by Michael
“Fire!” Brin said. “If only we had fire.”
Roan looked at Brin, and their little miracle worker’s eyes brightened. Without a word, she rushed madly toward the bear.
“Roan!” everyone called out in panic.
She didn’t go far. Stopping short of the trees, she snatched up a handful of fallen branches before running back.
“What are you doing?” Gifford shouted.
“Fire! It will be afraid of it.” Roan dropped her armload of wood and tore open her pack.
Rain joined her on the ground, breaking the branches into manageable sticks.
“I could use larger pieces,” Roan told them while fishing out raw wool and a bit of cloth from her side bag. She handed these to Rain before digging back into her pouch.
“Does that even work here?” Tressa asked.
In the trees, the growling menace drew closer. Brin could hear it lumbering with heavy feet through dead leaves.
Rain helped Gifford drag a fallen log while Roan began striking a rock with a jagged bit of metal. Sparks flashed. She stopped, put her head down, and blew into the pile Rain had fashioned. Light appeared—a wonderful warm yellow flame that raised a host of shadows, which danced across the pale wood. Their patch of ground became a place to defend, a clearing turned into a campsite, a wilderness transformed into civilization.
Seeing the flickering shadows dance among the trees, Gifford said, “Build it larger.”
“Let’s hope it’s still afraid of fire.” Tressa found a stout stick and raised it like a club. “Will this work or are we—you know—maybe it’s attracted to the light.”
“What? Do you think it’s a giant growling moth-bear?” Gifford asked.
“Look around you. Is that really so crazy right now?”
Gifford didn’t answer and went back to collecting more wood. “Don’t happen to have a spear in your bag of tricks, do you, Roan? A spear would be handy.”
She looked up. “I could make one.”
Gifford smiled back. “Maybe next time.”
“Here, use this.” Roan lit the bristling end of a branch and handed it to Gifford. With his sword in his right hand and the torch in his left, he advanced on the beast.
“What are you up to, Giff?” Tressa asked in a manner that suggested he shouldn’t be doing anything of the sort.
“Hoping to scare it away.”
Gifford swung the flaming brand before him. The bear, still some distance off, snorted and shuffled back, retreating once again on all fours. “It’s working.” Gifford pressed his attack, advancing forward and thrusting with the torch. The Brown growled in anger, and as Gifford reached the row of trees, the bear turned and bolted back into the forest.
“Ha!” Gifford watched it run. “Look at that!”
“How very cruel.” The words issued from the fire.
Roan and Rain leapt back from their creation as it grew beyond its meager fuel to a blazing bonfire. Everyone retreated to the edges of the light as the comforting yellow-orange glow drained to an eerie white-blue flicker. In the depths, a face appeared—a woman’s face: sharp chipped cheeks, black razor lips, a knife-blade nose, and pinprick eyes that glared out at them.
“My bear was merely coming to welcome you, and that is how you greet it?” the lady in the fire said with mock offense and then smiled—those thin black lips curling tightly at the corners. “Might have also eaten you, I suppose. Can’t help it. It’s her nature, but still, it was quite rude of you.”
“Who are you?” Tressa asked.
Brin was impressed the woman found the courage to speak. Her own voice was trapped somewhere deep beneath her throat. Maybe it was only an illusion, but the image in the fire was the scariest thing Brin had ever seen.
The flaming expression looked surprised, even a dash hurt. “Why, I’m the ruler of this place, my dear. I am Ferrol, third-born daughter of Eton and Elan, Empress of the Dark, God of the Fhrey, Lord of the Damned, Queen of the White Tower. You need to come see it; the place is lovely this time of year. The bone just glistens against the dark sky.”
Drome had said they were twins, but Brin saw no similarity. Compared with his sister, the god of the dwarfs was a jolly old uncle with a quirky sense of humor.
“I thought I would be considerate and extend an invitation to visit. We can have a nice dinner or pretend to, at least. I’m easy to find. Can’t miss me. I live in the giant tower in the center. All roads lead to me. Just be sure to bring that marvelous key with you.”
If Brin’s heart hadn’t already stopped, it would have now. The blue fire’s glow revealed the same reaction on the others’ faces.
“Don’t look so shocked. Did you think you could stroll in here and I wouldn’t know about that little trinket Turin gave you?” Ferrol pronounced the name in a mocking voice. “It isn’t his to give, you know? He stole it, much the way he steals everything. Misplaced loyalty, that’s what we have here. You’re working for the wrong person.” The fiery eyes shifted toward Gifford. “Especially you. Tressa I can understand, but not you, poor boy. You’re from finer stock. You should know better than to serve an evil god. Don’t you have some sort of sense about these things? Can’t you tell the difference? We’re the good ones, the virtuous, the believers in freedom, kindness, compassion, and love. Turin is a tyrant. He murders, lies, cheats, steals, and has managed to imprison all who would oppose him. This is his little oubliette, his forgetting place where he banishes all his troublesome truths, embarrassments, and fears. But that key—which rightfully belongs to my father—will let us out. With it in my hand, I can undo eons of wrongful imprisonment. Bring it to me.”
“We aren’t here to bring you anything,” Tressa said.
“And yet you will. In this place, I am supreme.” Ferrol caused the fire to flare, the bluish glow draining the color from every face and making the pale trees glow. “There is nowhere you can go, no corner to hide in. And make no mistake—I am not my brother. He’s well-meaning . . . but a fool. Bring me the key and I will forgive your crimes. Defy me and I will take it. And for my trouble I will cast you all into the Abyss to spend eternity with the Typhons.”
Abyss and Typhons. Brin tried to make mental notes, but thinking while horrified was difficult.
“You wouldn’t come to us begging if you were as powerful as all that,” Gifford declared.
The fire-eyes flashed. “Come here, dear boy,” Ferrol said. “Let me show you what you get for disobedience in my realm.”
Gifford took an awkward step forward. Even when crippled, he’d moved with less effort, less struggle. Step by step he crept toward the flames, his face pinched with strain.
“In my brother’s principality, there is no pain,” Ferrol said. “There is only eternity, a bland, gray existence. But here in my realm, you will feel your mistakes. For what is to be gained if nothing is to be lost?”
The fire flared brighter, glowing white in the center, making Brin squint just to see.
“Stagger closer, crippled brat, and feel the—”
With a violent hiss and a belch of smoke, the face of Ferrol vanished along with the flames. Beside the red glowing embers stood Roan with a now-empty waterskin. “Bad fire,” she said.
The Queen of the White Tower’s visit got them moving. No one wanted to remain near the smoldering embers of that fire. As in Rel, there was a road. Instead of Drome’s white brick, Ferrol had but a worn path snaking between gnarled trees and withered rock. Still, the route was unmistakable, and they simply began walking. No decisions had to be made, no choices deliberated on. Gifford took the lead with Roan at his side. The rest of them followed in a haphazard fashion that changed given the landscape and obstacles, but Brin found herself often at the rear, looking back. She couldn’t help wondering about Moya.
Has Drome captured her? Will she be tortured? Is that possible in Rel?
After their fiery encounter with the queen, Brin suspected that the innate dullness of Drome’s realm could be suspended if he so
wished.
And what has happened to Tekchin? Will he remain buried for eternity?
Brin had felt confident that stepping into the pool was the worst thing she would ever need to face, but now she wasn’t so sure. Once in Rel, Brin had been certain everything would succeed. The impossibility of dying twice and the divinity of Malcolm made their success a certainty. She saw herself on a grand adventure, one where she was reunited with old friends and family—not to mention having the unparalleled opportunity to learn the true nature of the world that would make The Book of Brin greater than anything she could have imagined. Since then, Brin had learned that there was something worse than death, and she’d come to suspect that Malcolm might not be trustworthy.
Are we working for an evil god? Are Drome and Ferrol right?
Brin had always liked Malcolm. He was kind, friendly, quiet, and a little awkward, which made him comfortable to be around. No one had ever said a negative word about him—until Muriel. She hated him. She was the Tetlin Witch but not at all like Brin had expected. Instead of an ugly, evil crone, she was a beautiful, kindhearted woman. Then there was Drome, whom Arion had regarded as good-natured. He had described Malcolm as an evil tyrant who ruled the world with razor fingers and stone boots.
Now it was Ferrol’s turn to weigh in with a similar opinion.
You should know better than to serve an evil god. Don’t you have some sort of sense about these things? Can’t you tell the difference?
In contrast, Roan, the dwarfs, and Tressa worshiped Malcolm. Brin had no idea what exactly had happened in the smithy the night Raithe died. She couldn’t understand why Tressa of all people had become so devoted to him. Konniger’s wife wasn’t known for being virtuous.
Is it possible Tressa is drawn to Malcolm because he is the god of evil? Has he been lying to all of us?
She considered telling the others—would have if Moya were still with them—but wandering a dark wood in Nifrel with a god and a bear stalking them, she sensed morale was already in short supply. She couldn’t steal the one thread of hope they still clung to. The possibility that Malcolm was evil would shake Roan and Rain and would destroy Tressa. So, while Brin was no longer certain that continuing their quest was a good idea, she was aware of no other alternatives, and she felt it was best not to punch holes in a boat while well beyond the sight of land.
It looks as though you may have been right after all, Tesh. Great Elan, how I miss you.
She wondered what he was doing.
Has he made it back through the swamp by now? Did he kill Nyphron, accelerating his timetable out of grief? Was it the Galantian leader’s death we heard chime? Maybe years have passed since we entered Phyre and Tesh has found someone else and forgotten about me.
The crow stayed with them.
Brin didn’t always spot it. In the forest, it was difficult to see anything. A gloom, like a smoky fog, shrouded the world. And then there were the trees, thousands of dead-white sticks. Easy to see why The Brown made so much noise—the branches were weak, brittle things. Bones. Brin tried to press between two and both of them broke, crashing to the ground and shattering to splinters. This forest was not a living thing. Like the people who passed through it, this wood was dead.
“Where will you go?” Roan asked Gifford in her inexplicable way, sentences coming out without rhyme or reason.
“What do you mean?”
“When this is over, what realm of Phyre will you end up in? Ferrol said you were made of finer stock. And you are. I’ve never known a more courageous, more loving, or all-around better person than you. I think you’re bound for Alysin.”
“No.” He scoffed. “You’re just saying that because you see me that way. I’m positive I’ll be in Rel. I doubt that hanging on to the back of Naraspur qualifies me for anything else. The two of us will have a place in that village near Brin’s family. Won’t that be nice?”
“What if I don’t go to Rel?” Roan asked. The whisper grew smaller; the exhale of a mouse would have drowned her out. “What if I end up here?”
“Here?” Gifford followed this with a laugh. “Why would you—oh.” He paused, the laughter cut short, his words dropping in tone. “No. No, you won’t come here.”
“This is where the bad people go, isn’t it?”
“Roan, you’re not bad.”
“But I—”
Gifford stopped to look full at her. “You’re not bad, Roan. You’re not.”
“How do you know? How does anyone?”
Brin listened for the answer, but Gifford didn’t reply.
Pop! Pop! The sharp reports cracked and carried in that still and silent place. This was followed by a horrible blood-chilling scream.
“Was that the portal?” Brin asked shakily.
“Maybe we should walk faster,” Gifford said.
“And get off this road,” Tressa added.
“What if we get lost?” Gifford asked.
“We can’t. We have no idea where we’re going. And right now, I think it would be worse to be found.”
They left the road and pushed into the forest. Brin expected it to be hard going, but the trees remained brittle, shattering at the slightest touch. This was good and bad. The walking was easy, but they left an unmistakable trail, which anyone chasing them could see. Not to mention all the noise. Brin didn’t know if this place had an official name, but in her head, she called it the Dead Wood for obvious reasons, and if she ever managed to return to the world of the living, she would officially name it that in The Book of Brin.
She spotted the crow up ahead, waiting for them. It had landed on a tree branch without breaking it. The bird bothered Brin because it wasn’t normal. The absurdity of that thought almost made her laugh—almost.
What’s normal?
In this place, she hadn’t a clue. Still, she was certain the bird was watching them. Whether that was common or not, she didn’t like it. Its black, beady eyes reminded her of the face in the fire. Ahead, the trees were starting to thin. They were reaching the end of the Forest of Bones. The moment she thought of it, Brin decided she liked that name even better and made a mental note.
The sound of movement made them stop. Someone was coming up the trail from behind and making a lot of noise in the process. There were heavy footfalls, snapping of branches, grunting, and even muffled cries. Every one of them instinctively crouched, and they looked back down the crushed-wood tunnel they had created since leaving the main trail.
Tressa pressed a finger to her lips and eyed each of them with an intense glare. They waited, listening as the sounds stopped. Brin thought she heard faint voices. Then the movement began again, this time closer.
“We’re in trouble,” Tressa whispered. “It saw where we left the road, and it’s coming.”
“Go on,” Gifford said and quietly drew his sword. “I’ll stay here—slow it down, or at least try to. The rest of you should look for help.”
No one moved.
“I mean it,” he whispered with as stern a face as he could muster. “Go on!”
Roan replied with a shake of her head and a hug of his arm.
As they waited, Brin looked for a bright light but saw none. At least Drome hadn’t come. But what monster had he sent to fetch them?
Before long, they saw a figure with two heads and three legs shambling toward them.
Brin prepared herself for the worst. She grabbed up as stout a stick as she could find among the brittle bones of the wood. Roan let go of Gifford as he took a step forward, placing two hands on his sword’s handle. Rain unslung his pick and planted his feet. Then, as the creature cleared the shadow of the trees, Brin saw it wasn’t one, but two. A man and woman struggled to walk—one providing support to the other.
Brin stared dumbfounded as the pair emerged from the gloom.
“Tesh?” she said, the word escaping with her breath.
“Moya!” Gifford shouted.
Either it was a trick of the afterlife or Tesh was there, helping
Moya, who hopped along on one foot.
“Brin!” Tesh called. “Give me a hand!”
The Keeper raced forward, pushing through an emotional storm that was equal parts joy and grief. Moya had made it out, but not unscathed, and Tesh was there, but that meant he had died.
“Moya!” Brin gasped. “Your leg. What happened?”
The woman was biting back pain along with her lower lip. Sweat covered her face, and her body shuddered. Her left leg had been severed from just above the knee. Blood soaked the fabric of her leggings and stained her arm; an additional smear darkened one side of Moya’s face. Stuck to it, glued to her cheek, was white chalky dust she’d picked up by resting on the floor of the palace.
“I couldn’t budge the stone,” Tesh apologized. He, too, was splattered with blood, but showed no wounds. “She was pinned, and the block was too heavy. This”—he pointed to the absence of Moya’s leg—“was the only thing I could think to do. Wasn’t bad in Rel. Moya didn’t feel a thing. But the moment we crossed over, she collapsed, screaming in pain. I practically had to drag her.”
Tesh’s belt was wrapped around Moya’s stump, but it wasn’t enough. The limb still drizzled an intermittent stream of blood.
“Lay her down,” Brin commanded. “We need more pressure.”
“Padera always used a stick or ax handle to twist the belt tighter,” Roan said.
“That’s right,” Brin added. “Here, use this.” She passed Roan the stick she had picked up for defense.
Roan twisted the tourniquet tight, making Moya cry out.
“We could make a fire, scorch the stump to seal it,” Tesh said.
Roan shook her head. “Not a good idea.”
“What do we do?” Gifford asked.
“Find help,” Moya growled through clenched teeth.
Tressa nodded. “There has to be someone in this accursed realm besides Ferrol who can do something.”
“I’ll go,” Brin volunteered.
“Brin, be careful!” Tesh called to her as she ran off toward where the trees thinned.
Brin had always been a fast runner, but in the afterlife, she seemed to fly. She shattered limbs of the Dead Wood without care, and after a long while, she exited the trees and found herself on an open plain. Just beyond, she spotted an orange-and-red glow that filled the horizon like a predawn sun. In such a gray world, that tiny bit of color was a welcome sight, but it wasn’t a sunrise. The glow rose from below the edge of a cliff, its light making everything else darker. Rocks and the remaining solitary trees became inky silhouettes against an incandescent gleam that stretched to the horizon. From far below, Brin heard a faint rush like the gentle blow of wind in leaves, only there was no breeze and not nearly enough leaves.