Mud

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Mud Page 12

by Wenstrom, E. J.


  “No. No, no, no.” Her voice crackles like angry embers.

  My wounded shoulder is stiff, burns as I push myself up. The pain is spreading, seeping deeper than it was before. The open wounds on my skin where the beast’s teeth pierced me feel loose and festering.

  “You must,” the Keeper responds to her protests with cold insistence.

  “You lied! You said I was free to follow, and I will,” Miriam snaps back.

  My mind works slowly to piece together what is happening. Something is wrong. But where are we?

  I squint and look around—it’s brighter here. Like the sun bursting through after a long snow. My eyes adjust and I make out the forms of other souls. Lots of them.

  “I still have a job to do, bringing souls to rest,” the Keeper shrugs. “And your attempt to help will only make things worse. Send more waves through the realm.”

  “I don’t believe you. I’m supposed to help him.”

  My focus is coming back. The souls are strewn all through the open space we’ve been catapulted into. They’re all facing toward me. Staring. But not at me. I turn around to see what it is.

  It’s astonishing.

  Radiant white marble. A bridge. Right in the middle of nothing. Where it leads to is obscured with glimmers and haze. Swirls of wispy cloud. A sense of quiet wonder wells up within me.

  “You’re supposed to not have a memory right now. You’re supposed to find your own way here. You’re supposed to mind your own business and not be such a damn disruption,” the Keeper snaps, “And believe me, there’s enough disruption in play as it is. Having you with us will only make the way harder.” He gestures to her and walks over so he is at the foot of the bridge. “Come. Look. They’re waiting for you.”

  The sweetened eager tone of the Keeper’s voice snaps me to full attention. Suddenly I understand and the wonder deflates from me as quickly as it rose, is replaced with cagey anger. He’s trying to separate us. My fingers curl into tight fists.

  I won’t let him.

  I already lost her once in Epoh. She should be with Jordan in Haven right now. Safe and alive. The Keeper isn’t taking her from me again.

  Miriam makes her way after the Keeper warily. I follow, determined to keep her close. When she reaches him, she looks to the bridge in the blank haze and gasps. Her complexion goes white. As I step behind her and look over the bridge straight on, I see it too. Souls. They’re waiting, beckoning to her on the bridge beyond the haze.

  So many of them. Many share Miriam and Jordan’s brilliant red hair. My stomach lurches—suddenly I miss him with a deep tugging ache. Like a homesickness. Like a hole right through my core.

  One of the souls in the front smiles at Miriam warmly. Bright curls tumble down her shoulders, pale green eyes shine, and soft pale skin gleams like the moon. She could almost be Miriam’s reflection; they are so similar. She reaches out for Miriam, an invitation.

  “Mother,” Miriam whispers. She steps forward, stopping just at the bridge’s foot. Her hand reaches out and then abruptly pulls away at the shimmering film. Instead, she drops it to her side and just smiles back.

  “Go. Join them,” the Keeper nudges.

  But I need her. I want her with me. My shoulders clench with resistance, sending bolts of pain through me.

  She stares longingly at the figures on the bridge a moment longer before tearing herself away.

  “No,” she turns back to the Keeper with a glare. “Not until this is done.”

  I breathe out my relief.

  “The Nethers will eat away at you,” the Keeper warns. “It will tug away at your mind, unravel it like a ball of yarn. Don’t you feel it? I know you do. You’re more vulnerable this way, conscious, carrying all your memories around. You might never find your way back.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I will be fine,” she says.

  But she’s not.

  Now that the Keeper says it, I already see it in her, wearing her down. A weariness clouds around her eyes, the same weariness the Keeper carries.

  And now that I see it in her, I realize, it’s in me too. Creeping, creeping, creeping, and polluting my thoughts.

  If the Keeper is right about this, maybe he’s right about all of it.

  He urges her again. “You’re lucky to be here once; some take ages to make it here. Go. Cross. Take your peace while you can.”

  The realization sinks into me. The guilt piles up. I may want her with me, need her even.

  “No,” she insists.

  But I owe her this.

  “You should go,” I say. A knot tightens in my gut.

  She turns around, looks at me with sharp eyes, as if betrayed. Takes in a breath to speak. But I don’t let her.

  “I feel it. The realm wearing down on me, like he said. Can’t you?” She glares at me, silent, arms folded over her chest. “What if you don’t find your way back? You deserve peace, Miriam. Don’t walk away from it. Not for me.”

  But she clutches my arm and chills shoot up into my shoulder as she pulls me close.

  “Don’t you get it? This is exactly what he wants, he wants to split us up,” she mutters, glancing back to the Keeper. “We can’t let him.”

  Behind her the Keeper shifts on his feet impatiently. She stretches up on her toes and presses her hand into my shoulder. Her hand sends a blasting freeze through me.

  “He’s Cholem,” she says.

  I look back to him again, look him over hard. “Who?” As the chill settles into my shoulder, it numbs away some of the pain.

  “Cholem,” she repeats, “The immortal man. He sold his allegiance to the demons in the Second Realm War in trade for his immortality. He has no loyalties beyond himself. Don’t trust him for a second. If he wants us separated, that is a sure sign we must stick together.”

  I want to argue with her, to insist she cross over. But a fear of being alone, of not making it out, keeps my tongue still. Besides, what if she’s right?

  Miriam turns away from me, glares at the Keeper, and then strides off into the forest.

  “I’m coming!” she declares, shouting over her shoulder.

  “Good luck out there in the abyss alone,” the Keeper calls back. “You won’t last a hundred steps.”

  I look to the Keeper and then back to her glowing figure, growing fainter through the stony pillars. If I’m choosing one, I chose Miriam. I turn and follow her.

  “Wrong way, fools,” the Keeper croaks.

  But I hear his hurried steps behind me.

  Chapter 17

  MIRIAM WEAVES THROUGH the stony pillars nimbly ahead of me. We push on and on and on.

  Was it wrong to let her come? The question nags at the corner of my mind. She could be at peace right now.

  I’m not sure I could have stopped her. But I could have tried harder. I should have. What is it to save one soul from this realm if I doom another? I was too weak, too afraid to give her this one thing, a final peace.

  The Keeper has gotten us this far. Fought beside us against the beast in the river. Even tried to bring Miriam to the Crossing. Could he be all Miriam says? Maybe he’s not as shifty as he seems. Maybe it’s just the toll of the ages he’s spent in the Nethers, the realm tugging away at his mind. If there’s anyone who knows what it means to be trapped, to watch the ages pass by around you as you lose yourself to the years…it’s enough to make anyone unravel.

  As we walk, I look around at the dim strangeness of it all, this peculiar realm. A gilded shimmer catches my eye among the dark pillars. Gold?

  I stop and look back again. Just to see if it’s real. Because it can’t be, not here in this dark, strange barrenness that is the Nethers.

  But it is.

  The pillars are growing small golden nubs. Like the earliest beginnings of fresh branches on a tree. As I make my way through them behind the Keeper, I can’t help but slow down and stare. The thicket of pillars begins to lighten, and ahead, even more shimmers of gold. The little ridges become buds. And the buds are gr
owing something. Round golden leaves, shiny and thick like wax. I reach out to touch one, and it’s cool, smooth, metallic. Still soft and growing.

  I look to Miriam. She raises here eyebrows.

  Ahead, a soft sound: chink. We follow it through even more pillars, thick buds of gold dripping off them. One drops to the ground next to me, landing in a pile that covers the ground around the foot of the tree. Chink.

  The Keeper has stopped to admire it, too. When he hears our steps, he looks back at us. For the first time since I came across him, he’s smiling—a real smile, a smile of happiness instead of wry bitterness. A smile that spreads wide across his lips shows his broken, crooked teeth and crinkles his eyes. He sighs, “By the Gods, how I love this place.”

  He drops to his knees, leaning over a pool of the gold droplets at a pillar’s trunk. I look around—all the pillars have them. Piles and piles of gold. I lean over and run my fingers over them. Unlike the growing bud, these are flat, hard, and round. They’re coins. Smooth and unmarked, but coins all the same.

  The Keeper jumps back to his feet in a flash.

  “This way,” he says, bright-eyed. “It gets better.”

  “Wait,” Miriam comes to a halt. “This is one of the realm’s traps.”

  The Keeper whips around, rolling his eyes. “Well aren’t you just the little scholar.”

  “We have to get out of here!” she exclaims.

  “Realm trap?” I don’t understand. “What’s a realm trap?”

  “It is of no consequence!” the Keeper cries. “This is our fastest way through.”

  “No consequence? The consequences are huge,” Miriam retorts. She turns to me. “The realm creates traps like these to prey on lost souls. It offers whatever it thinks will tempt you most. Tries to lure you in so that you can never leave. Souls get lost to these traps for ages.”

  “I knew you’d be trouble,” the Keeper says, glaring at her. “Trap or not, this is the way.”

  Miriam narrows her eyes. “It is the only way?”

  “It is the best way. The other way takes much longer. And time, that is something we do not have.” He leans toward us, leering over his staff.

  Miriam gives him a long stare, and then turns to me.

  “He’s right, the time would hurt us,” she says. “But you have to understand—whatever you do, don’t take anything. Or eat anything, for that matter. Or drink anything. Better yet, don’t touch anything. The realm knows what you want, and it will use it against you. It will draw you in and you won’t be able to leave. You might not want to. Ever.”

  Who could ever wish to remain here, in this terrible in-between?

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  We follow the Keeper in. The opulence is too great to take in, piles of gleaming gold that get bigger and bigger, crowd the pathway and spill into it, stretch beyond what I can see. Some of the pillars sprout colors. Blues, greens, reds—sapphires, emeralds, rubies.

  The further in we go, the more elaborate it gets. Elegant golden statues, rings, necklaces, crowns. The piles of gold grow into mountains. Great chests overflow with treasures, too full to close. A soul has claimed one and tries to lug it away, but it won’t budge. He’s caught in the trap. Leave it, my head screams. Forget this. Run. Run to the Crossing and find rest. He’s trapped, I realize. Just like Miriam said.

  The Keeper slows our pace, lost in the treasures. As if he’s forgotten we’re even here.

  The thought rises through me like steam. The box.

  I was too eager before, but this is my chance, I can see if I’m still bound to it here. I have to do it now, while he’s distracted.

  I drift behind him and Miriam, carefully widening our distance. The Keeper takes his time, savors each bejeweled piece. The box calls for me, my hands ache to reach in and free it from its pocket. I hold them to my sides in tight fists. Wait. Wait. Wait.

  My pace slows gradually to a stop. I give the Keeper one more careful sideways glance. His back is to me. In front of him a grand golden statue. Miriam trails behind him. I lift my hand to my pocket and bring out the box.

  It’s strange. I’ve always considered the box such a treasure, so hatefully lovely, with its golden shimmering paint and elegant patterns. But here among real treasures, it seems tired and worn.

  Slowly, slowly, slowly my trembling fingers wrap around its base.

  And then—whoosh—a shadow rushes past at the corner of my vision. I jump and whip around toward it, every particle of my body humming with alarm.

  There’s nothing there.

  But I saw it.

  Didn’t I?

  I stand still as stone, hairs raised and prickling down the back of my neck, waiting for another whoosh of motion to give it away. My fingers strain with needles of pain where they dig into the box’s edges. My eyes dart all around, searching every crevice, every shadow of the massive golden piles. The endless treasures twinkle back at me.

  Nothing.

  I’m more on edge than I thought. I slowly fill my lungs with air and then let it out. There’s no time for these distractions. I push the paranoia away and loosen my grip on the box. My other hand slowly takes hold of the top. My head buzzes with anticipation, fear. What is in it? Am I truly about to face the thing at the root of it all, the deaths, the curse, the reason for my very being?

  I pull on the lid.

  Its seal sticks, then releases with a quiet pop.

  My chest flutters. I can hardly believe it worked.

  The hinge creaks as I push it open, my fingers shaky with nerves, and I peek hungrily inside.

  Within lays a large uncut emerald, rough and sparkling, attached to a glistening golden chain. It is simple and unassuming, should pale in comparison to the treasures surrounding me. But I stand transfixed, staring blankly at its strange, seductive beauty. My entire body pounds with pulsing delight. This is it, the thing I’ve guarded so long, the thing I’ve fought for, killed for.

  I want to hold it.

  It’s like a craving, a deep desire that was in me all along, and I am just now recognizing. I reach out to pick it up. But before I can, there is a zing of rushed steps through scattering coins and something rushes toward me.

  Miriam gasps. “Look out!” she yells.

  A rushing blur, a tug at my fingers, and the box is gone. My chest drops out and I wait for the force to take over my body and reclaim it.

  The force doesn’t come.

  Panic fills the vacuum where my chest should be, ice cold and dark as pitch.

  It’s gone.

  The box—the necklace—is gone.

  I process what has happened just in time to catch the Keeper’s low cackle, the swoosh of his cloak as he turns away from me with the box in his hand.

  It’s gone and there is nothing tethering me to it anymore, nothing keeping it from disappearing forever into the abyss of the Nethers.

  I should be relieved, should be happy to let it go, just stand here and let the box leave my life forever. But wild panic claws against my ribs until I feel they will burst. A sinking realization builds inside me that this was the only thing that was ever certain in all my years and years just, and it just left me behind with nothing but questions. The useless too-late understanding that I never could have really left the box here, because even if the magic does not bind me to it here, I would not have been able to. That I am bound to it in other ways.

  And now it is gone and the Keeper is getting away. I have to stop him, without the box’s help.

  And now he has a head start.

  The panic inside me burns into seething rage.

  Mine.

  I thunder after him with a feral growl and leap for him, my fingers grasping onto whatever they can, tangling into his cloak, and we go rolling across the gilded ground. Mingled with the clinks of disheveled treasures, the Keeper releases a sharp gasp. He squirms and writhes to get away, is already pushing himself back up. But while he is fast, I am stronger, and he can’t shak
e my grip. I won’t, I won’t, I can’t let go. I pull him down again, we both scramble for the box, my hands hardly aware of what they do as I battle his lightning fast moves.

  Finally the rage bursts in me and I grab for his neck, and I’ve got him, I’ve got him, I’ve got him and I lift him tight in my fist as I stand, pulling him off the ground, and his feet dangling and my chest throbbing a hundred miles a second because if he gets loose he will be gone in a flash, faster than my mind can tell my feet, go.

  And there it is, locked into his flailing fist. The box. My box.

  His eyes are fastened to mine. His face turns red.

  “Let it go!” I cry. “Let it go or I will kill you!”

  The Keeper grimaces. “Does anything stick in your muddy brain? You cannot kill me, you fool. I am immortal.” His words are thin and choked, but still soaked with pride.

  His face is turning from red to purple. His struggle turns sluggish. He should be going unconscious by now.

  “How about we make sure?” Miriam has caught up to us. Her voice comes from just behind me, contempt leaking out the edges.

  Purple to blue, blue to white, as his face drains of color.

  The strain of his weight pulls at the wound in my shoulder. It bites like a fresh blade twisting inside it. Splitting. Widening. Deepening. I clench my fingers tighter. He coughs and gags against their pressure.

  “Why?” I demand. “We had a deal. You were already getting it.”

  “Guess…I don’t trust you.” He somehow squeezes the words out. They sound broken and lost, each a separate piece, spit out like a loose tooth. “Looks… like I… was right.”

  Helpless fury bursts inside me, and I punch him. Partly because the pain spreading over my back is too much, partly because I can’t stand watching the life draining from his undying face.

  His flailing turns to convulsions. His eyes turn flat and hollow. Each shake of his body shoots bolts of pain from my wound across by back and down my arm.

  “Let it go!” I hear my own words as if they came from behind me. They are small in my head, but they come out in a roll of fierce thunder.

  Throbbing blue veins stand out against his sallow skin. His eyes are bulging.

 

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