Chapter 93
There’s often this idea that in fights, battles, and wars, the most important moments happen in milliseconds. A life is saved. A life is lost. A fight is won. A soul is lost.
Once, Rou had told me the most important moment in her life—the greatest, most monumental, most meaningful moment—was tucked into a space barely big enough to hold a breath.
An event carrying the emotional heft of the universe was tucked into the tick of a second hand.
I’d never understood.
Not really.
But then I saw Finn, eyes ablaze, fire swords flashing, spinning in a fiery dance against . . . himself. One Finn fought with swords. The other threw firebolts.
They looked the same. They moved the same. They were the same.
Except not.
Because one of those Finns was good, and the other was corrupt.
Do you remember what you once told me?
It was one of the nights when I couldn’t sleep.
You made me tea and stroked my back. I had a heavy, anguished weight in my chest. I knew there was good in the world—you, always you—but I was terrified that good wasn’t enough.
That I’d already sunk into hell and I wasn’t redeemable.
That nothing could save me from what I’d done and what I was bound to do.
I was terrified there were some things I couldn’t be saved from.
You said, “Mari, that’s just what Jagger wants you to think.
He’s a liar. He lies. If you find yourself thinking you can’t be saved .
. . if you find yourself thinking you’re lost .
. .” You tucked me close, pressed your mouth to my forehead, and said, “Hang on. Hang on to hope. Have faith, Mari. Remember . . . your heart is a battlefield.”
I smiled. “It’s a bloody one.”
You brushed my hair back and said, “They all are. But when the bloody battle is done, where will you stand? With me? Or against me?”
With good? Or against good?
With love? Or against love?
“With you,” I promised.
This battle was one of the moments Rou had told me about. The emotional weight of it struck me like a supernova and cleaved my heart in two. The lock around it shuddered and wailed.
Everyone, even the horror, had frozen for a few fraught seconds while the two Finns fought a death duel.
It wasn’t the blue sparks flying, the violent whirlwind of their battle, or the deadly struggle that struck me. It was that I’d known this moment would come.
Not for Finn. I hadn’t known he’d fight himself. But for me.
There was a cruel, monstrous horror inside me. It felt like it had swallowed me whole. Ever since I’d woken up a mine, I’d felt consumed. It was terrifying. It was horrible. Everywhere I turned, it was there.
Yet there was also a small, flagging, weary bit of good.
It hadn’t left me.
In that tiny, safety-pin-size, half-a-breath moment, I felt the thundering weight of revelation.
There was the joy of holding Finn’s hand as we sprinted through the rain and then kissed with rain-soaked lips under an awning.
There was the peacefulness of resting my head against Justice’s shoulder as he painted me the stars.
There was the gentleness of Luvic conjuring a homeless man a thick winter coat and then handing him his own gloves.
The generosity of Griff spending hot afternoons in Rou’s garden, hauling buckets of water to the roof.
The patience, the kindness, the faithfulness we all had with each other—always—even in the dark.
In that moment, the whole world shifted and became new.
It was as if I’d stepped through a locked door and entered a new place.
Like the world before had been muted and dull.
An old, faded photocopy of an old, faded photograph of a dull, muted day.
Now, I’d stepped into the real moment. And I saw how the photocopy of the photograph had hidden the beauty of the world.
How can anyone describe stepping into a new world?
The colors sang. The light—even within the horror—was as bright as a star.
It was like the first time I’d left the city and traveled north.
I’d never imagined how many shades of green there could be.
I’d never known how many smells a forest could have.
My imagination hadn’t prepared me for the wonder.
Then, just as quickly as the revelation occurred, it pulled back and dropped away, leaving me with a fuzzy, faded impression of what was and could’ve been.
Or maybe . . . could be again.
Jacob glanced at me quickly, tapping against my heart.
All right? his tap asked. Okay?
I nodded.
He grinned and then pulled back and sprinted toward Celia on the horse.
At his movement, everyone was released from their shock at seeing Finn fighting himself.
Last gripped my arm and swung me toward Primus. He grabbed my shoulders and snarled, “Now, truth seer. Untie the Smith’s illusion. We end this!”
As the Bards and my brother fought the horror, I floated outside myself and studied Finn’s illusions. Both of them were conjuring. Both of them were surrounded in thousands of knots.
They were the functional military knots the Smiths preferred. Bowline, square knot, overhand knot, reef knot, rolling hitch, half-hitch, cleat hitch, figure eight. Simple to untie.
“Finn!” I shouted.
They both turned and looked at me.
The one with the blue fire swords was filled with intense focus and determination. His eyes flickered to me for only a second before returning to his attack.
The Finn shooting the blue fire lances had a different reaction. When he saw me, his expression filled with anticipatory glee. There was a cruel cast to his mouth as he focused on me.
He lifted his hand and shot a blaze of fire.
Finn knocked him aside, tackling him.
I yanked the knots free, dousing the fire a half-second before it speared me.
“Now!” Primus yelled.
I tugged all the knots free, unraveling the cruel Finn’s illusion.
He ducked the other Finn’s fire swords. He may not have illusion, but he still had all of Finn’s skill.
“Both of them,” Primus growled. “Remove both of their illusion. Now!”
It’s a terrible fact that even with my revelation of good and love and the brightness of the world, I was still compelled to sweep aside Finn’s conjuring.
I untied his knots and left both of them bare.
Primus laughed jubilantly when Finn’s fire swords disappeared. But what did Finn care? He’d spent twenty-five years of his life without illusion—he didn’t need illusion to fight. He yanked the twin metal swords free from his back and lunged at the cruel Finn.
Primus twisted his hand and opened a pit beneath them. At the same moment, a massive, thunderous roar ripped through the night. Across the water, east on the horizon, a giant red fireball rose into the sky and then was swallowed by darkness.
“The Smiths,” Last said. “The leggerock did it! He blew up the Smith estate.” She laughed hysterically, clapping her hands. “I knew he would!”
I raced toward the hole in the ground, but Jacob had reached it before me. He soared through the air on a thin metal sheet and then dove into the abyss.
Before I reached the edge, Jacob and the two Finns catapulted from the pit. They somersaulted in the air and slammed across the ground.
The good Finn and my brother leaped to their feet and stood back-to-back.
“Figured it out finally?” Jacob asked.
Finn made a noncommittal noise, eyeing both Primus and his other self. Then he looked at the horror, and beyond that, the red-tinged horizon. His home was burning.
“The better question is . . . what are we going to do about that?” Jacob pointed at the horror.
Finn’s eyes narrowed. “How quickly can you get to my home?”
My brother raised his eyebrows and then shoved a wall of wind at Primus. “Why?”
“Get Darin and everyone else. Tell them to come. We’ll be able to cage it if we all—” He ducked then slashed at the cruel Finn.
“I’m the Ward, not your—” He tossed another blast of air at Primus.
“Truth seer!” Primus roared. “Remove the Ward!”
Jacob glanced at me. He smiled and then said to Finn, “All right. I’m going. Have fun—”
He leaped away, diving over Primus’s wall of maces and boosting himself over the horror. Right before he escaped the Silencer’s ring, Celia launched herself from the horse’s back. She landed next to him, grabbed his gory shirt, and yanked him close.
“Where do you think you’re going?” she asked.
He lifted an eyebrow. “To save the day?”
She huffed a laugh, and a small, fuzzy thing—a dog?—poked its head out of her shirt.
“Be careful. Darin’s a hothead—”
“Lia—”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.
While Finn fought himself, while the horror bulged and writhed, while Luvic charged on his glowing horse and Ragnor threw water spears, Celia Bard pulled Jacob close and kissed him with her eyes closed.
Jacob dragged her against him, pulled her feet off the ground, and cloaked them in darkness. For five long seconds, they disappeared behind his dark curtain. Then it pulled back, and my brother was gone. Celia stood alone, her eyes dazed, her fingers to her mouth, a small smile on her face.
Then the tiny dog barked. Celia blinked. She dove out of the way as Last hurled a boulder at her.