by Sadie Moss
My messengers remain still as I smudge them one by one. The salt purifies our circle for the ritual sacrifice, while the herbs purify our bodies. I’m no longer certain all the pageantry even matters in the grand scheme, but the monotony of performing the ritual calms my shaking hands. It gives me something to focus on beyond what comes next.
Unfortunately, the ritual is already moving so fast. I touch the weight of Nolan’s rough carving in my pocket and then reach for my dagger.
As I press the blade into my palm, making blood well, I let the familiar words of the Song of the Gods filter through my lips. When I was a child, we sang the song before bed every night. As I grew older, I would always start the song with my brother and mother, but then let my own voice fade so that I could listen to theirs.
I lost faith in our god, Zelus, so early in my life that any worship of him just felt like a lie.
Eventually, Nolan got older, and life became harder, and we stopped singing to the gods as a part of daily life. But I can still recall my mother’s beautiful, clear voice, and I cling to that memory tightly as I mark the sigil of sacrifice on my forehead in my own blood.
This time, of course, I’m not offering myself up as sacrifice to any particular god. Our offering is to the universe. I keep the madman’s description of the third realm front and foremost in my mind, aiming my intention at that place.
At the god to rule all gods.
At the Weaver.
Callum accepts my blade and slices into his own palm, his expression never changing. I rise up on my knees and dip my fingers in the warm red liquid welling in his palm. He watches me intently as I paint the sigil on his forehead, his gaze on my lips as I sing. Then he hands my dagger to Echo, and I repeat the motion—my blood and Callum’s both mixing with Echo’s on my fingertips as I paint his sigil. And finally, Paris, whose sigil is formed with blood from all of us.
The first time I performed this ritual, I became lightheaded from blood loss early on. Likely from how malnourished I was then. Now though, my head is still clear as I begin mixing our red blood to paint the cardinal sigils on the brown grass. One at each of the four cardinal points—although hidden inside the shelter of this small clearing, I’m not sure exactly where the cardinal points even are. I can only hope a close estimation will work.
I continue singing as I settle back into my place, one knee pressed to Callum’s and the other pressed to Paris’s. I pull Nolan’s carved horse from my pocket, letting it rest in my bloody palm atop my thigh. The air between my men and me is aflame with energy. The weave dances and crackles among the flames, strands sparking like stars. That ancient hum of energy makes me hope that we’re on the right track with the ritual.
All that’s left is to complete it.
I strengthen my song and palm my dagger, turning it to angle up toward my chest. Like last time, I have to ensure I hit my heart, unless I want to die slowly and painfully by choking on my own blood. But I’ve done this once before—I know I can do it again.
The problem is, I have to keep the song going and watch my men die first.
Agony swirls inside me as I nod at Callum.
He’s the rock of our group. Always so strong, so sturdy. There’s nothing but pure resolution in his eyes as he lifts his knife and shoves it into his chest. In his other hand, he clutches Layla’s arrowhead tightly.
His aim was true. Of course it was. Barely a sound escapes his lips as his upper body topples over, away from the flames.
My song falters, but only for the briefest moment as I get a handle on my roiling emotions.
This is only temporary, I remind myself, turning my gaze to Echo.
Like Callum, he’s settled himself into a kind of stoic resoluteness. But unlike Callum, his hands shake as he completes his sacrifice. Tears roll down my cheeks as he falls backward, his knife in his chest and his old, worn sword over his legs.
When I turn my gaze and my song to Paris, I find real fear on his face. I recall his tale of the madame in the brothel and his near-death experience. Her mirror rests against his torso, propped on its handle between his crossed legs. I hate that I’m putting him through this, but it’s with his own free will that he picks up his dagger and completes his sacrifice. His beautiful blue eyes never leave mine.
Then I’m alone. And it’s my turn.
I don’t wait any longer. The pain inside me of being utterly alone in a clearing with my men dead around me is too much to bear. My only thought is to join them as quickly as possible—whether our plan works or not.
My dagger feels cold as ice as I steel myself and jam it upward. Pain explodes inside me, and my breath catches in my throat, the song abruptly cutting off. From the cold blade, fire rends through my body, spreading to my limbs with a ferocity that turns me to stone. I sink backward, my hand falling away from the smooth hilt.
As my vision grows dark, I clutch Nolan’s carving and pray to whoever may be listening to get me and my messengers through this.
But the darkness that overtakes me doesn’t last long. Suddenly, I’m falling through a blurry swirl of colors and the passage of space. It’s similar to the way we travel through portals between the afterworld and earth, and I’m so familiar with that sensation, it doesn’t even surprise me.
What does surprise me is the inky black abyss yawning open beneath me as I hurtle straight for it.
Extinguishment, I realize, terror rising up inside me like a wave. I have to avoid that black hole, or my soul will be lost forever.
I fling myself to the side of the portal, bouncing off a very solid barrier. I swing back over the chasm, over the yawning blackness below, a scream tearing from my throat. Then I launch toward the barrier again, catching hold of the slick surface with my palms. I fall, the barrier at my back, until my feet hit solid ground and everything goes black.
I hear nothing but my own harsh breaths falling from my lips. All light and sound has vanished, but I can sense the yawning abyss just beyond my feet. I slide my hands along the barrier behind me—it’s no longer slick and magical beneath my hands. Instead, it feels like… rock.
I try to call out for Callum, but I have no voice. The moment I open my mouth and breathe, my words are ripped from me by the chasm, as if it will swallow up everything in existence, even sound.
But I do have a soul-bound connection to my men. And the abyss can’t take that from me.
I reach out through the connection between us and find all three of my men close by. Relief soars through me—we all survived the hardest part. Unfortunately, beyond being separated from them by the abyss, I also don’t have any sense of the third realm, like the madman mentioned. He walked this same ledge, and he somehow saw the truth about the Weaver.
So why do I see nothing?
I shuffle sideways in the darkness, moving slowly, disoriented by the vast emptiness. But the ground beneath my feet and the rock barrier at my back are solid, and I cling to both as I ease around the chasm. I can sense Callum, Echo, and Paris doing the same, all three of them on a course to meet me where I stand against the sheer wall.
Callum reaches me first, his big hand clasping mine as we press against the rock wall together. I sense him trying to speak, but just as it did to me, the abyss steals his words. Through the soul-connection, I’m aware of Echo and Paris joining us a few moments later, clasping hands with one another as Echo takes Callum’s free hand.
I’m at a loss for what to do now. We’re only halfway to where we need to be, and none of us can speak to the others. As far as I can tell, we’re stuck. Stranded. There’s only the darkness around us and the yawning abyss before us that hungers for our souls.
Where is the third realm?
Panic starts to set in.
What if the madman lied to me? What if Kaius planted him in the cell next to me on purpose? Maybe this was the vindictive god’s plan all along—that we send ourselves to the abyss, get caught in between existence and extinguishment, and spend the rest of time balanced on this ledge. I
imagine that after a few decades of this, we’ll go as insane as the poor man in the cell next to mine and throw ourselves off the edge willingly just to end it.
No. I refuse to believe this was all planned. I know the gods interfere and they play their own games, that they’re capable of cruelty and manipulation. But I have to believe I hold my own fate in my own hands, as sure as I hold Callum’s hand right now.
So what does one do when all seems hopeless? I ask myself.
I stare into the darkness, resolve settling into every inch of me.
One keeps going.
Sliding my foot to the left, I move back the way I came when I was searching for my messengers. Giving a gentle tug on Callum’s hand, I indicate he should follow me.
I lose all sense of time as we shuffle along the ledge. I focus on the solid, narrow strip of ground beneath my feet and Callum’s warm hand in mine. Rock scrapes along my back, and my empty hand stretches to the side, testing the wall with each step before we move. I realize after a time that the wall isn’t curving, as I expected. When I was falling, I clearly saw the pitch-dark circular abyss, and I assumed the ledge simply followed the edge of the chasm.
But the rock doesn’t curve beneath my arm.
I pause and press my palm to the wall. Once I have my balance, I gently move my right foot out into the space ahead of me.
Solid ground. As far as I can reach.
We’ve walked away from the abyss. As soon as I realize what’s happened, I can sense that the empty chasm is further away than before. I clear my throat and try to speak, but we’re still too close. The vacuum steals my voice.
Callum nudges me, and I take it to mean he’s encouraging me to continue walking.
So I do.
We remain pressed against the rock, shuffling sideways even though I know the chasm is no longer at my feet. I still can’t see anything in this black void, and I don’t trust that the abyss won’t open back up and claim us.
Time passes. Whether it’s hours or minutes or days, I have no idea. My eyes grow heavy, and I cling to consciousness, though the complete lack of light doesn’t help me stay awake. I can feel exhaustion through the bonds I share with Callum, Echo, and Paris. We’re all four sinking into sleep.
I fight it.
I fight it with everything inside of myself, terrified of the numbness spreading through my limbs.
My feet keep shuffling sideways, but finally, I can’t hold it off anymore.
My eyes close, and I slide from consciousness.
Almost before I’m aware of falling asleep, I open my eyes again to bright sunshine.
What…?
I blink into a blue, day lit sky that has three moons. I blink harder, thinking I’ve become so dizzy and disoriented by my brush with oblivion that my eyesight has blurred. But blinking doesn’t make the moons become one.
I sit up, a rush of blood to my head making me sway. I catch myself on the dusty ground and verify that yes, the moons are all still there. This isn’t any sky I know from life, or even from the afterworld.
My heartbeat picks up as I drop my gaze to the surrounding landscape. If it weren’t for the moons, it would be easy to think we’d exited the abyss only to find ourselves in the Unclaimed Expanse. But upon closer inspection, this desolate place is even more barren and harsh than even the barest landscapes of the Expanse. I see no trees or brush—living or dead. Just a rolling, rocky terrain in varying tones of red and brown, beneath a blue sky that holds a sun and three moons.
No. Five moons, I realize, catching sight of two more orbs on the horizon.
More important than the five moons and strange land, though, are my three messengers stirring on the ground beside me.
“We all made it,” I murmur roughly, unable to keep the smile from breaking over my face.
Paris sits up and brushed dust off his shirt. “I was concerned there for a while. I thought I was about to pass out and pitch headfirst into the void.”
“We walked away from the void,” I tell him. “The wall didn’t curve around it. It kept a straight line out and away. I guess at some point, we reached the barrier between the abyss and the third realm.”
“The third realm,” Echo repeats. He’s still on his back, his dark gaze taking in the sky above. “Farse. The third realm has a lot of moons.”
I stand and reach out for his hands, helping him up to stand. Instead of letting go as soon as he’s on his feet, he leans into me, wrapping me in such a tight embrace that he steals my breath away just as the abyss did.
“I’m so glad to see you,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my hair. “I was sure I felt you through our connection, but without being able to speak or touch you…”
I feel the shudder that works through his body, and I tighten my hold on him too, absorbing his strength and comforting presence.
Callum and Paris come to stand beside us as we finally break apart, and we all stare at one another.
“So what now?” Paris asks, squinting up at the sky.
“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t certain we’d even make it this far,” I admit. “Maybe we should—”
But I don’t get to finish my sentence. The words break off as I catch sight of movement over Echo’s shoulder. Three big beasts are loping with preternatural quickness over the desert-like plain behind him.
Charging right toward us.
11
“Nish! We have company!”
My eyes flare wide as I pat the empty space at my hip where my dagger should be. When my fingers only hit the cloth of my dress, I grimace and look down to double check that I am, indeed, defenseless. One glance around at my men proves that their swords didn’t come into the third realm with them either.
We didn’t exactly travel through a portal where we could bring our weapons along for the ride. Their swords and my dagger are lying back in the Unclaimed Expanse with our bodies. Death apparently doesn’t let you take many belongings into the afterlife, whether you’re going to need them or not.
Which means we have nothing to fight with.
While I don’t know exactly what would happen to us if we died in this realm, this third plane of existence, I don’t fancy being ripped to shreds by beasts in any case.
Callum, Echo, and Paris turn and fall into battle stances, their faces settling into grim lines. They’ve probably fought countless battles without weapons, which gives them an upper hand over me.
Paris reaches into the air, and the weave sparks at his fingertips. He hisses, yanking his hand back as if he’s been burned. “The weave is strong here,” he says, sucking on the tips of his fingers. “Different. But it’s definitely there.”
Relief buoys me. “Good.” I throw my own hand into the weave as the beasts draw closer, their heavy footfalls making the ground seem to vibrate. “We’re going to need it.”
And then they’re on us.
The creatures leap over the last few feet, white fangs bared. This close, I can see that they’re red-furred like foxes, but taller than Callum, with claws longer than daggers decorating all four paws.
And one set of those claws are coming right for my throat.
I throw up several strands of the weave, braiding them quickly into a kind of net. The weave sparks and stings at my fingers, and I realize with a jolt that it’s because the magic is so pure here. Much more powerful than it is on earth, and even purer than it is in Ironholde. As if we stand in a place where the weave originated.
The strands almost seem to operate of their own free will, though I know that’s not true. It’s more that they begin to adjust and change based on my thoughts rather than on the physical movements of my fingers. The implications of that spreads a smile across my face, and I let my magical net fly.
The beast hits the woven net and bounces away, tossed to the ground under the immense power of the weave.
At the same moment, Callum takes a blow from the dagger-like claws of the second beast, but he manages to land a heavy punch on
the creature’s jaw. When the monster rolls several yards away from the blow, much more violently than it should have regardless of Callum’s strength, I’m certain the punch was made stronger by the weave. Meanwhile, Echo and Paris duck the third monster, and Paris tosses magic around the beast’s neck as it soars past, wrenching its body sideways before it lands in the dust.
The weave between my fingers moves, and I turn my attention to the beast I’ve knocked down. He’s struggling to get out from under my net, and I jerk the magic, tightening the woven strands around him. Meanwhile, Echo has cornered one of the other beasts, and it’s backing away from the menacingly sparking weave, coming right toward me.
I step back and swipe the fox-creature’s back leg out from beneath him, dropping him like a sack of flour and giving Echo the upper hand. Then I readjust my grip on the net and lunge to get a better handle on my beast. He swipes at me with those vicious claws, and I leap back in an effort to keep my legs clear. His claws catch the leather of my boots but don’t reach my skin.
I yank my net down farther over the beast. Something tells me to tug down on the strands, so I do, and the net slices downward, digging into the massive fox’s thick skin. Brilliant yellow blood spurts from the creature. It snarls viciously, but another tug on the net slices further, and its growl is cut off with a wet gurgle.
Paris stares at me with eyes wider than the moons above. “Farse, Sage. That’s a neat trick.”
“But bloody,” I say, dodging another beast’s swipe as Echo wraps the weave around it and rides it to the ground.
Before Paris can speak again, the third creature slams into him, and they tumble to the ground, Paris’s weave already twisting and sparking between them as he fights back. Callum leaps after the monster, ripping it away from Paris’s body with his bare hands and a deep, visceral growl that sends shivers up my spine.