Thirty
We followed the river for what felt like hours.
Time was funny in this space. All we had to mark its passage was the sound of the water, which flowed ceaselessly forward.
There was nothing else save for our breaths and the faint glow of my magic.
The air was moist, the ground slippery. With my power activated, I was acutely aware of the total lack of life around us.
There wasn’t a single thread begging for recognition. Nothing and no one lived here.
A mist had risen from somewhere within the cavern.
It settled over us, around us, with an oppressive, suffocating weight.
It was a hot, rancid exhale that soured my tongue, and my magic sharpened in response.
It flared outward like a star, ricocheting against the reflective walls as it tried in vain to pinpoint the source of death but found nothing. Rorik’s grip on my hand tightened.
“Are you okay?” He tilted his head to get a better look at my face.
“All things considered, yes,” I said softly. My headache splintered down the base of my neck. But I couldn’t stop. Not when we were so close to putting an end to it all.
“You really think he’ll just be waiting for us at the end of this tunnel?” Rorik asked, trying to infuse his words with a bit of sarcasm, likely for my benefit.
I grimaced. “I doubt it. I imagine I have to be in the space first. I don’t sense him yet.”
A sliver of Ossanna’s tale rose to the forefront of my mind. Here, Death will appear if properly summoned.
No, I didn’t think we’d have a problem meeting Death at all. Even with perfecting our magics, there was no reclaiming what had already been lost. I would always be on the precipice like this.
The idea of living like that a moment longer was horrifying.
After walking for a few more minutes in silence, the tunnel spilled open into a massive cavern as large as the sprawling lawns outside of Fernglove.
Stalactites with pointed tips were like fangs jutting from a creature’s maw, and droplets coated them like spittle.
Thousands upon thousands of minuscule winking insects—the first and only glimmer of life I detected—dotted the ceiling.
They were slow-moving stars in the dark expanse of the cavern, and I couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of awe.
The river rushed forward and converged into a lake that swirled in a blackened whirlpool around a lone island in the center.
It was nothing more than a mound of smooth ebony glass that was so close in color to the water that it was hard to tell where the earth ended and the lake began.
I stilled and glanced around the cave. Three more brooks fed into the churning lake from each corner of the cavern. “This is it.”
Rorik’s glamour rippled away, revealing his black-and-gold wings that snapped at his back. He eyed the stalactites carefully and then jumped into the air, only to land heavily back on his feet. A snarl ripped from his chest.
“It seems we’re meant to follow the river.” He brought his hand upward and met some solid, invisible barrier that my eyes couldn’t see. “A spell of sorts. It will likely disappear if we meet Death and are able to walk away like Rebellyn did.”
“Wonderful,” I grumbled.
“I guess we’re swimming,” Rorik said as his glamour fell back into place. He moved to the edge and inspected the lake’s inky darkness. The snarling water was rapid, the depth unknowable without plunging in.
“Can we even make it across?”
He tracked the trajectory of the churning whirlpool.
“I have a feeling the current will take us to the island regardless. We’ve followed it to Death, and it will deliver.
” He took a single step and submerged his foot.
The water thrashed against his calf, trying to drag him under.
“I’ll go first. Wait until I say it’s safe. ”
And then he simply walked in. There must have been a shelf or a dropoff of some sort, because he was gone in an instant.
My breaths turned shallow as my eyes widened, and I scanned the snarling waters as panic erupted in my chest. Gone.
He was gone. I shoved more magic through to my fingertips and let it bleed through my eyes.
If I couldn’t see him within the raging waters, maybe I could still detect his threads.
Seconds crawled by. Nothing. I edged closer to the river’s edge.
Rorik! I shouted down our bond. Where are you? Say something!
Another second. And another.
Until finally—
Gods, it’s fucking cold.
Relief slammed into me, and my knees hit the rocky earth as I let out a shaky breath. Where are you?
Here. He emerged from the waters and hauled himself onto the glassy island in the middle of the lake. He was soaked from head to toe, but his aquamarine threads were vibrant and shimmering with life.
Just let the current take you. I’ll grab you when you pass. He eased toward the water’s edge and crouched. Don’t worry. I’ve got you.
Okay. I followed his path, plunging one foot into the frigid water and biting back a curse. You weren’t kidding about the cold.
His stiff chuckle sounded in my mind. The current snared my ankle and slammed into my leg, and I nearly buckled from the sudden force of it.
One more step and I’d be swept away. I waited for a moment.
Flexed my hands and tried to brace myself for what was to come.
And then I stepped in fully and let myself be carried away.
The water swallowed me immediately, burying me beneath the choppy surface and dragging me on a trajectory I couldn’t see.
Air bubbles escaped from my mouth in a flurry.
Fighting the current did nothing. My instincts kicked in, body thrashing wildly in an attempt to reach the surface, but I was caught in a channel of turbulent water that refused to let go.
Don’t fight it. Rorik’s voice was a blip of warmth in the freezing expanse of nothingness.
But my panic was hard to wrangle, and my body revolted at the idea of being still.
I’d always used my breath to center myself, and yet here I couldn’t.
There was nothing but panic clawing up my throat and a bitter, numbing cold that threaded through my skin like needles.
And then Rorik’s hand.
He drove it through the churning depths and gripped the collar of my coat, yanking me to the surface. I was in his lap within a breath. Shaking. Trembling. Relieved. He caged me in his arms and held me close.
“It’s over,” he murmured.
“And that was the easy part.” I cut a glance around. Death wasn’t here yet, but it wouldn’t be long before he showed. “Remember the plan.”
Rorik looked at me for a long moment. I love you. Remember that.
I love you, too.
In a single moment, he shuttered his emotions and let disdain fill his eyes.
His lips curled in disgust as he straightened, not bothering to help me stand.
Instead, he made a show of inspecting the island.
The mist had stopped abruptly at the water’s edge, and this mound of smooth land was completely clear.
The stalactites hanging from the ceiling reflected in the glass.
We were walking into the opened maw of a monster, and at any moment, it could snap its jaw shut and tear us to pieces.
There were no trees. No grass. Nothing, save for a small sphere directly in the center of the island that barely reached Rorik’s knee in height.
He walked toward it, careful not to slip on the slick surface.
I didn’t bother to stand up. I was weak. I was scared. I was in need of saving. “What is it?” I asked, voice trembling.
Rorik knelt before the orb. He held out his hand, testing the air around it. “It feels like a ley line marker, but it’s not responding to my magic. A futile effort on Death’s part. I’m here, after all.”
A cold chill began to fill the air.
“Why are you doing this?” I wrung the soaked strands of my hair. “Why bring me here?”
“Because only someone as sick and pitiful as you can summon Death.” His biting words were full of venom.
The cold sharpened. A strange rattle began somewhere far off. Our plan was working.
“How can you say that to me? I love you.” I let a choked sob escape my throat. A small but brief warmth flickered down our heartbond. Just a tender stroke of affection. A reminder of the truth.
“You were supposed to cure me of blight. You failed,” Rorik drawled. “Now I have to take matters into my own hands.” He flexed his fingers for effect.
“You can try.”
I startled in place, craning my neck to find the source of the rattling, dissonant words that hung in the air.
They were everywhere and nowhere, a presence that couldn’t be seen but rather felt.
They echoed through me with a sense of finality that could only belong to Death himself.
Rorik stilled. He narrowed his eyes, but his arrogant smile only stretched wider.
I felt his magic bloom to life down our bond and watched as green particles hovered near his fists.
A few feet from us, shadows gathered in a pool of pure night.
They snaked and interlocked, writhed and hissed, until a figure birthed from the abyss like a statue rising from the earth.
The ink-black tendrils became his clothes, his cloak, the very hood shielding his face from view.
I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew he was staring.
And the smell . . . It was the stale must of an unopened room, the hint of decay from a pile of rotting leaves, the stench of sulfur.
“An Ever in my domain.” The grate of his whisper sent the hairs on the back of my neck skyward. “How unfortunate for you.”
I let out a startled gasp. “Who are you?”
“Poor mender.” His hum was the rattle of leaves against stone. “I know your pain. You’ve been deceived by the one you love.”
“What do you mean?” I stood and took a small step toward Death. He didn’t shy away.
“This Ever”—he practically spat the word—“does not care for you. All he wants is to rid himself of blight.”