Chapter 45
MAGIC AND MADNESS
FELíNE STEPPED OFF THE FINAL stone of the ancient stairway and found herself in a place that felt as though it belonged to another time. She and Kal had emerged onto a plateau, as they’d expected. The flat top of the hill stretched in a wide circle beneath the warm afternoon sunlight.
What she hadn’t expected was the haunted, untouched beauty of the hilltop.
To their left, the aberrant stream flowed up a raised rocky berm and trickled over the other side into a steaming hot spring.
The spring was sheltered on one border by a crescent-shaped limestone wall.
Vibrant colors—orange, yellow, chartreuse, and aquamarine—painted the rockface.
The water falling over its facade gave the illusion of a multicolored ribbon rippling down the stone to disappear beneath the pool’s surface.
Beyond the spring, strange, low-lying ferns extended feathery blue appendages, reaching to tickle the bare feet of any passersby.
Tiny flowers in a riot of color speckled the plateau’s plain.
Creeping mosses in shades of green Felíne hadn’t even known existed wound their way between neighboring plants and over boulders.
A stone bench, its seat cracked and crumbling, had been situated near one edge of the plateau.
Felíne brushed her fingertips along the lichen-covered slab.
The seat was wide enough for two and overlooked the sprawling expanse of Stillwater Wood.
She could see the Rhize mountains in the distance, their hazy white peaks kissing the skyline.
Gods, how incredible the night sky must look from this vantage. How infinite.
“Felíne.”
She’d never get used to the sound of her name from Kal’s lips. Yet when she turned, her enchantment faded.
Kal stood several paces from an odd mark in the earth, and as she joined him, that feeling of wrongness returned. How had she not noticed this when they’d first crested the hill?
The ground before them was…scarred. Felíne didn’t know how else to describe it.
The soil looked leached of life. Where the rest of the plateau was blanketed with an abundance of flora, odd though it may be, nothing grew here.
Not a blade of grass. Not one tiny bud. Not even a single decay-loving fungi.
She stepped to the edge of the scar and dropped to her haunches. Kal knelt beside her. Felíne couldn’t say what compelled her, but she reached out a hand—
“Kitty, wait—”
Her fingertips brushed the boundary. Magic—for what else could it be—thick and viscous and alien zipped through her. Kal shuddered, his hand locked on her arm. Whatever it was passed through him, too.
And suddenly, Felíne wasn’t squatting atop a plateau forgotten by time. It was as though a lens had been fitted over her eyes, and through them she saw this place as it once was—the height of its grandeur.
An overwhelming sadness tore into her, a half sob catching in her chest. What unnatural possession was this?
The awe that the beauty of their surroundings inspired paled in comparison to this all-consuming agony.
Felíne turned her tear-stained face to Kal.
He stood next to her, undiluted anguish etched into every line of his handsome profile.
“Felíne, I am so sorry,” he said.
“Whatever for?” She couldn’t identify the source of this emotion, but the weight of it crushed her. Did Kal know something she didn’t?
Kal’s forehead rippled in bewilderment. “I…I don’t know.”
Another inexorable tide of feeling hit her. She gasped. “What is this?”
Kal took her hand and surveyed the unveiled scene before them. “What was,” he said heavily, though his gaze was wide and unbelieving.
The scar upon the earth was still there, still brimming with that strange presence. But somehow, another image overlaid the reality—one which they both saw.
A house sat atop the rip in the earth.
No. A home.
The structure was unlike anything Felíne had ever seen. It was modest in size, smaller even than Kal’s cabin. But where Kal’s home had been fashioned of wood and stone, piece by meticulous piece, this dwelling had been constructed of what looked to be one solid piece of gleaming marble.
A gorgeous archway led into an open interior, the decorative carvings depicting two twin moons flanking a glorious sun.
Expansive apertures stood open on all sides, their sheer ivory curtains swaying gently on a phantom wind.
The amount of detail chiseled into the walls, roof, and foundation was staggering.
Felíne wandered around the periphery and saw sculptures of the sky, stars, and distant planets.
She spied breathtaking landscapes: soaring mountain ranges, raging rivers, a roiling sea, broad valleys, sweeping deserts, far-reaching forests, and a glacial tundra.
Animals, a variety of species unlike she’d ever known, were frozen mid-leap, swim, or flight.
And there, amidst all the other creations, the shurii stood immortalized in stunning crystalline limestone.
“Impossible,” Kal breathed, reaching a hand toward one entry column. His fingers passed through the image, the building existing outside of their reality. “This was no shurii-made dwelling.”
“Then who?” Felíne asked, though she knew the answer.
Kal looked at her, his thoughts mirroring hers. “The gods.”
“How?” She trailed her fingers through the image, distorting it as they drifted through. “The godscripts say the gods departed this world hundreds of years ago. No one knows what manner of realm they abide, nor what forms they possess. They aren’t here.”
Kal studied the mirage. “They were, though. The Goddess and Godking were once as physical as you or I. I think…I think this was their home.”
Felíne couldn’t deny that she felt it. Some lingering presence. A crushing sorrow. “What happened?”
“A mortal’s mistake. The Godking’s betrayal.” Kal seemed to peer through the illusion and into their tangible world. “This is where the Goddess cursed us. We are seeing what existed before. The destruction underneath? The scar? That is what remains.”
“But how?” The longer Felíne gazed upon the resplendence of what once stood here, the heavier her spirit grew. “Why can we see it? What…lingers?”
“A stain. We’re seeing some kind of spiritual echo. Whatever energy remains embedded at this site, we touched it. Activated it.” He rested a palm on the earth the way one might place a hand on someone’s chest to feel their heartbeat.
Magic. Energy. A spiritual manifestation.
These things didn’t exist in the physical plane.
Not like this. If Felíne gathered her mother’s priests and relayed an account of the day’s events, they’d proclaim her a blaspheming heretic and revoke her titles.
Yet this was real. This spiritual force was undeniably present.
“I feel such sadness,” Felíne said, resisting the urge to hug herself. “Grief. And…anger. So much anger. I don’t think it’s my own.”
“I feel it, too,” Kal said. “But I feel…shame. Sorrow. Longing.”
“It’s them, isn’t it?” The Goddess. The Godking. “We are feeling what they felt.”
Kal nodded, expression grave. “I think so. Whatever remains of their essence is affecting us.”
He reached for her, and Felíne shied away from his touch. The hurt that flickered over his features sent a stab of regret through her. Why had she done that?
“I don’t want to be here, Kal.”
He swallowed. “Come on.”
Once they reached the base of the hill, Felíne felt more like herself. The crushing weight of a Goddess’s emotion had abated, her own resurfacing. “Does anyone else know about this place?”
“I’m not sure,” Kal replied, scrubbing his face as though to dissipate the memory of their strange encounter. “No one’s ever mentioned it, and the only person I’ve told is you.”
“Can we rest for a moment?” The heaviness of this revelation, the emotional damage projected onto her, left her sapped of strength and purpose.
They sat at the bottom of the stairway, both lost in contemplation. Kal handed her a waterskin, and Felíne drank deeply.
“I’d offer to refill it,” she said, eyeing the strange, up-flowing stream, “but there’s no telling what kind of magical abilities you’ll develop if you drink that water.”
He quirked a smile, a measure of the earlier odd tension fading. “Sure you don’t want to find out?”
She deadpanned.
Kal’s smile slipped as he studied her, golden eyes growing serious. It was unnerving, seeing their ready luminosity when she had become so accustomed to searching for even a flicker. “I owe you an apology,” he said.
“For?”
Kal blew out a breath. “I was taught about the gods. About the shurii histories.”
That much was evidenced by the amount of ancient literature he possessed, but Felíne listened quietly as he continued.
“My parents were believers. Maybe not in formal religion like the Faithful Cursed, or even the Cozened, but they knew the Goddess and Godking existed. They believed in balance, in the goodness of people. They believed in you.” He met her gaze.
“Then why the apology?”
“Because I did not,” Kal said. “When they died, I blamed the gods. I blamed their betrayal, their curse, and our inherent weakness. My parents were good. My mother was brave and loving.” He looked down at his hands. “My father was brilliant and kind.”
Felíne’s heart broke for the man next to her. For the boy he used to be.
“That anger you felt? I understand that. Every single objective I’ve had since the moment I lost them has been to exact my vengeance.
To retaliate. And all of it has been fueled by anger, by hate.
” He opened a hand, and Felíne placed her smaller one inside.
“I never stopped to consider how my actions might affect those around me. I told myself my aims were for the betterment of society, but the truth is, I never cared.”
“I suppose a wildfire rarely concerns itself with the destruction it might cause,” she said. “It’s made to burn, and so it does.”
“I don’t want to burn you,” Kal replied, voice gentle.