71. OUT-OF-SORTS #2
Breck didn’t so much as hesitate. He stepped into the curtain of The Veil and began to disappear.
Time seemed to slow as I watched his arm dissolve into the shimmering substance until his hand vanished, along with mine.
The moment I touched The Veil’s magic, the strange, foreign sensation washed over me, devouring my body as I slipped fully into its grasp.
The woodland faded away into a dense, white fog, just as disturbing as it had been before.
I blinked, fighting the panic that swept through my gut as my vision was lost to the void.
Seeing nothing but white was entirely worse than seeing nothing but darkness.
It pressed in on me from every angle, and I clenched my jaw, waiting for what I knew would come next . . . The part that I dreaded.
The voices.
A distinct sound broke out across my mind, but . . . it was . . .
One.
Whole.
A sole being, speaking with the undertone of both a male and female voice. There was nothing erratic about it this time. No feeling of impending doom. Just its otherworldly voice that said, Daughter of Karios.
My hand slipped away from Breck’s and fell to my side.
Again, you come.
The presence of the entity felt heavy around me, but not suffocating.
It drew near, but remained ever-fleeting.
The sound slid against my mental shield, vibrating against the barrier as it spoke.
The shield must have been the buffer I needed to tame the chaos from before into a single voice that I could now understand.
I searched for my own voice, but found myself mute. My thoughts were the only line of communication I was able to access, so I sent my response on a thought like I did with Niall. I would say it’s a pleasure, but given the circumstances, I’d be lying.
The voice chuckled, simultaneously deep, and lilting. Then, it sobered, turning flat and serious far quicker than I was comfortable with. You should not be here.
My heartbeat began to pulse in my ears. The stillness of The Veil was already more than unnerving, but the clear warning in the entity’s voice compounded every ounce of anxiety I had been harboring.
Breck was probably on the other side by now, looking for me. Or perhaps he was caught up too, conversing with the voice that sounded like living death. Either way, I didn’t have much time for a drawn-out conversation.
Yet . . .
How do you know where I’m supposed to be?
The voice dipped closer. Near and far, the world whispers, and I hear it. High and low, creation moves, and I see it. Many things have been whispered as of late. All of which say that you are needed elsewhere. Can you not hear it in the wind? Feel it within the earth?
I shook my head, confused.
Against my better judgment, I squinted, as if it would help me see something out of nothing. Who, or what, are you?
I am witness to all, yet a savior of none, the voice swirled. I am set into form, though I am not designed to belong to a singular existence.
Aether? I whispered in my mind.
Yes, it drew out the word.
How are you in The Veil?
I am not in The Veil. The Veil is simply a conduit. It is built with Old Magic. I happen to operate on a very similar plane.
I closed my eyes to rid myself of the overwhelming white nothingness so that I could concentrate.
The Aether’s presence pressed tighter around me.
Tell me, what do you think the Ancients used to uphold their spells when they created this boundary of realms?
What fortified their magic? What still does to this day?
I am the ‘everywhere.’ The ‘in-between.’ There is power in my presence and what I am able to glean.
You see it now, don’t you? See how foolish and naive, how greedy and false one must be to take such a power and put a leash on it?
See how much folly comes from the lies of mere mortals?
Something warm dripped down my upper lip.
Blood.
I had lingered here too long.
Drip . . . Drip . . . Drip.
I wiped the blood away with the back of my wrist while trying to process the Aether’s riddles. There was an undertone of vengeance that laced its voice. As if it still harbored resentment for being bound against its will, and had no intent of hiding that fact.
Why are you telling me all of this? I asked.
Because the Wise One wants to release me, does he not?
The Wise One . . . Aremis . . .
He does . . . I confirmed.
The Aether made a low sound, like a hum . . . or a growl.
Did it want me to help? Or did it feel threatened by what Aremis planned to do?
How is it that the curse remained when the witch who bound you tried to release you? I asked.
Its voice dropped low, menacing. Death without unbinding. Ignorant and desperate was the one who tied me to her soul.
But she tried. She was willing—
One’s will is like a sword. It can be wielded in the spirit of selflessness, or brandished with malicious intent—all flourish, and no follow-through.
I picked through the Aether’s words, processing their meaning. So the witch didn’t want to fully relinquish the power she’d been given . . . even when it was stripping away everything she was?
Mmm, weak of the mind and the spirit. How easily both are torn apart.
All talk. No heart. The Aether spoke more to itself than to me, as if recalling the memory.
Its wrath grew deeper with every word it spoke.
Dark magic has a cost. It is a double-edged sword.
Such is the unbinding. One must deliver the intent and take the mark.
Wield one edge of the sword without the other, and you are doomed to fail.
Thus, the curse survives, resurfacing again, and again, waiting to be broken.
And what is the key to breaking it?
Cut the tether, it whispered, and I will be free to unbind. It sounded so close now, like it was breathing the words into my ears. Now, go. Back the way you came.