Chapter 121
Chapter One Hundred Twenty-One
Ellowyn
Torin’s fingers tightened around mine as we climbed the hill on the southernmost part of the Valley—the same one we stood upon when we first joined the battle.
That moment felt like eons ago, not a little more than a day.
We were quiet together as we hiked, both mulling over words that needed to be said and questions that needed to be answered.
The problem was, our questions were identical, and neither of us possessed the right answers.
After the Bondsmith killed Solace, the last remaining Creation Magic transferred from her to me while Torin absorbed her Air and Water Magic.
Between Torin and me, we now possessed all eight Original Magics, and I could feel the power humming beneath my skin.
It begged to be released, to return to Meru.
The dichotomy between what happened when I received Kaos’ Destruction versus Solace’s Creation was stark.
After the initial bite of discomfort where it felt like my chest was expanding—some part of me growing to accommodate the influx of power that filled my well—there was little pain and certainly no feeling like I was going to die from the magic flowing through my veins.
I had no idea if it was the difference between the two magics or because I had tethered myself to Peytor, but it was shaping up to be one of those mysteries that simply remained.
“He has to be alive,” Torin muttered as we crested the top of the hill, stopping to breathe as we surveyed the aftermath of the battle below.
The bodies had been removed, exposing a swath of mud dyed red from the blood of the fallen.
Holes pockmarked the ground where magic attacks bit into the soil, and any remaining spring grass was trampled flat by thousands of feet.
Eventually, as spring turned to summer, there would be no evidence at all.
Except for the memories that lived on in those who survived.
I hummed, trying to reach for any of my magics, but was disappointed as they evaded my grasp yet again.
“Still nothing?” Torin asked again, squeezing my hand tight while turning his gaze to me. He’d been like this ever since I awoke in Lishahl all those months ago, and I couldn’t say I disliked the attention, even if I sweated under his intense stare.
I was learning that ‘intense’ was the best word to describe Torin; it was in the way he felt, in the way he acted, in the way he protected those he loved.
“No,” I whispered, my words stolen by the sudden breeze that ruffled the budding leaves on the trees and brought with it the scent of honeysuckle and petrichor.
Torin squeezed my hand again, but bit back the words I knew he wanted to say.
It was an argument we kept having the last few hours; despite the evidence to the contrary, Torin refused to believe that Peytor died.
More than anything, I wanted my brother to be alive, for him to return to his quad and those who loved him.
But our inability to access our magic—magic that our tether helped to ground and funnel—seemed like fairly damning evidence.
Better to be pessimistic and surprised by the outcome than to hope and grieve.
“Hello, Children,” a voice rasped on the wind, causing Torin and me to spin in place.
I could hear Fate, but not see him. Torin’s keen gaze searched the skies and the expansive plains to the south of our hill, but he frowned and pursed his lips when he came up short.
“It’s time you visited your birthright in the flesh, don’t you think?”
My vision blackened before focusing once more, my eyes widening at the familiar cracked ground beneath my boots and the dancing magic in the sky.
It seemed more active today, like the multicolored tendrils were straining to reach down from the heavens and strike us where we stood.
“Welcome to Meru, home of the gods,” Fate intoned, materializing in front of us.
He no longer donned the disguise of a man but rather held what I assumed was his true nature.
Black billowing robes surrounded his figure, thousands of runes that glowed with an ethereal beauty pulsed slowly throughout.
Long, grey-taloned fingers extended from thin hands and slender wrists while his true face was hidden deep within the recesses of his hood.
I tried to peer within to perhaps catch a glimpse of his eyes, but Fate shook his head with a bark of a laugh.
“Curious thing, aren’t you? Some mysteries, Goddess of Death, are better left as secrets.” There was a cautionary bite to his tone, and I stepped back, inclining my head slightly.
“As you wish, Fate.” After the events of the last few years, I had no desire to anger another immortal being.
“Goddess of Death?” Torin asked.
Fate paused for a moment, his long black fingernails tapping together lightly. It was the only noise in Meru, I noticed, even the clouds and rumble of thunder stilling to hear his words.
“That is what she is, is she not?” He turned his hood toward me, and I had the distinct feeling that his eyes were perusing me from head to toe. “She possesses Creation and Destruction, Pain and Pleasure. Death is wrought from all. Balance,” he said.
“You”—he pointed a finger at Torin—“are the God of Life. Fire, Water, Air, and Earth, the four corner points for all things to exist. Yet you cannot exist without Death, nor can Death exist without you.”
Torin frowned, his consternation mirroring my own.
“But that is not why we are here,” Fate continued before either of us could ask anything further.
“Why are we here?” I asked, tucking an errant, wavy strand of blood-matted hair behind my ear with a slight grimace.
“Welcome, my children, to the end of the world.” He bowed with a flourish.
Torin and I sent each other twin puzzled looks before I began to clap, the sound echoing loudly throughout the deadened landscape.
Fate straightened to his full height, his frame vibrating with exasperation. I quickly tucked my palms behind my back while Torin fought to stifle a laugh.
“Sorry,” I muttered, ears burning under Fate’s stare.
He grumbled something beneath his breath, too faint to hear.
“Meru is the end of the world—the home of the gods and a waypoint between here and the other realms. It’s dead, as you can see”—Fate’s tone was dry as a bone—“and, thus, is the end of the world. If you choose not to revive it, to keep the magic for yourself, then it will fade into nothingness, cease to exist completely and consume Elyria in a bid to delay its own destruction.”
I cleared my throat, mouth suddenly dry, at the implication.
“That . . . seems too easy,” Torin said slowly. “We simply give up our magic and reenergize Meru? That doesn’t seem like a difficult choice to make.”
“Did I forget to mention that there’s a significant chance that you die? Your magic is attached to your soul, after all, and giving up not just one original power, but four could very well splinter your soul beyond recognition.”
My heart sank, dread coiling in my gut. I crossed my arms over my stomach in an effort to contain my rapidly rising anxiety.
“You knew all this, didn’t you?” I accused. Fate simply stood silent. “The lovers at the end of the world . . .” I muttered, piecing it together. “That’s us. Isn’t it?”
Fate inclined his head. “There have been many before you, and there will be many after you. But yes. You are them.”
“What happens if we choose to keep our powers? How long does Elyria have?” Fate bristled then, anger wafting from him in waves as the ground seemed to vibrate with his frustration.
“Days.”
Meru seemed to respond, the air thickening with Fate’s words, causing my breath to stick in my lungs and throat. A solid weight pressed against my chest, and a sense of general unease settled around my shoulders.
Fate cocked his head as if listening to something on the wind. “Perhaps less than that.”
I sighed as Torin rubbed his face in his hands.
“Then that’s not much of a choice, is it? We didn’t watch our friends die simply for the living to perish days later.” Torin peeked an eye at me over his shoulder.
I shrugged, stomach still in knots over our decision.
“Wonderful,” Fate purred, gesturing to the ground. “Simply place your hands against the earth and—” He waved his taloned hands about. “Meru will know what to do.”
Slowly, I knelt, a puff of dust expelling around where my knees touched.
I pushed my hands against the dry ground, digging my nails into the soil.
This is dumb, I thought as I closed my eyes, trying to push my magic outward.
Nothing happened.
I peeked an eye open, staring at Torin, and nearly collapsed in a fit of giggles at the expression on his face.
“You look constipated,” I whispered, losing the fight with my mirth.
Torin smirked, a laugh bubbling through his tightly closed lips as well until the two of us were a tangled heap of limbs and aching bellies.
“Are you quite done?” Fate asked, annoyance written in every word.
“Yes, yes,” I gasped, wiping the tears from my eyes.
Gods, it felt good to cry for something other than sadness. I’d done enough of that for four lifetimes.
“You must offer it to Meru. It’s like any offering to any god; Meru is just a sentient place rather than a being.”
Huh. That might be the first thing Fate’s said that actually makes sense.
I positioned my hands against the soil once more, this time focusing on the four balls of life in my chest.
Everything else faded away the harder I concentrated, until it felt like my consciousness was floating somewhere deep inside me, yet elsewhere in the same instant.
I was my magic, and my magic was tied inexplicably to my soul.
Tentatively, I reached out to caress each of the four wells, surprised when they came easily to my call.
Destruction—the first power I ever used—jumped eagerly, pushing ahead of the others in a bid to escape.
I laughed at its eagerness and basked in the flashing display of embers that twined so tightly with the diaphanous strands of ash.