconsiderate.”
“I came back.”
His gaze drops over me, checking for injuries. “Keep doing that.”
The words settle somewhere they shouldn’t.
I look away and take in our new prison.
Purple light runs through the cavern walls, faint but steady.
Black water covers everything behind us, stretching into darkness beyond the reach of Tobin’s silver orb.
The shore rises towards a passage cut through the rock.
Ancient script marks the entrance, but looking at it makes pain gather behind my eyes.
“Guess we’re going through the passage,” I say and take a shaky step forward.
Hale doesn’t release his hold on me, which I appreciate, and I give him a smile.
He looks taken aback for a second before he grins. “Passage it is.”
We move towards it.
My boots squelch, and every step sends a dull ache through my ribs. Water drips from all four of us. My hair clings to my neck. I want dry clothes, a throne, and several executions.
Not necessarily in that order.
Tobin sends his orb ahead. Silver light meets the purple current in the walls and flickers. “The dampening spell is weaker here.”
“Is that good?” Hale asks.
“It means we can defend ourselves.”
“Good enough.”
Leith follows behind us. I can hear the slight drag in his steps despite his best effort to hide it.
I stop and look back. “You need healing.”
“I need to leave this cavern.”
“Working on it.”
Hale releases my arm and moves towards the passage entrance, taking guard without being asked. Fire rolls over his fingers in a low burn, while Tobin comes to Leith’s side.
“I can heal myself,” Leith says.
“You’re doing a brilliant job,” I reply. “You look half dead.”
“I am a reaper. I’m all dead.”
“Do all reapers deliberately miss the point?”
“Only when goddesses fuss over us.”
“I’m not fussing. Be all dead. What do I care?”
Tobin puts a hand against Leith’s chest. Silver magic spreads under his wet shirt, cutting through the remaining black current. Leith stiffens but permits it. The blood under his nose stops flowing, and some colour returns to his face.
“There,” Tobin says. “You’re less corpse-like.”
Leith glances down at his hand. “You interfered with my death-current.”
“I stopped it from consuming your nervous system.”
“It would’ve settled.”
“Eventually. After a seizure.”
I leave them to argue and approach Hale. Purple light crawls over the entrance, brightening when I get close. The script above it sharpens.
“Can you understand it?” Hale asks.
“Yes, but I can’t say it out loud.” I press my marked hand to my chest when the lines beneath my skin start burning.
“Is it good or bad?”
“It’s not great.”
“Is it our way out?”
“Only if you like risking your life.”
“Good enough. Let’s move.”
“Your enthusiasm for almost dying is becoming a personality defect.”
“Becoming?”
I give him a tired shove and step beneath the script.
The passage reacts at once.
Purple fire races down both walls, revealing a corridor carved with scenes I recognise. Armies kneel beneath storm-black skies. Towers burn. A female figure stands above a gate with one hand raised while creatures fall before her.
Me.
The carvings have been damaged too badly to see my face, but I know the crown cut into the stone. Seven points. A dark jewel at the centre. The crown has belonged to me since I tore it from the previous ruler’s severed head.
Hale comes up beside me. His attention moves over the walls before settling on the crowned figure. “That you?”
“Yes.”
“You’re taller in the carving.”
I glare up at him. “I am taller in my real body.”
“Good. I was worried the artist was flattering you.”
Tobin and Leith join us. Tobin sends his orb higher, illuminating more of the carvings. Leith studies the script beneath the images, his face restored enough to look severe rather than terminal.
Tobin steps closer to the wall without touching it. “The structure resembles pre-Founding gate script, but the language is foreign.”
“StormGate script,” I say.
The purple fire brightens.
I move to the next carving. The female figure stands before three kneeling males. Time has worn away parts of the scene, but their functions remain marked beneath them.
My pulse kicks.
“The ritual,” Tobin says behind me.
“Mm.”
Hale studies the male marked by fire. Three heads rise above him, surrounded by flames. “That’s a hellhound.”
I stare at the contact carved between them. A line runs from his body to the gate behind her.
“This isn’t a map,” Leith says. “It’s an instruction.”
“Or a record,” Tobin replies.
I walk further down the corridor, refusing to admit how much the walls disturb me. The next scene shows the same four currents driven into a gate. The crowned female stands at the centre while darkness pours through the opening behind her.
My army.
The creatures carved into the stone kneel at the sight of her. Winged beasts crowd the sky above them. Soldiers in black armour lower their weapons. At the back, vast towers rise beneath violent storm clouds.
Home.
I put my fingers against the image before I can stop myself.
The stone warms.
For one vicious second, the corridor vanishes.
I stand on the execution terrace at StormGate with rain hitting my face and blood running between the black stones under my boots. Thousands kneel below me. My crown presses into my scalp, heavy with power.
They chant my true name.
The sound reaches me without breaking apart. It enters my blood, fierce and complete, and every fragment of this made-up body strains to contain it.
I know who kneels in the front rank.
Generals. Wardens. Monsters who have levelled cities because I ordered it.
One place stands empty at the foot of the terrace.
My throne waits behind me.
Someone grips my arm.
The vision ruptures.
I wrench free and spin, power gathering in my hand before I remember I have almost none.
Leith stands in front of me.
His fingers remain lifted between us. “You stopped breathing.”
“What did you see?” Tobin asks.
“Home.” The word comes out raw. I turn back to the carving, but the warmth has gone. The crowned figure remains fixed above her army, distant and unreachable.
Hale steps between me and the wall. His green-gold eyes search my face. “Anything useful?”
“My people are alive.”
“You know that?”
“I saw them kneeling at the execution terrace.” I swallow against the pressure in my throat. “It could’ve been a memory.”
“Could’ve been more,” Tobin says.
“They were saying my name.”
“Your true name?” Leith asks quietly.
I nod. “We need to find out where to do this ritual. I want to go home.”
“We need to find the Matron painting again,” Leith says. “She had a lot to say.”
“Assuming Blackridge hasn’t locked her in a magical vault,” I say.
“He may have,” Tobin replies. “That doesn’t make her unreachable.”
“Everything is reachable if you’re willing to destroy enough walls,” Hale adds.
I look at him. “Finally, someone is speaking sense.”
The purple fire rushes further down the corridor, illuminating another carving. This one shows the gate closed. The crowned female lies on the ground before it, while the three males stand around her. Lines connect them to her body, but a fourth figure waits beyond the gate.
I step closer.
The figure has no face. A long cloak covers its body, and one hand rests against the other side of the barrier. Black marks radiate from its palm.
“Who is that?” Hale asks.
“I don’t know.”
The answer sits badly in my chest. These walls know my crown, my army and the currents needed to open the gate. They should know everything. Leaving one creature without an identity feels intentional.
Tobin raises the orb. “The script beneath it is damaged.”
“No,” Leith says. “Removed.”
He runs one finger near the gouged stone. Deep cuts have destroyed the writing without touching the rest of the carving.
“Someone didn’t want the name preserved,” I murmur.
“Or didn’t want you reading it,” Tobin says.
A grinding noise echoes ominously down the passage, and we all freeze.
“Tell me that was Hale’s stomach,” I whisper.
“Close, but no,” Hale whispers back.
“Move forward, slowly,” Leith says, but the tone is off.
I turn my head to look at him and gulp. “Oh, fuck.”