Idriel's Children (Odriel's Heirs Book 2)

by Hayley Reese Chow

  “The Shadow Plane connects us through our yanaa, but I could only hear them.” Aza reached for a book, its binding soft and worn. “It sounded like he and Hoku were in the middle of a battle.”

  Makeo’s tall ear twitched, and he looked west, as if trying to see through the mountain to his people on the other side.

  Witt watched him with wide eyes. “So, do you think we should leave?”

  “Do you really think if Zephyr and Hoku can’t get through, that we’d have any better luck?” Aza shook her head. “No. If everything is connected through yanaa, I think I should be able to find out what’s causing this.”

  “Which is what we’ve been looking for here,” Shad said, tail whipping. “But the only interesting thing we’ve managed to find so far is this.” He pawed a stack of paper in front of her. “Apparently, there used to be a guardian of the Shadow Plane. A monster that ate the souls of people trying to cross from life to death.”

  Makeo leaned over Aza’s shoulder to read the spidery text. “And what happened to it?”

  Aza handed the pages to Makeo, too tired to decipher the aged dialect.

  “I think it says they trapped it somehow,” Witt said, running a hand through his mousy curls.

  “More specifically,” Shad added, “it says Silvix sacrificed himself to defeat it.”

  Makeo turned his muzzle toward him slowly. “And what did they say this creature was called?”

  Witt squinted. “Um… Dolonsa? Dolonba?”

  The memory flashed through Aza’s mind hard, fast, and painful. She raised a hand to the scar on her cheek and met Makeo’s gaze. “Dolobra.”

  The nightmare of Carceroc Forest.

  ✽✽✽

  Aza was in the Shadow Plane again, the grass whispering against her legs. Last night, when she’d tried to let her exhausted body rest, her disobedient mind had only returned to the Shadow Plane, straining to stay longer and longer. Her headache from yesterday had yet to fade, and she’d felt no better for the wasted time of sleeping. Her patience frayed at the edges.

  So she followed her mind to where it obviously needed to be. The Maldibor believed the Dolobra lived in the depths of Carceroc. But the texts said it was imprisoned in the Shadow Plane. Was that the connection she had been looking for? Had the Dolobra somehow gotten free?

  To find the answer, she would need to go to the source. Seela had said they could talk to the dead after all. Silvix wouldn’t mind helping out his descendant. Or… if she couldn’t find him… maybe her parents would know. But which side were they on? If they were alive, wouldn’t she have heard them, like she did Zephyr? Or could they be waiting for her at that dark line in the distance?

  She stopped, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. She’d heard them before. Surely, she could hear them again if she really tried. She exhaled the stale air from her lungs and closed her eyes, her mind taut with the strain of searching the Plane. Where are you?

  Something small and sharp nudged her leg, and she knew a wraith had found her, sticking close to nibble away at her yanaa. She took another breath. Just listen. Just listen. Just listen. Another nudge, and she could feel the suck of yanaa on her bones.

  She stomped her foot, her eyes flashing open. The little mice creatures skittered away. “Earth below, just say something already!” she yelled into the silence.

  For a moment, she stood still. Then she pressed her lips together and moved away. How ridiculous to scream into the empty space. Maybe she didn’t—

  A whisper interrupted her thoughts, and she froze. There it was again, and her muscles eased ever so slightly. Not her parents, but familiar somehow. Raspy and cheerful in a way that sent a shiver from her neck to her toes.

  “I got rid of the Shadow and Dragon, so now just the brats are left.”

  Aza’s eyes widened. She’d only heard that voice once before, but it was one she’d never forget. Her breath came faster as she cast about for the source. Toward the dead or the living?

  “So which will you choose first?” said a velvety, masculine voice. While also familiar, this one was harder to place.

  “The girl, of course.” Aza took off running in the direction of the voice, along the tree line, rather than toward it. Her muscles burned as her emotions surged out of her control, but she didn’t care. “The boy is difficult. The Maldibor, the fire, and that stupid dog. It’s hard to get close to him. But the girl…” Aza could practically see his skeletal, too-wide smile. “She’ll be alone. Without her brother to save her again, she’ll be easy.”

  Across the Plane, Aza could just make out two shadows along the tree line… no not two—three. Aza longed to reach across the distance and run her dagger across Mogens’ throat. Her muscles cried out now, her focus totally lost and her yanaa tearing away from her. He seemed so close, the phantom scent of rot and death burned her nose. Though some part of her knew she wouldn’t be able to find him, she whipped around all the same, desperate to close her hands around his neck, blackness edging her vision.

  “Then once we have her, the boy will come without trouble,” the smooth voice replied.

  It took Aza a moment to place it, before the memory of the blond noble crystallized in her mind. Valente Conrad.

  The shock of recognition nearly knocked her over. Conrad and Mogens were working together. But who was the silent third figure? A cloud of wraiths fluttered around the three of them, desperate for whatever yanaa they exuded. Black crowded into Aza’s vision as she tried to hold on. Just make it a little farther.

  “I will say, I was starting to get impatient, but all the pieces have finally aligned,” Conrad continued, his voice smug and bloated. “With the Heirs gone, Carceroc will be ours, the throne will fall into my lap, and we’ll finally have the power to bring Idriel…”

  The blackness swallowed up the last of their words, refusing to be held back any longer. Crashing through the door, she could’ve sworn Mogens turned his leering face to hers—rotten and bulging. But even as Aza screamed with rage, the pain brought her slamming back into reality.

  ✽✽✽

  Aza woke up on her flat bedroll, disoriented and dry-mouthed. She had entered the Shadow Plane before dawn and now the sun’s weak light shone through the window. Images of Mogens, Conrad, and the nameless demon shadow of Idriel choked her thoughts. She rubbed her throbbing head with a leaden arm, and sat up with a hiss of pain, a crushing ache running the length of her body.

  “Was it worth it?”

  Aza flinched at Makeo’s voice. How had she not noticed he was there? She turned her stiff neck to see him sitting against the opposite wall with a book in his lap. She shrugged, her head so fuzzy she had to concentrate to collect the right words. Was it a dream or had she really seen Mogens? Perhaps she could use the Plane to find him at last and put an end to this. But she couldn’t find the words she needed to explain.

  “Maybe.”

  “Here.” Makeo slid over a bowl of noodles swimming in clear broth. “Shad and Witt brought that by before going to the library.”

  Aza nodded her thanks and picked up the still-warm bowl. She blinked at the window. “How… long was I out?”

  “It’s nearly dusk.”

  Aza’s mouth fell open. “Oh.” Another day gone.

  “Are you sure this is safe, Aze?” He waved the book at her, the volume dwarfed in his large paw. “In these accounts, it seems like the Shadow Plane drove Silvix mad.”

  “But I thought Witt said he imprisoned the Dolobra. Have you spoken to the Wraith-Called about it? They still seem sane.”

  Makeo sighed. “They only speak to us if they have to.”

  “All the better. Who wants to waste time on talk anyway?” Aza said, with a smirk that came out more like a wince.

  Makeo didn’t laugh. “Well, if you’re going to cross into the Plane without Seela anyway, maybe we should just leave already.”

  Chewing a mouthful of noodles, Aza studied him for a moment. Of course, he wanted to go back to Carceroc and help
his people, but his ridiculous Maldibor honor wouldn’t let him go without her. “You should go, Makeo. It’s only over the peaks. You could probably make it in a couple days.”

  “A couple days there, a couple back. A lot could happen in that time.” He shook his shaggy head. “I’m just one sword anyway. It wouldn’t make a difference.”

  Aza’s skin prickled, and she rolled her stiff shoulders, trying to ward away the chill. “I went to the Plane last night to look for Silvix and ask about the Dolobra, but while I was there, I heard Mogens and Conrad plotting to resurrect Idriel.”

  Makeo’s paw-like hands tightened on the book, but he said nothing.

  “They’re trying to get rid of the Heirs to gain the throne, and he mentioned something about Carceroc, but I couldn’t stay long enough to reach him.” Downing the rest of the broth, Aza placed the bowl next to her, only to realize her fingers were shaking. She squeezed them together. “I know Silvix will have answers, but I think I’m going to need Seela to show me how to reach him.” She frowned apologetically. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

  Makeo let out a low growl of frustration. “And it seems to be tearing you apart.”

  “Oh c’mon, Keo.” She flexed her aching legs. “I’m made of stronger stuff than that.”

  Makeo leaned forward, his green eyes intent. “Think twice about everything, Aza. This place feels…” He leaned back. “Dangerous.”

  Aza shifted on her mat, trying to arrange her cramping limbs in the least painful manner possible. Could Makeo sense that Mogens and Conrad were coming for her? She opened her mouth to tell him, and then closed it again. If he knew, he would almost certainly carry her kicking and screaming from this place, and she was in no shape to put up a fight.

  But she would need to be more careful, because when Mogens came for her, she’d be waiting for him.

  ✽✽✽

  Aza was already in the Shadow Plane, striding toward the dark line of the dead when Seela appeared beside her. “Are you so skilled now that you no longer need the teacher you traveled so far to find?”

  “I sought you out this morning, but they said you were otherwise occupied.” She didn’t look at Seela. “But it looks like you received my message.”

  “I thought you would take more time to recover from your last experience.”

  Aza ignored this. She’d gotten distracted, but she wouldn’t let it happen again. She could pace herself. “You said we can speak to the dead right? I need to speak to Silvix and figure out what’s going on in Carceroc.”

  Surprise flickered across Seela’s face. “Silvix?”

  Aza stopped before the black trees looming before her, the now-familiar strain pulling insistently at her thoughts with the pain of a perpetually combusting migraine. “Yes. How do I call him?”

  Seela nodded, her face stony. “What do you know of him?”

  Aza shrugged. “He was an Heir who discovered and named the Shadow Plane, might’ve been mad, and sacrificed himself to imprison the Dolobra.”

  “Yes. He will be an easy one for you to start with.”

  What did that mean? Aza’s gaze bored into the darkness of the Wood. Was she imagining it, or could she see movement amongst those dark trunks?

  “Try to hold all that you know in your mind. Picture him as best you can. And reach out with your hand to pull him toward you out of the darkness.”

  “Like the door.”

  “Exactly. Except, this will be easier the closer you are to the Mortal Wood, and the closer the dead are to the side of the living.”

  Aza closed her eyes, her thoughts of Silvix swirling through her mind as she pictured an older, haggard version of her father. “The dead can be closer to the side of the living?”

  “Yes. The longer they’re dead, the deeper they get. Unless their souls are… disturbed.”

  Long, gray-streaked, dark hair fell over a weathered face looming before her. Aza’s brow furrowed. There he was. She was sure of it. She reached out her hand, cupping the yanaa in her fingers. “Silvix, I need your help.” With shadowed eyes pinned to her, he grabbed her hand with an ice-cold grip.

  Surprised, Aza’s eyes flicked open, and she found the man standing just before her, at the edge of the Wood. Beside her, Seela retreated a step.

  “Who?” his voice came out as a strained whisper, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

  “I’m the Shadow Heir, Aza Thane, your Heir, and I need to—”

  “An Heir. An Heir. An Heir,” he sang, his body jerking strangely.

  “Yes, and I need to know about the Dolobra. How does it connect to the—”

  “Do… lo… bra…” He blinked slowly. “The teeth. The dark. The cold.”

  Aza swallowed. Was this how souls were in death? “Yes. I need to know how it connects Carceroc to the Wraith-Called.”

  “Ah, my wraiths.” He held his arms out and stumbled forward. “Come to me, my sweet wraiths.”

  Aza pressed a palm to her head and turned to Seela, the pressure of keeping him there building in her skull.

  “This is useless. What’s wrong with him? Is this what death turns them into? Or was he always mad?”

  His cold hands lashed out, seizing her arm. “I’m. Not. Mad.” His fingers dug into her skin, the pain pricking her mind. He could hurt her here? “You are nothing compared to me.” He threw her to the ground, his hand still locked around her arm.

  Aza moved to drive an elbow into his offending hand, but she might as well have been hitting air. She wriggled in his tight grip. “Tell me about the Dolobra.”

  He released her, jerking back. “The Dolobra? Is it here? We need to bind it.”

  Aza sat up. “Why?”

  “Why?” He stopped, cocking his head. “Who?”

  Aza glanced at Seela but found no help in her impassive stare. She would have to be more specific. “Why do we need to bind the Dolobra? Where is it?”

  A slow grin spread across Silvix’s face. He tapped a finger to his temple. “He is here, of course. Always here.”

  Aza shook her head, the pain in her temples overriding all else. She couldn’t stay here anymore and listen to these ravings. “Forget it. I’m going back.”

  “No, no, no. Don’t forget. Never forget,” Silvix said, turning his back toward her.

  But Aza was already picturing the door.

  She opened her eyes to see Seela watching her from her usual mat only a few paces away, a worried, almost warm expression lining her eyes. Dots flickered across Aza’s vision and a wave of nausea flowed through her. How did Seela endure it all? A wave of begrudging respect washed through her for the woman.

  “I thought you said that would be easy,” Aza groaned.

  “I said calling him would be easy. I didn’t say it would be useful.” She sighed, a trace of sorrow curving her shoulders. “He sacrificed his mind to save his students from the Dolobra’s unending hunger. But I thought you’d want to see for yourself.”

  Aza couldn’t even argue with that. As annoying as Seela was, she seemed to understand Aza strangely well now. Aza flopped onto her back on the stone floor. “So what do I do now?”

  A gentle laugh softened Seela’s gaze. “You are so much like me when I was—” But then a shadow crossed her face, sweeping the words away into silence.

  Aza tilted her head, trying to understand the sudden change. Was Seela angry? Sad? If only her thoughts weren’t so sluggish.

  Clearing her throat, Seela stood from her mat. “Perhaps your parents would know this connection you speak of, if you believe it is what killed them. If they passed recently they should be easy to call.”

  Aza sat up again, her cheeks heating. Was that so obvious? She should’ve thought of that. “Yes. Of course.” Her eyes fell to her arm, expecting to find purpling bruises and the cuts where Silvix’s fingernails had dug into her skin. But though she could feel the pain of the wounds, she could see nothing.

  “And… if something ever attacks you in the Shadow Plane, you must infuse your blo
ws with yanaa to defend yourself. Just like the door. Just like everything on the Plane.” Seela crouched down to inspect her arm, her touch surprisingly gentle as she probed the skin. Aza winced at the invisible wound. “We have some herbs in the kitchen that can take away the sting.”

  “I’m fine,” Aza pulled her arm away. She didn’t have time for that.

  Seela sighed, and her lips curved in the first real smile Aza had seen from her. “You are strong, Aza. Truly. No one doubts that. And you have an affinity for the shadows that I have never before seen, but that doesn’t mean you cannot accept help.” She paused, her pale hands fingering her thick, sleek braid. “Alone, you will never be more than Aza Thane, Shadow Heir, but if you reach out, you could grow to be a part of something so much greater.”

  The long scar that crossed Makeo’s chest flashed through her thoughts. She thought of his body carved open and bleeding out, screaming as her brother had held her back, her shirt already red with his blood. She thought of Ioni crying over her father’s cold form. Of course, she could accept help. But everything came at a cost.

  Aza shook her head. “So, the wraiths can hurt us?” she pressed, as if she hadn’t heard Seela.

  Seela straightened with another soft chuckle. “My girl, I think you will find very little in this world or the next that cannot hurt you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Into the Darkness

  Aza meandered through the late afternoon, winding her way along the cliff to the kitchens. The strange sensation of being lost washed over her in a wave of vertigo. She paused and sucked in a lungful of cold mountain air, but it did nothing to clear her head. She leaned against the rockface, her gaze finding Makeo sparring on the next landing below with a blindfold securely around his eyes. Attackers whirled on him from all sides, but he moved with fast, sure blows. Aza longed to try it. To stretch out her muscles and feel the nice, uncomplicated burn of exercise.

  And yet, even the thought of finding the energy to do so completely drained her. She probably could’ve used some more of Seela’s basic concentration exercises before she had jumped into calling the dead. But she was tough enough to handle the recovery, and she would come back stronger. It was the only way. They didn’t have time for anything else.