by Ali Winters
TWO
SILAS
SILAS LIFTED THE golden chalice, his fingers brushing over the delicate designs etched into the sides of the golden cup. Roots formed the base of the chalice mimicking the tree of life, the trunk the handle, and the branches, interwoven with tiny emeralds that shine like sparkling leaves, spreading across the golden cup
He had gone to the resting place upon the mountaintop where Yeva had slept for centuries, until the remaining Hunters had found and awoken her, to find the sacred cup. In the absence of her warm presence, the sanctuary had frozen over, becoming barren.
The wounds he’d inflicted upon her when they’d fought at the island had been deep. She needed to heal with the waters of her realm, and this was the only way to bring them to her. Without them, her powers were too weak to heal her and she would fade, ceasing to exist. And that was one consequence of this war that he never wanted to witness.
Yeva had been arrogant in her goals, believing the Reapers would never be able to stop her. To stop her, would mean to end her existence. If either of them ceased to be, life would turn into an irreparable nightmare. There would be nothing but suffering as the earth flared with volcanic eruptions and earthquakes as it tried to right the unnatural phenomenon.
If she got her way, she would reign eternal, causing an unnatural endlessness to the cycle of existence. Every life force would perish at once, including Reapers. With none left to sever the life threads, the mortals would be doomed to wander the earth, not dead, but not living either. If he were not mistaken, humans would consider that a zombie apocalypse.
The undead would walk on a crumbling planet of pain and death in barren land as the world self-destructed—neither consequence would be pleasant for humans, Reapers, or Hunters. Both outcomes would be a literal hell on earth.
Silas narrowed his eyes. He was not alive, but he did not wish to end his existence over a struggle for power. He would not give up on keeping the balance in check, no matter what his heart wanted.
It was the reason Gaia had created both he and Yeva. To give life a chance, letting it run its course without giving way to inescapable consequences. They each held part of the power that was key to maintaining the balance. Light and dark must both exist together, always.
The waters of the River Salay had dried up centuries ago but with the power of the chalice, when he first carried Yeva off her island, he’d returned shortly and managed to call forth the properties of the river that once flowed. Turning the cup in his hand, Silas added water from the caves of the hidden island. The water of the extinct river was the only thing preventing her from succumbing to her wounds. It was the source of her powers, much as the Waters of Soyala were to the Reapers.
Silas picked up a small vial and added several drops of water from the earth’s ocean. He crossed his throne room to the back wall that was shrouded in darkness. Stepping up to the dais that held the Waters of Soyala, he pushed back the curtain that hid the soft glow of the swirling powers within. The ancient lifted the chalice of the Reapers, the room’s dim light reflected off the millions of facets of the thin, black obsidian made it sparkle like diamonds. Carefully, Silas tipped the glass and poured three drops into Yeva’s, lacing her water with his. The liquids swirled together and turned bright red before fading to perfectly clear.
The process of her healing was time consuming, but the joy he found in being near her again was incomparable to anything else in the world. It had been too long since he had been able to gaze upon her delicate face day in and day out. His personal existence held meaning for him once more. The monotonous duties of death were no longer routine and desolate; he had found purpose in his existence once more.
Moving further into the dark, Silas ran his hand along the wall until his deft fingers found a notch. He pressed down and stepped back as part of the floor fell away revealing a staircase. Pale green light illuminated the passage, allowing him to walk down the narrow, stone steps.
At the bottom, a labyrinth of tunnels awaited him. Green and white crystals embedded in the walls and ceiling glowed softly in the hidden tunnel. They brightened as he neared in acknowledgement of his presence and dimmed after he had passed.
Only the sound of his soft footsteps echoing off the walls met his ears. This long corridor was where all the realms met. The room where he kept Yeva was where the three corners collided: the realm of the Underworld, the realm of the Reapers, and the mortal realm of the Watchers.
By giving her the healing Waters of Salay, her body would repair itself from the wounds he had inflicted upon her. The water from the ocean, the doorway between one world and the next, would allow her to be unaffected by the meeting of the Underworld with hers. The addition of the Waters of Soyala was twofold. First, it would allow her to remain partially in the Reapers realm without further harm, and second, it would keep her weak enough that her powers would not resurface.
Sharp pain pierced his heart when he thought of what he had done. And what he continued to do.
Yeva did not know the location of where he kept her imprisoned. She had been in her forced slumber when he had searched out, and found, the spot where the domains collided. A prolonged stay in one opposite of their origins would cause degeneration of any being, unless one consumed the waters of all three.
He’d never wanted to keep her locked up in a dark place such as this. She belonged in the sun, to be surround by nature as it had been intended the day Gaia had created her. Sighing, he shook off the somber thoughts that overtook his mind during each visit.
Near the end of the long passageway, Silas stopped at the slightest outline of a door that looked as though it might just be a long thin crack in the stonewall. Silas placed his palm in the center and pushed his energy into it. The section moved, sliding away as stone scraped against stone just long enough for him to step through before reforming.
Inside, unadorned iron sconces lined the walls with flickering candle light throughout the windowless room, a tomb not befitting a creature of her status. Silas glanced around the empty space. A large canopy bed made of solid twisted vines with a feather mattress on top sat against the far wall, across from that sat a single square table and one chair, both made to match the bed. He regretted not being able to take the time to decorate the area to be as beautiful as she deserved, but time had been of the essence when he brought her injured and unconscious form. The healing process had needed to begin as soon as possible. He had kept Yeva in this dank prison for only a few weeks, but the healing was already near completion.
Setting the chalice down on the table, he walked over to where she lay sprawled out across the top of the bed. Her long flowing gown cascaded off the edge. There was a burned section on the bodice of her dress that left her hip and part of her stomach exposed. He would need to replace it once she fully healed. For now, it allowed him to check her wounds with minimal disturbance.
“Hello, Yeva,” Silas said, his voice low and soft. There was a power in her beauty that often stole the strength of his words when she was near. Yeva opened her eyes, blinking up at him before turning her head away, snubbing him. Her displeasure palpable. “Yeva, I have come to check on you. I need to be sure you are continuing to heal.” It was the same announcement he made every visit.
“I do not need you to check on me each day, Silas,” she bit out, still refusing to meet his gaze.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he leaned forward to move the arm she draped across her middle. The burns had disappeared. Fresh skin growing over left a patch of bright pink skin. Only an angry, arrow shaped scar ran along her abdomen. A scar that would never heal, but would always serve as a reminder of how far they had veered from who they were always meant to be. He regretted that more than he could put to words. But she would live. For that, he was forever grateful, and it had nothing to do with the continuance of existence. He placed her arm back across her middle, then turned, silently crossing the room to the table and picking up the chalice from the smooth surfac
e.
“Drink this,” Silas commanded in a low voice when he returned to her side.
Yeva slowly pushed herself to sitting and glowered with angry green eyes. “Ah, is it time for my daily dose of poison already?” Her voice dripped with bitterness.
“You need it to heal. You know that, Yeva,” Silas reminded her, unaffected by her tone.
“To heal?” She let out a sharp laugh like claws ripping at his flesh. “You hand me the healing waters of the River Salay, but lace it with just enough poison to keep me weak.”
Silas stood silent and unmoving. A long moment of her anger aimed at him through her piercing gaze as she snatched the chalice from his grip and tipped her head back, gulping it down in a single swallow. He would never give her the full reason he added the waters. There could be no telling what she would do with that knowledge.
She handed him back the cup and looked up at him expectantly through thick lashes. Her eyes softened and she adjusted herself, tucking her legs underneath her.
Oh, how he missed the days where she always looked at him in such a way. Now he was uncertain of the meaning of it.
“Silas, please, you must let me out. I am weak. There is nothing I can do. I need to be free, I will die in here,” she begged, her long slender fingers lightly gripped the edge if his cloak.
Silas looked down at her. Beautiful green eyes shining from unshed tears, begging him for her freedom. It had never been his plan to keep her locked up like a common prisoner, but he needed to come up with a more long-term solution before he could allow her what she wanted. Time and time again, she forced him to handle her in ways he never wished to. It shamed him to know that he still hadn’t learned to prepare for the worst. But his heart blinded him to what his mind knew. She would never stop her quest. What started out as a misunderstanding had grown into a feud. Even if the Moirai had allowed him to explain, it would make no difference now. Perhaps once, it might have. Silas pushed the thought away. Wishing would get them nowhere.
He lifted his hand and caressed her cheek with his knuckles, allowing himself to believe, if only for a second, that they could be what they once were. Her eyes fluttered and she leaned her head into his touch.
“I am afraid it will not be possible to let you out at this time.” The words hurt to speak. His throat was dry as the desert sands.
“When? When will I be able to gain my freedom and watch over life as I was meant to?” She closed her eyes causing a single tear to roll down her cheek and onto his palm.
“I am uncertain. Something must be done to ensure the balance is kept at any cost—even if the cost is your freedom, though it pains me to take such measures.”
Her eyes snapped open, fire flashing behind her irises anew. “I cannot bear this anymore, Silas.”
Silas let his hand drop to his side and gave her a long, thoughtful look. Her eyes could never hide her true feelings. Though he knew she still cared for him, she was using his heart against him to get what she wanted. To let her go now would give her the opportunity to gather her strength, and it would only be a matter of time before she struck again, inciting yet another war. One that would most likely surpass the Dissension and destroy everything.
No. Trusting her now would be foolish and all of creation would suffer her wrath.
“I am afraid that you must, my love. Until I find a permanent solution. The revenge in your heart is much too strong.”
The caring expression, the sorrow, and longing left her face in the blink of an eye, replaced by a stony blank mask. The light that sparkled in her eyes just moments ago vanished. Silas knew she would not argue with him, it would only serve to prove his point. Yet, he could feel the heat of anger radiating from within—and it was all directed at him.
Silas nodded once and turned on his heel, walking to the door. He paused and turned to glance over his shoulder. The blank expression on her face, unwavering, hurt more than anger—more than tears—ever could.
If he could reverse time by merely wishing so, he wouldn’t hesitate to go back and change the course of their history. He would never have let his curiosity get the better of him, never would have kept anything from her, but instead would have done anything in his power to make sure that this future that they had ended up in, had never happened.
But life and death only moved forward. There was no power that could change the course of time.
YEVA
Yeva’s face remained impassive as she watched Silas cross to the door. The wall she’d built to push back her feelings was set firmly in place. His eyes had said so much, but she wouldn’t fall into them again as she had when she was young and naïve.
Silas placed his hand on the wall and stepped through. Gray, sorrowful eyes filled her with irritation as he stared longingly at her until the wall closed up between them.
Sliding her legs off the bed, she stood on weakened legs. Yeva crossed to the doorway and lifting her arms, she placed her palms against the wall as he had, her fingers lightly tracing the thin line etched into the stone. He had learned a few new tricks while she’d slept. She attempted to pull her powers to her and commanded it to open.
Nothing.
Not even a hint or a waver under her hand.
Angry, she slapped the wall. The sound of skin hitting the stone, a mere dull, smack didn’t so much as echo in the room. Yeva leaned her back against the cold rock and slid to the floor. A frustrated sob choked her as the barrier that kept her emotions in check fell, freeing the pain that she’d trapped behind it, and letting hot tears spill down her cheeks.
“I will not be your prisoner forever, Silas,” she promised between breaths.
Her sorrow quickly turned to anger. He couldn’t keep her here. What right did he have to condemn her to a life that was nothing more than an echo of death? Yeva vowed to herself that she would find a way out and then exact her revenge for this transgression.
She snapped her fingers once, out of habit, and a spark of light caught her eye.
“Can it be?” Yeva wondered aloud. Hope instantly rising in her chest. Snapping again, she focused, holding on to the weak energy she’d summoned. A small spark, hardly noticeable in the grim room, but a spark none-the-less.
“My powers will return to me, and then I will have what is rightfully mine.” A wicked grin spread across her lips.
The spark faded as the little energy she had, left her body. Exhaustion took hold and she would soon lose consciousness from the exertion. Pushing herself up, Yeva stumbled her way to the loathsome bed and collapsed onto the down feather mattress just as darkness consumed her.
THREE
NIVIAN
NIVIAN SAT ON an unused washing machine as Kain started another load of laundry. She had offered to help, but he’d told her she could learn by watching—which was fine by her. The machines were scary and unpredictable anyway. Not to mention, they really should have labels on them stating to use soap specifically for clothing and not any other type… especially not lemon scented dish soap. It felt like a lifetime ago that she had first attempted to do laundry, only to end up having Kain rescue her.
Strands of chestnut hair fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, his hands moving deftly as though they had done this task hundreds of times before. There was something about the way he moved that she found fascinating. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to be at peace with all aspects of life. Most humans were too caught up in daily living and the fabricated stresses they placed upon themselves to notice that life had its own rhythm. Then again, Kain was hardly human—he was the child of a Hunter and a former Reaper. It should have been impossible, and by all accounts, it was still considered to be so. His existence was an enigma, but then, so was hers.
“Hello? Earth to Nivian.” Kain waved his hand in front of her face, snapping Nivian out of her reverie.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” she asked. How long has he been talking to me? She wondered. He leaned on his elbows, brows furrowed in concern as he watched her,
having already finished with his task.
“You seemed distracted. Are you all right?” he asked with a tilt of his head.
“Yeah, I was just thinking about the first time I was here,” she said, her mind not fully back to the present.
Kain let out a deep belly laugh. “You wrestling the washer was a spectacular sight. Next time we’ll have to sell tickets in advance,” he teased.
Nivian gave him a sly smile and jumped down. “I should go. I have a job to finish before tomorrow.”
“That’s a morbid way to end the afternoon.” He straightened, the humor gone from his tone.
Nivian dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, but…” she started, a frown pulling at her lips.
Reaching out, he took her hand, weaving his fingers through hers. “No, you don’t have to apologize, Nivian. I didn’t mean to sound like I was judging you. Sometimes I forget that you’re a Reaper and not an assassin. You’re not exactly what anyone would picture death to look like.” Kain gripped her shoulder, drawing her in for a hug, and placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. “I’m headed home after this, stop by later if it’s not too late,” he said.
“I will,” she agreed. Stepping back, Nivian moved from his embrace. She placed a hand on his arm and lifted herself up on her toes to place a quick peck on his cheek before turning to leave. She paused to take one last look over her shoulder. Kain stood staring after her with his signature crooked grin plastered on his face. The door chimed in her wake as she pushed the glass door open and rounded the corner turning into the alleyway.
With the rough brick wall at her back, Nivian brought her fingers up to her lips, surprised at her own boldness. That was new. She had never done anything like that before. It was just an innocent kiss on the cheek… wasn’t it? Not sure what had come over her; it was almost as though it were a reflex.