“Fletcher, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head, thinking that perhaps his muscles had cramped from sitting so long in the cold. He tried to stand again. As he straightened, fresh pain rippled across his back. He gasped and sank to his knees. His vision was going dark around the edges. Something was seriously wrong with him, but his friends needed him to be strong. Effrax Emberwill had to answer for what he’d done.
Fletcher attempted to crawl toward the stairwell, but more pain burned through his arms. He couldn’t move without causing himself agony. Gritting his teeth, he rolled onto his stomach and tried to push himself upright. Pain exploded throughout his body, so immediate and so acute that his brain couldn’t handle the overload.
He slumped to the floor and blacked out.
Sometime later—minutes or days, he couldn’t tell—Fletcher awoke. He was lying on something soft . . . a bed? Opening his eyes, he saw a stone ceiling above him. With a groan he looked around. He was on a bed, but it had been set up in a jail cell across from Keriya and Roxanne. They were each sitting on a cot of their own. Keriya was watching him. As soon as she saw he was awake, she hurried to the front of her cell.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Like I got hit by an avalanche,” he muttered, holding his head. “What happened?”
“The enchantment got you,” said Roxanne. “You must have been pretty angry at Effrax for it to affect you that bad. He came to see us while you were out cold. Wanted to bring you to the infirmary, but the guards forbade it. They said you were a danger to him.”
“Me? Ha!” Fletcher reclined on his cot as dizziness swept through him. “Why’d he listen to them? Isn’t he the king?”
“I don’t know how much of a king he is. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s giving the orders, him or that Blazecair fellow.”
Fletcher sighed. “How are we going to get to Necrovar now?”
Neither girl responded. Roxanne stared at her hands, which were clasped in her lap. Keriya stood leaning against the bars of the cell door, a ghostly specter in the gloom.
“You are still planning to face Necrovar, aren’t you?” he asked.
Her hand strayed to her waist, and for the first time Fletcher noticed that she had her old sword back. He didn’t know how she’d recovered it, but he was glad she had one small shred of comfort to cling to in this ocean of misery.
“Aren’t you, Keriya?” he prompted.
She looked at him and closed her fist around the weapon’s grubby hilt.
“I don’t know,” she said softly.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“It is not enough to simply save the world. You must change it.”
~ Ghokarian Equilumos, Second Age
“Wake up. Dinner’s here.”
Keriya wasn’t sleeping. She rarely slept anymore—some fitful dozing here and there when she could no longer function, but never a full slumber. The energy and drive she’d had the morning after the shadowbeast attack had dissipated, leaving her weak and listless. While her body craved rest, her mind feared it. Whenever she closed her eyes, all she could see was Thorion twitching twice, then lying still.
She rolled over on her cot. The guard was holding a tray laden with steaming, spicy Fironian delicacies. To Effrax’s credit, he was trying to treat them well—but like Roxanne, Keriya was disinclined to accept his hospitality.
“I’m not hungry,” she told the man.
“The king says you have to eat.”
“The king isn’t the boss of me,” she retorted with a hint of her old fire.
The guard entered the cell, dropping the tray on the floor by her bed. He slammed the metal door behind him and locked it, muttering about traitors and outlanders.
Keriya slid the tray around to the foot of her cot so it was hidden from her friends. A scruffy rat emerged from the shadows. It boldly scurried to the tray, sniffed at the spiced cinnamon loaf, then began to nibble at the bread.
“Hello,” she whispered. It looked at her, whiskers twitching. A second rat appeared and dragged the wedge of honeyed cheese away.
“What did you get?” Roxanne’s voice reached her from what seemed a great distance.
Keriya shrugged. “Bread, meat, some fruit and cheese.”
“You really should eat, Keriya,” Fletcher told her.
“I am.” Keriya shooed the first rat away and picked up the chewed bread to show them. “See?”
Satisfied, Fletcher returned to his meal. Keriya dropped the bread on the tray. She watched the rat as it sampled all her food. She tried to count its whiskers—an impossible task since it moved around so much, but one that distracted her from thinking about anything else, which was precisely what she wanted.
“So,” Roxanne said after a while. “Are we going to plan an escape, or sit here and rot?”
“We need to get around the enchantment first,” said Fletcher. “Ouch. Even thinking about that makes my head hurt.”
“It’s a bloody good spell, I’ll admit.”
“If I knew more about lifemagic, maybe we could—ow!—figure something out,” Fletcher stammered, his voice growing thick with pain. “This is awful. I think we have to ask to see Effrax so we can talk to him face-to-face. The only way we’ll get out is if he lets us out.”
“I don’t want to talk to him,” growled Roxanne. “Even if these idiot guards did relay our message to His Royal Highness, he wouldn’t come. He’s busy planning his war.”
“He was our friend. If we—”
“Forget it, Fletcher,” said Keriya. “He won’t set me free.”
“He has to. He knows you’re our only hope!”
Keriya closed her eyes as a pit opened in her stomach. She recalled their fight in the throne room—the shameful, damning things she’d said, and the cutting, cruel truths Effrax had flung at her. “He doesn’t believe that.”
I don’t even think I believe it anymore, whispered the voice in her head.
Once upon a time, Keriya had drawn strength from the knowledge that Shivnath had chosen her. But after everything she’d learned, from Helkryvt’s prophecy to the truth about Valerion, she didn’t think a mere mortal could defeat Necrovar.
“Well, plenty of people do believe,” Fletcher retorted in a voice that was obviously meant to soothe and bolster her spirits. “Roxanne and I do, and so does Max. Oh! Max will help us escape.”
“If he comes here with the intent of helping us escape, he’ll get hit with the enchantment,” Roxanne reminded him. “If he’s smart, he’ll stay away.”
“Yeah,” Keriya said softly. She wasn’t sure if she was upset that Max hadn’t come to visit. On the whole, she figured it was for the best. She didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. She didn’t want to hear his voice. Every time he spoke, all she could hear were those terrible words he’d uttered on the hilltop overlooking the Chasm:
Keriya, he’s gone.
Fletcher pointed out that Max was probably working on a way to free them. Roxanne fell back on her favorite pastime of verbally abusing Effrax. While the enchantment prevented its prisoners from plotting against the king, apparently it had no problem with people badmouthing him.
Keriya remained silent. Now that she’d started thinking about that fateful day, she couldn’t stop. Visions danced before her, visions of monsters rising from the ground, demons flying through the sky, shadow fire billowing in the air. She saw Thorion falling, heard the crack of his bones.
He twitched twice; then he was still.
She squeezed her eyes shut and put her hands over her ears, though she knew the sights and sounds were deep in her mind.
Think about nothing, she schooled herself. Her brain, miserable and fatigued, desperate for any escape from its pain, latched onto the mantra. She took deep breaths and focused on that one sentence.
Think about noth
ing.
Eventually the nightmarish visions faded, leaving a calm, empty blank.
Think about nothing. Think about nothing. Think about nothing.
“Keriya?”
Keriya sat bolt upright. There was Thorion, standing at the door of her cell.
“Thorion,” she cried jubilantly. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. “You’re alright!”
“Didn’t I promise I’d return to you?”
“I was so worried. I thought you were dead.” How foolish she’d been to lose faith. Thorion was a dragon! He was strong and clever and brave. He couldn’t be defeated so easily.
“We have to get out of here,” he told her. “We need to find Necrovar.”
A frisson of fear rippled through Keriya. She was overjoyed to see Thorion again, but the thought of going to the Shadow made her sick.
“Don’t make me face him,” she pleaded. “Let’s take Fletcher and Roxanne and run. We’ll find somewhere safe to hide. We’ll survive if we work together, I know it.”
“But you must face him,” said Thorion, tilting his head in a way that made her heart ache. Why was she still sad? He was standing right in front of her, alive and whole.
“I can’t.”
“This is what Shivnath wanted,” he reminded her. “This is why she resurrected you. This is your purpose, your quest.”
“I know,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes. “But I can’t do it without you.”
Just like that, everything went dark. Thorion’s gleaming bronze form lingered for a moment before he vanished in a smoky haze like a candle snuffed out. Keriya wanted to scream, but she didn’t have the strength. She was empty—empty like the infinite void surrounding her. A gaping gulf of pain opened in her chest, threatening to consume her.
“Keriya.”
Suddenly there was another voice. A familiar voice. A voice that made her whole once more. It shone through the dark, resonating with power and life. It sparked vitality in Keriya’s heart.
Shapes resolved from the void. The wavering forms of stalagmites and stalactites grew visible and stabilized. Keriya became aware that she was standing on solid ground. And there, standing before her, was a figure who had haunted her dreams nearly as much as Necrovar.
“Shivnath,” she breathed. The dragon god towered over her, those blacker-than-black eyes boring through Keriya, staring into her soul. She opened her mouth to say something, but how could she put into words what she was feeling? What words could she possibly use to explain?
“Do you know what happened?” she managed.
“I know everything.”
Keriya was more alert than she had been since Thorion’s death. Being near Shivnath had awoken something in her. “I’ve been praying to you,” she said, taking a step forward. “Every day since the attack on Irongarde. You never listened. You never even acknowledged me.”
“Gods,” said Shivnath, in a much harsher tone than Keriya thought she deserved, “do not exist to grant prayers.”
“But you can. Despite the binding laws, you’ve meddled with me. Helkryvt’s blood, you brought me back to life—why didn’t you do the same for Thorion? You have the power, so why didn’t you help?”
“You are a much more complicated creature than Thorion,” the great dragon returned cryptically.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There are many things you don’t know about yourself, Keriya, things that have afforded me the freedom to ‘meddle’ with you. Things that make it easier to find loopholes and bypass the binding laws.” Shivnath’s voice was a strange mixture of triumph and regret, as if she were proud she had found a way to meddle, but ashamed that she had done so.
Something twisted its way up Keriya’s spine and into her chest, something hot and acidic. “What things? What do you know?”
Shivnath was silent.
“Tell me,” she screamed. “If you have the answers, why don’t you bloody tell me?!”
A calculating expression crossed Shivnath’s fine features. “Do you want the truth?”
“Yes,” Keriya sobbed, sinking to her knees. The momentary flush of scalding acid drained away, leaving her limp and weak once more. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”
“The truth is I don’t want to tell you,” said Shivnath. Keriya hiccuped in shock. Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “I believe it would be counterproductive to my plans to give you more information than you already have.”
Keriya felt like she was unraveling. Her brain was going in a thousand different directions, wanting to ask a thousand different questions, follow a thousand different leads . . . leads she feared would ultimately yield no answers.
“Why?” she rasped.
There was now a definite tinge of regret on Shivnath’s noble face. “If you trust that I am doing everything within my power to make the world better, to right all that has been wrong with Selaras for the past ten ages, you won’t ask me that again.”
Keriya’s jaw clenched. She was much less trusting of Shivnath than she had been in Aeria. Her conversations with Necrovar had rocked her faith, and Shivnath’s refusal to tell her anything felt increasingly like betrayal. But for all that, Shivnath was still a god. She was guardian of the Smarlands, sworn to protect her quarter of Allentria and her mortal subjects.
If that were true, argued the voice in Keriya’s head, she would have helped you. She would have saved Thorion.
“Gods have power only to maintain the balance,” said Shivnath, responding to her thoughts. “We do not, cannot act on the behalf of mortals.”
“Fine, then here’s a question,” Keriya spat from her seat on the ground. “How did Thorion’s death preserve your precious balance?”
“Thorion’s magic was bound to the Shadow Lord. Since his soul would have gone to Necrovar upon his death, the balance would have remained intact,” Shivnath said in a shocking display of forthrightness.
Keriya opened her mouth to scream. The dragon cut her off before she could start.
“But Thorion saw his death approaching, so he did what only other two creatures have done before in the history of our universe.” Shivnath’s eyes, black as winter midnight, black as death and blacker still, filled with an inexpressible sorrow. “He cut out part of his soul. Through his exorcism, the magical balance was preserved.”
Keriya suspected she should ask more questions, but she had no desire to do so. Thorion was gone. There was no point arguing over what-ifs.
The tiniest of frowns creased Shivnath’s brow. “You understand that you still need to face Necrovar, don’t you?”
The words clawed at Keriya. Why now? she thought. Why now, when I’m so tired?
Shivnath sighed. “Keriya, do not let your courage flag.”
“My courage isn’t flagging,” cried Keriya. “But you don’t know what this feels like—not that you’d care, anyway.”
“I care more than anyone,” the dragon hissed. “More than anyone will ever know. I have sacrificed everything for this world.”
“Well, I’m not prepared to make any more sacrifices.” Keriya no longer wanted to be a hero. She wanted to go somewhere far away, somewhere dark and lonesome, to live the rest of her life in peace. From peace stemmed calm, and from calm stemmed complacence, and from complacence stemmed apathy. And with apathy, she could forget.
Shivnath lowered her head once more to look her in the eyes. “I know you have the strength and the bravery to complete your quest. I can see it in you.”
That effectively quelled Keriya’s anger and subdued her pain—it was the biggest compliment Shivnath had ever paid her, and Shivnath did not give praise lightly.
“But Shivnath,” she whispered, “what if things don’t work out?”
What if I lose someone else?
The thought spra
ng into her mind unbidden. She hugged her arms around her roiling stomach. What if the next to die was Fletcher? Or Roxanne, or Max? Could she survive another loss?
Shivnath cast a sour look upon her, as if offended by her human weakness. “No one asks to suffer, but life is unfair to the best of us. As I’ve told you, the trick is not to simply choose the lesser of two evils, but to rise above that evil once you have chosen it—to make the most of it, to overcome it.”
“You make it sound so simple, but what if I can’t rise above?”
“Then you have already given up. If you want to ensure that Thorion’s death was not meaningless, there is only one thing you can do: you must face Necrovar.”
Keriya took a deep breath. Though her soul ached with weariness, she managed to stand.
“I will face him,” she said. “But my body is trapped in the dungeons of Indrath Nazrith, and I have no idea how to get out. So now would be a great time for you to take advantage of one of your loopholes.”
Shivnath smiled. It was an ominous expression, but Keriya, who had become familiar with her visage, could see it was stained with the faintest trace of sadness.
“Indeed it would,” said the dragon god.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
“Your desire to scale the mountain must be greater than your fear of falling from it.”
~ Lorgan Fiermar, Fourth Age
“Come with me, Keriya. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
Shivnath turned and walked across the cave, her talons clicking on the floor. Keriya followed, clumsily avoiding the long, muscular tail that swayed back and forth.
They entered a tunnel together. Keriya remembered this place—she’d come snooping here the last time she’d been in Argos Moor. After a few minutes, they reached a fork in the path. The right fork, graced by a warm golden glow, led to Shivnath’s treasure hoard. But Shivnath veered left.
They entered a cavern shining with silver light. Pools of water lay at the edges of the room, stagnant mirrors reflecting the cold glow. Stalactites frosted the rounded ceiling like icicles. Liquid dripped slowly from their points, the only sound in the stillness.
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