Realm of Mirrors (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 3)

by Sonya Bateman

  I nodded, trying not to think too hard about the world of the dead. “So that’s why it’s easier when I touch them?”

  “That’s right. But you do not need physical contact with the remains to compel a soul. It simply helps you to focus your efforts.” She smiled. “With practice, you’ll be able to call on them without touch.”

  “Practice. Terrific.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You are concerned about the pain,” she said. “The act of crossing the barrier is painful, and always will be—for you, and the soul. But once you’ve brought them over, you can speak to them without damaging yourself or the dead.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m hoping,” I said. “I just don’t know how to do it.”

  “You must release the soul.” She pointed at my head. “The reason for the pain, the bleeding, is that you hold them in your mind. And you’ve no room in there for more than one. Every word, every movement of the soul tears at you…and the soul is constantly crushed, causing them pain as well.”

  I felt a little sick, knowing I’d done that to people’s souls. Most of them were bad guys—but not all of them had been. “So how do I release them?”

  “Kelwyyn always projected them outward, like a glamour,” she said. “But be cautious. You must hold part of them back, because if you lose your grip, a determined soul may escape back to the world of the dead—or worse, free itself to the realm of the living.”

  Oh, good. Another whole new way for me to screw things up.

  “Have confidence in your abilities, DeathSpeaker.” She nodded at the cairn, and said, “Go on, then. Give it a try.”

  “What, now?”

  “Yes, now. You cannot improve your abilities merely by talking about them.”

  I frowned at the marker. “Who’s buried here, anyway?”

  She cleared her throat with flair. “Here lies a great challenge, and a fitting test for your powers. The most stubborn, uncooperative, exasperating Fae in all the realms,” she said. “My sister.”

  “Your sister,” I repeated. “Let me guess. She lied to you about something, and you want me to make her tell the truth.”

  A shocked expression formed on her face. “I simply know she’ll fight you, and wanted to ensure you’d have a true test,” she said—and then flashed a sly smile. “But yes. The lying part is important as well. Consider it payment for my wise advice.”

  “I can do that,” I said with a grin. “Well…here goes.”

  At first I wasn’t sure how to start. Having a handy corpse was definitely easier, but there was six feet of grass and dirt between me and this one. So I reasoned that I was standing on the ground, and the ground was on her. Technically, I was in contact.

  “Hey. Nyantha’s sister,” I murmured. “We need to talk.”

  There was a tug in my head. Just once, and then it was gone.

  “Damn. Hold on.” I closed my eyes and focused on the ground beneath me, the body that was down there somewhere.

  And I felt something run through me. A surge of energy that stretched down like a rubber band, into the dirt. I could sense the cool dampness of it.

  Then I swore my fingers brushed smooth, solid bone. Which I was nowhere near.

  The rubber-band energy snapped back into me. There was a wave of pain, and the tugging started in earnest. Let go of me, DeathSpeaker! a female voice shrieked in my head. I swear, if Nyantha has something to do with this, I’ll…I’ll melt your brain!

  I smirked in spite of the pounding. “Pretty sure you can’t do that,” I said.

  I am a powerful psychic. Release me at once!

  “If you say so.” I glanced at Nyantha. “Well, she’s in there,” I said. It kind of weirded me out, knowing there was an actual soul banging around in my head. “Now what?”

  “Now you simply project her into the world.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “Does this part come with step-by-step instructions?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “Okay, then. Guess I’ll wing it.”

  I tried for a few minutes. It wasn’t easy to concentrate, with her struggling and shouting in Fae that I half understood. Once I was pretty sure she called me a worm’s disease-ridden asshole, or something close to that. But even when I managed to focus, nothing happened.

  Maybe I needed a prop. I could project glamour onto someone else—I’d done it to Sadie out of desperation, when I was trying to break her out of Milus Dei headquarters in New York. I didn’t want to turn Nyantha into her sister. But I could try using an object.

  The cairn was the closest substantial thing. I turned to face it and thought hard: You are Nyantha’s sister.

  I felt like a complete idiot. But the pile of stones started to change.

  As the shape formed, Nyantha stood from the bench and drifted to my side, watching intently. Soon I had a blurry, person-shaped blob that gradually resolved into a woman. Long white hair like her sister’s, pale blue eyes, dressed in a white gown. And semi-transparent, enough to see the landscape behind her.

  She did not look happy.

  After I got over staring at her, I finally realized the pain had left my head. There was still a faint sense of pressure, like an invisible string drawn taut between me and the ghost-woman. But it didn’t hurt.

  “Good,” Nyantha whispered. “That means you’ve still got hold of her. Do not let go.”

  “Nyantha.” The hollow, almost buzzing voice was outside my head, and I didn’t feel it at all. “I knew this was your doing. So this is the new DeathSpeaker, is he? An Unseelie halfling with human blood.”

  She shouldn’t have known that. “Aren’t you dead?”

  “Obviously. But I am still psychic.” An unsettling smile flickered across her transluscent face. “Your mind is not a pleasant place…Gideon.”

  “Yeah, no shit.” I glowered at her. “What’s your name?” I said, more out of habit than any desire to find out. It was the first question I always asked dead people—if they didn’t already know that they couldn’t lie to me, that was usually when they figured it out.

  “Dyandrea. But my dear sister could have told you that.” Her pale eyes sizzled with irritation. “What do you want, as if I don’t already know?”

  “Where is it, you greedy witch?” Nyantha said.

  Dyandrea laughed. “Why, sister. I’ve no idea what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do. My frost crystal.”

  “What frost crystal?”

  “You see?” Nyantha gestured sharply at the spirit. “She’s absolutely horrid, even when she’s dead. Ask her where it is.”

  “And she’s completely starkers. Always has been.”

  “Stubborn lunatic.”

  “Doddering old crone.”

  “Crone! At least I’ve not gone and died on some people,” Nyantha sniffed.

  It was all I could do not to laugh. “Okay,” I said. “Where is Nyantha’s frost crystal, whatever that is?”

  “It’s not hers.” Dyandrea folded her arms smugly. “Gram gave it to me.”

  “Gram was blind as the day! You know she’d meant it for me.” Nyantha huffed a breath. “The dead speak their own truth, even if they’ve clearly remembered it wrong,” she said with a narrow-eyed glance at her sister. “You’ll have to—”

  “Rephrase the question. Yeah, I’d figured that much out on my own.” I couldn’t help a slight smile. This time I’d interrupted her, for a change. “Where is the frost crystal Nyantha wants to find?” I said.

  Dyandrea scowled, and the invisible string between us jerked tighter as she strained to resist. Damn it, that still hurt—but at least it wasn’t as bad as before. She eventually gave up with a drawn-out sigh. “Stair seventy-two, buried in the wood. I’ve sealed it with a rune of cloaking.”

  “Finally,” Nyantha breathed, and sent an over-the-top sweet smile at her sister. “Thank you, Dyandrea.”

  “My pleasure,” Dyandrea said sourly. “Am I permitted to leave now?”

  “Well, I suppose that’s
up to the DeathSpeaker, if he wishes to release you.” She looked at me expectantly.

  “Um. Sure,” I said. “Any idea how I do that?”

  “Some DeathSpeaker you are.” Dyandrea half-smiled. “But you’ve a good soul, even if you did force me to help the crone. It seems you’ll do.”

  I wasn’t sure I should take that as a compliment.

  Nyantha shook her head. “Pay no attention to her. She means well, in her own belligerent way,” she said. “I’d suggest you draw her back to you, and release her in the same manner you’ve done before.”

  “All right. I’ll try.”

  I could still feel the unseen string, so I focused on that and imagined retracting it. The image of Dyandrea started to blur.

  “Goodbye, witch,” Nyantha whispered fondly.

  “Goodbye, crone.” The words were slightly broken as the shape of her faded, leaving the cairn in its place. And the pressure in my head increased sharply. I gasped and broke the connection.

  There was only a slight ache, instead of the blinding throb that usually hung around a while after I talked to the dead. No bleeding, no popped eardrums, no fishhooks in my brain. And I felt like I could’ve kept going with the questions, even if she’d resisted every answer.

  This was so much better.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

  “And you’ll not have to. I am psychic, after all.” Nyantha extended a hand. “Now, you’ve some people to save, do you not?”

  “Yeah. I do.”

  I only wished I knew how my new and improved abilities were going to help me take down the Unseelie Guard, and apparently the Queen—because last I knew, they were all still alive.

  CHAPTER 22

  The walk through the forest felt shorter when the banshees brought me back to Sadie and Uriskel.

  They’d been waiting when Nyantha whooshed us back to the treehouse of the guardian. I’d almost wanted to stay longer—just because I still had no idea how we were going to get everyone back. But Nyantha insisted that if I trusted my abilities, everything would work out.

  The DeathSpeaker does not merely speak to the dead, she’d told me. He compels them. The dead must answer to you, and no one else. Remember that, Gideon.

  Last I’d seen her, she was climbing the steps to the treehouse, counting under her breath. That frost crystal must’ve been really important.

  Back at the tree-cave, I was surprised to find Sadie asleep on the ground by the fire, using her backpack as a pillow. But she’d needed the rest. I suspected she was still working through the shock, and the endless hours of trudging through the swamps hadn’t helped.

  I wasn’t surprised that Uriskel sat stiffly at the base of the tree, looking beyond annoyed as he tried to ignore the attentions of the two banshees who’d stayed behind.

  Pan floated ahead into the clearing, hands on her hips. “Sisters,” she said sternly. “How fare ye?”

  They looked up with guilty smiles and drifted over to her, giggling.

  “Good. You’re back.” Uriskel stood and rubbed the back of his neck, glowering at the banshees. “Wake the girl,” he said. “We’ve a two-day hike through the marshlands before we even reach the Unseelie Wood.”

  “The girl is awake, thanks.” Sadie opened her eyes and sat up slowly. “Did you say two days?”

  “Aye. And another day to the palace, at least.”

  She looked like she might cry. But she pressed her lips together, pushed up from the ground and gathered her pack.

  I wasn’t feeling very encouraged, either.

  Pan hovered on the opposite side of the fire, with the other four banshees grouped closely behind her. “Well, we’ve kept our word and brought ye back,” she said. “If ye should find yourselves among the Trees of Ankou again, try havin’ a bit of patience instead of shouting down the woods. Ye’ve but to call, and we’ll find ye.”

  “Wait,” I said. There had to be another way to get around this place that didn’t involve a two-day slog—and maybe the banshees could help. “Can you do that thing Nyantha does? The deciding to be somewhere else thing?”

  Pan shrugged. “Since I’ve no idea what you mean, it’s likely I can’t.”

  “Look, we’ve got a long way to go, and a hard fight ahead,” I said. “And Uriskel doesn’t even have any shoes.”

  “Whatever you’re on about, leave me out of it,” he snapped.

  “What I’m saying is.” I shot him a quick glare. “Is there any way you can help us get there faster?”

  “Blasted—” Pan cut herself off forcefully, and ground out, “Aye. There is.”

  “Um…everything okay, there?” I said.

  She glowered at me. “I’ve told ye the truth. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  Oh, right. I’d managed to forget she was dead. “Sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to…you know. Compel you.”

  “Well, ye can’t help that, can ye?” She relented with a wry smile. “Won’t be easy, but we can take ye on the winds. Only as far as the southern border of the Unseelie Wood, though. She controls the skies from there.”

  At least I didn’t have to ask who she was this time.

  Uriskel gaped at me. “You’re commanding banshees now?” he said. “What did you learn from this Nyantha?”

  “I’ll have ye know, I’m doing this as a favor,” Pan huffed.

  “Oh, indeed. Certainly it’s nothing to do with him being the DeathSpeaker, since you’re so keen on helping.” He gave a faint smile. “I’ll gather my things.”

  It didn’t take long to pack. Uriskel extinguished the smoldering remains of the fire pit with a few complicated hand gestures, and Sadie gave his boots back and put her dried canvas shoes on. And we were ready.

  The banshees drifted toward us, robes fluttering in an unseen breeze. “Ye’ll need to hold hands,” Pan said. “The journey will be…a bit rough.”

  “Fantastic,” Uriskel grumbled. “I believe I’d rather hike the marshlands.”

  Sadie nudged him and took his hand. “Come on, it’s not that bad,” she said. “I promise we don’t have cooties or anything.”

  He frowned. “What are cooties?”

  “Seriously?”

  I laughed and grabbed her other hand, then held my free hand toward him. “We’re together in this,” I said. “Right?”

  He stared at my hand for a minute, and then took it with a firm grip. “Aye. Together.”

  “All sorted then, are we?” Pan said with a smile. “Hold tight, now.”

  Sadie squeezed my hand. “Don’t let go,” she whispered.

  “Never.”

  The banshees formed a circle around us, and they joined hands, too. “Ready, sisters?” Pan said.

  None of the others spoke, but I felt their assent. Especially Alice. She was practically exploding with excitement.

  They started to revolve. Slowly at first, but gaining speed rapidly, until we were enclosed in a solid blur of motion. The air stirred and rustled around us. And after a minute, our feet lifted a few inches from the ground.

  We hung there suspended as the banshees circled faster and the wind picked up strength, until I had to squint my eyes against it. There was a tremendous whistling sound, an almost human wailing.

  Suddenly, there was nothing but the wind.

  We spun and tumbled through a vortex of blinding sound, a dark strobe formed by stuttering shrieks of air. I had time to think this was probably what it felt like to get sucked into a tornado—and wonder if they had a way to land us without breaking every bone in our bodies.

  Then we were standing on firm ground again, as a dying wind shivered around us.

  The banshees broke apart and formed ranks behind Pan. “You lot still in one piece, are ye?” she breathed.

  The three of us let go all at once, and I patted myself down with hands that trembled slightly. “Seems like it,” I said. “What about you guys?”

  “Fine,” Uriskel said roughly.
>
  Sadie shivered and crossed her arms. “Wow.”

  “That’s a yes.” I turned to Pan and smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it. DeathSpeaker.” She winked and spread her arms out. “We’ll take our leave, then,” she said. “Fare thee well, all of ye.”

  The banshees faded from sight one by one, until only Alice was left, grinning like the Cheshire cat. She giggled and waved her fingers, then pinched her nose and sank into the ground.

  Leaving us to face the Unseelie Wood.

  CHAPTER 23

  At least the ground was dry.

  Unlike the rest of Arcadia so far, the Unseelie Wood was straight out of a fairy tale—one written by the Grimm Brothers. Dark and spooky didn’t even begin to describe it. The trees weren’t as massive as the Trees of Ankou, but they were tall and leafless, forming random, ominous corridors. Moonlight filtered through the jagged branches to create shifting patterns along the forest floor. Quite a few of the trees wore dark green coats of moss. Rocks and boulders were common, and I spotted more than one deep cave guarded by glittering stone spires.

  And there were sounds in the dark. Rustling, clicks and shuffles, the occasional distant cry of something at once mournful and chilling.

  “Don’t you have leaves in your realm?” I said as we passed a thick tangle of thorny, bare bushes.

  Uriskel snorted. “This is the land of the Winter Court. Have you leaves in winter?”

  “Uh, no. Guess I should be glad it’s not snowing.”

  “Indeed, you should be.” He looked around uneasily as a flurry of dry snaps echoed from somewhere. His stare settled on Sadie, and he shook his head. “That clothing,” he said. “You’re practically a beacon for the wild ones. Perhaps you should roll in the dirt for a bit, so at least they’d not spot you from a league away.”

  She frowned at him. “Are you serious?”