Mud

  The beast in the water.

  A rush of guilt, then gratitude. He’s right. We would never have made it out from here. Not if more of those beasts are lurking under the river.

  But he betrayed me. Is he just keeping me here until the demons can catch up?

  “How did you find us?”

  I almost have to shout to be heard above the rumbling.

  He gestures out to the realm. “Everything knows where you are. I warned you. I told you, don’t disturb the realm. It’s raging now.”

  The demons’ calls are getting louder. Closer.

  He pauses and looks me over. “By the Gods. You look terrible.”

  “Why are you here?” I growl.

  The ground is shaking with rage. I am shaking with weakness. In my arms, Rona is shaking with fear.

  Another hard push with his staff and the Keeper is at the shore, the tip of his boat at my side.

  “I—” he fidgets at the staff with his hands. “I came to help you get out.”

  “To help?” I growl, “You have helped enough already.”

  He drops his head, stares down at his worn, wrinkly hands.

  “It’s the realm traps. The treasures. It eats at me. There’s a reason I stay at my helm. And that box… its power… ” His head whips back to me. His eyes pull together and push wrinkles all over his face. “Where is it?”

  “It’s gone.” Salt in the wound. My anger toward him wells up again.

  “Oh. Gods.” He shifts in his cloak. The water splatters and sputters around us as the realm’s trembling grows and grows and grows.

  The Keeper glances past me as he pushes the boat to the shore, the lines of his face deep and grim.

  “You’re out of time.”

  I follow his glance over my shoulder—a cloud of whooshing shadows is closing in.

  “It’s them or me.” The Keeper stretches out an arm to pull me up.

  I’m out of options, and I’ve got nothing left for him to take anyway. I take it, the raw stub where my finger used to be throbbing. He pulls us into the boat, and as he pushes us off into the raging waters, I set Rona down on the bench.

  The realm’s rumbling swells, the river rages. Thick chunks of crumbled rock tumble from above. Demons swarm around us. But the Keeper is stronger than he looks. Somehow, he keeps us moving forward.

  The pain and cold run so deep, it’s all I am anymore. But I cling to Rona, trying to shield her from the attack.

  Ahead, the river’s mouth opens into a wide, churning abyss. The staff cuts into the river, the boat twists against its pull. The Keeper’s every muscle is strained with the effort to keep it steady as it swerves. His face is dripping with sweat and splashes from the water. His breaths heave. “Go!”

  I stand, lifting Rona into my arms. I step to the edge of the boat, but something tugs at my gut and holds me back.

  The Keeper came through. In the end. We made a deal. I can’t give him what he wanted, but there is something I can give him.

  I turn and reach out to the Keeper. “Come with us.”

  He draws away. The boat dips warily. “What?”

  The cackles of the demons echo toward us, closer and closer.

  “Come with us. Back to Terath.” I can’t just leave him here to their mercy.

  His eyes bulge wide. “I cannot leave!” He pushes my arm away.

  “But—” I don’t understand. “I can bring you back. You can live again.”

  “You mean I can die!” he hisses. “If I leave this place I forfeit my immortality.

  Even if your angel were to give me more years, I’ll end up right back here. I will be forced to go out into the Underworld to cross over. I cannot face it. I will not! Leave me be! Get out!”

  His whole body trembles. Fear. He is so afraid to die he will not go back and live.

  The surprise, the confusion, the helplessness stir through me—and then they’re swallowed in urgency. There’s no time. Over the Keeper’s shoulder, the cloud of demon shadows are closing in, almost close enough to reach out and grab me.

  I pull Rona tight to my chest, step to the boat’s edge and jump.

  The demon shadows rush around me as I soar toward the water. Their teeth take sharp nips at my heels as we plunge into the water.

  And then the river swallows us. Chilling. Wild. The rushing current drowns out all else, the familiar heaviness seeps into me as the water soaks between my particles. I shift Rona against my shoulder and pull hard with my other arm, a pain straining through me with each stroke, biting at my hand, my side, twisting through my shoulder. But I got myself here, and I will get us back.

  As we rise back toward the surface, sharp pecks of demon teeth nip at me, a cyclone of shrieks following. The river thrashes and bites, tosses and teases. With each stroke, I pull, pull, pull. Somehow, I tug us forward against the current. The water begins to tip, and suddenly I am fighting against an upward current, pulling against a tilting wall, and then finally a surge, the strange sensation of falling up. A sudden burst and we are pulled under, an impossible tug and flow in all directions.

  And then suddenly, stillness.

  Chapter 23

  THE NUMBING PAIN of my wounds.

  The piercing cold.

  The aching exhaustion in my muscles.

  It all begins to loosen, break down, and float away into the gentle pull of the waves. The poison softly drifts out of my shoulder, the throbbing sting where my finger used to be eases as smooth skin closes over it.

  I stop swimming and pop my head up.

  The sea stretches as far as I can see in all directions. Nothing but dark, starry vastness expands overhead, reflecting off the water. The waves are the only sound, a soft whisper. The Keeper, the vicious cackling, and the rushing demon shadows are all gone.

  We made it.

  Rona’s arms are wrapped tight around my neck, but they no longer piercing me with the Underworld’s terrible cold. She gasps for air through tight dried lips, coughs up water. I’d assumed that when I got her here she’d be better, healed. Like I did. But she’s barely more than a corpse, her skin still as weathered and depleted as the tortured soul I found her as in the Underworld.

  But she’s here. We made it.

  I lean back and stare at the stars, let the relief soak through me.

  And then Rona releases a raspy scream that stretches over the waves and rattles deep in my stomach.

  I jolt up. Her hands clutch at her middle, a ring of red is growing around her in the water. Dread tingles over my skin. I push her onto her back to see—her death wound is open again, raw and deep in her starved stomach. She’s bleeding out.

  A quiver of panic shoots through me and settles at the back of my neck. Did I bring her back only to relive her death then return to the Underworld all over? Her curdling scream is still ringing through the air. Her eyes look to me in a panicked plea for help.

  I press my palm to her mouth to muffle the sound. “Shhhh. Shhhh. It will be okay.” It has to be.

  For now, all I can do is get her to the shore.

  I wrap my arm around her, hold her close, as if I can keep her soul from slipping away again if I just cling to her strong enough.

  Which way to go? The same endless waves in every direction. I keep on the way we were moving when we crossed, and hope it won’t be too far. I pull harder through the water than I ever have before. Through the night and into dusk. Rona drags along, whimpering and trembling. It is almost dawn when I see the shore. As I pull her onto the shore, dusky pink light streams over the little hut roofs—we’re back at Haven.

  Something sweet and peaceful surges in my chest, like coming home, a feeling that all will be well. But not yet.

  I shove away Rona’s tattered shirt to examine the wound. Her wasted middle is a mess of blood. It pools around the wound and puddles in her starved stomach. I push the waves over her to wash it away and examine the wound. She flinches. More blood begins to pool immediately. I grab the edge of my cloak and press a
handful of soaked cloth into her.

  The cut is deep, jagged. In the short pauses between the swells of blood, I can see the shiny pink of organs underneath where it splits apart. The smell is strong—the steely sharpness of fresh blood mixed with the awful death-stench of the Pits.

  The sun is reaching over the shore, stretching our shadows long over the sand. The villagers will begin to rise soon. The children will come out and start their games. Jordan. But I can’t think about him now. What matters now is Rona, keeping her alive. We have to get somewhere safe, somewhere hidden.

  I break from my mopping, slide my arms under her as gently as I can, slowly lift her up. She gasps, eyes opening wide, and then slips away, unconscious. The blood spills out of her onto my chest, drips down my cloak.

  We need somewhere we can be safe, somewhere we won’t be seen. I scan past the village and up the horizon.

  The cave. It’s still there, still calling to me just as it did last time. Safe. Secluded. Hidden.

  Yes.

  I wade through the waves to hide my steps as I carry her down the shore toward it as quickly as I can. Dank salty air and echoes of the waves and the damp dark rock embrace me into the cave’s mouth. I lay out my cloak on a large rock inside it then place Rona carefully on top of it. The pooled blood spills over her sides.

  How will I hide her body if she dies? What will I tell Kythiel? The thoughts leak into my mind through the cracks no matter how I try to keep them out. It’s no wonder this wound killed her once. I hope by the Gods that Kythiel knew what he was doing. That it won’t send her right back to the Underworld again.

  The day stretches out. Rona goes on, delirious, stiff and still as death, not even knowing where she is. Her skin is pale and puckered, more corpse than living. I go through more pieces of my cloak, press them against her wound until they are stained, dark, and can’t hold any more blood.

  She moans, weakly turns her head in short periods of half-waking. In her sleep, she passes between deadly stills and fits of horror. I have to stifle her screams with my hand to keep the village from hearing and I know if I hold her too tight, I will press the life right out of her. But how hard is too hard? I keep watch over her, powerless to do anything but soak up the life leaking out of her. Horrified at what I’ve brought her back to suffer.

  Once it is dark, I step out to the sea to rinse the stiff coagulated blood out of my cloak so I can keep holding it against her. And then again before morning. As I dip the strips of cloth in the waves, I glance to the village. Could they help her? What could they possibly do for someone so far gone? What could I even say to explain? My gut says Kythiel wouldn’t want the interference. Surely, he knows. He’ll be here soon. Any moment. And he could do so much more for her than any human healer.

  Every time I press the salty wet cloths against her, she flinches against it. I don’t think the bleeding will ever stop. But eventually the handfuls of cloth I press into her don’t darken as quickly. The wound seems smaller than it was before. Her restlessness eases and she relaxes into a more restful sleep. Finally, I can stop, and perch near her on a rock by the cave’s mouth.

  I’ve never seen a human heal so quickly—or recover at all, from a wound so severe. But healing it is. Already her skin is regaining some of its color, the stench of death beginning to leave her. I’ve no explanation, except that her death is reversing itself.

  The village is still wrapped in dusk, the waves padding at the sand, when Rona draws slow breaths. In the stillness a thousand anxieties begin to emerge that were until now drowned in the urgency of keeping Rona alive.

  Kythiel, how much longer?

  If she doesn’t make it, the back of my mind whispers, will Kythiel hand over my soul? I’ve done my part. All I could. He didn’t warn me she’d die all over again when she got here. My soul, my soul, my soul, my soul—no matter how many times I roll the words over I can’t make them stick together.

  And then there is the necklace.

  It’s gone.

  I’m left with nothing but splinters of painted wood.

  It’s just what I’ve tried and tried for, the one thing I wanted all my centuries of being. But a well of feeling heavy as bricks drags at me. The wrong way, the wrong hands now hold it. I should be grateful I’ll never have to hide another Hunter’s body and leave it alone. I should forget all about it.

  But.

  It’s my fault.

  Whatever Abazel wanted, whatever he plans to do with it, it’s only because of me that he can. I brought it right to him.

  Morning sounds begin to rise. Birds call across the sky. Crabs scuttle over the beach. Doors open in the village. Children run through its open center as the women pull out the large pots and begin the morning meal. From a safe distance, I scan through them for a head of red wild curls. I listen for that voice, alive and sparking.

  But Jordan isn’t there.

  A slow terror worms its way into me.

  A boney hand clutches my cloak and rips me away from my thoughts. Rona—she grabs me with sudden strength, her eyes rolling to lock with mine. Her cracked lips part.

  “Water,” she whispers.

  She speaks. The excitement raises little bumps down my arms. She’s getting stronger. Maybe she’ll make it after all.

  Still, alarm rings through me about Jordan, but there’s no choice but to push it aside for now. Focus on Rona. On what I can fix.

  She pulls me toward her, her eyes wide. “Water,” she gasps. Then she collapses back into unsettling stillness.

  Water—the word hits me like a tidal wave. Of course. Humans must drink—humans must eat. No wonder she has not healed. I look over her depleted body, the ribs sticking out through her shirt like they’re trying to break free, the shriveled skin stretched tight against her sharp hipbones, the puckering tautness at her jaw. My fault.

  Water. Now. Lots of it. I run out of the cave toward the sea, never mind that someone might see us—if Rona doesn’t make it, that doesn’t matter anymore.

  I scoop the waves into my hands, run it back to her. She appears unconscious. I freeze—which does she need more, the water or the rest? The water drips between my hands and splatters against her face. Her eyes snap open and she pulls my hands to her mouth, gulping furiously.

  More.

  I run back and forth, back and forth, unable to keep up with her thirst.

  I hold another handful to her lips. She parts them hungrily to take it, and then turns away. A hoarse gagging cough wracks her. Thin shoulders shake and quiver. I bring her more. She drinks. Beads of sweat grow over her forehead and all over her face. Her eyes grow bloodshot. But still she reaches for the water dripping from my hands, so I keep racing back to bring her more.

  She collapses back. I sit. I wait. But edginess wrestles in me and I can’t let go of the feeling that something is wrong. She’s getting worse, not better.

  All I can do is sit. Wait. Watch her too-fast breaths rush in and out of her chest.

  My hands quiver with rage. Where is Kythiel? This is too much, too long.

  Suddenly she lurches up and leans forward. It all comes back up in gagging heaves, all the water I brought her. It splatters hard against the rock.

  Over and over.

  Tears drop from her eyes, her face is coated in a sticky film of cold sweat. The water she coughs back up starts to show worrying threads of red.

  Finally it stops.

  She begs for more water.

  I run to the shore’s edge and draw more of it into my hands, my temples throb with helpless alarm. Even when she gets stronger, she gets weaker again, even weaker than before. She is slipping away as quickly as the water cupped in my hands. And all I can do is meet her demands for more water and watch her struggle to keep it down as the sun rises then drops in the sky and leaves the darkness to wrap its emptiness around me. My mind fills with racing fears I cannot stop.

  All this to bring her back, and now the only thing I can do to help her is killing her. And Kythiel, where is
he, where is he. Foreboding darkness wrestles in my gut. Behind the anxiety for Rona, more fears unravel and tug at me, fill me like a flood. My fingers compulsively trace the rough nub where my small finger used to be. Somewhere beyond in the other realm, Abazel has the necklace. And Jordan, where’s Jordan? What’s happened to him?

  “What have you done?”

  A sharp voice shocks me back to the cave’s darkness. The voice is low and pierces through me with a chill. No one’s ever snuck up on me before. Not once. I whip around from Rona’s side to face it.

  Just outside the cave stands a tall figure, a dark red hood encased in the dim moonlight.

  A Hunter.

  The familiar murky dread seeps through my chest, quivering with fear and an urge for the fight. But that’s over now, there’s nothing left to fight for. The box is gone. The necklace is gone.

  “Again, so soon?” I do my best to keep the trembling out of my voice. Here we go again. He’ll demand the box. Except now, there’s nothing left to give. Just broken splinters of wood.

  I inch closer to him, try to block his view of Rona. The beginnings of a dark beard frame a dark face and dark, weathered eyes.

  “Soon?” His eyebrows burrow down over his eyes. “It has been ten years since we could last even trace you.”

  It’s as if the ground crumbles away from below me.

  “Ten years?”

  I shove past him out of the cave’s mouth, facing out toward the village. Look closer. Ten years? It’s not possible.

  “What have you done with it?” the Hunter urges. “Where is the magic you carry?”

  How could he possibly know about the box? But I can’t explain it all right now. My mind is tangled up in the first thing he said.

  I look around me. For real this time. Carefully.

  Ten years?

  The sea is the same. The shore is the same. But the village.

  The village has grown, with more huts in large rings around its center. I’ve been too caught up in Rona to notice. My mind lingers back over my journey, traces through the time. How long did I wander those dark paths through the Underworld? It’s all a blur. For me a decade can pass in a blink after all my time. Days become meaningless with endless time.