Auberon was feeling their hesitation. He clutched Will’s and Sive’s arms. “I must get there; you can’t leave me.”
The King’s thoughts scattered like windblown seed, but the others could see random images of Anu, and the remnant of the Great Seal. Armed with their combined wills, they drew Auberon on with more power than the Unmaker’s pain had to stop him.
Will pulled the crippled king to his feet, almost callous in his disregard for the pain, though all three shared it. Auberon wished it, and so the three of them pressed on.
The Between stood still for them, its mists quiet and lying against their skin. Each step was a descent into madness for Will, Sive knew that, but she could also feel resolve that his son’s death would not be in vain. How odd, Sive thought, each of us has reasons for doing this; Will revenge, Auberon guilt, and I guess I am here for my mother’s sake, but none of that matters to the Unmaker.
Were these even her thoughts? Are they mine? Will shook his head and tightened his grip on the King. Together they went forward, unerringly towards the centre, the Nexus. Whatever had finally killed Anu, some part of her still lived in Sive, and she led them to it.
It was every beautiful light and sweet sound imaginable. She tried to hold the trio together; tried to get Will to ignore the moment, but they couldn't simply disregard the Nexus.
They were only a few steps within its aura before the Bard lost himself. Dropping Auberon into his sister’s arms, he strayed from them, almost as if he was still being led. His thoughts drifted away from theirs. Unsure, Sive waited.
Will reached the king stone that blinding pillar of light where time and three realms meet. His eyes were half hooded against the brightness, but he raised his arms and encircled it. The rainbow splashes of colour become brighter, and half-visible mist forms seemed to hover around his head. Sive blinked hard, but they remained, twirling and twisting to the eerie hum of the stone. Some forms looked almost familiar.
She couldn’t help it; their thoughts were now separating like drifting clouds, so she called to him, “Will?”
He did not hear, his chest rising and falling rapidly, somewhere between ecstasy and agony.
She made to go to him, but Auberon clutched her harder. “No, sister, this has to happen to him. Wait.”
Will’s head snapped back, and he took the longest deepest breath he ever had in his life. The mists had been waiting for this, and taking their chance poured into him, down his throat like a silver flood. Will’s body shook, threatening to snap in half, muscle and bone resenting this intrusion.
Then the torrent passed, and all was calm. Will turned and looked straight at Sive with a clear determination. A hard knot tightened her chest. In that brief moment all that had been between them faded into inconsequentiality.
But nothing was safe or certain in the Between, and Auberon was first to realize it. He called out in horror as the mist on the far side of the stones rolled back and his mother’s face emerged from the greyness. The Nexus might have accepted Will, but the trio were aware that their plan had not worked. Puck had not even given their enemy pause. Now the Unmaker strode towards them, all the destructive power in three realms at its back.
Still wrapped in an embrace with the Nexus, Will and his thoughts were as incomprehensible as the light it gave out.
Sive bared her teeth, letting Art arch out from her in a white hot shower of light, knowing full well it could not halt the Unmaker, but hoping it might buy them some time. But it gained them not even a stride.
Anu’s mouth stretched in a terrible snarl, displaying yellowed fangs, and ink black stream replied in kind to Sive’s attack.
Only Auberon’s quick thinking saved them from instant destruction. His rainbow coloured Art wove a hasty shield above them, which deflected most of the Unmaker’s power. Sive heard the rest of it hiss against her Armor like acid, but drew her sword.
“You are the only one,” she called to Will, praying he could hear, hoping he could look straight into her heart. “It all comes to this moment.” And then she leapt into the Unmaker’s grasp.
* * *
Brigit recalled with a pain how beautiful the Shattered Realm had once been. Watching from behind her nephew’s eyes, she remembered with sorrow the bright hills, and white-gold streams that had once flowed here, until the Unmaker had come. But now she was the only one left alive who could recall that time. Well, not completely alive, she reminded herself.
It was an odd feeling, to be inside Puck’s head, and it had taken a while to find herself amongst all his quicksilver thoughts and hare brained schemes. At least he could hide nothing from her now; at this point in the proceedings she needed to be closer than ever.
Shrieking Fey rode hard next to Bayel’s bunching shoulder, their white teeth gleaming in faces that had only just learnt the heady joys of mortality. The Fey remembered what it was to live again. If it were not for the circumstances, it would have been good for them.
They’d burst from the Between like vengeance personified, every one of them filled with loss and rage. Each had a lost friend, relative or lover held before them, a talisman against the cruel blasted rock of the Shattered and the danger ahead.
Puck too yelled in triumph, as the Host crested the dreaded hills of the interior, and plunged down the treacherous slope to where Mordant had gathered his minions.
Too soon, Brigit hissed to her nephew, too soon for triumph, wait, you fool!
They did not hear her ragged ghost and poured over the chest into the arms of chaos.
Every dread creature of the Shattered was awaiting them, and many more from the distant realms that Mordant had scoured for nightmare and terror. The Fey were a tiny bright sparkle embedded in this new darkness. But still who could not be a little proud of them as they smashed down amongst the horror with no pause.
I did not want to see them die. Brigit wished she could weep, wished she could be there in the flesh to help them.
Puck’s body began to hack and slash at his enemies, vision blurring with battle fury. He wasn’t very good at this, he was going to get himself killed, and take her along for the ride.
Control, Brigit ordered that body, pushing all of her power into wresting dominance from her nephew.
Anu knew this day would come, and a poor weapon you are Puck.
He could not answer her; for by now she had the reins, literally.
With a wrench Brigit had gained control, and using Puck’s own Art, she shifted his body. Puck surrendered control with a little whimper, and Brigit breathed again.
A great winged bird now sprang aloft from Bayel’s heaving body, the symbol of the Great Seal hanging from around its neck. It was the colour of a bright dawn, wings burning with fire.
She scanned the swelling battlefield below, noting the little waning knots of the Fey below. The enemy was not difficult to pick out from that.
Down the bird dropped, ripping the surrounding air, knowing full well that the only way the Fey could be saved was if Mordant was killed.
He whipped around when her human feet touched the ground. The Unmaker had equipped his champion well; the dark Armor and twisted sword were the exact opposite of her niece’s, but equal in power. It surprised even Mordant when he came face to face with a tall fierce Fey.
She could see it in his eyes; he did not recognize her.
For this was Brigit’s natural form, the tall fierce blonde warrior who had stood at her sister’s side and beaten the Unmaker. A simple thought summoned her old blade to her hand. It didn’t matter how many hundreds of years it had been, it was still six feet of mean grey Artful sword.
“Hunter,” Brigit welcomed it. Pride was still a hard thing to shake, and she enjoyed the look of shock.
And it gave him pause when he did make the connection. “Remember me?” Transferring his sword to his other hand, he smiled.
“Stealing bodies now, are we, Brigit?”
“Yes, but better than you; Puck will survive.”
“
That I doubt somehow.” He sprang, sword swinging, but his Art foremost.
Light danced across Brigit’s fingertips, blocking the blow of both more effectively than any shield. Oh, she was a prideful old lady, to grin so wide at the ease of it, nor could she help a little jab of her Art at his windpipe.
He gasped for a moment only, making her laugh. But Brigit did not ignore the chance, she charged him down, hoping to knock him from his feet. But Mordant was not that off guard, he used a combination of his lighter sword and Art to parry her heavy blow.
Her summoned sword screeched along the length of his. They danced along the scorched earth, shoulder-to-shoulder, blow after blow passing between them in a blur of motion.
Her attacks had determined his strength, and for a while they circled, testing, side stepping, making little rushes, all the while eddies of power played out their own battle.
Unseen but more dangerous was the whirl of Art, reaching out to stop a heart or crush a windpipe. A whirlwind whipped around them. The Shattered earth beneath heaved and bucked. The two giant powers wrestled with each other until they overflowed into the battle itself. Alternating, the Fey and the spawn felt buoyed up as their champions writhed in combat.
Brigit would have enjoyed the dance if it were not for the fact that her people were dying with every heartbeat. For their sake there was no other way. She’d always known it would come to this moment; she’d been enjoying the ride.
So at last, as her sister would have, Brigit used her last and greatest trick. Mordant and she stood hip to hip, each straining muscle and Art against the other. She had regrets, but it had been fun to avoid the abyss for a little while.
“Good luck, Puck,” she said, and then let go.
The final shred of Brigit the Blessed flew like an arrow from her nephew’s lips, straight into Mordant. Puck sagged back in shock, his body snapping into its proper shape. Mordant though, was not as lucky. Flesh and muscle cannot have three masters, especially if they are at war with each other.
A scream of sheer frustration and anger burst from Mordant’s already unravelling throat, and though he thrust his arms in the air in supplication, his master could not hear him.
Disgusted as he was by the threads of flesh and bone disintegrating before him, Puck could see the irony. He’d wanted to find the Unmaker, and now Mordant experienced his touch. Muscle, sinew and bone whirled about in the air, summoned by the Master’s only gift: oblivion. The sound was like a great mass being sucked up in a small straw. Despite all the things Puck had seen, he blanched.
With the destruction of his avatar, the Unmaker could not hold the chaos together. The Shattered Realm once more became, what it had been made for: a prison. It obeyed ancient commands given to it by Brigit and Anu.
The Fey, so resigned to oblivion, had it snatched away at the last moment. The tired and bloody survivors had their enemies snatched away as the magics that Anu had created so long ago awoke again. The prison claimed its wards once more, and the Great Seal hummed, reviving against Puck’s skin.
It shocked the Fey to have their foes swallowed up by the very ground they stood on. Fangs or claws did not avail the spawn of the Unmaker. The patient earth wrapped around them, pulling their screaming forms once more within it. Their howls faded until only the wind whistling over the blasted earth remained.
Fey stood there for a moment disbelieving, counting their injuries, bewildered by their change of fate. Macha perched on the clawed and marked Bayel’s back, both soaked in the gore of their enemies. The rest of the pale-faced Fey were looking around with wild eyes. Then the earth creaked, and despite himself and the hollow ringing in his head, Puck awoke.
“Quickly,” he called to the survivors, “Home to the Fey.” Brenna, her right arm hanging limp and disjointed at her side, was the next to recover. She reached out with her Art, calling for the Between, but it was battered as she was, and there was no way only one could do it.
Puck sent his own, much-diminished power to hers. “Hurry, or we’ll get trapped here,” he called to the others.
That idea got them moving far more quickly than he could have. If Sive succeeded, then the realms would move, and if she did not, at least they could die in the Fey. It was home, and they were far too shattered themselves to question what had happened.
Puck would not count his wounds, both physical and otherwise, until his cousin came back to him. If she did not, then there was no hope or joy left in the world.
With not a glance back, the host of Fey gathered themselves and went home.
* * *
Auberon and Sive danced with the Unmaker. Will experienced their pain, but it did not touch him. He watched them; knowing as well as they did that there could be no other ending but death. They might be forces of nature, but the Unmaker was greater than that, equal to the Goddess whose eyes Will had looked into. The Unmaker and the Goddess; the adversaries behind every battle, were behind every event, the twin forces of creation and destruction.
Still, understanding would not change this moment.
Will still wrapped around the kingstone, felt its own slow heartbeat with his, looking deep into its interior of white light. It reflected every moment of the three realms if you looked hard enough. Pain, loss, love, betrayal—all the emotions that both Fey and human could feel—were written in the Nexus, and as Will watched, written into him.
The feeling of immortality was so complete that he had ceased to care about the battle. He was too busy being alone. Will couldn’t ignore the shifting of the surrounding realms, lives and hopes turning on this moment.
But what did it matter? Even seeing Sive cry out in pain was fruitless. All this would happen if they succeeded or not; life would hand out its share of death and sorrow, no matter what insignificant Will did.
Children died, hopes were crushed, and all kinds of unfairness went on. The Unmaker was already abroad in his realm and all others. Fey and human were more alone than they ever wanted to realize.
And then it came to Will. She stood behind him, the sweetest voice in all worlds. “It is the struggle that matters.”
He closed his eyes, inhaling the goddess scent. He did not want to turn and see her there, see that impossible love in her eyes. He could feel her draw closer, wrapping him in understanding.
“You know there is meaning in this, Will, in anything worthwhile there always is.”
Will came alight. This was his reason for being; to understand the realms, and all that walked in them. To not be above them, but to walk in their path, just a man with a soul, and all that went with that. Waves of his power rippled out, disturbing the low slung mists of the Between, halting the combatants in their struggle.
The Between shook as the Unmaker, screaming darkness, thrust aside Auberon and Sive, and lunged at the Bard. The siblings tumbled aside, sobbing in horror, even as their swift enemy struck at Will’s unprotected back.
A blade of darkness conjured from the depths of destruction had formed at the end of their enemy’s finger. It plunged through Will’s flesh, his heart, and into the King Stone. He barely heard the snap as it broke free of the Unmaker, leaving him nailed to the Nexus, and thankfully was too far gone to hear its shriek of victory.
The only sound now was the slowing beat of his heart as blood ran down the thorn into the crystal. It was shocking, and final, and almost satisfying.
Will sighed against the King stone, like a baby breathing in his sleep, and let the universe take him back.
So when the bounds of the realms parted, it was not by force, or by anything that was destructive; to do so would have only given the Unmaker more strength. It was his blood flowing into the King Stone, his heart pierced through by darkness, giving the Between more power than it had ever had, even from Anu. Slowly the worlds obeyed.
The flow between Nexus and Bard was not only in one direction. Within Will destruction and creativity bloomed, the power of the Nexus and the Unmaker. Sorrow and delight poured into his blood and heart, and t
he chaos thorn melted away.
The Bard breathed, was alive, but couldn’t decide if he should be grateful or not for it.
The Unmaker roared, a sound of stymied destruction, like a volcano bursting into a chill silence. Anu’s face melted and slipped away, and revealed the bald, snapping head of darkness. Every beauty that the Goddess held had its antithesis in that form. It was not a face Fey nor human could behold without risk of madness. The Shattered still bound the Unmaker, and it knew soon there would be no crossing over. In great haste it made its bid for freedom.
The link between them was only fractionally too slow, and Sive heard his decision a moment too late. “No!” she called out in raw desperation, but already Auberon’s broken body was making the sacrifice no one had thought he could.
Jet-black vines clawed out from the Unmaker’s body, breaking through the final fragments of the Anu illusion. These were its last hope then, anchors to tie it to a world already receding from reach. The King of the Fey held his own arms out to take their embrace for himself.
Sive, in her despair, came too close, and several thick strands looped around her chest. Like a vicious ivy, the Unmaker would use them to pull itself through the Between and away. Sive howled, as he smothered her brother before her eyes.
Darting forward, Will put himself between Sive and her attacker, blocking her view of Auberon’s struggles. Where Will touched, the tentacles melted away, and he was able to pull her free.
Her eyes were wide and horrified, staring over his shoulder, hands reaching for a brother already beyond her grasp.
Auberon managed one final call, begging her to go, before Will turned her around, thrusting her back the way they had come. She struggled with all remaining strength, but his for once, was the greater.
He carried her along with the sheer weight of his determination, and so Sive didn't see the spears of darkness that the Unmaker sent ripping through her brother.
Auberon knew all along he would need to make a sacrifice, just as he had seen that same understanding in his mother’s eyes that last time. She had warned him not to become king because she had somehow seen that this would happen. Auberon’s final thought that reached Sive and Will was gratitude; he had proved the world wrong. Auberon King of the Fey had not failed. He was no longer the fool.
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