He drank in the sight below him as he reached inside his cloak for two of the four vials. He ignored the nagging thoughts in his head that told him this was the last of their magic and it was wiser to be used sparingly.
Peter withdrew the Gnosi magic and the ash and stars also called Cinis Lumen. He downed the light blue liquid of Gnosi first. His mind jerked forward and then to a stop. It swirled for a moment as it soaked in the details of the maze of intertwining streets and buildings below him. From this high point, Peter could see almost all of the cities. The Gnosi magic locked the map in his brain. It would remain for a few hours. The only downside to this was that Peter now felt that a heavy weight had been pressed down upon his brain.
Peter clenched the vial of Cinis Lumen in his hand after he had thrown the empty one into the shadows.
He dropped.
The world swam as he hurtled towards a blur of black. He landed with a sickening crunch on hard stone. He rolled onto his stomach as his face slapped the ground. A groan parted his lips. With braced hands, he pushed himself to a sitting position. He found focused thoughts once more as he settled his view upon a distance still twenty feet below him. He glanced upward, finding that he had fallen a great length. How was it that he was not smashed to scattered pieces of bone?
He shoved the thought from his mind and peered over the rock before him.
And discovered that he was standing on a precipice over a crater in the city.
He glanced upward at what must have been the poor sectors of the city. What was below him must be the true city. Even though it appeared desolate and forlorn, the place, and especially the pointed castle below, held long lost magnificence.
“The castle below resembled a cathedral. Narrow and towering in structure, it held an air of prestigious quality, draped in the clothes of the ancients. The castle wore a wrinkled robe and pointed towers. Its jewels consisted of glass windows and stone creatures built upon its exterior,” Daniel had said.
Peter did not hesitate to slide down a smoother incline into the crater. The castle, the city below, urged him forward. He began to bound over gaping holes in the sodden floor as if he could outrun his thundering heart. His veins blazed with anticipation. HedisregardedSilva. Shedidn’t exist. Onlythepast loomed before him. The chain rattled behind him, smacking him in the spine. He ignored it.
Peter came to a skidding halt. His boots flung stones in all directions. He panted for breath as he lifted his eyes to view the height of the castle he now stood before. He popped open the vial of Cinis Lumen and downed it in one gulp.
Peter’s senses seemed to awaken from an eternal slumber. His eyes now saw the intricate designs of the door before him. The door felt coarse beneath his trembling hand. Though he had barely touched it, the door swung open in unexpected silence. Black fog, tinted with sulfur yellow, greeted him. Cold fingers of fluttering fabric reached to grasp him.
One foot after another was placed before him until he was encompassed in the past, and the door trapped him inside.
“Those who see you will stare at you and ponder over you: ‘Is this the being who made the earth tremble, who shook kingdoms, who made the world like a desert and overthrew its cities, who did not let his prisoners go home?’”
-Elyon’s words to Lucius
Twenty-Seven
A glowing white eye void of an iris blinked from a corner. Peter jumped. His blood tingled, his skin prickling. Low,
breathy air emitted from the corner. It encircled Peter and
instead of warming him, turned his bones to ice. “I’ve been
expecting your return.” The voice was breathy and poisonous.
Though slightly gnarled, it held threads of hissing.
“I’ve never been here before,” Peter replied, his voice
nearly inaudible.
Peter’s host shifted. Its eye disappeared as if it had either
shut them or turned around. Peter took asingle step closer. “You
look like him,” it said in a dull voice.
“I know,” Peter replied quietly. Silence intervened. Only
Peter’s thundering heart was to be heard. He swallowed and
wondered if the creature had gone. Had he imagined it? He
thought not. On sudden instinct, he dropped the chains. If he
was to be attacked by surprise, the chain would only weigh him
down. “This would be the part of the story where I have amagic
sword and I slay this creature,” he thought.
Chilling breath prickled his skin. He froze.
Something sharp ran up the edge of his spine and he
nearly criedout. Thevoicewas a cuttingwhisper.“Cometofinish
me off, have you?”
The world whirled, or rather Peter whirled. Metal flashed
in his hand. The blade of the dagger plunged into something black, gooey, and deformed. Under the pale black and yellow tinted light, the creature floated just as he had imagined. With a gaping mouth and hollowed eyes, its body was all black and in the substance of something between a liquid and solid. What appeared to be branches extended from its head. Its bony fingers
were unnaturally long. Its feet were webbed.
Peter withdrew his blade. It dripped with black liquid. He
cringed at the sight. The creature before him made no reaction,
only swiftly swished around him. It moved like a ghost would
though it was not transparent.
“That is not the manner in which I can be defeated,” the
creature voiced with a breathy sound which served as some kind
of laugh.
“They call you Leviathan,” Peter muttered as his eyes
scanned the creature. He knew Leviathan to be a higher-ranking
Shadow Bearer. If not the highest and therefore to possess
flawless features. “But not now...not in this form…” Peter’s voice was steel when he spoke, his body buzzing
with themagic ofCinis Lumen in his bloodstream. “Tell me, how
long did you lie wounded at the bottom of your lake after my
father cast your wretched form into its proper home? Tell me
that only the Infernal Cities are worse than where you have come
from.” The words felt like ash on Peter’s tongue. Like something
fading. Something utterly stupid. Still, he spoke them with as
much steel as he could muster.
Again, the creature uttered a breathy laugh. “You are his
son. You are driven by revenge. What was it your pretty friend
said? Revenge contorts the human soul, distorts good’s common
goal?” It paused, hovering over Peter. “She also told me she
would hand you over in exchangeforIlea…”Anunpleasant laugh
rumbled from Leviathan. “I suppose she has now completed her
end of our deal.”
Confusion swept through Peter. “Cam? She did…” Peter
shook the thought away. “Just a ploy of his. To catch me off
guard.” Leviathan was speaking again, breaking into Peter’s
thoughts.
“Icouldclenchyour human neckwithbutjustmyfingers.
I could twist your stomach until it wrenched free. I could drink your human blood in one gulp, suck it from your own mouth. I could devour you like the animal I am claimed to be,” Leviathan
hissed.
Peter gave a wry laugh. “Youareno animal. Animals have
not theintelligence you possess. That much I will credit you for.”
The creature paused, his unblinking stare in one eye relentless
on Peter. Even in this form, he had one missing eye as Cam had
told him.
“You should meet the Daughters of the Lake. They are a
phenomenal company. But I am sure your father already told you
that,” Leviathan chortled. “Men have fallen for their songs for
centuries as y
ou will soon. Might I add that they have not been
properly fed on human flesh in all the years since your father fled
like a coward from this territory? And now, he sends a son. Prove
to me your cowardice.” Leviathan cackled.
Peter boiled, his veins simmering more than usual with
the magic in his system. “My father was not a coward,” he
sneered through clenched teeth.
Leviathan shrugged. “This way young man. Let me take
youto them.” Thecreaturebegan floatingaway towards theback
of the castle where a towering door stood open. Set beyond the
door in another crater of sodden ground was a shimmering lake
the color of dull silver.
Peter remained still. “Like hell, I’ll follow you,” he
thought, knowing the creature could probably hear it though the
words were not spoken aloud. But there was something pulling
him. A thread inside him that would unravel him if he did not go.
What magic did Leviathan possess to wield such power? He was
drifting. His feet off the ground, the warm air enhanced by the
magic to sear his skin. And he was...levitating. His head dropped
to the side, sagging in the air. His eyes slipped shut and
unconsciousness grasped him.
Camaria stood before him, her smile like the sun splitting
apart skies. The gown she wore shimmered, the gold flecks in it making her light brown skin glow. And she was all he could see. Peter scratched his head. Where had he seen that dress? Perhaps at some party, they had attended together. His skin tingled as her hand closed around his. “Peter,” she breathed, the warmth of the whisper on the shell of his ear. He felt nothing but warmth fluttering in his blood. “Fly with me.” Her lips melted to his, and she pressed herself to him. Everything sweet was bundled in her mouth for him to taste.
His mind tugged at him slightly. Though his thought apart from her was highly perturbing he could not help to hear the echo. “Why am I doing this?” it said. “I didn’t ask for this…” And yet he reached for more. His hands encircled her waist, pulling her closer. His fingers grasped at the glittering, gold silk. Her hands moved from his jaw to his shirt. Her fingers traced the strings holding the top together.
She untied them, and her touch seared his chest. “This isn’t right,” Peter’s mind echoed.
“Why?” he asked himself in return.
“She isn’t real.”
“Of course Cam is real.”
“Not this Cam. Cam is not unnecessarily...seductive.” Though the majority of his conscience purred at him to
rip the dress from her flesh, his hands shoved her away. Gold rippled in silver. It dissolved in the lake before him. With panted breaths, his eyes widened as the light was sucked out of the surroundings.
Cam had vanished. All things bright about that illusion had evaporated. The gold and the girl had sunk into the lake. Shrill sounding pandemonium pounded Peter from all sides. The lake burst open as though it had been a veil torn in half, and flying flashes of shimmering green and gray met his eyes.
Peter’s eyes scanned the number, his mind registering the thought. There was at least a score of them. One, whose chin rested on the surface of the water glared at him through flaring eyes. A mass of flowing, red hair spread behind her. Her small mouth opened and a hiss swept past her fangs.
The sensation of murky ground dragged at his back. Peter’s head crashed to the ground before his mouth filled with water. His throat burned. His eyes stung. Graceful hands clamped his ankles. His heart slammed against his chest, his mind scrambling. Kick. Move. Panic. He flailed in the water. A tale swished, smacking the surface as the she-fish dove underwater, their captive in hand.
Peter began to slip into unconsciousness once again, his mind-muddling as the water grew denser around him. As if the lake was actually inside him not around him. And there were faces. So many faces and fangs and rippling tales.
And then he heard it. Whether it came from within his own head or an echo in the lake, he heard it. “You forsake me,” an unspoken voice uttered.
Everything stilled.
It was as if Peter’s mind had been jolted with lightning. His eyes flung open. They no longer stung. His lungs ceased burning. His veins rushed with an unfamiliar strength.
He could breathe...breathe under water.
And the water wasn't thick and filling his lungs but flowing into him before reemerging.
He jerked from the sirens’ grips. Their teeth gnashed. Nails scraped his flesh. His clothing tore from him along with some skin. Blood, both his own and of the she-fish pooled in the lake. “Slay them, Elyon!” His cry cut both water and air. Or perhaps it was his body as he lunged from the flashing hands.
His head broke the surface and smoldering air swept into his lungs. Hebreatheddeeply as though hehadn’t breathedat all while underneath the water. Light flash behind him. A tremendous crack. Then sizzling. He saw smoke drifting. A pillar of Elyon’s breath. The water thrummed with electricity, and yet, Peter’s body was electrified only by adrenaline accompanied by heavy breathing.
The water was still.
Peter’s eyes spotted the expanse. No creature pursued him. “What...where is…” he trailed off. For he saw them now. All twenty of the sirens lay in distorted manners upon the bed of the lake what seemed hundreds of feet below him. Yet he could see them. See white bones stretched with the skin through the murky water. Their scaled skin seemed to be fried. Open wounds poured discolored blood, and their flesh turned deadly and pale.
Peter wrenched his eyes from the sight. His arms ached with strain as he swam towards the shore. He no longer felt the super-human strength in his veins. “Only You could give that sort of power to me,” he murmured, casting his eyes upward at nothing in particular. “Elyon…” he breathed. “Thank you.” Peter heaved his dripping form onto the shore and inhaled, exhaled over and over again. His chest began to ease into its normal feeling. The ache began to subside, but pain shot up his leg when he planted his feet on the ground.
He cried out, the color of agony filling his face. With a clenched jaw, he glanced down at the patch of crimson on his clothing. A white and wrinkled length of skin penetrated his flesh. He grasped it with a cringe and pulled the shefish’s finger and sharp nail from his thigh. Peter cried out again as the pain mercilessly bombarded his nerves. He cast the finger into the lake.
Peter remembered Leviathan. Where had he gone?
His heart was pounding again, a drumbeat of dread against his ribcage, climbing to his throat and skull. The momentarily enhanced senses granted him by the magic had consumed almost all of his remaining energy. He dropped to his knees, everything in him seeming to collapse.
Peter’s mind muddled, and he thought of nothing. How long he had been laying in the mud he did not know. Thoughts of both reality and mere illusion drifted through his consciousness. Was this an entrance to death?
And then, as if a light had sprung to life in his brain, Silva’s face passed his mind’s eye. “The task.” Peter’s mind took an abrupt turn to Leviathan’s words.
“How didhe know that Cam had said those words about revenge?” Peter jolted up. “Silva must have told him. And he is the one I have to defeat…”
Peter’s eyes liftedslowlyto thescrawny trees reachingfor a pale, yellow sky. His laugh was delirious. “But you did it all, Elyon,” he said hysterically. His nerves ceased to tighten to the point where he believed they would break like cords in his body.
He rose to his feet unsteadily. Though his mind swam, and his visionblurred, Peter said only fivewords. “One. Foot. At. A. Time.”
His thoughts coursed. “I only have to find my way out. And then we can see about my leg. No, don’t look at it. And Cam.” He halted. He thought only of her as he reached the back door of Leviathan’s castle. “She’s the same. Will be the same…” he tried
to shake the imagery of the golden dress and her glowing skin from his mind.
No, her clothing was black and her skin slathered in dirt and blood. But it didn’t matter. Not as another thought struck Peter, one which he cast away, one which he wouldn’t let falter him.“Stilljustas beautiful. Evenmore so...shecameall thisway for her sisters. She’s led us…”
He saw himself then. Saw weakening in her arms, tears of glistening in his eyes. “Elyon will save me, and Silva will not win,” he breathed, repeating the words over and over and over until they were a whispered anthem drifting through the air.
Cam evaporated from his mind the next instant. She went like a wisp of smoke and clarity of mind was cast aside. A trilling voice echoed from behind, reaching his ears and coating his mind. He expected in a brief second that he would re-enter a state of false and overwhelming warmth. But he only felt the presence of a vague, cold memory seeping into him.
Peter craned his neck, turning to face the lake. One siren hovered on the surface.
She wore not an expression of subtle seduction but of
blank remembrance. She was singing the words softly. And the words brightened a light of remembrance in
Peter’s brain. He ceased his steps. He knew the words. Knew
them as his own blood. Every fiber of his being yearned to recall
where exactly he had heard the song.
Cole. Cole was present, and Peter was five years old
again.
His father had just died and Cole held him as they
approached a mass of black-robed mountains.
The siren melted into the water, dead.
Peter turned once more and trudged from the castle, his
brain buzzing. How he managed to climb the wall of the crater,
he did not know. “Elyon,” was all he could say after. When he himself as he would be, pain and gratitude both reached the opening of the poor and forgotten district, his eyes
caught a flash of white.
Peter slipped his gaze to the sill of a blasted window upon
which was perched a snowy white dove. The bird cocked its head
to one side as if examining Peter with curiosity. He returned its
beady gaze. “Show me the way out,” he whispered. The Gnosi
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