She held the chains, making sure the Current Eater stayed put, and she watched, waiting to see Torsten, or Sora, or anyone rushing toward the inlet with Nesilia as trapped as the beast before her.
All she could do was pray that they would have as much success in their own efforts.
Only, she didn’t know who to pray to.
XLVI
The Mystic
Sora searched from side to side. When the dust settled, she was given a view of a familiar room. Glass caskets were propped up on all walls except the one they’d just broken through. Statues of Kings were toppled and broken. Drav Cra warriors caught in the collapse groaned.
“My Lady, you came…” a voice rasped. Sora followed it, and moonlight filtering in through the devastated ceiling illuminated Freydis. She lay on her back, body shriveled as if she’d given every ounce of her blood toward trying to survive Sora’s onslaught. Barely breathing, but somehow still alive.
“And you failed me, my dearest servant,” a soft, seductive voice spoke from the shadows. Sora knew it too well. “Don’t be scared. You will be avenged, and then, you will be replaced by one more worthy.
A silhouette appeared over Freydis, but Sora couldn’t see Nesilia clearly in the darkness. She squeezed Freydis’ throat, lifted her to her mouth, and drank what little blood she had left. Then, she dropped the desiccated corpse to the stone.
Sigrid’s form stood tall, her shadow facing Sora. Then she vanished.
“Ah, my other body.” Her voice echoed through the crypt, cold, and heartless. “Such convenience, this place. It’s almost as if ordained by some… deity.”
Sora groaned and extended her hand, slapping aimlessly, hoping Whitney was there. Alive.
“Oh, sweet Sora,” Nesilia said. “Everything horrible that has ever happened to you was his fault, and yet you still cling to him like a lost child.”
“Shog off,” Sora said.
“He is rubbing off on you, isn’t he?” Nesilia laughed.
“I killed your servant,” Sora taunted. “She chose you and failed. Just like you will.”
“Where are we?” Whitney moaned, then coughed.
“Such a good question for such a dumb fool,” Nesilia said.
“Hey,” Whitney argued, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it.
Sora still couldn’t see him from where she was. He must have rolled into another chamber of the crypts in the slide. She pushed to her feet and stumbled a few steps. Between the fall and that immeasurable use of magic to defeat Freydis, her head spun, and her stomach ached.
“We are exactly where we need to be,” Nesilia said. “So close to where I spent the last several thousand years, and where my dear sister now resides, rest her soul. Oh, who am I kidding? She has no soul.”
“You… killed Bliss?” Sora asked. “Your own sister?”
“Buried, not dead,” Nesilia jested.
“Good. Because in my experience, she doesn’t stay dead anyway,” Whitney remarked.
“Bliss would have done the same to me if she got the chance,” Nesilia said. “But she never had any vision. I used her for her talent for breaking things apart, and now, she will watch for eternity as I reclaim my world.”
“Oh, I do enjoy a pair of loving siblings,” Whitney said.
“You’re a monster, Nesilia,” Sora said. “Maybe, if you weren’t busy betraying your sister, Freydis would still be alive. And you talk about others abandoning the ones they loved?”
“Freydis was meant to stand on her own,” Nesilia hissed. “My world has no room for the meek.”
Sora could now see Whitney, standing just a few meters away near the altar to Iam. He turned in a slow circle, looking for Nesilia just as Sora was. Sora took a few steps toward Whitney over crumbled stone. She embraced him.
“It’s goddess killing time,” Whitney said, wielding his daggers.
“Touching,” Nesilia said, appearing in the center of the room. Moonlight filtered in through a hole in the ceiling just above King Liam’s broken statue. It illuminated Sigrid’s body, almost glowing a soft silver.
At the thought, Sora palmed her silver shortsword. The temptation to plunge it through Nesilia’s stolen heart was strong, but she knew it would accomplish nothing. Furthermore, it might cause Nesilia to re-enter Sora or even Whitney, and both options were out of the question.
“Sigrid,” Whitney said, stepping forward. “Don’t you remember me? We had good times together with old Kazzy, no? Remember when you tried to eat me, and I screamed?”
“What are you doing?” Sora whisper-shouted.
“I don’t know.”
Nesilia tilted her head like a dog, and in a heartbeat’s span, she had Whitney in her grasp. She lifted him by his collar.
“The things my host once tried and failed to do would be as simple as breathing for me,” Nesilia said. She licked Whitney’s face, tasting his blood. Closing her eyes, she moaned with delight. “Sweet Sora, you took my beloved Freydis from me. It’s only fair he join her.”
“Put him down, Nesilia!” Sora warned, squeezing the sword and circling around to her side.
“If you say so,” Nesilia said before launching Whitney across the room with a single flick of her wrists.
Whitney landed in a heap by the dungeon entrance. He didn’t move. Didn’t make a sound.
“If you’ve hurt him, I will—“
“You’ll what?” Nesilia stalked toward Sora. “What will you do? You gave up so much for that pathetic little thing. Love… You could have had it all!”
“I could have had it all, and the best you could give me was a wrinkled old pirate?” Sora countered. “If that’s your idea of blessings, I think I’ll stick with Iam’s curses.”
“Don’t you dare speak that name,” Nesilia said. Dust fell from the ceiling, and Whitney stirred. “Iam is gone. Caliphar is gone. Bliss is gone. All that remains of the Feud is me. Forgotten, just like you, but now I stand in victory over them all!”
“Look around you. This is victory? Queen of nothing. Goddess of nothing.”
Nesilia smiled, then turned back toward the center of the crypt.
Sora took the opportunity to glance toward Whitney. She didn’t know if he was okay, but at least he was breathing.
“Look at all of these pathetic Kings,” Nesilia said. “Your family. I wonder, did you tell Torsten who you really are? You think they would accept you? An outcast. A bastard? They’d hang you and bury you with your little secret.”
“There’s a difference between you and me, you know,” Sora said, still not looking at Nesilia.
“Mmmm. Is there?”
“You were forgotten, but I never was,” Sora said, now focusing her gaze on King Liam’s casket.
“Is that so?”
Sora finally stepped down from the pile of stones. “You see, I was hidden. Protected. Because of love, I was placed in the care of another. Someone who would watch over me.”
“So cute,” Nesilia said. “By him?” She pointed at Liam’s casket. “He loved no one but himself. Just like his precious Iam. He didn’t care about you. He only cared that no one finds out about you. With that, he would’ve been so disgraced.”
“You’re wrong,” Sora said. “You don’t know how to care about anything but yourself. Freydis. Bliss. Me…”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sora saw Whitney stand, still wobbly. Inside her mind, she begged him to stay down, to not try anything stupid. Where he was, in his state, he was safe. For now.
“All failures,” Nesilia said. “All weak. Relying on others to clean up their messes.”
“Freydis loved you.”
“And I, her,” Nesilia said, solemn. “Which is why I’m here. Despite how she failed, the one who took her shall feel pain you can’t imagine… yet. I will take the one you love, and rip him to pieces.” Her sights landed on Whitney, and she flaunted her fangs with a hiss.
“As always, you’re wrong.” Sora focused her remaining strength. Within her mind�
��s eye, she could sense the flow of blood through her whole body. She called upon its power, one drop at a time. She recalled how she’d seen Nesilia do it when she’d taught Freydis to burrow through the ground to slaughter the Strongiron dwarves. Sora used the memory. Though this time, she didn’t burrow, she called the stone down.
Like it had happened in the Webbed Woods when she beat Redstar, Sora’s eyes shone bright white, light exploded from her, and her face twisted into unnatural forms. She could feel her pulse within her every fiber. The crypt shook, rumbled, quaked. It wasn’t like uprooting a small chunk of earth as she’d done to Freydis.
Nesilia had no time to realize she was being buried once more until the stone above her collapsed. Statues were crushed. Caskets destroyed. The history of the Nothhelm dynasty was shattered in an instant.
Sora knew it wouldn’t kill Nesilia. She didn’t need it to. She just needed it to buy enough time for their escape. To get to the Throne Room where the others would hopefully be waiting to carry out the plan. And she had no doubt now. She’d pissed Nesilia off enough that she would chase.
Giant rocks crashed all around them. Mount Lister had now joined the battle in full, still reeling from whatever Nesilia had done with Bliss.
When Sora reached Whitney, she grabbed him and pushed him toward the dungeons.
“Are you okay?” she asked as they staggered through the archway.
Even now, she could hear the stones behind her moving, Nesilia breaking through.
“I was just about to retaliate,” he said.
Sora smiled. “Come on.”
“Fine, I suppose you can have this one.”
XLVII
The Thief
Regaining strength, Whitney tugged on Sora’s hand as they rushed through the dungeons and back upstairs to the rear entry of the Throne Room. After her explosion of power to slow Nesilia, Sora seemed weaker even than Whitney. It appeared to be a struggle, her just holding Aquira.
“Let us in, let us in!” Whitney shouted to the guards posted there. There were at least two dozen of them, with shield and longswords, ready to clog the passage.
“Nobody in,” the lead one said, a former Shieldsman by the looks of him. It was impossible to know now that Torsten ditched their armor, but they just had a… look... like they thought they were better than all the other brave warriors around them.
“Nobody in? I was just in there!” Whitney shrieked.
“We have our orders.”
“It’s the yigging dwarves all over again,” Whitney said under his breath, clenching his fist. Now it was Sora’s turn to gain strength again. He had no idea how she managed after all she’d done, but Sora pulled herself ahead of him before he cursed the guards and their parents and their parents’ parents.
“Nesilia…” she panted. “Is coming…”
The Shieldsman’s eyes went wide. Others behind him muttered amongst each other in fear.
“I-I’m sorry, b-but nobody gets in,” the man finally decided.
“Now listen here, you sorry pile of steaming shog,” Whitney said. With her eyes, Sora begged him not to make things worse, but guards were his speci-al-ity. “The Buried Goddess is on her way here. Do you all want to be the reason that the world ends?”
More muttering came from the group.
“Do you?” Whitney went on, sticking his finger in the man’s chest. “Sir Unger has entrusted us with saving Pantego. And her, do you know who she is?”
Sora nudged Whitney in the ribs, as she had all too many times in their relationship. One day, he’d tell her how her bony elbow actually really hurt, but only when he got tired of the pain reminding him they were finally back together.
She drew her small blade halfway from its sheath, the rasp earning the attention of the guards. The elaborate, gold and jeweled hilt had a crystal Eye of Iam for a pommel.
Whitney wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of showing the gifts.
“We’re with Sir Unger,” she said.
The Shieldsman looked back, then sighed. He stepped aside, and the rest joined him. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“C’mon,” Sora said, wasting no time.
Whitney stood on his toes and stared the Shieldsman straight in the eyes. “A shame, how far your Order has fallen.” He shook his head. “A yigging shame.” Then he followed Sora.
“Yer all right, Lassie!” Tum Tum exclaimed, waddling over to hug her.
“We feared the worst,” Lucindur said, joining him.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re all fine,” Whitney interrupted before anyone said anything else useless. “Perfect. Dandy. Lucy, are you ready to play?”
“My salfio is right here.” She patted the strap over her shoulder.
“Well, get it off your back! Nesilia is coming. Right now, she’s—“
The main Throne Room doors swung open, Whitney spun around so fast he lost his footing and slipped. Torsten appeared in the entry, gripping Salvation, which was as covered with mud and blood as his ever-grim face. And Whitney had never been happier to see him.
“Finally, someone who might take things seriously!” Whitney said as Tum Tum helped him up.
“I heard the bells,” Torsten called. “Is it true? Is the warlock dead?”
“Oh, she’s dead all right,” Whitney answered. “Fried to a crisp and worse. Oh, and Nesilia’s yigging pissed.”
“She came after us through the crypt,” Sora said. “I—I…” Her head sank. “I collapsed it on her, but it won’t delay her long.”
“Then we better be ready,” Torsten said, not even missing a beat at the news of his beloved crypt being destroyed.
“Thank you!” Whitney threw up his hands. “Finally, someone who gets it. Now, Tum Tum, where is the Brike Stone?”
“I put it down right over there.” Tum Tum pointed to the throne. A cloth covered what Whitney assumed to be the blood-red stone. It sat on the seat of the throne, bathed in an aura of darkness. Around the stone, even the glass of the throne, polished beyond reason, reflected nothing. It was dull, colorless.
Whitney grasped the dwarf by his collar. “I told you not to let go of it!”
“We were right next to the thing,” Tum Tum said. “I tried holdin it, but it hurt. Made me start thinkin of things I’d rather not be thinkin bout.”
A scathing response died on Whitney’s tongue. The dwarf’s expression spoke of horror, and Whitney knew those dark thoughts. He had them every time he touched the stone. Only, they barely affected him because he’d had all those thoughts and worse during a six-year stay in Elsewhere itself.
“I’ve got it.” Whitney hurried over and snatched it off the throne. Even through the cloth, despair assaulted his brain. Thoughts of losing the battle—of everyone and everything dying. But he’d learned that when the claws of darkness start to dig in, all you can do is smile.
Across the hall, Torsten barked orders. Soldiers flooded through the front doors, men who looked like Shieldsmen along with the terrifying Shesaitju Serpent Guards. The faceless, tongueless killers were scarier than even the stone in Whitney’s palm.
“This way, Milady,” Torsten said, ushering Lucindur away from the throne and toward an expanse of gray stone wall farthest from every entrance.
“Thank you,” she said, flashing a reticent smile as she unfurled a sheet, then kneeled upon it. She strummed her salfio once, finding the perfect tune, and the note resonated all the way up the towering glass spire in the center of the room.
The soldiers formed ranks all around her, Glassmen and Shesaitju alternating—a force that would make enemies tremble. Everyone except Nesilia that is.
“Are you okay?” Whitney asked Sora, who remained standing by the throne, staring at it. Was she wondering what could be? Or perhaps, listening to the soft refrain of screams and destruction echoing from beyond the castle walls as thousands laid down their lives to protect this room.
“Sora?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “It’s nothing. I’m
fine.”
“You’re scared to go into her head,” Whitney said. “Scared of the darkness.” He clasped her hand, the Brike Stone within smothering them in their own shadow as if they were in a tiny room together. “Don’t be. Embrace it. Show her she’s nothing compared to you. Because, you know what? She isn’t. You’re Sora of Troborough, daughter of kings and mystics, and the woman who stole the heart of the World’s Greatest Thief.”
He flashed her a grin, and Sora threw her arms around him, pressing her lips against his. The Brike Stone showed Whitney images of her death over and over again as they touched, but he didn’t let go, because he knew there was no way in Elsewhere he’d ever let that happen.
“If ye two lovebirds don’t mind!” Tum Tum called, barely visible through the wall of soldiers save for his oversized hammer.
“Right,” Sora said with vim and resolve that Whitney hoped meant she really was ready. It’s not like the entire future of the world was resting on her shoulders or anything.
They rushed through the soldiers, and Sora sat directly across from Lucindur and Tum Tum, who stood guard beside her. Whitney drew his daggers and stood by her side.
“It ends today,” Torsten said, unwavering.
“One way or another,” Whitney added.
Torsten nodded to Whitney and all the others, then moved to the front of the formation. And then, there was eerie quiet. The kind that made Whitney itch and want to say something uncomfortable as if by reflex. Only, in the face of what was coming, he couldn’t.
Death wails sounded like Elsewhere’s wind coming from every direction outside of the room. Each time, making Whitney’s muscles tense.
A high-pitched screech nearly made him shog himself until he realized it was only Aquira bursting through a stained glass window high above. She landed upon Sora’s shoulder, squawking again as Sora scratched her chin.
Something crashed through the door just outside the Throne Room, the one leading toward the dungeons where Nesilia would be soon following. There were more cries, then, seconds later, none.
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