by Eric Asher
Caroline flexed her claws. “It’s worth a shot. The necromancer’s stubborn, if nothing else. If they’re off at Rivercene, we can help the Obsidian Inn clean up here, and then get back to Antietam.”
Wahya’s thoughtful expression fell, and a darkness rolled over the sunburst eyes of the golden werewolf.
“You can see him?” Vicky asked with a glance at Terrence. “I mean you can even understand him?”
Wahya gave her a patient smile. “There is much left of the bonds Carter forged with Hugh. And you were tied to Carter, were you not? And Carter was loyal to Hugh. Those lines of power will not crumble so easily. The death of one wolf does not spell the end of a pack.”
Caroline released a chuckle that was more like a stuttering wolf’s howl. “Take your friend with you,” she said, turning to Vicky. “If your ghost is tied to Damian too, it may be good for him to meet Stump and some of the other green men.”
Vicky ran her fingers over the severed straps of the backpack. “He’s friends with Dirge.”
“The forest god Morrigan spoke of,” Wahya said, exchanging a glance with Caroline. “That is most interesting. That is a tale I would like to hear in great detail one day.”
“Another time, Wahya.” Caroline rubbed her clawed paws together, focusing on Vicky. “How long will it take for you to fly to Rivercene?”
Vicky frowned. Jasper was fast, but it was going to take a damn long time. Time she wasn’t sure they had. Time she wasn’t sure Damian had. She shook her head. “Too long.”
“I believe there is a faster way,” Wahya said. “Have you not walked through the Abyss before, child?”
Vicky’s gaze shot down to the backpack in her hand. She knew what waited inside. The severed hand of a Titan, of Gaia. “She could kill us.”
“Perhaps,” Wahya said, hunching down until he was eye to eye with Vicky. He gave her a kind smile, still somewhat intimidating with the rather sharp teeth. “But I know what Damian shares with you, I know the bond that keeps you alive, that cut you from the Destroyer. The soul he shares with you and Samantha.”
“What?” Caroline asked.
“Guess that cat is out of the bag.” Vicky muttered.
“He tied his soul to them?” Caroline asked, her voice caught somewhere between awe and disgust.
“If the worst happens,” Wahya said, “Damian will be defeated. And Nudd will have lost his weapon.”
Vicky grimaced and scratched Jasper between the eyes. The dragon purred, a high sad trill echoing out from the furball. What Wahya said was true, and perhaps he’d meant it as a poor joke, but he was dead right.
“I’ll walk with Gaia.”
* * *
“That is disgusting,” Terrence said, staring down at the severed hand Vicky held.
“You … be careful,” Caroline said. She gave Terrence, who now looked even paler than before, an awkward grin.
“If you hear word of the River Pack, let me know,” Wahya said. “We’ve had some contact, but I still worry about Hugh and the others.”
“I will,” Vicky said. She took a deep breath and adjusted the backpack cradled in her arms. Jasper camped out on her shoulder and stayed curled up close to her neck.
Terrence started to say something and then hesitated. “Did you … did you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Vicky asked as she waved to Caroline and Wahya as the werewolves vanished back into the woods.
“I don’t know how to explain it. But Damian didn’t feel the same. It’s like he knew something.”
Vicky knew what Terrence meant. Even in the darkest times, Damian seemed to be a light, a beacon to unite his friends. But something was off.
“It’s like he knew he was losing,” Terrence said.
Vicky grimaced. “Like he knew he was losing control to Nudd.”
Terrence took a deep breath and looked off toward the woods. “You really think this is going to kill us?”
“Look on the bright side. You’re already dead.”
Terrence smiled down at her. “You’re okay, kid.”
“Put your arm around me and don’t let go,” Vicky said. “No matter what.”
She braced herself as Terrence reached out to her, worried there might be another vision, another knowing. But there wasn’t. She was relieved, but then she wondered if it was because Damian was losing himself further. If his powers were being cut off more and more from her and others that he’d touched, that worried her. She ground her teeth together and laced her fingers into the hand of Gaia. She could worry later if she wasn’t dead.
The cold flesh closed around her hand, and the light left the world.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darkness enveloped them, and Vicky wondered how stupid of a decision she’d just made. She’d met Gaia before, walked with Damian, and no harm had come to her. But at that time he’d still held the hand of Gaia. He was the rightful heir to the mantle of Anubis. A seventh son, and heir to a power she would never have.
But even as those questions roared through her mind, stars appeared in the distance. A dim golden glow formed beneath her feet, and motes of brilliant yellow light drifted down to the stump of the hand she held. Vicky waited in silence, watching as Gaia’s body took shape, until finally the serene face of the Titan came into focus.
“You are not Damian Vesik, and yet…” Gaia frowned. “And yet there is much of his power about you.”
“We met before,” Vicky said, feeling Terrence’s grip tighten around her shoulders as if she were the last shred of sanity in a mad world.
“I remember,” Gaia said. “I can only obey the orders of those to whom I am bound.”
“Damian would like us to have safe passage to Rivercene,” Vicky said, willing to try anything at this point to get out alive.
“I am afraid words are not how this works. Ask me where you wish to go, and we shall see if the compulsion acquiesces.” After a brief pause, Gaia added, “Or if you must find other means.”
Even as the Titan said, “other means,” a tentacle resolved itself just off the edge of the path. And beside it another and another, until their entire right side was flanked by a towering, writhing wall. It moved in slow motion, but that made it no less unnerving.
Terrence cursed, but he fell silent shortly after when Gaia looked upon him.
“Take us to Rivercene,” Vicky said, the words coming out rushed, like she just wanted it to be over. And in some ways, the waiting was far worse than anything else.
Gaia tilted her head to the side and a slow smile crawled across her face. “I shall do as you ask.”
Vicky blew out a breath. “Fucking hell. At least something went right.”
“Such coarse language is not becoming.”
“Are you serious?” Vicky asked, blinking rapidly. “Have you met Damian? I mean, have you seriously listened to that man talk?”
Gaia smiled. “Nonetheless, that is no excuse for you to be so crude.”
Vicky stared slack-jawed at the goddess, and said no more.
“Damian has been injured,” Gaia said after studying Vicky’s face for a time. “Has he been lost?”
“If he was lost, I’d be dead,” Vicky said. “So I guess that’s a pretty good gauge.”
Gaia inclined her head. “That must be why responding to your orders is bringing much of the same enjoyment as helping Damian. Some part of him is inside you.”
“I think we established that after our little adventure in the Burning Lands.”
“Of course, but it is good to know that you may call on me. I will be here should you need assistance. I fear our time together has come to an end for now. Rivercene awaits you. You need only release my hand.”
“Thank you,” Vicky said. She glanced back at Terrence. “Hold on. If you don’t like roller coasters, you’re probably not going to enjoy this.”
“What’s the—”
But Terrence didn’t get to finish his question. Vicky released Gaia’s hand, and they fell.
* * *
Vicky had walked out of the Abyss before. She knew what to expect as the stars vanished from her vision and the stomach-churning sensation of falling at an impossible speed overcame her. She thought she should have warned Terrence a bit more thoroughly. Almost as fast as the thought had come, light returned, and the evening blossomed before them.
The horizon was a brilliant red and purple, giving the Old Mansion an enduring, if haunted, look. The nearby trees stood as shadowy sentinels, and Vicky would have called it serene if it wasn’t for the shouted curses from the ghost wrapped around her.
They crashed into a shallow river a second later. Darkness enveloped Vicky once more as she closed her eyes against the current. She hadn’t learned how to swim before she died. Her mother had taught her how to float a bit, so she wouldn’t be at a high risk of drowning. It had been the Ghost Pack that taught her to swim, but that had been in the Burning Lands where water didn’t behave exactly like water in the commoners’ plane.
Here, each stroke felt like she was pulling against a massive force. As if the water itself resisted her, wanted to hold onto her and keep her in its depths forever.
Vicky’s head broke the surface and she squawked. Something had grabbed her back, and just before she lit a soulsword to run it through, she recognized the face of the green man who had lifted her from the water.
“Stump,” Vicky said, awkwardly brushing a clump of fiery hair away from her face while she dangled from his hand.
“You appear to be damp,” Stump said. “That is not a healthy state for your kind.”
Vicky caught sight of Terrence standing beside Stump. He held the backpack, and Jasper shook himself dry before weaving in and out from between Terrence’s legs. Vicky had a brief moment of panic as she looked down at her hands. Had she dropped the hand of Gaia? But no, it was still there though she hadn’t remembered holding onto it. That explained why swimming through the current had been so hard.
“You’ve been in the goddess’s presence,” Stump said. “It is a place of high honor. A place I one time hope to stand as well. Her magicks can have an odd effect on commoners.”
Vicky shook her head out as Stump set her down. “I’m not exactly a commoner.”
“I suppose you are correct in that,” Stump said. “Perhaps it would be more accurate to say her magicks have a strange effects on humans. For example, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Damian traverse the Abyss. But every time he exits, he screams like a newborn babe, or as some of the locals like to say, a stuck pig. It’s quite piercing, one might even say disturbing. I was not aware such a high-pitched sound could emanate from a fully grown man.”
Vicky let out a slow laugh. Once they finally got Damian out of this mess, she had something new to tease him about. Even as her mind tried to say if they got him out of this, she choked it back. They’d win or they’d die. There was nothing in between.
Terrence looked the green man up and down. “You’re like Dirge.”
“There are a great many differences between me and Dirge,” Stump said. “I would never deign to compare myself to the forest gods. It is, as the commoners say, like comparing cats to oranges.”
A look of utter confusion crossed Terrence’s face. He stared at Vicky, as if begging for an explanation. Instead, she just gave him a grin.
“Come now,” Stump said. “Friends of Dirge are welcome here. Let us get you inside so you can dry off and get warm. The innkeeper has been expecting you. Though I don’t think she’s very happy about the fact you walked through the Abyss without Damian. It was risky. And though she may say it was even stupid, I understand the need to hurry.”
Even as Stump said the word “hurry,” he took slow steps toward the mansion. Vicky followed patiently in his wake, although perhaps patiently wasn’t the right word. The thought of getting chewed out by the innkeeper was not a pleasant one.
Vicky eyed Terrence. The ghost didn’t have a speck of water on him other than the waterlogged backpack. “I guess you can’t get wet. You can still hold the backpack though, which is interesting.”
“Oh, I got wet,” Terrence said. “I’m just glad the water was fairly warm.”
“You’re bone dry,” Vicky said.
Terrence looked down at his uniform. “It dries off instantly. I can’t explain it. I can feel the water, the moisture. Or least I’ve been able to since Damian changed me. But it doesn’t stay.”
“It is a memory,” Stump said. “It is why you thought the water was warm, and Vicky is shaking from the cold. I suspect your last memory of water was one of a warm river. Things like that linger, never truly leave. It is an impression that will survive far beyond death.”
As if it had been his cue, or his reminder Vicky could get cold, Jasper rolled up to her feet, quickly climbed her side, and nestled his warm fur against her neck. Vicky believed Stump’s words. How else could you explain the visceral knowings when she touched a ghost? Damian experienced much the same, and from what she’d learned, most necromancers did.
They passed the embankments and a dip beyond it. Vicky knew this was where the river had once run, so close to the front of the mansion. The captain who built the place had been smarter than most. He researched the floodplain, and he knew what the highest mark was for any flood in history. So in the end he showed up all the doubters, and his home did not flood in his lifetime.
She remembered the story Damian had told her once about a terrible flood that happened in the 90s. That had been enough to reach the Old Mansion, but it had stood for over a hundred years without being touched by the water. It was only when the commoners moved the river that the home was at risk. The fact it was still around, still thriving, said a lot for the bones of the old place.
Vicky ran her hand along the iron horse head that sat atop a waist-high pole as they reached the driveway to the mansion. It was a beautiful place. Three stories, a turret on the right side of the house, and a steep roof that loomed over the windows and tiles. Stump stepped cautiously around the concrete of the sidewalk. He took such care around the house that it made Vicky smile.
She led Terrence up the three steps to the front door and looked at the doorframe. It didn’t seem all that interesting to her, carved like a braided rope, but she remembered Damian liked it. Vicky reached out to the old metal, a distant sadness settling in her chest, and twisted. As fast as she moved, the bell echoed inside the hall.
“Doesn’t anyone just knock anymore?” the innkeeper’s gruff voice said from inside. Her footsteps fell heavy on the hardwood, and it was only a few seconds before the deadbolt snapped in the door and the old wood swung inward.
The innkeeper eyed the trio. She gave a nod to Jasper and a frown to Terrence, but her eyes lingered on Vicky. There was kindness there, a sympathy, and Vicky didn’t want it.
That sort of kindness was a weakness, a blade to her armor that cut where she thought she’d guarded her heart closest. And even as Stump nudged her forward, Vicky couldn’t stop the tears that spilled over from her eyes.
“Come in,” the innkeeper said. “We’ll get you a hot drink and set you by the fire.”
“They fell into the river,” Stump said. “The ghost dried off, but Vicky did not.”
The innkeeper gave Stump a flat look and then ushered the three inside. Once she closed the door behind them, she said, “One day I’m going to turn him into kindling.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Vicky took the backpack from Terrence and followed the innkeeper as she led them down the hall. It wasn’t the first time she’d been to Rivercene. She’d been there enough, and explored it enough, to imagine she’d found every nook and cranny on the three floors of the old home.
“Let’s get you a hot chocolate,” the innkeeper said.
Vicky almost grumbled about the fact that she wasn’t a kid anymore, but if she was being honest, a mug of hot cocoa sounded amazing. Maybe it would help warm her fingertips where the cold dampness of the backpack was already digging in.
> She studied one of the old couches in the hallway as they walked by, made of wood and upholstery and far more ornate than any furniture her parents owned. Although if they did own something like that, Vicky imagined her mother would put a “Do not sit here” sign on it like it was in a museum. The thought made her smile.
They passed the grand staircase. Beneath it sat an old upright piano. Vicky slid the hand of Gaia into the backpack as she remembered the story of the other piano in the house, the one Mike had made a wardstone for—something to protect the inhabitants of the house, both living and dead.
She eyed the display case at the end of the hall. It was full of all sorts of old artifacts and photo albums, but the warmth of the kitchen drew her forward.
Inside waited a peculiar fireplace. More than once she’d seen the kitchen with the hardwood laid all the way to the back until it was flush with the rear of the fireplace. But other times she came in and saw the fire roaring beneath the massive mantle. And instead of wood in the hearth, pitch-black stone caught the ash and flame.
The innkeeper wasn’t much taller than the mantle and the long hooks that swung in and out of the fireplace were at chest level for her. She pulled a kettle out of the flames as it rocked forward, and lifted it up with a potholder. Two mugs waited on the counter and Vicky could already smell the chocolate inside.
The milk splashed out of the kettle, and Vicky felt like she was home. She could imagine her own mother dropping marshmallows into the mugs she liked to carry around.
“Take a seat, take a seat,” the innkeeper said.
Vicky didn’t argue. She slid a chair out and flopped down into it. Terrence frowned at the seat next to her, reached for it, and pulled his own chair out.
“I see you spent some time with a necromancer,” the innkeeper said as she set a mug down in front of Vicky and put the other by an empty chair. She walked around the table and lifted a small bottle out of an ancient spice rack. She unscrewed the top, and put a sprinkle of brown dust in each mug. The spice bottle clicked back into place and the innkeeper joined them at the table. Jasper purred on Vicky’s shoulder, and the innkeeper stirred her mug.