The Fallen

by Ali Winters

  “Mother,” Cora said, her voice wavering slightly, enough that Hestia stopped her hurried moments and turned. “We have company.”

  “Your Grace.” Hestia dropped into a bow, wiping her hands upon her apron. When she straightened, her long delicate fingers pushed back stray hairs fallen loose from her bun. “We are honored to welcome you. Please, come in and sit.”

  Cora hurried inside and pulled out a chair at their table. Yeva glided across the room and sat, motioning for the others to join her.

  Hestia took up the seat on the opposite end, a daughter to each side. “How may we be of service to you?”

  The three of them leaned forward, hanging on to Yeva’s every movement. “I have come to speak with you about Nivian,” Yeva said solemnly. None of them moved, not so much as the blink of an eye to indicate they knew what she was about to say. Yeva continued, “I heard she left early this morning.”

  “Nivian hasn’t been here all day. She was gone when we got home,” Hestia said. “It’s not uncommon for her.”

  Yeva folded her hands atop the table. “She did not leave a note or some clue as to where she had gone?”

  Hestia shook her head. “None. I am sorry. We’d assumed you had sent her on a mission, or she was off by the river.” She looked to Cora and Eloise, who still only looked curious. Though, upon closer inspection, they each held a slight tension in their shoulders. “Has something happened?”

  Yeva reached forward and placed her hand over Hestia’s. “I am unsure. Finn came to me early this morning and said he was worried. I only wanted to check in with you to see if she had returned without our notice.”

  The three women shook their heads in unison.

  Curious.

  Yeva hummed a little. “That is strange. It is unlike her to disappear like that.”

  “I know she likes her alone time, but we have never had any trouble finding her when need be. Are you sure she’s not simply down by the Mezzanine?”

  The smile plastered to Yeva’s face did not waver for even a second. The question bordered on insulting. To think she wouldn’t check the most obvious place first was absurd. But Yeva held her tongue. “No. We have had scouts looking for her since sunrise.” She listed her head casually. “Have you noticed anything about Nivian’s behavior lately?”

  It was the question she had wanted to ask from the start, but they would have been defensive had she approached them in such a way. She had to ease them into it.

  “What do you mean?” Cora asked, chewing on the corner of her lip.

  “Have you noticed anything strange, different in her usual comings and goings? Her behavior? Has she been moody, or jumpy?”

  Hestia frowned, wrinkles forming across her forehead. “No, my lady. Nothing like that at all.”

  Yeva could all but see their defensive walls going up in unison. She cursed inwardly. There was a strange quietness to them as they sat. They knew something, though she couldn’t tell what.

  “Is there something we can do for you in her stead? Something you need?” Hestia asked.

  Why? Why did they close themselves off to her and claim ignorance? They should have been eager to tell her of anything. Any strange look or air about Nivian. Instead, they became emotionless and cold toward her.

  Their silence could only mean one thing—that Silas had got to them as well. Though, the extent remained yet to be seen. He could have them working for him, and she wouldn’t put it past him to threaten their lives if they did not keep silent.

  Yeva allowed herself a slow breath, insuring she kept her rising anger well hidden, showing only the calm and collected exterior her children were used to. Her smile increased. “No, I am just worried for her. She is quite special, as you know.”

  The three women nodded. Again, it was too practiced for her tastes.

  “In that case, I will take my leave and let you get on with your evening.” With that, Yeva stood, smoothing down her long forest green skirt.

  Hestia rose with her, followed quickly by Cora, then Eloise. Yeva turned and walked to the door, each step she took seemed to thunder through her whole body. Her blood pounded in her veins. They’d betrayed her with their silence for whatever reason. Coercion or of free will, she could not allow such disobedience.

  Yeva paused outside the door, her hand lingering on the frame. She looked over her shoulder at the three women only a few steps behind her. She had never expected the Watchers, her Watchers that she had created, to betray her with smiles on their faces. They had taken Nivian’s side, and by extension—Silas’s.

  She scoffed inwardly. They were all going mad, betraying her trust and lying to her face. And for what? To protect one who was broken… one who was too different, who never should have been created. They had turned their backs on life and embraced death.

  “Come.” Yeva motioned them to follow. “The sunset is beautiful today.”

  Without hesitation, they followed. As they passed her, they gazed toward the horizon. Yeva brushed her fingers across their shoulders in a single sweep of her hand.

  Hestia spun on her heal, looking to Yeva with a horrified expression. Cora and Eloise faced her a second later. Hestia opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came.

  All three stilled at once, their skin turning ashen, the color leaching from them. The gray spread across every inch of flesh, of hair, over their clothes until they were life-like statues of ash.

  Cracks formed and ran along their hair, crumbling and drifting away on the gentle breeze. Faster and faster the wind carried more of them away, not stopping until all trace of them had vanished.

  A just punishment for their betrayal.

  She had revoked their gift of life. It was something else, akin to death, but not the same. Their consciousnesses intact, their essences were to float forever on the wind. Each particle of dust not technically dead, and instead condemned to a half-life. Of being nothing more than an infinite stream of awareness, yet, unable to think, unable to feel, as most living creatures.

  Their very souls ripped apart and divided among each speck, until the end of time… or until she saw fit to spend her energy calling every part of them back to restore the gift of life.

  Perhaps one day she would, but, for now, their punishment would stand.

  SILAS

  THE COOL AIR that accompanied a Guardian’s powers swirled in the empty room within the heart of G.R.I.M. Headquarters. Silas flung the black curtain closed, hiding the waters of Soyala, and turned. Caspian stood just inside the stone doors, Nivian’s body limp in his arms. Her own arm dangled at her side, her skin too pale. Rivulets ran down her hand and dripped to the floor.

  Caspian didn’t move or speak, only stood with his head hanging as he gazed upon Nivian’s slack-featured face. Silas couldn’t see his Second’s eyes, but he knew from the ridged stance, his slumped shoulders, and the tight grip of his hands on her body, that they were filled with tears.

  Though he’d given Caspian a week to reap her, he’d expected her far sooner. Caspian had taken every last second he’d been allotted.

  The eye of the Tome pulsed against his chest, warm under his clothes. Silas pressed a hand to it, the surge of power unexpected. It recognized her, called to her even in her death. It knew the plans the Moirai had for her.

  He marveled at the power buried deep within her. She was such a small thing. Smaller than most Watchers or Guardians for that matter, and yet, this woman was destined to be nearly as powerful as he.

  “Come,” Silas said, his voice resounding in the large open space. He walked to the back of the room and into the shadows, not bothering to wait for Caspian to respond. After a second’s hesitation, he heard the sound of the man’s shoes clacking against the stone floor.

  Silas pressed a hand to the wall, and a section fell away with ease, earning a soft intake of air from Caspian.

  Fire lit up along the bottom gutter, starting near the doorway and catching as it traveled along the edges. Warm amber light filled the stone roo
m, revealing a stone altar upon a dais, large enough to fit a grown man. Relief carvings decorated the base with skulls, with swirling vines weaving through and around in intricate patterns, raising the flat top to mid-waist height.

  He moved inside and stood at the back of the altar, where the Reaper’s chalice waited. Scooping it up, Silas motioned for Caspian to come forth.

  Caspian straightened his spine and entered the room, not pausing until he stood opposite Silas.

  “Lay her down,” he instructed.

  Caspian’s fingers tightened around Nivian, as if he didn’t want to let her go. Silas didn’t miss the look of hurt and anger toward him flashing across Caspian’s face.

  Silas knew what he felt. He felt it too, for Yeva. The way his heart called out to her, longed for her touch, her mere presence. Caspian felt the same for this Watcher. Of course he blamed Silas for taking away the one and only thing his heart had ever responded to, the only thing it would ever respond to.

  When she became a Dark Guardian that connection would be broken, but the lingering emotion would remain. He had to remind himself of that, and forced himself to have patience with the man.

  “Come now, do not be like that. It was inevitable. The fates have decreed it to be so.” He paused for a moment. “This is why we do not spend time with them. It is too easy to become attached.” His words were cool. It was far from the complete truth of it, but explaining the connection they had would only make the situation worse.

  Perhaps it was hypocritical of him, especially knowing he would feel even stronger were their roles reversed. He did hate to see his friend in pain. Guardians were sensitive, more so then he’d ever thought possible when he’d created them. By the time this was all over, he would have to ensure that such a thing never happened again. Emotions must be kept in check.

  Maintaining the balance was all that mattered.

  Finally, Caspian’s fingers loosened their grip and he placed her down upon the dais. His hands lingered only a moment before falling to his sides. Caspian stayed rooted to the spot, frozen, his gaze locked upon her pale face. She almost looked as if she slept. Only the lack of color in her cheeks, made starker by her dark hair, and the slight hue of azure tinting her lips, showed otherwise.

  Silas cleared his throat, raising his brows when Caspian finally dragged his eyes to his face. The Guardian bowed at the waist, then turned and walked away without a word.

  “Are you forgetting anything?” Silas asked as Caspian reached the entrance.

  Caspian stood with his back to him for several heartbeats. His eyes shone as he glanced over his shoulder, the firelight dancing in the tears lining them. Slowly, he reached into his cloak and pulled out the pocket watch. He stormed over to Silas and shoved it into his hands before spinning and marching out of the room, not waiting to see if Silas needed or wanted anything else.

  A moment later, the heavy doors of the outer chamber slammed behind him.

  Silas looked down upon Nivian. A sliver of guilt prickled at his heart. She had done nothing wrong. Her only crime had been existing as a Watcher.

  “I am sorry,” he whispered. The words surprised him. Though he did mean them, he had never uttered them to any who’d passed. Certainly not to a Watcher. He stroked her raven hair, moving a stray lock from her face, then left her lying on the dais as though she merely slept.

  Silas pressed his hand to the wall, once outside the room, and closed the door. Reaching into the collar of his shirt, he tugged on the leather cord around his neck so that the eye of the Tome dangled in the open.

  He moved along the back wall and pressed down on the stone that triggered another hidden opening. He hurried down the spiral steps, the eye of the Tome bouncing against his chest with each step he took. The soft light emanating from the eye guided him through the dark, only seeming to weaken once he reached the bottom.

  The tunnel’s crystals lit the way, and he ran.

  He kept his eyes locked on the path before him, only flicking his gaze toward the room that had led to the Moirai’s dwelling. Gradually, the crystals became less and less, and the path darkened. He stopped abruptly when it became impossible to see. It was a darkness so thick it could only be a wall. A flicker in the dark made him squint. Was it his imagination? Or… It shimmered again.

  No… it wasn’t a wall. He placed his hand against the darkness and pressed. Nothing resisted. Silas pushed into the void, leaving the tunnel behind. The inside was pitch black and not even the stone he wore could cut through it. It was an unnatural darkness, one only the Moirai could create.

  Silas dragged his hand along the wall, not pleased that he was forced to slow his pace.

  This new path seemed to stretch on forever. The floor dipped and angled down at uneven intervals, threatening to make him stumble. He would have questioned his choice to continue were it not for the eye giving off a warm glow. The farther he went down, the more the light pulsed, like the racing of his own heartbeat.

  Down and down he walked, until he lost track of time. He had no idea how long it took for his patience to wear thin, but each step brought it closer to his breaking point. Gradually, the light grew bright enough that he could make out his surroundings.

  Silas stopped short, once again confronted with a barrier. This wall was made of solid stone, matching the sides of the tunnel. A dead end. It was not possible for him to have missed an offshoot. Though dark, he was sure that he would have spotted another route.

  He looked behind him and frowned.

  The light of the eye around his neck grew to a steady, solid light. He had to be going the right way. Unless this was yet another trick of the Moirai. He rubbed his chin. Would they dare mess with the power of the eye? They had told him to right the mistake that had been made, and he was doing just that. They would be vague, or leave out details, but they would not lead him astray. This had to be the way.

  He would force his way through if he must.

  Silas placed a palm against the wall and pushed before he had a chance to summon his powers. It gave way, though not as the last had. This resisted him, as if he were trying to submerge himself in tar. He pushed, inch by inch, until he was forced to stop. With his arms all the way through, his chest was pressed against it but would not go any farther. He ground his teeth.

  “Gaia…” he muttered then pulled back. It resisted the same as it had when he’d gone in. Silas looked himself over and realized it must be his cloak that could not pass. At least, he hoped it was his cloak and nothing more.

  He unfastened the clasp around his throat and let the dark material pool to the ground around his feet. Then he plunged through the wall, using more force than before. His muscles strained as he fought for every bit of progress.

  The weight of it pressed down on him, making him feel the beginnings of claustrophobia. He was not a being to be held captive. And that’s what it felt like. A cage to hold him, to confine him. It squeezed down not only on his body but inward against his mind. Telling him to stop, to go back, that he was not welcome in the realm he sought to enter.

  But he would not yield. The harder it pushed, the harder he fought back.

  And then he was through, stumbling into knee deep water with far less grace than he was used to. It didn’t surprise him. The old gods made it clear when they did not wish to be intruded upon.

  Silas glared over his shoulder at the now invisible barrier. Only the barest shimmer in the air marked that it was even there at all.

  He straightened his spine and faced forward. His hand swept up and through his hair, pushing stray strands off of his forehead, then down his shirt as he smoothed out non existent wrinkles, attempting to regain some semblance of dignity while doing his best to ignore that he stood in murky water. He could almost hear the child-like laugh of Atropos echoing through the trees at his back.

  Before him lay an endless body of water. No wind stirred the mirrored surface. In fact, the only thing to break the illusion of infinite sky above and below was a dark
hole with a rim of sharp rocks reaching up from between boulders, like dark and angry rotting teeth that belonged to some long forgotten monster.

  He took a few steps toward the hole, the water sluicing up his legs with each step he took. The faint sound of trickling water was the only noise in this forsaken place. The water deepened to his waist, his ribs, his chest… Silas’s mouth twisted in disgust, wondering if he would be forced to swim before he was through.

  The rocks were several yards away still and the water level with his chin, but with each tentative inch he gained, the ground stayed even beneath his feet. Not wanting to get a face full, or mouthful, of water, he was reduced to a slow pace, wondering if it might just be better to put up with swimming.

  Then, as he neared the spillway, the tips of his fingers brushed against something. Rock. The toe of his shoe also made contact. Relieved, he pulled himself up until he broke free of the filthy water.

  Silas peered over the rim and looked down into the deep void. Water trickled between the teeth like rocks, but he couldn’t make out the sound of it hitting the bottom of the precipice.

  Silas pulled back then threw his legs over and jumped. The descent was unsettling, yet if he wasn’t mistaken, the farther down he went, the slower he fell.

  He landed hard on his feet, nearly stumbling. The impact jarred his knees, but as he stood, the pain vanished. Pebbles and small rocks floated around him like a meteor belt with drops of water floating in various sizes in between. They were weightless in this strange space between realms. Silas waved a hand and scattered them away from his face, sending them floating in several other directions.

  There was nothing but darkness at the bottom, broken only by a single pale orange light coming from a tunnel ahead. A trickle of water at his feet caught his attention. It flowed, following the path leading down the tunnel.

  Silas shrugged in an attempt to straighten his cloak, then frowned at no longer having its familiar weight wrapped around his shoulders. It was strange to be free of it when he was not creating another Dark Guardian.