Architecti
We play a game of cat and mouse. I lose Interitus then find her, only to lose her all over again. Regardless of her hide-and-seek antics, I hobble fast, my tendons and ligaments knitting together quickly despite my injuries.
I’m not sure whether it’s a celestial blessing or a demonic curse, but locating her is actually the easiest of my problems.
It’s her temper that leaves a very obvious trail of destruction in its wake—she doesn’t even care.
Fists and wings smash against wraith bones and ashspawn.
She tears fungus from bark, rips gnarled trunks from the earth and hurls boulders around like baby toys.
The noise she makes is a twisted little birdsong well suited to the underworld.
The screeching increases; it’s a leathery sound, pitched with steel and necrotic moans.
It scuttles through me, making every cell shrivel, my joints curl against muscle and my feathers shiver in their follicles.
After failing to find any cuts in the Veil to pass through to the mortal realm, Interitus makes her way through the outer fungus fields and into the heart of the underworld. Like a helpless kitten, I follow. In the distance, an ominous tower spears the ground.
Inverted.
I don’t understand how it stays upright. It balances on a single thick finial that plunges into the scorched earth.
The tower is all wrong. That wrongness seeps into me like an infection.
A single door sits nestled in the finial and then the tower grows thicker and wider the higher it rises until it pierces the clouds and vanishes, hiding the base from sight.
Where our celestial buildings are bright and glassy, those here are dark and burnt. Long nail-like windows suck in light and spit out undulating ribbons of magic that make me itch.
Wraiths and hideous little creatures crawl around the heart of the underworld.
We don’t know how to cut our way out, yet, but if wraiths get through to the mortal world, I have an awful feeling that is our best bet.
Not least because I want to save myself.
This is no place for a celestial being, though Interitus seems to fit it far better than I do.
I wheel into a darkened alley. It’s lined with decayed and crumbling buildings. Mould crawls up the walls—the only splatter of colour in this dreary world.
Interitus stands at the end of the alley. Two shadowy mortal souls hover several feet away from her. But she is cornered by a wraith.
Its mouth hangs low, body skeletal and dried like old fruit. The wraith’s teeth are yellow, it’s skin flaking and necrotic. My mouth curls, my nose wrinkling at the smell wafting down the street.
Interitus swings her fists at the ghastly creature, but it’s fast and catches her fist. It shoves her and she tumbles further down the alley. Long, wrinkled legs power after her, skittering and skulking the entire way.
I pick up my pace, the hobble turning to a staggered jog. My wings finally kick in. Survival instinct awakens their aching feathers, dragging me up enough so my feet skim the slippery cobbles and propel me down the street.
Interitus plays dead, but I spot her lashes fluttering. She lurches up at the last minute, kicking both her feet into the middle of the wraith’s chest. It surges back, smashing into the alley wall.
And lies still.
It’s not dead, of course. I mean, not more dead than it already is. But it’s certainly whatever form of unconscious exists down here.
She turns to the souls—shades—if I remember rightly.
“How do I get to the mortal world?” she asks.
The shades glance at each other and shake their heads.
Interitus jolts forward. The shades startle and dart away. But Interitus is quicker and whips her wing out. The serrated edge digs into one of the shade’s translucent figures.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at her. But she ignores me, not even turning to acknowledge me.
“I said, how do I get to the mortal world?” Her words are coarser than a growl. They’re spittle and rage, filled with the heat found in scorn and spite.
I inch away, unsure I recognise my sister. I thought if I continued to follow her, I may be able to prevent her hurtling towards tragedy.
That I could save her.
But the fall seems to have unleashed an ugly side within her. As though with each step closer to her goal, the more layers of innocence she sheds. What worries me, is that all I see beneath her layers are broiling oceans filled with poison that one day even the wraiths will fear.
The shade trembles against the bladed feather buried in her back.
“Run,” she whispers to her friend, who hesitates and then does as she’s told, vanishing down the alley.
“Please,” the shade whispers.
“Answer the question and I’ll let you go,” Interitus says.
“I… we’re not supposed to go to the other side unless we’re called by Finis.”
“And yet… so many shades find their way into the mortal realm anyway.” She sags against Interitus. “So tell me, shade. How do I cross?”
“If you are not called, then you must cut your way out or escape through a tear.”
She’s young, her voice too full of youth.
She died long before she was supposed to—her early twenties, I think.
My heart twinges as I listen to the shade speak.
A sinister loop coils in my gut, twisting and gnarling.
I don’t want her to answer any more questions.
But she will. Because Interitus always gets her way.
I fear that one day when she does, it will not have good consequences for anyone.
“And how do I do that?” Interitus asks.
“It’s a magic laced in our souls. It’s how we respond when they call us…”
Interitus’s head tilts as she scans the shade, then her mouth drops open impossibly wide.
Oh no.
No. No. No.
The shade leans forward, her expression bulging wide as her body distorts and warps.
She wails. It’s weak compared to the screech of a wraith.
But what makes a shiver run through my soul is how human she sounds.
My feathers rise, all hackles and goosebumps.
Piece by piece the shade breaks apart, sucked inside my sister.
I stare, agog as Interitus rips the woman apart to find her power.
She breaks her.
Devours her.
Ruins her.
That’s all she ever does. All she’s capable of. All she will ever bring to this world.
I am horrified.
A sour flavour creeps up my throat and seeps into every cell in my mouth. The shade was innocent. Angels don’t do this. This is not right or proper for a celestial being. This behaviour is more reflective of a demon’s conduct. Perhaps this is why Interitus fits so well here.
I want to scour the vision from my mind, erase the memory and pretend my sister isn’t a monster.
Interitus may have chosen to become a fallen angel, but that doesn’t mean she has to behave like one. We are better than this.
When it’s over and there’s not a wisp left of the shade, I breathe out words coated in horror. “What have you done?”
Interitus snaps her head to me, as if she’d forgotten I was even observing.
“I took her power from her, and now I’ll use it for myself.” Interitus’s finger glows the same strange phosphorescent hue as the shade had.
The spot where the spirit stood is so empty it makes my insides gnash. What will become of her soul? Will she still exist in some plane or is she gone forever?
My heart cinches as it settles on the latter. Interitus is too efficient at destroying; I suspect she’s been erased.
Interitus’s finger draws down through the air. Slicing. The fabric between realms shimmers and bends, fraying where she cuts. In the space between the layers, forest and stone appear, and the lush colours of autumn leaves and evergreen trees create a landscape more beautiful than any masterpiece.
The mortal realm.
Interitus slides through without a backwards glance.
In my heart, I recognise the sorrow that my sister will bring to that world. But the creator of possibility inside me pleads for hope.
I glance at the wasteland of the underworld and then to the lush greenery of the mortal realm.
I cannot stay here.
There is no choice.
But I fear following after Interitus will eventually bring me the same fate as the shade—ruin.