Mud

  “Where is he?” I whip around in a circle, brace for the next attack. “Where’s Kythiel?”

  “He’s—” Jordan’s eyes flicker away and back. “It’s over.”

  I follow his glance and find the rubble.

  Shattered rock everywhere, large shards and broken crumbles. I step past them and walk through it. My hands into fists, trying to hold the moment together.

  “It was incredible. What you did,” Rona says. She’s just behind me. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It obliterated him.” Jordan steps to my side. “Where did it come from? All that power?”

  My eyes drift back to the hovering crowd. All of them just stare back at me.

  “What are they doing here?”

  They shouldn’t be here.

  “They came from the village. To see what has happening. The fighting could have been heard from miles around, if anyone was out there.” Jordan says.

  I stare out at them all. They stare back. Wide-eyed and blinking and unsure. There is too much to process, my mind is too confused. I push them out of my mind and try to focus on what happened.

  The broken rocks are thickest at the middle. Under them, Kythiel’s bright white robe lays crumpled and limp, glistening ash strewn through them like crushed diamonds.

  “Is that… is he dead?”

  “Yes. And no. I don’t think so,” Rona stutters. “Angels don’t die, really. In the Host, they’re all soul. He doesn’t need his body to survive. It was just for Terath. But he’s gone. He’s broken. I don’t think he can come back, not for a long while.”

  Her voice falters, a drop trickles down her face. They were happy once, I remember. I wonder if part of her still loves him, despite it all.

  I don’t dare ask. Instead, I kick at the rubble.

  Clink.

  Something hard is wrapped within the remnants of Kythiel’s robes. The shards of rock bounce back off it. I crouch down and dig into the folds. My fingers find smooth glass. I pull it out, shaking it free of the ash.

  A jar. It emanates a soothing light. Fills me with quivering excitement.

  My soul.

  The jar catches the sunlight and multiplies its rays.

  It’s mine. It’s here. It’s real. Resting right in my hand. I don’t need to wait for Theia. Finally, I can be free.

  But how do I put it in me?

  “Oh—” Rona gasps. “Oh Gods.”

  Jordan steps closer. He looks at the jar from over Rona’s shoulder. His face drains of color.

  “Is that… ” He cuts off, for once struggling for the words.

  Their expressions flatten with confusion and disgust. My mind muddies. Something is wrong.

  I look again at the jar clutched in my hands, and something jagged knifes at my gut.

  Streaks of dark liquid red stretch over its inside walls. They were hidden under the sun’s glare off the jar. The light writhes and twists. For a flash as it struggles, I see a face pressed against the glass. A shudder overcomes me and the jar falls from my hand. It cracks into pieces on the rocks. The soul leaks through, expands to full size on the sand.

  A twist to my gut—if this soul is mine, why does it look like someone else? This one is thin, short, and frail. And it’s somehow different from the souls in the Underworld, somehow less. Writhing, gasping, seizing.

  Helpless.

  And I am helpless watching it. My arms hang in limp horror and I am frozen by the grotesque struggle.

  “What’s wrong with it?” I cry.

  “I… I don’t know.” Rona kneels beside it. “I think… he cut it out of someone. Someone living.”

  “How do we send it on?” Jordan’s voice is tight, and loud, despite the quiet.

  Rona shakes her head, eyes wide and dilated. “I don’t know how it’s here. It should have gone right to the Underworld. He trapped it in Terath somehow.”

  The soul writhes, gasps, and flails like a fish dredged up to the shore. Its eyes bulge and blink without seeing.

  A tingling panic rises up from my toes up my legs my chest sets my head ablaze. I need to do something. But there is nothing we can do. We stand frozen, helpless horror etched into our faces, watching the soul’s struggle. Finally, slowly, it fades to nothing.

  “Is he… ” But he was already dead. “Did he pass on?”

  Rona shakes her head again. “I don’t think so. I don’t think it could. I think it might have just… ended. I’m not sure it exists anywhere anymore. Gods,” she wraps her arms around herself. Still staring where the soul flailed. “I knew Kythiel was beyond help. But this. Who cuts away a man’s soul? What would make him want to do that?”

  Her eyes are full with tears.

  It bites at my skin and singes through my mind. Burning shame. All-consuming.

  “It’s my fault.”

  Add it to the great pile of the awful things I’ve caused.

  “I told him I’d bring you back for a soul. He said he couldn’t, but I said it was the only way. I didn’t know. I never would have… ”

  But there’s no point. What difference is it what I would have done? I would not have done many things, if I had known. There is only what is. My head sinks. I stare at the broken, bloodstained glass. It wouldn’t have worked. Even if I had returned Rona to him. This soul would never have been my own.

  “No. You didn’t know. You couldn’t. It’s my fault,” Rona says. “It’s because of me that he’s become this.”

  “No. It’s not your fault. Neither of you.” Jordan’s face hardens with anger. “Kythiel made his own choices. But that’s not what’s important now. What matters now is what comes next.”

  He face hardens with determination. He kneels, lifts up the largest piece of the jar, picks up the smaller pieces out of the sand, and places them into it.

  The vision comes rushing back to me, Theia’s final whisper, End this. It’s massive, more than I can carry. But I also can’t let it go.

  “I’ve got to fix it. I swore to Theia I would.”

  They turn to me and stare.

  “To Theia?” Jordan frowns. “I thought you didn’t follow the Gods.”

  I need to tell them. But where to start. How to explain.

  “The rocks. You asked how I did it. How I stopped Kythiel,” I take a deep breath. “Theia came to me.”

  And then it all comes pouring out.

  About the box, the Hunters, how Kythiel came to me, how he begged, how we came to our deal. I tell them about the Underworld, about the Keeper and the beasts and the traps, the little boy who was so much like Jordan, and yet not. I tell about Abazel. How my mistakes made it so they can break free and start the Third Realm War. The Hunter who saved Rona only to die under my hand. And I tell them what happened when Kythiel knocked me out. The Goddess, the vision She gave me. How I swore to Her I’d fix it. All of it.

  They stare at me. Eyes wide. Mouths open. Brows pulled tight.

  Rona reaches out and touches my forehead where it burns. “Is that how you got this mark? You didn’t have it before the fight.”

  I reach up and touch it too, brushing against her fingers. It’s hot against my fingers. “Yes.”

  “And there’s one more thing.” I turn to Jordan, my throat tight. “I saw your sister there.”

  Jordan steps forward.

  “Miriam? You saw her? Is she okay?”

  “Yes.” The memory of watching her drift away into the abyss rises in my mind. “She is at peace.” Surely, she has made it back to the Crossing by now.

  I glance toward Rona. I don’t know if I should give him what I know in front of her. But I have to tell him. “She told me what all the training was for.”

  I don’t know quite where to begin, how to say it. I explain to him all she said about his mother, the voices she heard, how Miriam herself had only just started to believe.

  “But believe what?” he asks.

  “That you were chosen by the Gods. That you’d lead the Three’s army in the final R
ealm War.”

  Rona gasps. Jordan’s lips pull together tight. His eyes drop to the sand and the moment is filled with a great quiet. He was so talkative as a boy. But there is a stillness in him that is strong. I wonder what lies beneath the stoic expression? But he doesn’t tell me. Instead, he turns to face the villagers. I forgot they were there.

  They huddle together, whispering to each other, but when Jordan turns to address them, they hush each other and quiet to listen to him.

  “I know you came to the shore in fear last night, but you have witnessed the turning of a tide. You bore witness to the first battle of the Final Realm War,” he says. He gestures toward me. “Theia’s own agent defeated a First Creature who turned his back on the Gods.”

  My stomach tosses. Theia’s agent? Hardly. I’m just trying to set right what I’ve broken.

  “Soon this will get bigger. Soon it will be all of us fighting.” A murmur grows among the crowd. “But we are ready for it. This is what we have been waiting for. Preparing for. Training for, for generations. Soon it will be our time to take a stand. We will fight with our Gods at our side, and just as we saw on this night, we will find victory.”

  The murmurs break into cheers.

  Jordan calls over it to hush them. “My friends, our moment is near. But not now. Not today. Go back to your homes. Rest. Enjoy each other. Tomorrow we keep preparing for what is coming.”

  Jordan raises one hand, fingers spreading, and says a short prayer and blessing. The villagers bow their heads and close their eyes. Rona joins them. But I just watch him, Jordan, the strong man he became while I slipped away to the Underworld. He’s already just where he ought to be to lead Theia’s people in this war. Did he sense it in himself somehow? Or did Miriam and his mother train him so well that it happened on its own?

  The blessing ends. The people begin to disperse and walk back to the village. Jordan watches them a moment before turning back to us.

  “You’ll stay in my village until Rona is well,” he says. “And then we will figure out what needs to be done.”

  “No.” It launches out of me with blunt force—I can’t go back there, live on the fringe of their preparations, on edge and waiting to hurt someone again. Too many have been hurt by my blunders already. No more. “You take Rona. But I must go.”

  Go where? Do what? I don’t know yet. Whatever is next is dark and blurry. But it’s bound to mean more danger, more fighting, more death. There’s been too much of these already.

  “‘Take Rona?’ I’ve come back from the dead, I’m not a child whose fate is to be decided for her,” Rona retorts. “I’m coming too.”

  Rona’s declaration floats, just hangs in the air. Her face is hard and determined, but her legs still shake with fatigue. There’s no way

  “You’re weak—”

  “I’m not.” She stumbles in her passion and has to grab Jordan’s shoulder for support. “Well, I am now. But I’m healing. I will be strong.”

  She tilts her chin proudly, the strong cheekbones showing themselves in her determination.

  “It’s too dangerous,” I growl. “I can’t be responsible for—”

  “Responsible?” she scoffs. “You brought me here. I didn’t ask for this. But now I’m here, and I’m a fighter. What are you afraid of? That I’ll die? That I’ll go back where I belong?”

  That I’ll do her more harm. Cause her more pain.

  “If the war is really coming, you’ll need me. I was there for the first one. I’m good in a fight. And Kythiel might try to come back. I’m the only one who can warn you if he does. He’ll come to me again, I know he will.”

  “But that’s all the more reason… ” But I’m stumbling over my words, not quick enough to keep up with her.

  “I’m coming too.” Jordan’s bright eyes are ablaze with determined flecks of orange, catching the sun’s rays.

  “No.” The ground is slipping out from under me. This is the opposite of what I swore to myself. To put an end to the wake of destruction. To keep them safe. Both of them.

  “Adem, listen,” Jordan steps toward me. “Haven has resources—allies, armies, prophets. This is what we’ve been preparing for. You just told me, my whole life was preparation for this. You know.” he puts a hand on my shoulder, his eyes bore into me. “You know. I’m already part of this. You don’t have to protect me anymore.”

  But he doesn’t have to be in this part. Neither of them do. His fingers are tense against my shoulder.

  “You’ve done too much alone already, Adem. Look where it’s gotten you,” he says. “You have to let us help. You need us.”

  His words stick inside me like rocks sinking into mud.

  How much of this could have been stopped if it hadn’t be left up to me? Would the necklace still be safe? Would I have known about breaking the barrier in time? Would I have known what Kythiel was before any of this started?

  Theia Herself tasked this to me. But I’m weak. Dense and ignorant. How much worse can this still get? The fall down seems bottomless. The stakes are too high, the fate of the entire realm. Too much to bet on just me.

  I hang my head and nod into my chest. Jordan squeezes my shoulder and releases, turns away to give Rona support and lead her into the village.

  I don’t follow. There’s one last wrong I must right first.

  Chapter 33

  THE WAVES SIGH.

  My legs stretch, ambling up the shore, through the cattails where the rough sand gives way to rich silt. To the Hunter.

  He still lies there, stiff, broken, and dead.

  The eyes, stare blank and glassy at the horizon, catch light off the mid-morning sun.

  I reach out and push down his cold eyelids with my fingers, sadness brooding thick in the air around me. This Hunter was not just another assailant coming at me from the darkness. He was a friend. For that short time. An ally. And in a blink, gone.

  More blood on my hands. More lives lost. More weight to add to the burden I carry always.

  And it is far from over.

  The box is nothing but shreds of wood, and even still, it rules me. Can I ever break free of it?

  For now, all I can do is this. It’s a drop in the bucket. More penance than progress. But I need to do it.

  I drag the Hunter’s body up the shore and among the cattails. I kneel in the dirt, and I dig. The silt is soft, damp, and cool in my hands, rough against the fresh skin grown over the nub of my last finger. It pulls away easily, willingly, to accept the Hunter into it. The cool rich soil in my hands feels good, right. Warm sun reaches out to me in thick rays. A soft, salty breeze brushes over my face. I soak it up, taking in as much of it as I can. I don’t know what’s next, but I know I won’t be here long. It’s a welcome break from my weariness, eases the heft of the great burden upon me.

  Even if just for the moment.

  But the pressure is mounting between the realms. I can already feel it. All I’ve done, the damage I’ve caused, the aftermath still to come, it weighs heavy on Terath. The debt I owe to set it right again weighs heavy on me. It is a load that is building, building, building on my back, my shoulders, and through every muscle in my body.

  But it doesn’t cripple me like before.

  When the hole is big enough, I brush off the dirt from my palms and lift the Hunter into it. The body settles into the ground, looks to be at rest. A wave of relief comes over me. I lean in and fill the dirt back over him.

  The spot on my forehead where Theia touched me still tingles, a gentle buzzing burn. A reminder of all that’s passed, memories clear and painful and vivid. A reminder of what I’ve promised, of what Theia has promised to me. My soul. Not something torn from another, but something that is truly mine. Of the vision, the knowledge She planted in me. What does it mean? It was more than how to float the rocks. I have a connection to that dark-haired boy in the forest’s shadow. I know it, I feel it, restless and calling to me, just out of reach.

  I pat down the soil, smooth it out flat and e
ven.

  A voice stretches toward me from the village. Jordan. He stands between the village huts and waves me in.

  Almost ready.

  I pick out some nearby pebbles and place them over the Hunter’s resting place. I press my thumb into the ground over them to form Theia’s symbol. The seed.

  But it doesn’t leave me satisfied. It’s not enough, this small mark in the sand.

  No more hiding in the shadows. No more rootless impermanence. It needs something more, something that won’t roll away with the next breeze.

  Near my foot, a sapling is just starting to take root and sprout its first leaf. I push away the dirt and gently lift it up, reopen the ground where I pressed Theia’s symbol into the earth and settle the sapling into its place.

  I stand and look at my work. Better.

  Footsteps brush the sand behind me.

  “Come,” Jordan says. He places a warm hand on my shoulder. “Rona is settled and resting. Let me show you your hut. The others will not disturb you. I’ll talk to them.”

  Now that the Hunter is buried, I don’t know what to do next. I nod, and let him lead me.

  A new day is here. Already the village is coming to life, pulling out their pots, and gathering in its heart. A surge of warmth comes over me.

  I know it’s far from over. And I don’t know what it all means yet. But for once, there is something beyond the burden. Action. Answers. Life.

  For once, I’m not alone.

  THE END

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