by David Estes
She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“I want to show you something.”
“Bring fire,” Rhea said, and several furia rushed to obey her order.
A torch was lit and brought near. “Closer,” Roan said. He unbuttoned his linen shirt, pulling the wings back to reveal a smooth, muscular chest. Something sparked, and bright lines began to form, curling, drawing themselves into his flesh.
Three leaves attached to a single stem.
He was marked.
Rhea breathed in, holding the air in her lungs, her eyes unblinking.
The mysteries of Rhea’s past were connected, one by one, forming a single, clear picture. She released her breath and stood.
“Bring the sinmarked to my personal quarters. Leave us alone.”
Despite the harshness of her words, she knew the truth:
He was her lost brother, Roan Loren, the true heir to the western throne.
My throne.
Thirty-Five
The Western Kingdom, the Dead Isles
Grey Arris
Grey’s hand was sweaty, and, instinctively, he reached for his other hand, desperate for something to hold on to, to steady himself. When his fingers closed around the ruined stump of his arm, something bent inside of him. A part of him that used to be broken. Perhaps still was broken. It was hard for him to tell anymore.
Somewhere outside the stone building, wind howled. Rain pounded. Waves crashed on a dead and uncaring shore.
“Don’t do this,” Grey said. “Kill me, but not in front of Shae. She’s been through enough.”
“We have to know the truth,” the Fury said, and Grey was surprised to get an answer from the hard-faced woman. She sounded different, somehow. More desperate. More urgent.
“Why? Why do you care about Shae’s mark?”
“Sinmark,” the Fury reminded him.
“She’s just a girl. She’s no threat.”
The Fury whirled on him, grabbing his cheeks between her icy fingers. Squeezing. “You know nothing.”
Grey couldn’t argue with that. “Then tell me what you mean.”
A thump resounded from somewhere above them. Are we underground? They must be, for the stone structure was only one level atop the cliff. The Fury’s gaze flitted to the ceiling, boring holes in it. “Hurry!” she said, dragging him forward by the arm.
Somewhere further along the dim corridor, the other Fury also urged them to make haste.
Dozens of furia ran down an intersecting tunnel before flying up a steep set of stairs that winded away. They carried weapons.
Thump!
“What is happening?” Grey asked, trying to squirm away from the Fury.
Thump!
The Fury turned quickly, her arm lashing out and backhanding Grey across the face. Stunned, Grey spat out a glob of blood.
The other Fury ran back, grabbing him under his other arm. He kicked and fought every step, but they carried him down the hall, shoving him roughly into a room. Wall sconces blazed brightly from each corner, intersecting in the center of the space.
Where
Where she
Where she hung.
Shae. Oh gods.
The chains were clasped to each wrist, dangling from iron hooks pounded into the stone ceiling. The flesh around the chains was puffy and red, her skin raw-looking. Her chin was pressed against her chest, her eyes closed, her strawberry-gold hair oily and stringy, covering part of her face. She was stripped to naught but a thin white slip, which was soaked, revealing her pale, skinny arms and legs. There were angry burns on one arm, and red slashes on the other.
The rest of the small stone prison was empty, save for a small table with a book lying on it, flipped open to a page littered with scrawls of dark, shaky handwriting. Grey immediately noticed a drawing of a symbol:
It was like half of a broken key—the end you would push into a lock first.
The same strange symbol had been drawn in ink on various parts of Shae’s body—her palms, her knees, her feet. Which, he now realized, was also drawn next to the mark she was born with, clearly visible on her palm due to the torchlight illuminating her skin. What he’d always thought was a golden crown attached to some sort of broken scepter had really been something else entirely.
The other half of a broken key, now completed by the ink on her hand.
It was exactly the same as the key he’d imagined in the stars.
“Shae,” Grey said, taking a step toward his sister.
Strong arms yanked him back. Held him. His sister didn’t stir, motionless. Is she already dead? Grey thought, a slash of icy dread wrenching through him.
“Do you know how the Dead Isles got their name?” one of the Furies asked.
“I don’t care about—”
“It was the original Furies,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Do you think we were always the undisputed priestesses of Wrath in the west? No. Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. There were those who opposed my sisters, the strongest of which was a group of men called the Seekers who believed women were inferior to men. Can you believe such a notion? Anyway, there was a battle, and those who came before me and my sisters won. They slaughtered the Seekers—all of them. But there were others like them, and the furia needed to send a message. So the first Furies brought the bodies of their enemies to these very isles, and called upon Wrath’s blessing. Now the souls of the Seekers haunt this place, a warning to those who think to defy us.”
Grey shook his head. It sounded like a bedtime story. A bad bedtime story. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Because from that day forward, when Wrath blessed these islands, any who died upon their shores was cursed to live on through eternity, chained to the second heaven, a fate even worse than the first heaven. When you die, you will receive the same fate.”
Grey had had enough of threats. “Shae!” he shouted again.
His sister opened her eyes slowly, her eyelids fluttering. “I hate the dreams the most,” she said. “I don’t want to dream anymore.”
She was clearly confused. How long had she been chained in this room? When had she last eaten, tasted water on her lips? “I’m here, Shae,” Grey said. “I’m really here.” Tears dripped from his eyelids.
Shae shook her head. “Go away. I don’t want to hope anymore.”
She’s been dreaming of me, Grey realized. That I would come to rescue her. I’m her hope.
But what if I’m not good enough? What if I’m not strong enough? What if my parents were wrong to trust me with her life, her secrets?
Another heavy crash from above drew him away from his insecurities and back to reality. All his doubts didn’t matter, not in this moment. He would save her or die trying.
“Tell us about your sinmark,” the Fury instructed Shae. “Or your brother dies.”
A hand wrapped around his neck, a blade pressed to his skin. He could feel his pulse pounding against the cold metal.
Shae blinked. “Grey?”
“I’m here.”
“You came.”
“I came.”
“Your hand.”
“They took it, but they couldn’t stop me.”
“I’m—I’m sorry.”
Fresh tears bloomed. “No. You have nothing to be sorry about. This was my fault, you hear? You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.”
“Grey, I’m scared.”
Thump! Thump! Thump!
“Tell us what we need to know,” the Fury commanded. The blade cut into his skin, and Grey felt warmth run down his neck.
“My mark doesn’t do anything,” Shae said, a plea in her voice. “It’s never done anything.”
“She’s telling the truth,” Grey said, trying not to move, not to press his skin further into the blade.
“One swipe and he’s dead,” the Fury said. “Would you let your brother die, Shae? It will be you killing him.”
“No!” Shae screamed. “He didn’t do anything. Let him go. I
will tell you everything! I will tell you about the dreams.”
Thump! Thump! Thump! CRASH!
Grey didn’t have time to process his sister’s words, as shouts poured from above. There was the sound of steel on steel, the clop of what sounded like hooves on stone, and then more thuds and thumps.
“Dammit!” one of the Furies yelled. “The door has been breached. We have to help our sisters. Leave them. We’ll return.”
The Fury holding the knife to Grey’s throat growled her frustration, but then drew her blade away, leaving him gasping. She kicked him hard from behind and he sprawled to his knees. And then they were gone, slamming the door behind them. A key turned in a lock.
Grey fought to his feet, ignoring the screams of battle, the clash of metal, the cries of pain. Only she mattered. Only Shae. “We have to get you out of here,” he said.
“They have the only key,” she said. “They took it with them.”
“There must be another way.”
“There is,” she said.
“What?”
“Pull me down,” she said. “By the feet.”
“Shae—”
“Do it, hurry, the dead are coming!”
The cries were closer now, and Grey swore he heard the whinny of a horse. The dead? What was she talking about? Surely she didn’t believe the Fury’s faerytales…
“They’ve been attacking for days, Grey. The dead horsemen. I’ve heard the furia talking about them. They’re scared of them. But they’ve never gotten inside. Until now. We have to go. Now!”
Grey bit the back of his hand, shocked by the potency of his sister’s delusions. He couldn’t do this, could he? He knew he was out of options. It was the only choice. The shackles were tight on her wrists, but not that tight. She was all skin and bones. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me, Grey,” she said, and he was shocked at how grown up she sounded. How strong. Where has my baby sister gone? Grey wondered.
He grabbed her ankles, taking a deep breath.
Something pounded on the door, hard. Tha-thump!
“Grey!” Shae cried.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
And then he pulled.
She screamed, but when he stopped pulling, she shouted at him to “Keep going! Keep going!” He gripped her feet harder and yanked them down, shutting his mind off to his sister’s cries, which were equal parts pain and determination. She’d been through hell and back already, but Grey couldn’t give up on her now.
Her body stretched, and he feared he would pull her in half, but then she shot downwards like a dropped stone, crashing into him, her knee slamming into his abdomen, her head bashing his shoulder, her foot stepping on the inside of his ankle.
The pain was nothing as he held her, as he wept into her hair, as she cried into his drenched, filthy shirt. Her wrists were ripped and bleeding, as were her knuckles, but she was free.
Tha-thump!
The hit to the door was so hard it rattled the whole room, a stark reminder to Grey that they were far from safe. Clearly, it wasn’t the Furies, who would’ve simply used the key to get in. “What are they?” Grey said.
Shae rolled off him and said, “Get behind me.”
Who is this girl? “What? No.” Grey stood and tried to push her behind him as the door shook once more. Whatever was out there was strong. Grey didn’t know if they were dead horsemen or something else, but he knew they would need to move fast as soon as that door came down.
“Grey,” Shae said, touching his hand.
He ignored her, his mind searching for a solution. When the door came down, which it certainly would, there’d be a moment of confusion. It might be the only moment they’d get. “By the side of the door,” Grey said. “Get ready to run.” Shae was barefoot, but it didn’t matter. Getting away from whatever was beating on the door was the priority.
“Grey,” she said again. This time she touched his cheek, steering his gaze toward her. “Trust me.”
Trust her with what? He tried to pull her toward the side of the door, but instead she stepped in front of him. “Shae, what are you—”
“Make yourself as small as you can,” she said.
Tha-thump!
This time, the stones above the door cracked.
Tha-thump!
Grey tried to grab his sister, but she was slippery, pulling away, maintaining her position in front of him.
Tha-thump!
Rock dust rained from the ceiling and the door released a mournful groan.
Tha-thump!
The hinges snapped and the door began to fall. Grey dragged his sister back by the waist, but she stepped on his feet so he couldn’t swing her around. The heavy iron door slammed into the ground, the clang reverberating throughout the room.
They both froze.
Its skin was like stretched white silk, icy-looking, glowing unnaturally. Its head was that of a man, but with completely white eyes, like it was blind. Its hair was roiling waves crashing on its white-rock scalp. Its arms and torso were muscular, a long stone sword gripped tightly by white-knuckled fingers. Blood dripped from the blade.
Beneath its torso, its body transitioned to that of a pale-white horse, with a broad, horizontal back and undercarriage held up by four powerful hooved legs.
As Grey stared over his sister’s shoulder in fascinated horror, he realized he could see right through the creature, faintly, like peering through foggy glass.
Not dead horsemen, he realized. Dead horse men. Suddenly all the ghost stories about the Dead Isles didn’t seem so farfetched. Was this one of the Seekers the Fury had spoken of?
Without taking his eyes off the man…horse…thing, Grey tried to nudge his sister toward the side of the room. Perhaps if it really was blind, they might be able to slip past it and into the corridor. She reached back and grabbed his hair, pulling it. Her eyes found his, boring into him.
Get behind me. Trust me. Make yourself small.
Grey knew he owed his sister more than he could ever repay her. His life, yes. And certainly her trust. Slowly, he ducked behind her, bringing his legs together and squeezing his arms in front of him.
The horse man stepped forward, his hooves clopping on the stone. He stopped so close to Shae that Grey could have reached between her legs and touched its leg, though he wondered whether his hand would go right through it. The creature let out a breath that sounded more horse than man, one of its hooves pawing at the rock floor.
With a squeal, it turned and departed, charging through the doorway.
Shae turned, her face as calm as a flower on a spring day. “Now we can go,” she said.
As Shae led him into the corridor, Grey didn’t demand an explanation for any of it. There was no time, and anyway, he didn’t know where to start. His sister was changing, becoming something…different…but then again so was he.
They ducked back into the room when they saw three dead horse men filling the hallway to the right.
Grey also saw the bodies. The furia, their red robes flung haphazardly about their bodies. Had any of them survived? If fierce warriors like them were defeated so easily, what would that mean for Grey and his sister?
Nothing, Grey thought. We make our own path. It wasn’t until he thought it that he truly believed it. No longer would they swim with the current, nor against it. They would swim across it, and together they would reach dry land.
“The way out is blocked,” Shae said.
“Then we’ll find another way. A better way.”
Shae’s eyes locked on his and she nodded. “Follow me.”
I will follow you anywhere.
She was about to leave again, when she paused, taking two quick steps over to the table. She picked up the book with the markings, tucking it to her chest, and then returned to Grey’s side.
Gripping the book in one hand, she tiptoed out into the corridor and turned left, back toward where Grey had been held captive. Grey stalked after her, sidesteppin
g a body. One of the Furies. The one who had taken his hand, who had threatened to slit his throat. She was missing both arms. A stone sword was buried in her chest.
Grey moved on, glancing behind him once as they turned the corner.
One of the horse men was looking down the hall.
He shouted something in a strange language, and dozens of hoofbeats rang out behind them.
“Hurry!” Grey said, pushing his sister in the small of her back, adding momentum to her strides. Ahead of them, the path seemed to dead end, but Shae didn’t try to slow her strides. At the last second, she pulled him to the right, into a narrow gash in the wall. They were forced to shimmy side to side to make their way through.
An arm chased after them, leading with a stone sword. It flew toward Grey’s head and he flinched back, but then it stopped with the point a fingernail away from his eye. The horse man screamed something nonsensical and jabbed again, but Grey had already moved further away, and again the sword came up short. His horse hips were too wide to breach the narrow space. Perhaps it was an intentional part of the building’s design, by whomever had built it.
When Grey looked back, the horse man was gone, off to find another way to get to them.
Shae reached a thin alcove and turned right, disappearing. “Wait,” Grey said, and her hand shot out. He reached for it and she pulled him onto a set of narrow stairs, which seemed to go up and up forever into darkness.
They climbed blindly, single file. With each step, Grey expected to hear the scream of the horse men, feel a stone blade in his back. But he knew his mind was his worst enemy—the dead couldn’t follow them through this path. Somehow the stone stopped them.
Finally, when his legs were beyond exhaustion, they reached something solid. Together, they pressed all three of their hands against it and pushed as one. Slowly, slowly, the stone barrier slid away, revealing a crack of gray sky and swirling mist.
They stole onto the edge of a night-black cliff, high above the ocean. Below, angry waves smashed against the impenetrable island of the dead. The drop-off was sheer—there was no way to climb down. Grey realized it was the same side of the island he’d arrived on. He even spotted part of his small boat wrecked on a jagged rock sticking up like the claw of a sea monster. The only advantage was that this particular cliff hung out over the water, somewhat clear of the rocky shoreline. But was it far enough?