I wished it hadn’t, though. Then I wouldn’t have realized that the dog-like breathing belonged to an actual dog. One with three heads, rabid spittle frothing from each. Cerberus.
But my time in the tower, recuperating from what I learned had been my death, was finished.
Today was training day.
The centurions were split into two towers, each containing a legion of eighty soldiers. A recent vacancy had caused my body and soul to be sent down from the Underworld. I was not meant to die, although this fate felt like something worse.
Galleron had explained—after my questions refused to cease—that due to the mixture of potion, bite, cure and distilled dark essence from the wolf’s corpse, I had been spared. This unusual cocktail had triggered changes within my biology. No longer human, but not a monster, either. A creature unique enough to intrigue the rulers of the Underworld. With a psychic makeup that marked me as well-suited to a particular task.
Guarding the Weald.
I cursed Kalos for melting the alpha wolf into essence and attempting to revive me. Even when the situation was hopeless. When I would have been better off dead, evaporating into nothingness.
These were my thoughts as I marched, trying not to stumble, the bronze helmet rattling. It was strange to say, but I could feel it shrinking, the oversized warrior garb changing itself to fit my slender form. With every step, I became more a part of the legion.
Galleron stopped ahead. He commanded all the men, tasked with defending the Weald—both from what wanted to escape Cerberus’ gate, and what might want to get in.
Whoever the hell that was had some bad priorities. But people came to the Weald of their own volition in search of something. The centurions ensured that visitors did not leave.
I glanced to my right, at the man standing with a lifeless expression in his dulled eyes. He didn’t look over, nor did he acknowledge my existence. Beyond him, the skeletal wisps of trees covered the land, unable to grow properly in the soil of charred bone fragments.
Galleron wordlessly strode alongside the legion, his eyes scanning the men. It was eerie, knowing I was being watched while his eyes remained so still, so poised. I adjusted my own gaze straight ahead, at the endless row of plumed helmets before me, trying to fit in.
Galleron paused next to me and said, “You.”
I didn’t venture a breath for fear of drawing attention to myself. After no one else moved, I said, “Me?”
“An intruder seeks to enter the Weald.” I snuck a glance over, finding his expectant eyes awaiting my response. “What is your job, trainee?”
“My job?” Within days I had gone from running a respected print shop, to seeing that life in ashes. Some parts quite literally. After, I had needed to kill an ancient werewolf and grind his teeth into meal to save myself from a similar fate.
Those had been my most recent jobs.
And then I had died. Kind of.
“Come with me.” He reached out, palm upright. It wasn’t an invitation so much as an order. I sensed nervousness in the rest of the legion, which made my legs shake as I stepped out from the line.
These were men who did not rattle easily.
The lonely clatter of my bronze armor was the only sound throughout the Weald. Somehow Galleron, outfitted as he was, made no more noise than a shadow. I wondered if, with time, I would learn how to do the same.
My fingers tightened and I wondered something else, too.
Whether I even wanted to.
We reached the head of the line, where he drew his sword and pointed toward the empty woods.
“The threat comes from the north.”
I craned my head, the metal digging into my neck. Strangely, there was no evidence of Albin’s bite. Perhaps they had cleansed me of my sins in the Underworld—or worked some sort of magic I did not wish to understand upon entering the Weald. “Aren’t you coming?”
“This is a test of whether you belong.”
Nothing moved for a short while, until he pointed the sword in the direction of the ashen trees once more, indicating that I was to move immediately. I took a few uncertain steps away from the legion.
The effect was as if I had cleared a jam in the print works. The soldiers immediately moved forward, marching by without hesitation, as if I had never existed at all. No words of encouragement. No looks back as they left me alone on the outskirts of the spindly forest.
I considered sprinting after them, returning to the tower and announcing that I was not fit for this job. That someone had clearly made a mistake. But the fear of death—true death, I suppose—forced my boots into the crunchy bone meal that passed for a forest floor.
Digging into the scabbard at my waist with shaking fingers, I finally managed to draw my sword. The well-maintained blade glinted in the ethereal light, sharp as the day it was forged. I tried to recall Galleron’s direction, which way north was in this sunless realm.
The moment, however, was clouded in a haze of fear.
I stopped moving, still at the edge of the forest. Close enough to go back. I cast a forlorn glance at the empty path cutting through the trees, the only sign that something was alive in this wretched place.
No one would know…
Crunch.
Any noise in the Weald sounded like a door slamming. It was far away, so deep within the trees that I couldn’t catch sight of the party. But the way my senses responded told me that Galleron hadn’t been lying.
Someone was out there.
And maybe I belonged here, since I could hear them.
But that wasn’t what was extraordinary. That could have just been my paranoid ears rebelling against the deafening silence that permeated the Weald. What got my attention were the bands of energy rushing through the air, carried by an invisible wind.
Faint wisps, their hues faded enough to almost be colorless. Like strands of thread fluttering through the ether, tying everything together.
In wonder, I spun around, not caring how much noise I made, looking at these links that spread throughout the world. Everything was related, intertwined. Like a wonderful orchestra, playing in tandem, one instrument’s success contingent upon its mate entering at just the right time.
The armor clanged as I floated through the forest, spinning about with no other concerns. Some secret of life had revealed itself to me and whispered in my ear to come along for the ride.
And I would not ignore its call.
Until a fist rocketed from behind a thin tree, catching me in the jaw. My sword dropped to the ground and the helmet flew off. To my surprise, I tasted blood within my mouth. Before I could consider the implications of this, a rough hand jerked me up, and I found myself face-to-face with a familiar foe.
“Hello, print shop girl,” Albin hissed, his human face twisted into a wolf-like snarl. “It is wonderful to see you again.”
16
My first reaction was fear. I froze, like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights, unsure what to do next. Albin’s tight grip dug into my skin, threatening to break my arm. If it could still be broken.
That thought gave me the bravery to unleash a kick toward his shin.
It wasn’t strong, but there’s a lot to be said for the unexpected. His grip loosened, and I stumbled away, collapsing into the bone ash. Gray dust rose like an ominous fog. I scrambled backward, trying to locate my sword.
I found it—next to Albin, who stared at me with a maniacal sneer. It was then that another memory came to the surface: of how Kalos had distilled the dark essence from the corpse. By melting it down, piece-by-piece.
Or, at least, partially. For Albin was largely intact—sans one hand, the stump covered in scar tissue indicating that it had been cauterized.
“Our fates are ever intertwined, print shop girl.” Albin picked up the bronze sword, testing its point against his skin. His pale features were covered in blood, although there was no evidence of the gunshot wounds. The skin around his neck appeared slightly off-color around the place whe
re I’d jabbed the sword into his throat. “I have spent years waiting for this day.”
Years? I had seen him only a week before.
“You’re dead,” I said, backing away as he advanced.
“As were you, print shop girl.” He jabbed the sword, more a toying thrust than a kill stroke. I overreacted and slammed against a tree. It cracked underneath my weight, and I fell into the bone meal.
But I recovered quickly, and got to my feet, keeping my distance from him.
“Who let you down here?”
“I take what is mine.” His teeth flashed, vicious and cruel. It was then that I realized the blood wasn’t his. For a moment I worried that his initial ambush had inflicted some sort of mortal damage. But my jaw only felt bruised. No, the blood coating his body was from his slain enemies.
Can someone die when they’re already dead? I knew not what to call it when a denizen of the Underworld—or the Weald, and whatever other realms existed—met her final slumber.
All I knew, a cry rising in my breast, was that I did not want to yield to the darkness just yet.
The sword slashed through the air, aimed at my throat. The light colored bands swirling around it, however, tipped Albin’s hand before the attack launched. I tucked into a roll, hair brushing against the chalky ground, channeling instincts I did not understand to dodge the blade.
I heard the sword thwack into one of the trees. The branches themselves were sparse and sickly, but one thing worked in my favor: they were voluminous in the Weald, making it unfriendly territory for longer swords. I popped up, only feet away from the wolf.
Unsure what to do, I tried to land a feeble punch. With a snarl, Albin easily knocked me aside. I choked as I inhaled bone chips, the unburned edges scraping against my skin as I tumbled along the ground.
“I have come to free my true lord,” Albin said. “The one they call the Demon King.”
“I don’t think he’s here.” I steadied myself on a tree, wiping blood from my otherwise dry lips. Albin glared at me, the two of us separated by ten feet and a half-dozen randomly spaced trees.
“Not here, stupid woman.” I was glad to know that, after surviving for more than a minute, I had been upgraded to “woman” in the werewolf’s feverish eyes. “Beyond the gate.”
He threw back his head, and I expected him to howl. But with no moon, he just laughed, a cackling, nasty sound at my expense.
“I don’t understand.”
“You know not what lies beyond the hound’s gate,” Albin said, finally containing himself. “You do not even know why you fight.”
“Because I have no choice.”
“Then you and I are alike in that regard,” Albin said. “For I will carry out my master’s will and reclaim Woden’s Spear from the half-demon wretch who still walks amongst the living.”
At least Kalos was still alive. “I can’t let you leave this place.”
“How much you have grown in eight years. So bold.”
Eight years? He must’ve been manic, his mind snapping from being whisked to the Underworld.
He strode forward with perfect confidence, not bothering to free the sword. I circled around him as he closed the angle, the unknown strands beckoning for me to follow them. Soon enough, Albin and I had almost swapped positions, me with my back to the sword—only feet away—and him staring at me, a curious look on his face.
“I do not understand.” His eyes expressed a supreme confusion. The confidence vanished. His head swiveled, assessing his own position. “It is impossible.”
The realm of bones was still, the strands of faded color drifting away. A panic seized my gut when I realized I was again alone. It had led me here, this strange intuition, subtly harnessing the wolf’s own instinct to turn him around and grant me the upper hand.
But the machinations were as foreign to me as they were to him.
He snarled. “A sorceress, perhaps?”
“I don’t know any magic.” I blurted the words out before I could stop them. A hard gleam took root within his fearsome gaze.
“Beginner’s luck, then.” Albin charged, the sinews in his bare torso threatening to rip from his skin. I waited a split-second, a memory flashing before my eyes. The report of the flintlock pistol, the wolf still coming. His teeth latching into my leg, powerful and unyielding.
Fluttering in and out of consciousness, Kalos’ strained voice hovering above me. Right before the light went out, the half-demon uttering, “I’m sorry Ruby.” Like he had done all he could to keep me from death’s door, but found it beyond his power to do so.
I didn’t wait for the ethereal woven light to guide me. Backpedaling, I swung my arm toward where the sword was stuck in the tree. I found it, but a little too high. The sharp edge sliced through my palm, and I grimaced.
Readjusting my hand, I found the hilt. Albin’s bare feet churned, kicking up a storm of blackened bone meal as dark as his soul as he closed the gap.
How long had it been? A second, no more. Blood pulsated in my hand, dripping in rhythm with my beating heart.
Wrenching the blade from the tree with my limited strength, I waited for his teeth to sink into me once more. But instead, I felt the wood give and the sword rip free. I looked back to see Albin leaping through the air, hands outstretched like a wolf’s claws, aiming for my throat.
With an awkward motion indicative of my lack of practice, I jerked the blade upward with both hands, swinging it in a wobbly half arc. It bit into his flesh, severing his head at the neck. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact, the entrails to rain down upon me.
But nothing came.
I opened one eye, worried that I hadn’t killed him at all. Albin’s body hung in mid-air, a look of terror and shock writ across his face. His form dissolved, like metal losing shape in a molten forge, withering into a blackened husk that broke apart like burnt paper on the wind.
The ashes scattered around me, brushing my cheeks as they fell.
I heard footsteps, and I swung around, brandishing the bloodied blade.
Galleron emerged from the trees, a sage expression on his face.
“You do not belong here, Rebecca.”
A fury coursed through my chest, and I rushed at him. He easily sidestepped my attack, the blade clattering into the bone chips as I lost my balance. His words sunk in as I struggled to rise.
Galleron offered me a hand, his expression the same. “The strands of aura and essence. You can see them, can you not?”
“I—how?”
“Because I see them as well.”
“And you don’t belong here?” I spat the words. It was difficult to pinpoint why, exactly, I now desired to stay. Or at least not to leave. Were they really the same thing? Perhaps killing the wolf once more had awoken a bloodlust that could only be sated through combat.
“There may only be one commander.” But his eyes told a different story. Unlike the lifeless, dull legion, this man felt. Saw. Experienced. The weight of the years trapped within the Weald, loyally discharging his endless duty, flooded through those eyes, wordlessly transmitting the truth to me.
He wished to spare me the same fate.
“I can be commander.”
That thin smile emerged from the shadows cast by the helmet. “I am sure you can, Rebecca. But this world is not yours to protect.”
“What are we?” I whispered, worried that the trees had ears.
“Realmfarers,” he said simply. “And those trapped in one place do not suffer a good fate.”
I wanted to ask him what fate that might be.
But the way his grin turned into a tortured grimace, I needn’t ask at all.
17
A Realmfarer. Perhaps the rarest of magical creatures. Not truly a creature, in any sense, since I possessed no incredible abilities. I could not drink blood or run at super speeds like a vampire. I did not possess preternaturally gifted senses of smell and hearing, nor the strength of a wolf. Unlike a sorceress or a witch—or many other creatures of
essence—I was unable to cast spells.
What I had been granted was an intuition. An understanding of time, matter and the way consequences swirled together. Not quite a predictive power, but a sort of guide for what might be true and what was not.
That, and like an angel, I could pass through any of the nine worlds I wished without a guide or, you know, dying again. But from what Galleron told me, the only one worth a damn was Earth. The others had mostly fallen into disrepair following Ragnarok, like colonies abandoned by their homeland.
As one final bonus, my life would be long. But I was not immortal.
I asked him about the dead. Why I came back to life.
He just laughed, and had said that most didn’t. Nothingness was the fate of almost all creatures.
Maybe I should have considered myself lucky. But rocking back and forth on the bed, the day of the escape finally here after almost nine weeks of waiting—weeks of drilling and patrolling, where I could feel the light extinguishing from my eyes—I remained unsure whether living was preferable to dying.
And yet, I had felt it while fighting Albin. That burn—a mixture of fear, adrenaline and wonder. Fighting against the unknown abyss, an eternity of nonexistence. A will to live, no matter the cost.
My mother would be furious. If I had been a lax churchgoer prior, I was dangerously close to veering into the realm of complete nonbelief. What of heaven, or some afterlife that awaited me? But then, after seeing all this, how could I believe anything else? If I died today, the Weald was not the future that awaited.
Footsteps echoed in the winding stairwell, and I straightened. Technically, I was not supposed to be up here. During that initial week, Galleron had mended my wounds and guided me during my disoriented state. But now, I lived in the tower barracks, sleeping with the rest of the soldiers.
I liked it better up here. Sleeping with the legion was like being surrounded by empty vessels. Machinery that looked like men, talked like it, even, but were a strange facsimile of the real thing.
Galleron emerged from the stairwell’s shadow. His boots tapped against the stone. Deliberately, I knew, from our experience out in the Weald. For me to realize he was still human. And perhaps for him as well.
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