by Jeff Wheeler
How long have you been trapped here?
She felt a hiss of anger in the thoughts. You dare question me? Who are you, insignificant child? You mongrel from the Fells. That is where you truly belong. Why would they let someone like you in this place to begin with? You are never going to amount to anything. He will never love you back. Oh, you try to keep your secret from the world, but you cannot keep it from me. I know you’ve already given your heart to him. And who are you to deserve someone like him? Who are you to take what a Fitzroy wants?
It was not Mrs. Pullman. Of course it was not. The Myriad One had latched on to her thoughts, her fears, and her strongest emotions. It spouted words that caused shame and self-doubt—a dark art it had no doubt perfected over its long, long life. Why was Cettie even listening to it?
Apokaluptis, Cettie thought.
Nooo! the evil being shrieked at her mind. The discordant rhythm grated down her spine, like the horrid squeal of violin strings.
The storm of rage went silent.
My true name is Tethera the Unborn.
Cettie felt the binding on her mouth loosen. Her legs and arms were freed as well.
“How long have you been bound, Tethera?” Cettie asked her, her voice shaking a little. “Speak truthfully.”
Three hundred years, mortal. But I have always existed. As have you. There is darkness in you. I sense it.
Cettie had long struggled with feeling the darkness inside her. So she willed the Leering to brighten.
It began to glow, and the being known as Tethera shrank accordingly. Cettie saw it as a pale shadow, a being of energy that swirled like dust motes. The thing hissed and began to slink away from the Leering.
The light. It burns. Bind me!
The Myriad One couldn’t escape the room. As the Leering grew brighter, its pain grew worse. It cowered against the wall, shrinking smaller and smaller. Cettie stared at it, feeling no remorse or compassion. It would have taken her over if it could. It would have claimed her body as its own. It would have ruined her. Memories from the Fells surfaced at that moment. The suffering that she and so many others had endured under the influence of the Myriad Ones. Most people had no notion there was a way to free themselves.
Banish me! Banish me, mortal! But we will be avenged. We will break free of this prison. The final end has not come. Our queen will be freed once more. Then we will have our vengeance. Vengeance on you all.
Cettie saw it shrink even more, saw steam waft from it. It was a being of pure hatred. There was no limit to its malice.
“Banirexpiare,” Cettie said, and heard the screech of nails on stone as the Leering dragged it back inside the light.
The peaceful feeling began to return, but still she was shaken by the ordeal. It was only an imposter. They all were. But how quickly it had deceived her and led her mind and thoughts down a dangerous path. Cettie frowned and clenched her fist. She would allow these creatures no more power over her. As her heartbeat slowed and she felt the relief of passing the Test, she heard the Knowing whisper to her.
You will leave the abbey grounds. Banish the Myriad One that hunts you.
CHAPTER THIRTY
EYELESS
The ordeal of the Test was over. Cettie returned her robe to the teacher awaiting her at the end of the passageway and walked briskly toward the sitting room in the Aldermaston’s manor to rejoin her family. The mood on the grounds was subdued. She saw students hugging each other, many of them weeping loudly. She had imagined it would be a moment of celebration. Instead, it was a time of deep emotion and great solemnity. The abbey felt different to her now as she gazed at it. It was not just a beacon of light. It was also a prison for the unholy.
When she reached the study, she found Phinia in tears, her handkerchief damp with them. Stephen had a consoling hand on her shoulder, and Lady Maren was holding her hand. Anna wasn’t there, which was confusing. Where could she have gone when all her family was here? Aunt Juliana paced the room and gave Phinia a reproachful look. Maybe she hadn’t passed?
Cettie shut the door gently behind her, but even that quiet sound drew their gaze.
“Of course she passed,” Phinia said, sniffling. It was said with resentment and misery.
Stephen gave Cettie a wary look, but he said nothing.
“There you are,” Lady Maren said, coming away from Phinia and embracing Cettie. “I’ve been watching the door for you. It’s over. You passed?” There wasn’t a speck of doubt in her voice.
Cettie nodded but felt uneasy expounding upon her answer.
“It was awful,” Phinia wailed. “How could they expect us to confront our fears like that? I’m never leaving the clouds again. Not in a hundred years. Not if we have to deal with those . . . those things.”
Lady Maren turned and gave her daughter a reproachful look. “You have good reason to be upset, Phinia.”
“But you have no one else to blame but yourself,” Juliana said.
“Sister, let me handle this,” Maren said.
“You are her mother. You are supposed to be gentle with her. I’m her aunt, and that entitles me to speak the truth for her own good. I love you, Phinia. But I’m not at all surprised you didn’t pass. Ever since you were small, you’ve been more interested in dancing and balls than serious study. Well, you’ve reaped what you have sown. Some consequences come soon. Some come later. Better to realize your faults now and improve upon them.”
Phinia’s expression crumpled, and she buried her face in her kerchief and sobbed again.
“That didn’t help,” Maren sighed out.
“Maybe. But it felt good to finally say it.” The two sisters looked at each other and shared a secret smile, though Maren was quick to drop hers.
“What does it mean for her?” Stephen asked, his arm coming around his sister protectively.
“It won’t hurt her prospects very much,” Lady Maren said with a sigh. “Our family has a good reputation and considerable wealth. She won’t be ignored.”
“But what will I do, Mother?” Phinia said through her tears. “I’m so ashamed. How can I face my friends?”
Lady Maren glanced at Juliana again. “Phinia, dearest. Most years, only half of the students pass the Test. You are far from the only one.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Phinia wailed.
Maren approached her daughter again and cupped her chin. “I know it doesn’t. I know your heart is hurting, and that grieves me too. But Aunt Juliana is right. For a long time, you’ve been more preoccupied with the wrong things. You weren’t prepared for the Test. You know that. I don’t need to say it. But it troubles me that you are only worried about the social consequences.” She gave her a serious look. “Instead, you should be worrying about how to improve, how to better hear the whispers from the Mysteries, how to be more aware of the feelings of others. It’s not impossible to take the Test again in the future. It’s just that most people choose not to because they failed once. It makes them afraid to try.”
Lady Maren bit her lip and then pulled Phinia into a hug. Phinia started to sob again from disappointment, and Cettie felt the room growing too stifling for her. She had been told to leave the abbey grounds, and she still hadn’t obeyed. Her nerves were tightening with worry the more she procrastinated.
Juliana gave her a wink as she slipped out the door, unnoticed by the others, who were still carrying on over Phinia. Cettie smiled back.
She walked out of the manor and started toward the apple orchard. Summer was in full bloom early, but there was a chill in her heart as she acknowledged what she was going to do. She had not faced her greatest fear in the abbey. No, hers lurked beyond the safety of its borders.
As she tramped through the grass, she thought about what Lady Maren had revealed. Only half the students typically passed the Test. She had always assumed most of them did. Perhaps it was a carefully guarded secret, a Mystery itself. Certainly, knowledge of the odds would have increased the students’ anxiety. Each person
was given a chance. A choice.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Skrelling walking toward her. She was not in the mood to entertain his persistent advances.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Skrelling,” she said curtly when he arrived. She didn’t alter her pace.
“I heard that you also passed the Test, Miss Cettie,” he said cheerfully. His use of the word “also” implied he, too, had been successful.
“Congratulations, Mr. Skrelling.”
“Congratulations are in order for you as well. I also received the glad news from Sloan and Teitelbaum, ahem, that my employment with them has been secured. I will not be enlisted to join the war effort. I’m quite relieved.”
“I’m sure you are,” she said evenly, thinking of Adam and wondering where he had gone.
“I should hope to see you in the near future, if you’ll permit me to call on you. At Fog Willows, as you said. I will continue to hunt for your mother. My determination is strong. And I am, if nothing else, persistent.”
“Indeed, you are,” she replied with a grudging smile.
“Where are you off to, if you don’t mind my asking? Would you prefer to be alone?”
She was not about to tell him her mission. “I’d like to be alone,” she agreed, not divulging anything more.
“Ah, yes. Well then. As you wish.” He bowed his head, gave her a crooked smile, and then went the other way. His clumsiness and awkwardness were almost endearing. He wasn’t a bad fellow, despite everything.
After he was gone, she reached the orchard. A little nudge to her thoughts sent her to the right. She followed the new path, and in the distance she could see the old abbey kitchen with smoke coming from the cupola. The look of the aged stone had always appealed to her. It gave the grounds personality, as did the street of Vicar’s Close. From her current vantage point, she could also see the fields of lavender, the archery butts, the gardens. A feeling of sadness and longing welled up inside of her. She would be leaving Muirwood soon on a tempest, piloted by Stephen. The beautiful chapter in her life was ending. What she wouldn’t do to bring the feeling of the abbey with her . . . touching her breast, she felt the edges of the maston symbol against her skin. In a way, she was bringing it with her. It had become an essential part of her.
The feeling guided her through a copse of oak trees that formed a little park. There was a walking path that led through it, and so she followed it to the lookout point where there were benches for resting and a Leering marking the edge of a cliff. She had been there many times before to enjoy the view of the small valley below.
She was alone. Students were packing their things and preparing to vacate Vicar’s Close. Cettie’s trunks were already packed and ready. No word had arrived from Sera, but Cettie had packed the rest of her things for her, missing her fiercely all the while.
Climb down.
The whisper brushed against her mind. She was a little confused by the impulse, but she obeyed it and walked toward the Leering at the edge of the cliff. It radiated its warning about the danger of the cliff, but she silenced it with a thought. Passing around it, she noticed a few jagged rocks that looked climbable. She stepped down on the first and noticed a second. Then she passed the second and saw a third. Soon she was low enough that she couldn’t even see the benches above her . . . which was when she realized the boulder she stood on was hovering in the air. Her stomach thrilled for a moment, and she had a feeling of vertigo that made her sway. She touched the side of the mountain to center herself and then carefully climbed down to the next rock.
It took several minutes to climb down the cliffside, boulder by boulder, but the floating stones, held up by the Mysteries, were there to mark a path. When she reached the bottom, she was inundated with the noises coming from the woods. These were wild sounds, the chirping of loud insects, the squawk of birds. These were not the tame sounds of the vibrant gardens kept by the school. This was wilderness. It was like the woods she had crossed with Caulton Forshee and the Cruciger orb.
She hesitated, not certain what to do. There was a mound nearby, overgrown and full of ferns. A few stunted trees grew in it. She paused, and then she felt the urge to keep walking, even though there wasn’t a path. She trudged through the undergrowth, snapping small twigs and feeling her hem catch on brambles.
The sensation of eyes following her sent a shiver down her back as she walked. The woods became thicker, a mass of unruly oaks. Squirrels chittered and seemed to warn her not to go. The air smelled strong and pungent, of dirt and detritus. She made a horrible racket as she walked, but she felt herself going a certain direction. No logical reason led her. Her heart knew the right path.
The shade became so deep that it no longer felt like afternoon but twilight. The eerie sensation of being watched lingered. She glanced back, feeling she wasn’t alone, and the frantic chatter of the woodland creatures seemed to confirm it. Nevertheless, she persisted.
After a long walk, she discovered a huge oak. Its limbs were so heavy and twisted they rested on the ground. The behemoth was taller than the abbey itself, and she remembered seeing it from above while practicing her piloting skills with Aunt Juliana. What had they called it? The sentinel oak? She had traveled much farther from the abbey than she’d realized. A strange feeling swarmed her. Then, one by one, the noises of the forest began to hush until they were utterly silent. Not a bird sounded. Not a squeal or even the creaking of branches.
Her heart began to pound with fear. The tall ghost was stalking her in the woods. The one without eyes. She was alone in the woods, far from the abbey. Far from help. Doubts began to flicker to life in her mind. She had expected to confront it, but she was so far from everyone . . . so far from help. Why had the Mysteries led her to this place?
She touched one of the lumbering branches with her hand, feeling the jagged edges of the bark. From the wood, she felt music begin to stir. Tingles shot down her arm. Something about this tree seemed . . . familiar. She had been here before. Not above, flying over, but here . . . in this exact location. Her memories did not go back that far. But she was certain of it. She had been here. Maybe it was a dream she couldn’t remember.
The silence in the woods became absolute. She couldn’t even hear her own breathing.
The tall ghost entered the grove from behind her. She began to tremble as she sensed it, reliving the terrors of her childhood. No, not a ghost, she reminded herself. It was a Myriad One. And it had tormented her for what felt like forever.
You came at last. I knew you would come.
She felt a shudder ripple through her as it approached her from behind. Her mind went black with terror. All the memories of her childhood came flooding back to her. She felt like that little girl again, overcome by terror and helplessness. She was nothing. She was insignificant. No one loved her or cared for her. There was nothing but utter loneliness.
You seek the secrets of your past. You wish to know who and what you are. You are your father’s daughter. You are bound to us, child of dark. You were born in sin. You will rule us all. You are Ereshkigal incarnate.
Suddenly Cettie’s arms and legs began to tremble and convulse. She couldn’t control them. She sagged down to her knees as if a huge weight had begun to crush her. The fear brought on by her memories and the present threat combined to drown her. Her voice was locked away, seized and broken. Breathing was impossible. This feeling was so much more potent than what she’d experienced with the false version of Mrs. Pullman. It was a hundred times worse. Had she been brought there to die?
You must become her, child. You were born to quit the light. Every king and queen, every empress and duke will bow the knee to you, child of the Fells. Remove it. Remove it. Remove it.
The urge to rip away the chain was overpowering as the Myriad One’s thoughts hammered against her mind. Why had she come here? Why had she thought she could defeat a being so full of hate? One older than the world? She was nothing but a helpless little girl. She’d never had any power over this hat
eful thing, and she never would.
Help me, she pleaded silently in her mind. She could sense the frail thread of her faith, and she clung to it. I don’t want to be trapped in the darkness. Help me!
You plead to it? the dark being mocked her. Soon it would be close enough to touch her, and then she knew she would be lost. You whine and beg? Stand and act! It is your destiny to rule over worlds. Claim it! Your true father calls to you. Come to him. Join with us.
Help me, Cettie pleaded again, trying to banish the dark thoughts from her mind.
A light pierced the grove, blinding her. It was the sun, breaching the maze of limbs at last. Cettie raised her hand to it as if she could grasp it and pull it. She felt power surge inside of her.
No! No! She is mine! She is mine!
Strength filled her body as she looked up, feeling the light bathe her face. It was too bright to see, and she had to shield her eyes from it.
No!
She could control her thoughts again.
Apokaluptis, she thought.
The word of power seized ahold of the tall one, making it hunch over and twist in contortions. She felt its intense agony as it was forced to reveal itself.
I am Istfar the Fallen.
It had spoken its true name. That gave her power over it. She felt waves of hatred billowing from the being. It filled her heart with darkness.
The pain of Cettie’s past began to shed from her. She wasn’t a child anymore. She wasn’t an unloved waif in the Fells. No one could force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. The choice was hers. Always hers. Cettie straightened herself, feeling the glow of light suffuse her. Somehow touching the tree had lent her strength. There was power in the tree—a strange power—and its music sang to her.
Banirexpiare, she thought to it, rebuking the creature, sending it away.
A wind rushed and shook through the woods. The earth trembled. There was a clash of thunder somewhere in the distance. Cettie steadied herself against the oak, her knees knocking together—and she felt part of the great tree open. The music of the Mysteries filled the air in triumph, almost loud enough to drown out the Myriad One’s shrieks as the tree swallowed it whole. The rush of power ended, and Cettie felt as if she had climbed the tallest mountain and run out of air.