The Eternal Dusk (Daughter of the Phoenix Book Two)

by Victoria J. Price

  A large crystal rested on a knot of tree root, in the centre of a narrow opening in the passageway. He reached out to touch it, and everything went white. Blinding white. He couldn’t see his hands; he couldn’t see anything. Light filled everything, even when he closed his eyes.

  “Descendant of Gabriel, you are in no danger here,” a symphony of voices spoke in unison.

  “Who are you?”

  “We are the Iders. We have been keeping something safe for you, for a very long time.”

  “Something—what do you mean?” Alexander held his arms up to shield his eyes, the light was so blinding.

  “Long ago, the angels could command the winds. The ability to help the dying spirits of Earth was a gift of magic from another and the angels’ priorities shifted over time. The winds were forgotten. But we have kept them safe, for one who might return and teach them to others,” the voices said.

  “Teach them? How can I—”

  The white light thinned and became ribbons wrapping around him. It was still blinding, but beyond the ribbons, Alexander could make out the silhouettes of tall figures.

  “All from Ohinyan could wield the elements, once. But angels are protectors. Givers. Leaders. Your command of the wind will be like no other, in time.” The spirals of light continued to wrap around him, but the figures reached out to him and a soft blue light fell from their hands. Wind rushed in Alexander’s ears. But it was no ordinary wind, it was magic, pouring from the Iders and enveloping him, rushing right through him with a roaring, thundering sound.

  Alexander looked at his hands, at the stream of blue light falling into him. “But how will I control it?” he called out.

  “You’ll know,” the Iders said.

  “I don’t know what to say—I still need your help. The Earth witches, they have an army of spirits at their command, ready to be unleashed upon the people of Earth.”

  “So command the spirits then.”

  “I can’t—no angel can—when the dying choose not to go with us, they’re lost to us.”

  “Because they choose to exist in that form. Erebus and his witches have taken that choice away from them. Offer them what Erebus will not: their very existence. They will do as you ask. Your angels are strong fighters. We have given you the advantage you need to take on the witches. It’s time for you to leave.”

  “But I—”

  The Iders vanished, and Alexander stood inside the tree, staring at the milky white crystal entwined in tree roots. “I still don’t know where the windows back to Ohinyan are,” he said to the empty chamber.

  He turned to leave, but a blue light lit up another passageway ahead of him, and Alexander could make out the outline of more paintings on the tree roots. This passageway was much narrower than the one he’d come through, and he had to duck down to enter it. It was painted with land masses he didn’t recognise, vast oceans bigger than the land. There. He recognised the island that contained London, the locations of windows he knew well. And further out—more windows. Windows along the route he’d taken to meet with the sky spirits. Windows over the ocean, over seas and along coastlines. But would they all lead to Ohinyan? It didn’t matter, for now. It gave the angels a way out, an escape, and no matter how much he wanted to find Fia, he knew he had a responsibility to uphold.

  He studied the maps for a few more moments and turned back down the passageway, past the crystal, past the maps of Ohinyan where he paused to take them in one more time. Creating new maps when this was all over was going to be a priority, he was going to make sure of it. But there wasn’t time to waste, he followed the passageway back out into—whatever it was that housed Yggdrasil, whether it was in a vast room or out in the dark wilderness somewhere, he still couldn’t tell. Despite the canopy of stars and worlds above, something told him he was in a cavern somewhere, deep below another world.

  Weariness had settled into his bones and he’d lost count of how many days he’d been without sleep and a decent meal, but he had to keep going, he had to get back to Earth.

  Your command of the wind will be like no other. How was he to teach himself magic? Alexander looked at his palms as he flew towards the archway that led back to Earth. There was no wind to control here. But there was air—he was breathing it; his wings were pushing against it. Could I? He faced his hands towards the tree roots and fog below him, focusing on the roots that disappeared out of sight. Exhaustion had frayed his concentration, but he fought back at it, focusing on his breathing and tried to clear his thoughts as he held his hands outstretched.

  A breeze began to stir, and then a strong wind. Dust and debris floated around him and he tried harder—he thought of the roots pulling up from amongst the fog and they did with a snap. “It’s working,” he breathed. Realisation washed over him as he watched the roots and the debris spiralling around him. He could fly faster. He focused again—this time on the air rushing him forwards—and it did. He surged towards the archway, through the cavernous room with rushing water below, through the window to Earth and the darkness of the train tunnel, onto the platform and up the winding stairway.

  When he reached the gate that led out onto the street, he was breathless, his heart thundering in his chest. His thoughts raced with ways he could attack the witches. The angels were skilled fighters, even if they were injured—those talismans were all that stood between them and a fair fight with the witches.

  He glanced out onto the street to check for passers-by before squeezing through the smallest opening he could manage. A plan began to take shape in his thoughts. The witches, the spirits, the angels. He stared at his hands for a moment before pushing off into the air, his magic surging him forwards. The Eternal Dusk wouldn’t know what hit them.

  ***

  Alexander landed out of sight of the alleyway below. Sure enough, Kit was waiting behind a dumpster. The fox made a quiet little whining sound and Alexander realised it was a greeting. His entire plan hinged on Erebus not being inside that building—he felt guilty for thinking it, but if Erebus was occupied in Ohinyan with Fia, it might be the only chance of facing Lorn and freeing the angels.

  Kit flicked his chin up towards Alexander but made no sound. No warning. Coast is clear. Alexander flew down to the door, opening it as quietly as possible. He couldn’t draw his swords yet, not in such a confined space, and he listened hard for any signs of movement below. He wanted desperately to check on his friends first, but if his plan was going to work, he’d need the spirits’ help. He made his way down the stairway and opened the same door he’d walked through when he and Halvar had first been caught.

  He held his breath as he walked through, straining to listen. The blue glow of the spirits lit up the ceiling, even though he couldn’t yet see them from the platform. The walkway was empty, so he drew his sword. The building was old and crumbling, the air was musty, even though he knew there had been a lot of movement in it lately. His steps were light, so he tapped the hilt of his sword against the railing to see if it would draw the attention of any witches. Silence. He stepped closer to the railing, leaning forwards to look down at the spirit army below.

  “Spirits,” he began. Shimmering blue faces stared up at him. There were too many to count—they stood so close to each other their ethereal frames overlapped, and they filled the entire floor beneath him. Hundreds, if he had to guess.

  “These witches have cheated you. Used you. Ended your life so that you could serve them—serve Erebus. But you don’t have to do as they say. You know Erebus will destroy you, regardless, once he’s finished with you.”

  The spirits began to shuffle and whisper amongst themselves. Alexander only had one chance at this. Someone would hear him soon enough, and his one chance would be blown.

  “Fight back. Those runes were on your physical bodies. You still have free will. And I will not destroy you—the angels will not destroy you—you know that. Our duty is to protect Earth, even if it means fighting for it. But I need your help. Help me fight the witches—help me
rid them of their talismans and their fire torches so that the angels can have a fair fight. Nothing is holding you here other than their command.”

  “We can’t leave,” one of the spirits finally called out. It was loud, much louder than he’d been speaking to them, and Alexander glanced down either end of the walkway to check for anyone bursting through the doors. No one came.

  “Have you tried?” he asked. “Or are you too afraid?” Something occurred to him them—when someone was dying, they chose whether to go with an angel. Once the spirit was tethered, the angels could set them free. But what about the ones who didn’t go with them—what if they changed their mind? If they had free will and they changed their mind, could they leave? The spirits shifted and mumbled once more. They were here because the Eternal Dusk had called them here—not because they’d chosen it. Maybe, Alexander thought, maybe he and the other angels could set them free.

  “I’m not afraid.” A spirit stepped forward, a young boy, elbowing his way close to below where Alexander stood. “There are more, you know, on other levels. More of us.”

  Alexander heard a sound through one of the closed doorways. “We don’t have a lot of time. I’m here because I need your help. Those witches hold talismans that immobilise the angels. We can help you—those of you that want to truly be free, we can help, but I need your help first. Will you do that?”

  None of them spoke, and Alexander noticed the boy had disappeared.

  “What about the ones who don’t want to go. I think I want to stay near my home, check in on my family,” an elderly man said.

  “Then you can. I will not keep you here. You are free to do whatever you choose. But those of you who stay, those of you who want to truly be free—there are enough angels in this building to help, we just have to get them out of here first.”

  The boy shot back in through the ceiling, pushing aside a handful of spirits as he landed. “He’s right!” he called out, breathless, even though he couldn’t breathe at all. “I don’t want to be like this anymore,” the little boy said. “Can you help us?”

  The noise down the corridor grew louder, and Alexander had no doubt the witches were on their way. “Those of you who want to stay like this, can, the rest of you, the angels will do whatever they can to help you. Please, you need to make a decision, now.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, there was no time. He ran back to the stairwell, down until he reached the basement room and paused by the door for a moment to listen. Just as he pushed the door open, the spirit of the little boy burst past him and into the room and launched himself at the nearest witch. Other spirits rushed through the ceiling, the walls, the floor, from every direction and swarmed around the witches who cried out in panic.

  Alexander didn’t hesitate, he rushed into the room, seeing Jo and Halvar immediately. He landed by Halvar and handed him a sword. “Jo, Hazel, help the spirits to destroy the talismans. Angels, those who are well enough to fight—once those talismans are destroyed, get ready to attack.” Angels scattered as he spoke, some pulled others to their feet.

  He focused on his magic, creating a wall of air between the angels and the witches so that any stray talismans wouldn’t make their way to them. Dust and debris from the filthy basement blew up and around them and Alexander concentrated on wrapping it around the witches and the spirits darting amongst them.

  “Holy shit, Alex, you’ve been holding out on us,” Jo called out as she fought her way through the blue glow of the spirits towards the witches, holding her arms up to shield her face. “Can you maybe tone it down a little bit, I can’t see!”

  “Jo, we need to destroy the talismans, quickly.” Alexander knew he wouldn’t be able to keep a constant barrier between the angels and the witches, but the spirits were fast.

  Witches cried as the spirits whirled around them, plucking the talismans from them and tearing them to shreds. Some spun around the angels that had the talismans tied to their arms or legs and made short work of them. Alexander pushed his wall of wind towards the witches, spiralling it around them as the spirits dispersed one by one.

  “Now!” Alexander called out to the angels, and they surged forwards to attack. They were not only skilled with weapons, but also knew how to fight with their bare hands—how to take a life if it meant defending their own. He drew his second blade as a familiar voice called out from somewhere behind him.

  “Come to get a matching scar?”

  Lorn. Alexander swung around, searching through the chaos of fighting and the remaining spirits who still dived in to assist the angels’ onslaught.

  “One sword will do you no good, Alexander. Have you learnt nothing?” Flames erupted from Lorn’s fingertips as she seethed.

  Alexander sheathed his sword. He was going to need every ounce of his concentration if it meant giving the angels an escape from Lorn’s inferno, and he was determined to give it to them.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Fia

  F ia recorded dozens of messages. So many, she’d lost count. They were all in the common tongue, and she’d questioned Okwata on the need to record so many given that most wouldn’t understand it anyway. He’d simply dismissed her concerns. “It’s important they hear your voice before the angels show them how to speak into the devices,” he said as he gathered more of the metal spheres and rolled them along the table towards her. He’d made the modifications based on her suggestions, but so far there was only one receiver permanently located in his lab.

  Maab had left the glasshouse only once—to eat, Fia presumed, and he sat on guard watching Fia record her messages. “Don’t you need to go back to the ship, check in with everyone?” She’d wondered it several times already but thought it rude to ask.

  The great white tiger’s tongue disappeared as he opened his mouth to speak. “Osara is a capable leader. She does not need me to check in on her. The ship is safe in the harbour, as are the crew.” He swatted at an insect with one of his great paws.

  Fia wiped sweat from her brow. Her stomach grumbled, and she looked at the plate of fruits and cheese Ahrek had brought to her. She wasn’t sure she’d keep it down.

  “You need to eat.” Maab’s ears twitched at the sound of her grumbling stomach. “Eat and we will stretch our legs together.”

  Ahrek collected more of the devices as Fia began picking at the fruit. Runa and Malachai had returned to Alythia with the maps and a handful of the devices to update the general, and a steady stream of angels had been arriving since they’d left to collect the devices. After all the destruction Lorn had caused across Ohinyan in the last few months, it was going to take a lot of talking to prepare the people and the creatures for the Makya’s arrival—and they would all need the Makya if Ohinyan stood any chance of surviving the declining temperature as the sun died.

  She looked at the doorway back to Ohinyan as she ate. It felt so strange to be sitting just a few metres away from another world. Even further away from Alexander. He could be dead. The thought of never seeing him again, never feeling his arms wrap around her, sent a fresh wave of nausea pushing its way up from the pit of her stomach. She coughed down a piece of fruit. He is dead, Dante told you. But she refused to believe it. She needed proof. She had to know.

  Fia managed to swallow down something that tasted a lot like a banana but had rough, purple skin before pushing her plate away. “I think I’m ready for that walk.”

  Maab blinked at her, his pupils thin slits in the bright light of the glasshouse, but he said nothing.

  She led the way down the pathway, past the colourful flowers and blue butterflies, down towards the white wall that overlooked the plains below. The blue sky was completely clear, and Ornax’s sun was brilliant and bright. So different to the half-light that hung over Ohinyan. Rekindle the sun. How? When she couldn’t even make a spark of magic form in her fingertips. She looked at her hands, and to Maab, who had sat on his hind legs beside her.

  “Go for a run, please. I’ll be fine here. You know I will.
I can look after myself, remember?” She elbowed him gently near his shoulder and felt a low rumble from within him as she did it.

  “I won’t be long.” He leapt over the wall and bounded away down the slope towards the plains. Fia watched him grow smaller and smaller as he ran until he was a white smudge amongst the rest of the scattering shapes near a watering hole. Scattering because of his arrival, no doubt.

  Fia let out a quiet whistle and rested her hands on the wall, concentrating on the feeling of the rough stone beneath her fingertips. She closed her eyes. The floral, citrus scent hit her again as a light breeze ruffled her hair. She focused on her breath and brought her hands into the position Dante had shown her, palms facing, letting them move in and out with her breathing. She imagined a ball of flame forming between her palms, golden strands of light spiralling over and over themselves. And then she thought of Lorn, burning Alexander’s wings. Murdering his father. Of Lorn’s screaming as a roar of flames erupted from her fingertips. It was no use. Fia couldn’t focus.

  “You must keep practising,” Okwata said from somewhere behind her. Her body language would have given her away; even if he couldn’t see her hands, he would’ve seen the slump in her shoulders as she gave up.

  He had a thin yellow blanket over his legs, despite the heat. “I met someone who had healing magic.” Fia regretted it the moment she’d said it. But he’d want to be given the choice, surely?

  Okwata smiled and smoothed the blanket over his legs. “To require healing implies there is something broken that needs fixing,” he said with a smile.