by Ali Winters
Silas crossed the room several more times, and, with each pass, his pace slowed. He knew what he had to do. He stopped completely in the center of the massive, empty room. It seemed so cold and empty compared to the existence he’d known thus far. Now that emptiness called to him, beckoning him to turn from everything, offering him some semblance of—not comfort—but numbness.
No matter how hard he fought the darkness that plucked at him, dragging him away from everything he’d wanted, everything he’d promised himself, it had always lingered in the corner of his mind. Inching its way closer until the dark fingers would eventually wrap around his heart, cloud his mind, and steal every last trace of joy he held dear; until he was hollow, nothing more than an empty shell to serve a purpose.
He reached up, gripping the edges of his hood with his fingers and pulled it over his head then let his arms drop limply to his sides.
There was no more putting off the inevitable. He’d wasted too much time as it was, and he only prolonged the future that would come with or without him.
At least, if he took action, he might stand a chance at dampening the sharp blade of pain that would come for them all.
Silas would face the Moirai and do as they decreed.
He strode out of the room and up the spiral staircase toward the highest point of G.R.I.M., avoiding the gazes of his underlings as he went.
Light filtered in through the three large, arched windows. His eyes ached at the adjustment; no longer used to the light after spending so much time in the darkness. Even the permanent dusky hues of the moment just before the sun broke over the horizon felt nearly blinding.
He moved across the room with purpose, snatching up the Tome from its drawer and setting it atop the desk. He brushed his palm over the leather cover—an apology for what he must do.
Working the eye stone back and forth until the setting gave, it popped free. Silas held fast to the eye, clutching it within his palm until the skin over his knuckles went white.
He lifted his hood over his head and transported back to the darkest depths of his domain. Securing the stone doors to the room, he slid the massive lock into place then headed toward the back. He couldn’t risk one of the Guardians, not even Caspian, coming down to potentially follow where he went.
He pressed his hand against the cold, stonewall, almost warm beneath his own icy touch. Silas let his powers bubble to the surface, through his core, up to his shoulder, then down his arm, snaking its way into his fingertips. His magic slithered out into the wall and between the cracks until it formed a line to either side of him, and another connecting them both above, forming a doorway. He pressed and it slid open.
Nothing but a wide, gaping void waited below. Silas placed his foot on the edge, where the floor fell away. A step formed, then another, and another… and another. Until a narrow staircase stretched down, going farther into the realm that no one else even knew existed. A secret he was compelled to keep by the very beings he was on his way to see.
The impenetrable darkness was too much. He needed to see. His power reached out before him, crawling along the walls and steps like dark water. It reached into the earth beyond the rocky surfaces, tugging at Gaia’s soul, beckoning her to come forth.
As he neared the bottom, a faint, pale green light appeared. It was weak, lighting up little more than the outlines of the steps and tunnel. Pausing when he reached the landing, Silas stared down a seemingly endless passage lit by the soft green and white crystals growing from the walls. They brightened as he walked, as though they lead the way.
Further down, several unlit corridors sprouted off at random and various points. No doubt creating a labyrinth of infinite paths. Silas groaned inwardly, not looking forward to how much time he would waste attempting to find the correct path.
When he reached the first off shoot, he took one step down the new path and stopped. The crystals did not follow him here, and the eye of the tome, which had been growing steadily warmer without his notice as he’d walked, had turned to ice in his palm.
He unfurled his fingers and examined the stone, which seemed nothing more than a black shard of ordinary rock. It was guiding him. What he needed was not this way.
Silas returned to the main tunnel until he passed a small empty alcove. No bigger than the room inside a house. A rough-hewn staircase had formed in the center of the floor, leading down to… only Gaia knew where. He made note of it, then continued. The crystals became scarce until they stopped forming all together, leaving the rest of the tunnel bathed in pitch black.
He would have thought it a sign that he’d passed the path he should have taken, if it weren’t for the increasing warmth in his hand. Not only was it leading the way, but it guided him. He gripped the stone between his forefinger and thumb and studied it.
After several heartbeats, it dimmed.
Silas held in a growl of frustration. If the Moirai had wanted him, why did they insist on playing such games? He turned back, retracing his steps and coming to an abrupt stop at the sudden heat in his hand. He let out a hiss, nearly dropping the eye of the Tome as it flared to life.
Cursing under his breath, Silas opened his palm. The eye had left a round, angry mark on his skin. He hadn’t realized he’d been gripping the stone so hard within his fist.
Looking up, he realized he was back at the opening of the alcove. Once more, he wondered why the Moirai insisted upon being so vexing when they were the ones to summon him.
He heaved a heavy sigh through his nose, quickly losing the battle on keeping his temper in check. Silas entered the small room and took the stairs, determined to get this over with.
As soon as his boots hit the bottom, he stopped, nearly choking with the shock of what lay before him. While nothing significant to look at, he knew exactly what he’d stumbled upon. The power was unmistakable.
He stood at the heart of a crossroad consisting of three paths. One of obsidian leading up stairs so dusty he had initially assumed it was made of stone. The others, a grassy path and one of barren rock, scattered with dirt.
He could feel the power of Mophar in the obsidian path. But the two others held something entirely different. One remained completely unknown to him, but the grassy path—that had a warmth he knew all too well. The warmth only Yeva possessed.
Silas marveled. The spot where all realms met. Yeva had dragged him around endlessly looking for this place. He’d thought it a myth, nothing more than something she wished to be true. He’d gone with her willingly because she’d made him want it too. And now when it would be of no use to him, he had found it—right under his nose this whole time.
All those years searching for a place where they could be together without limitations… and it was useless. He was on a path that would tear them apart.
Bitterness coated his tongue, seeping into his veins like poison and into the marrow of his bones. Silas turned from the path leading into Yeva’s realm and toward the Moirai.
They would take everything from him by the time this was all over, leaving only a dried and withered husk in place of his heart.
He walked down the long and winding tunnel. Followed every curve and bend until he felt as though he had spent more time backtracking than not, until even his anger at fate had ebbed.
Rolling fog moved in, slowly at first. It swallowed his feet, becoming thicker and rising higher, crawling up the walls and ceiling to surround everything.
Silas could feel the power of the Moirai in it, could feel them watching him through the unsettling and billowy plumes as it flowed and swirled. The thick haze swallowed him, covering his body so it was nearly obscured and he was no more than a wraith himself.
That, too, seemed to last an eternity.
When he’d given up finding an end, the fog finally lifted.
Silas stood under an open sky black with stars infinite in number, each blinking out of existence, one by one.
A forest stretched out to one side, the trees ancient, behemoth things, and a spraw
ling beach on the other side. A wide, endless sea, so unnaturally still that the surface looked like black glass reflecting the stars above. Dead.
The reek of the water, void of life, sat heavy on the air, thick and briny, and filled with rot. Silas crinkled his nose at the unpleasant stench.
He held his open palm before him and turned, watching the glow of the eye brighten and dim. When it faded to black, he turned and headed in the opposite direction, thankful that it would take him farther away from the lifeless ocean.
He moved toward the tangled forest framing the shore as he followed the glow of the eye. Wet sand and pebbles crunched under each step.
Pushing through the brambles, thick vines almost seemed to slither over his boots, trying to slow him, to keep him from finding the Moirai. They snapped, breaking with the force of his legs as he continued on, unable to deter him.
A speck of yellow light flickered through the brush. Silas shoved the eye into his pocket and hurried forward.
He broke out into a small clearing. There was nothing more than a small desolate cabin nearly invisible with how it blended in with the disorder of the forest.
The wood siding of the dwelling was cracked and weathered and the support beams leaned, ready to snap in half from the weight of time. It looked abandoned, and rightly so, save for the single window lit by the soft glow of a fire within.
He stepped up onto the rickety porch. The aged wood creaked, sounding about ready to buckle under his weight. Silas raised a hand to knock on the door. But before his knuckled fist made contact, it swung open on screeching hinges.
That was invitation enough for him, and he crossed the threshold.
Three women sat in front a fireplace, cross legged on the floor with their backs to him, shoulders and arms moving in continuous motion as they worked.
“Such a delay is unbecoming for a being of your power,” one of them sneered. Though the words echoed and seemed to come from everywhere all at once, he knew that bone chilling voice. A voice, dry and withered from so long ago, he’d thought he had all but forgotten it. Lachesis, the eldest of the sisters.
He blinked and they faced him, their hands unnervingly still. They were beautiful, too beautiful, and he found his eyes watering just from looking upon their faces.
Atropos, the youngest, smiled at him. Her golden pink skin glowed with the light of dawn as she looked up through long lashes. Her duotone eyes glinted in the dim light—one sapphire, the other a burning violet.
“Hello, Silas,” Atropos said. Her dark raven hair spilled over her shoulders as she leaned forward and lifted the fingers of her right hand to wave. He could do little more than return her gesture with a nod.
Then their hands started working again, slowly picking up speed.
Clotho’s honey amber eyes, flecked with burnished gold, bored into him like fiery embers against her pale skin. She was moonlight and quicksilver with the rays of sunlight in her hair. The longer he remained captive by her stare, the more he felt like the new creation he’d once been—ignorant of everything, small, and insignificant.
“There is something about this Watcher that is wrong. Is what I fear true?” he asked.
Clotho barred her teeth, ready to cut him with her sharp words, but Lachesis saved him.
“A fate must come to pass,” she spoke in her quiet voice. Her hands moved in a near blur, but she did not look up at him. Long white hair, the color of snow, spilled over her shoulders, pooling around her legs, and he wondered how she kept it from tangling as she worked. Her dark skin was speckled with thousands of freckles that glowed like stars, as if she, herself, were cut from the fabric of the night sky.
Clotho cut the eldest a side long glance, and Silas’s hands formed fists at his sides.
“I know,” was all he said. Those two words were not enough. He wanted to get across everything he needed to say, but his tongue was thick and dry and the words refused to form. So he settled for the bare facts. “I have studied her. She seems to share a bond with a Watcher and a Dark Guardian.”
“No… no, it cannot be,” Atropos whined. Tears formed in her eyes and slid down her rounded cheeks.
Clotho, with her rage, her lack of patience for what she felt was obvious, said, “A substitute for an error will never be right.”
“Two Watchers, nor two Reapers, were ever meant to share a bond. It was meant for opposites,” Atropos lilted.
So childlike. Her moods could change within the span of a heartbeat. Too much for him to keep up with.
He had surmised as much already. But it wasn’t the honesty in her words that stoked his ire, but the light hearted tone she used at such a time. Though, he supposed, all that mattered was that Atropos had spoken the truth. Not that any of them were capable of anything else. Not that beings… gods such as they, needed to lie to appease anyone. Least of all him.
“She is strange, that one.”
“Who is she—what is she?” he demanded.
“Do not be stupid, boy,” Clotho snapped. Strands of gilded hair slid forward across her face, making her look wild… vicious, as if she would shred him with her nails if he made her angry enough.
“Nivian,” came the softest whisper from Atropos. “What a strange anomaly she is. Born to the wrong body. Born opposite to her purpose.”
“Then I shall reap her and be done with it.” Nivian… the Watcher, that was her name. She would die, a fact he’d known as he’d watched her, when he’d noticed the strange double bond.
So far all he’d learned was her name. Her name and confirmation that what he had feared was true. She was a mistake that needed to be taken care of.
The youngest made to speak, but Clotho cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Do you think we would call you here if it were so simple?”
Yes. No. There was never a way to tell with them. There never had been. Their way of communicating was advanced enough that they struggled to keep it plain so that he could comprehend.
His mouth went dry. “What else must be done?” But even those simple words squeezed on his heart, threatening to crush it as if it were nothing more than the thinnest glass under the weight of a mountain. He knew the answer would ruin him.
SILAS
“A REAPING WILL not fix the balance,” Clotho said.
“Do not be so naïve, my dear Guardian,” Atropos crooned.
Clotho huffed at the interruption. “Listen—listen now for you will not be told again.” Her voice vibrated through his bones, sending a layer of ice over his nerves. Silas shivered. “A new Guardian must be created. But not like all the others. She is wrong, but you must make it right.”
“Change her,” Atropos added. “Fix her. That strange one.”
Silas balked. Nivian was not his to fix. They would know as much. If a reaping could not solve the problem, then it would be up to Yeva to correct it. They should have summoned her, not him. The Watcher was her charge. She belonged to her.
If Yeva could not fix her own, and he was to do it in her stead, then what did that mean for Yeva? His gut twisted at the implication.
Throughout this, Lachesis watched him closely, with her one silver eye. A white, tattered bandage covered where the other should be. Even without seeing, he knew it was not there.
Silas took a step back. His breath left him all at once as he stared at the three sisters. Nivian must be reaped. A Guardian must be made… fix her. His stomach turned leaden.
They meant for him to turn her into a Guardian. Such a thing shouldn’t be possible. Yet here they were, ordering him to do as much, because her bond with Caspian was never meant to be. The bond that was the result of the balance trying to fix what she had with Yeva’s second. Kain.
He could feel the blood drain from his face.
“That is not all,” Lachesis said in her raspy voice.
Not all… Not all? What more could they possibly burden him with? He could barely comprehend what he had to do as it was.
“Yeva must be neutralized,” Atro
pos added.
What they asked of him would ruin what fragile alliance there was between the Dark Guardians and the Watchers. And now he must do something that would risk everything he worked for with Yeva.
He must take a Watcher to even the imbalance.
Yeva…
Once he began, his actions would begin a landslide of events. He would betray her, and it would break her heart. Knowing he didn’t have a choice in the matter didn’t make the situation any easier. His glass heart finally surrendered to that crushing weight pressing down upon it.
“I do not—” he started.
“Do not forget your purpose, Guardian,” Lachesis said, the emphasis on his title more than clear.
“The balance before everything. Do it, or you, too, will be taken care of,” Clotho said.
“Yeva will not be happy when I tell her,” Silas said.
Her hand writing furiously in her book, Lachesis whispered, “The balance above all.”
And he knew she was right. He needed to remember his duty. But it was nearly impossible to ignore the crying protest of his hart.
“She can never know the truth,” Clotho said, her voice filled with sorrow, as if she could feel the pain he felt now, the pain he would feel. As if she had experienced it herself. Silas blinked, and, in that moment, he understood the fate.
What he had to do was clear. Clotho was not as cruel and unfeeling as he’d assumed, but bound to her duty, putting it before her own heart.
And he must do the same.
“My Second and I will—” Silas started.
Lachesis hissed. “You must not tell him. You must not speak of what transpired here to anyone. Though Caspian may aide you, the words we speak are for you, and you alone.”
Silas took a moment to gather himself. “Fine. Tell me plainly, what I must do.”
Atropos stood then and walked to him. He blinked and her face flashed, changing from the innocent and sweet goddess to something else. Something dark, which made Clotho’s savage appearance seem calm.