The pull of the Raven-Eater was strong and steadfast. It had been tugging at her souls since the moment the Elder brought her into the Land of the Living. The darkness had shadowed her black eyes, clouding her vision, impairing her judgment. As a child, it was too tough a burden to bear. For years Smoke Speaker fed her herbs and powerful mixtures meant to bind the evil blood that pulsed through her veins. He taught her good, righteousness. And he succeeded.
Like her mother, Whisper came to love nature and animals. She respected their spirits, what they had to offer the world. She believed in balance and harmony, and was willing to bleed for the protection of the natural world. People came to her for help, for treating illnesses, for prayers of good fortune, for advice. Though she never personally connected with any of them, she was always willing to extend her hand in assistance, even if she kept her words to a minimum.
But now, he was not there to guide her through the deceptiveness that ruled the Land of the Dead. He could not offer his advice, teach her life lessons based upon his own experiences. He couldn’t stand between his granddaughter and the beast who once tried to take her life as she faced her most difficult task yet.
Smoke Speaker knew what would happen. The Raven-Eater would try to kill Whisper, until he realized who she was. He would know then that he couldn’t destroy the half-breed, even if Whisper didn’t, and so he would change his tactics, trick her. The Raven-Eater would ask her to fight for him, join him as a ruler. And that part of her still dominated by his bloodline would awaken once again.
For all his training, all his education, Smoke Speaker couldn’t prepare Whisper for the power that released itself in her souls upon death. He could only pray to Creator that she was able to resist its pull towards the darkness.
Because he had faith in his apprentice, his granddaughter, he would do this one thing for her. He would trade his life for more time.
He didn’t know what his sacrifice would mean for the future. If Whisper succeeded and time went back to the day of Cole’s death, then the Elder wasn’t sure his life would be restored. Perhaps he would survive the journey, or his body may lie in waste until stumbled upon by an unlucky traveler or hungry animal. Either way, Smoke Speaker’s life was no longer his to bear, and he welcomed the unknown.
Standing at the window, the Elder cast one final look at the beautiful stars above, the boys who had danced and danced until they became one with the night sky, then lowered himself to the thin mattress. This jail cell couldn’t contain the abilities Creator had bestowed upon him so many years ago, gifts handed down from grandfather to father to son.
Lying on his back with his hands folded across his heart, the Elder reached out to the generations of Speakers that filled his family tree, the ones who made up every bit of his soul and fed him the power to speak through smoky tendrils. He would draw on what bits of magic they left behind in the living world to slow time down. No one would know what was happening, though they would feel sluggish and perhaps a bit confused, as their minutes stretched to hours, their hours to days. But Ian would have more time to reach the Western Sun before the boy was buried.
It had to be done now. Smoke Speaker could sense the impending approach of the Army of the Dead. They were getting closer, and with each step their evil ripped into the Land of the Living. The clouds had already darkened, stars already faded, plants already wilting. The signs were subtle but to the trained eye, and the Elder knew exactly what to look for.
With no thoughts of regret, and with the image of his beautiful daughter in mind, Smoke Speaker released the last bit of his life into the forces that made up the Land of the Living.
Ian wasted no time in plucking Cole up from the raft and stepping back onto solid ground. The Army of the Dead was getting closer, and the last guard of the Raven-Eater was already far ahead. If he could see that far, Ian would have known that Hunting Hawk had forced his horse into the icy waters, the splashes reflecting swirls of red and purple lights that drifted into the sky.
“Run quickly,” the RiverKeeper ordered, nearly shoving Ian backwards with his oar. “Kanegv has but one gift left for you.”
“What—” Ian started to ask, only to be silenced when the old man turned his back. Though his head was screaming at him to run towards the Western Sun, his heart was drawn towards the RiverKeeper, who was staring down at the stone covered in the blood of the half-breed.
In his mind, the RiverKeeper made his wish. He let his thoughts fill with images of his beautiful wife, ideas of what his daughter would have looked like as a young woman. They were both so lovely, and loved him dearly, loved him as he used to be in the living world. His wish was simple, to be with his family again in the Spirit World.
Having made his desire known to Creator, he released the stone into the river.
Ian watched through wide eyes as the water rippled from the stone, ringlets surrounding the old man in spinning circles that vibrated and pulsed. The RiverKeeper merely smiled, a peaceful expression Ian had never known. Then, with no elaborate show, no fancy departure, he merely disappeared. Who would man the boat now was a question he didn’t have time to consider. But there must always be a RiverKeeper, and had Whisper of told him the story, he would have learned that the next unfortunate soul to pick up the oars would be cursed with the eternal duty.
“Good luck, old man,” Ian murmured, then turned on his heel and began the long race through tangled woods to the Western Sun. He dodged boulders, fallen trees he didn’t remember being there last time. Cole clutched his neck, whimpering in his father’s ear, quietly crying over and over again that he wanted to go home. Ian was already panting, constantly struggling to catch his footing. Besides the deep cracks and loose rocks that lined the ground, Ian wasn’t used to running while carrying a seven year-old. The RiverKeeper’s words reflected in his ears, Kanegv has but one gift left for you.
What gift, he thought, sucking in a deep, hot breath. She’s no longer here. Whisper was dead. No one could survive that arrow through the chest. He didn’t care what the RiverKeeper said, no one magically died a second death only to live once more. And worse, she died because he left her behind. So what could she have to give?
He didn’t have to wonder long.
A piercing cry from up above startled Ian into stopping dead in his tracks. The sound reminded him of the witch that burst from thin air and nearly suffocated Whisper to death. He wouldn’t let that happen again.
But this time there was no witch. This time that shrill scream came from an enormous eagle soaring above him. Its wingspan was at least the length of his house, with feathers of brilliant gold. A bald eagle, Ian realized when the giant creature swooped down, and starting coming for him.
“Oh…God.”
With his heart in his throat, and Hunting Hawk somehow already more than halfway across the river, Ian released a long stream of terrified curses and struggled to figure out how he was going to outrun this incredible beast in a land where hiding places were few and far between. He was too far away from the patch of woods. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to duck into, nothing to do when the eagle shifted positions, bearing down with talons wide open. In a last ditch effort to avoid being ripped apart by the razor-sharp claws, Ian leapt to the side, hoping to confuse the animal.
The eagle merely announced his annoyance with a harsh shout that nearly made Ian’s ears bleed, then reached out with an enormous foot and grabbed both man and child from the earth.
Ian fought against the beast, pounding his fists against the hard flesh that wrapped around shiny black talons. But he was in a tight hold, and could barely move. In fact, the eagle’s toes were wrapped around his back and legs so that he was almost in a sitting position, with his arms locked to his chest, and therefore safely locking in Cole.
Do not fight Eagle.
“Whisper?”
Ian craned his neck, swearing he could hear his guide’s voice coming from the creature as they rose into the night sky. He half expected to see her riding
the eagle’s back. Then he felt something, a warm kind of tingle that reverberated through the bird’s blood and spread to Ian. A message, whispered to Eagle from the Land of the Living before this journey ever even began, a message that traveled from the creature’s heart, through its soul, and transferred into Ian’s unsuspecting mind.
Eagle is my last gift, Mr. Daivya, Whisper said inside his head. Eagle is majestic, a warrior for Creator against the Raven-Eater. He will take you to the Bridge of the Dead.
“Then why didn’t he take us to the Fire Tower?” Ian muttered to himself.
As if having anticipated the question, Whisper gave the answer. Only Eagle defies the Raven-Eater, and so he is cursed. Eagle must only fly away from the Fire Tower, and into the Western Sun, where he begins his eternal journey again.
So he can’t fly enemies to the Raven-Eater’s front door, Ian concluded. It made sense, in the twisted way that everything in the Land of the Dead made sense.
He could relax, though, and that was all that mattered to him. So he held his son as tightly as possible and hummed a made-up song that lulled them both to sleep.
Chapter 38
It was a sight she had seen often in her dreams, a view she had longed for as a child, one she felt incomplete without. This sight came to her in visions, as it was a part of her very core, what made up the Raven-Eater, and therefore what made up half of her soul.
They stood atop the Fire Mountains, overlooking the Land of the Dead. Whisper kept her place two steps behind the Raven-Eater, staying focused on him should he choose a sudden attack as they watched the Army of the Dead advance on the river. But the longer she stood there, taking in everything that would be hers, the more she realized that she had nothing to fear. There were many suggestions of hate and vengeance swarming about the Raven-Eater’s mind, but the dominating thought was that he could not kill her, and so he would use her to build his kingdom in the Land of the Living.
It gave Whisper a dark kind of thrill to know she couldn’t be destroyed. Smoke Speaker had explained it once to her, informing her that when the living soul bonds with that of the dead, it creates an impenetrable force that shields the body from harm. A half-breed could bleed, could feel pain and hunger, could cry, could suffer every human emotion, but couldn’t die. The living half could pass into oblivion, but the death side would live forever, even after the body had withered away from old age. Only in the Land of the Dead would a half-breed live on in the same body in which it died.
The Elder had called this a curse, but as Whisper felt her strength build, her eyes sharpen, her mind fill with a power she had never known before, she knew it was a gift. Being the half-breed gave her the power to do as she wished, to change the world as she saw fit.
And no one could stop her.
Whisper took three steps forward, stopping at the edge of the cliff. From behind, the Raven-Eater kept a close watch on the half-breed that was his daughter. He was drawing her in, sucking her into his world of domination, and succeeding because she was, indeed, half his. But he was still cautious of her motives, and of her power. He had tried to kill her once because of what pulsed through her blood, as it wasn’t the little girl he had once feared. It was the woman she would grow up to be.
That woman was here now, and it was up to him to defeat whatever good the Elder had managed to stain her with.
“What is your purpose here, half-breed?” he asked with his harsh, deep voice that cackled in the dry air. Whisper didn’t answer, but merely stared forward, watching the Army of the Dead begin their walk across the river. The Raven-Eater crossed his arms. “You removed my guards, and my son, for what reason?”
“Your guards do not serve me, and would not even if I ordered it,” Whisper replied, sparing her father a stolid glance. “And so they are of no use.”
“And my son?”
“He has no place in the Fire Tower.” She felt that truth deep in her heart. Cole Daivya was not meant for the Land of the Dead. His soul belonged in the light. “His return to the Land of the Living restores the balance between our worlds.” It was a balance disrupted by a living child being taken from his life without having breathed his last breath. Being taken too soon, ripped away from an unfulfilled life without just cause, threw the harmony of nature into a mix of chaos. For the survival of the Land of the Living, the Raven-Eater’s chosen child had to be rescued.
With the balance restored, her debt to the Elder for saving her from the Guardian of the Dead was fulfilled. She owed him that much, penance for his intense training and bravery in facing what lie beyond the Western Sun. Now she was free of that burden.
Such words coming from the half-breed, a creature bred to deceive, did not pacify the Raven-Eater’s doubt. He held out a hand. “Prove your allegiance, half-breed,” he ordered, a bright white flame forming in his palm.
Whisper stared at the fire, which hovered just centimeters from his flesh. In time, she would learn to use her new skills, and could do so much more than that. “In what way, Raven-Eater?”
But then her mind tapped into the thoughts that reverberated off his soul. She saw what he saw, the path to the Western Sun consumed in flames, Eagle struck down, Ian and Cole tumbling to the ground, flesh burning as they struggled through their race. They were almost to the Bridge of the Dead, and the Raven-Eater wanted their journey to end in a red blaze.
She turned her eyes, filling with power as her pupils dilated and irises darkened to an even deeper shade of black, back to the Raven-Eater. “To kill Eagle is a great offense against Creator.”
The Raven-Eater’s scarred mouth twisted into an evil grin. “You are no longer under his control, half-breed. To kill Eagle means your loyalty to the Great Spirit has come to an end.”
The thought interested her. No longer bound by Creator’s rules, free to worship the spirits of her choosing, eternal wandering no longer a fear. Whisper stepped closer to the fire, taking in a deep breath and letting the magic granted to her in death work without boundaries.
Feeling only the slightest of regrets at what she was about to do, Whisper blew into the fire.
Just as Ian was letting himself enjoy the relaxing ride in Eagle’s thick talons, the entire world erupted into a searing sphere of fire. Huge balls of pure flame poured from the sky, slamming into the ground and filling deep cracks with bright red rivers of fire and brimstone. In this land of black and gray nothingness, the incredible orange and red hues stung his eyes while burning his flesh. Trees just below his feet burst into red ash, and before he could wonder why they weren’t flying higher, Eagle released a painful shriek tinged with torment.
Ian looked up to see Eagle’s wings laced with orange flames, flames that licked their way closer and closer to their prey. Unable to fly, Eagle struggled to lower his cargo to the ground, but collapsed mid-air when the fire consumed his body.
The three crashed to the ground, Ian and Cole rolling across the scorched earth, dodging burning rocks and pitted lava. When they rose, both were marked with the scars of their fall, Cole with a black burn across his cheek and Ian’s arms charred with pink rashes. Eagle landed hard, skidding only a few feet before coming to a stop. Holding Cole close to his chest despite the burns that laced his throat, Ian raced to his flighted companion, falling to his knees. He couldn’t leave such a majestic creature there to die.
Eagle merely looked up at Ian with apologetic eyes, eyes that urged him to continue on, to leave him to die. Sacrifices must be made, Ian thought he could hear, and sometimes sacrifices are made at the cost of others.
Not knowing if he was moving by his own free will or by Eagle’s last power, Ian rose and spun around, searching for the Western Sun. His search was fast, as the Western Sun loomed ahead of them with a menacing glare that made Ian’s knees buckle. The red and purple sunset didn’t look so beautiful anymore; instead, it was like a warning of danger if he chose to pass through.
But there was no other way, and so he sucked in a deep breath, glancing behind him to se
e the black cloud that was the Army of the Dead marching through the fire, and Hunting Hawk far ahead of them, just about to pass Eagle’s burning body. Ignoring the searing pain as his skin blistered and his clothes stuck to the burns on his back, his mind thought back to his first passing, when Whisper felt her way across the sun to the sliver of a portal that cut through thin air.
After a few moments, his fingers touched the delicate edge and he slipped through, leaving the Land of the Dead behind just as a wall of flames hurled towards him.
Chapter 39
In his desperate flight of escape, Ian had forgotten perhaps the most horrific part of his journey to the Western Sun—the melting of his eyes.
As he stood on the other side of the Land of the Dead, finally free of the blistering fire that had erupted amidst unsuspecting travelers, Ian was blind. Only a white cloud met his vision, and when Cole whimpered, kicking his father in the stomach when he struggled in panic, Ian knew that he too couldn’t see.
But they had to move forward, and to do so they would have to fight the pull of the Western Sun. It was twice as strong for Ian as he carried both himself and his son across the hot earth, and each step was slow, lethargic, and painful. Yet as he moved, hearing the grunts and moans of the fallen all around them, his eyes began to cool. A sensation even stranger than the melting began as his eyes congealed and slowly formed. He imagined his retinas being reconstructed, reattaching to the cornea, giving him back his bright blue irises. It was a wonderful sensation, if not eerie and a bit uncomfortable, feeling as though he had opened his eyes underwater.
And then the familiar sight of a land littered with fallen souls met his vision, fuzzy as it still was. Thankful for his sight, Ian continued his journey, hunched over to protect himself from the fierce winds, concentrating only on keeping himself on two feet as the pull continued to work against him. Looking ahead, he could see the edge of the Western Sun’s grasp, the place where Whisper had attached herself to him and ordered him to move. But it was so far away, so far from salvation, so far from relief.
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