Ruby Callaway: The Complete Collection

by D. N. Erikson

“My father.”

  I didn’t know if Roark was right, but the thought of MagiTekk launching a military barrage sent a chill racing down my spine. If Harcourt had wanted chaos, then the next hour would represent the pinnacle of artistry: a clusterfuck of twisted bone and sinew.

  We needed to get to the Tributary first.

  Finally, the guard called down. “You can pass through.” There was a pause. “You’re to see the prince right away.”

  I almost stumbled over my words because of the good fortune, but managed to say, “Thank you,” before the gate groaned open, ushering us into the capital.

  And one step closer to reaching the Tributary.

  If the clock didn’t run out first.

  19

  Almost Hour 12

  A royal guard accompanied us to the decrepit palace, escorting us directly into the prince’s quarters. I checked my watch, silently cursing the dwindling time. Fortunately, the Fae Plains were a cozy sort of Realm, so it hadn’t taken us long to get from the outer gate to the capital.

  Still, less than half an hour didn’t give us much wiggle room.

  “I assume you have somewhere to be.” The voice caught me off-guard. I whirled toward its source at the back of the long, narrow throne room. A man—taller than most Fae—emerged from behind the weathered throne.

  He carried himself with the confidence of a man who had lived through difficult times to reach his current station in life. Striding toward us unafraid, he seemed not to care that we might present a threat to his mortality.

  The prince extended his hand first to me, then to Roark. The consummate politician, down to the finely maintained businessman’s cut. Although the flowing robes were a little hippie-ish for his general vibe. His handshake was strong and assured, his hands rougher than I expected for a prince.

  Maybe he was more than just a figurehead.

  “I’m Martin,” he said.

  “It’s an honor, Prince Martin,” I said.

  “Please, first names only.”

  “That was my father’s name,” I said. “It’s a good one.”

  “Then hopefully we already have found common ground, Miss Callaway.” At my look of surprise, he smiled. “It pays to know who is afoot in your Realm. Harcourt Leblanc has sung your legend far and wide. The strength of a thousand lions does you little justice.”

  “That’s what I keep telling her,” Roark said. “She’s not buying it.”

  “It is always hard to see your own brilliance. Especially if it can be so blinding.” Here I’d come to execute with half a mind to forcibly depose the guy—depending on the time, of course, and whether I thought Solon would honor some part of his bargain—and I’d already struck the idea from my mind.

  “Solon wants to get rid of you,” I said. “Just so you know.”

  “Yes. Well, he’s not fond of usurpers. Nor outsiders.”

  With a start, I realized that Prince Martin wasn’t Fae.

  “You’re human.”

  “Yes,” he said with a knowing nod. “I am not Fae.”

  “But…how?”

  He clasped his strong hands together and nodded. “It is unusual. But the Fae Plains are no stranger to political strife and civil war.”

  “I’m aware,” I said.

  “The passes you flashed to my men at the gate have been flagged,” Martin said, turning around and walking toward the throne. Roark and I took this as a cue to follow. We passed once-gilded statues that had been stripped of their precious metals, statues that had been chopped away for their marble. “I knew they belonged to Solon.”

  “So you knew why we were coming.”

  “I did.”

  “Then…why take the risk at all?”

  “Faith.” Martin glanced back, looking hopeful that this would be enough for me. “You have many questions, but little time. For the Tributary is about to close.”

  “I need to know a little more.” I needed to know whether the legends were true, or if I was just chasing ghosts. I stopped before the throne, tapping my foot along the frayed carpet.

  “Very well. I’ll tell you what I can.” Martin glanced between the two of us. “Long ago, prior to Ragnarök, the worlds were connected.” He adjusted his robes. “You are familiar with Ragnarök?”

  “The gods battled, killing each other.”

  “Indeed.”

  “It was rumored that the Realms were once connected by Yggdrasil, the world tree,” I said. “All nine were easily traversable. Without being a Realmfarer or using alternative means.”

  “Indeed,” Martin said, nodding to show that I was on the right path. “But the world tree burned down in the fight, its roots turned to char. The passageways that once connected the worlds caved in. The ones that survived were corrupted by a magical energy making them impassable by everyone except Realmfarers.”

  “Tell me things I might not know.”

  “Very well,” Martin said, patting down a stray hair. “In the beginning, there was but one world. The city of the gods—what we now call the Tributary. From there, the rest of the worlds were built, using the energy from its source. For many years, this progress continued until a beautiful civilization flourished. But it is said, during Ragnarök, that the once tranquil landscape was so awash with blood that it turned the placid streams crimson.”

  “Nice picture,” I said.

  “They called it the Blood River.” Martin shrugged, his robes bunching around his shoulders. “Or so the surviving legends claim.”

  “Must’ve been some battle.”

  “The gods agreed to leave the Realm behind. Some took it upon themselves to seal it off so that no one could ever become a god again. They were the ones who burned the tree and sealed off the other entrances.”

  “There are other entrances?” I asked.

  “There is always more than one way to scale a mountain,” Martin said. “The Realm Rift beneath this castle is but one point of entry into the world.”

  “And the others?”

  “Lost to the sands of time, unfortunately.”

  “I thought no one survived Ragnarök.”

  “They didn’t. The battle continued in other Realms, until all the gods lay dying or dead.”

  “Why leave the Tributary at all?” I asked. “Surely they could draw upon the power to aid them in their fight.”

  “Because sometimes a dying man thinks beyond his self-interest.” Martin looked at me stoically. “That is what being a god is, is it not? The ability to rise above your humanity and do what must be done.”

  “There are other words that come to mind,” I said.

  “In any event, it was foretold, long in the past, that the lost Realm would become accessible once more when its power became necessary. The Tributary’s source has the power to fulfill any wish. Its power can be channeled toward any purpose. Such power would be required when the fate of the surviving worlds hung in the balance.” Martin gestured toward the crumbling walls. “I believe that time has come for us all.”

  “Speak for yourself, buddy.” But I couldn’t disagree: Earth was quickly trending toward the crapper, what with MagiTekk’s onerous, titanium fist rule gripped tightly around everyone’s throat.

  I noticed that the throne had been painted gold to hide bronze alloy below. That about summed up the state of affairs in these parts. Martin ducked through the doorway from which he’d entered. I ducked beneath the threshold and took it all in.

  The watch beeped, telling me we had twenty minutes remaining. The castle shuddered from another artillery barrage.

  “What do you think, Ruby?” Prince Martin gestured toward the display in the back room.

  “Not what I expected.” I circled the table, examining the well-lit model of the Fae Plains. Not as they currently were—but what they could become. Lush trees lined Solon’s Woods, the grass between the forest and the capital a rich shade of green. The mountains in the distance were golden brown, capped with perfect snow.

  “The Realm is abo
ut the size of Vermont,” Martin said. I gave him a funny look, and by way of explanation he added, “I’m a New Englander.”

  “Ah, that’s the accent,” Roark said.

  “I stumbled upon this Realm by accident as a younger man. Searching for what lay beyond the pale. I fell in love.” Martin shrugged his shoulders wistfully, like that was how things went. “They welcomed me. And this is why you must go to the Tributary. For us all.”

  “You think this is actually possible?” I stared at the idyllic, pastoral landscape. Transforming the Fae Plains into a working Realm was one matter; changing it into Eden was another.

  “All things are possible, my friends. Should man move heaven and earth to achieve them.” Martin settled down before the model, where a wooden wheel jutted of the ground. His hands flipped the turnstile.

  The lush green model disappeared as the castle shook from the siege. Within seconds, the Fae Plains had been transformed into a sludgy hell.

  “And what’s that?” I asked, examining the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

  “That is if Solon retakes the throne.” Martin gently stopped the wheel and walked around the table to join my side. “Merely a projection, of course. But it’s easy enough to see where the chips will fall. You’ve met the man.”

  “His eyes.”

  “From drinking the run-off from the factories.” Martin shook his head. “It gives the people a tremendous buzz. But the polluted essence corrupts their organs and mind.”

  “You could shut down the factories.”

  “There are only so many times you can attempt change at the end of a knife.” Martin shook his head, world weary creases briefly forming around his eyes. “No, this must come from a different source.”

  His eyes locked in on me.

  “Let me guess.”

  “I was going to travel to the Tributary myself, but you are far better equipped, Ruby Callaway. In fact, you are the only person capable.”

  The Realm Rift was a major complicating factor for other would-be adventurers. But MagiTekk had studied me, and blitzed their way into the Fae Plains using whatever they’d learned. I had little doubt they were working on a solution to that pesky problem. Maybe even pursuing one of the alternative entrances Martin had mentioned in passing.

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” I said. “You banished a Prince to the woods.”

  Martin flashed a mirthless smile. “Our worlds hang on a string, and time grows short.”

  “Solon has our allies.” I crossed my arms. “One has demon bloodlust.”

  Martin stroked his clean-shaven face and paced around the model. I wished he would flip it back to the more appealing side. But this was clearly still out for effect, to weigh upon my conscience. One more stray kitten to scoop up and save along the way.

  But you made the deals necessary to survive. That was always how my life had worked—one small negotiation at a time. Session to session, never getting ahead of yourself. The end of the road was often not what it seemed, the moving parts unclear.

  If you moved too quickly, you could miss them. And that had a cost.

  Unfortunately, our time crunch necessitated haste. Fifteen minutes. But it was worth the extra few minutes to know, deep in my bones, that I wasn’t chasing shadows on the wall.

  This was real.

  And it could bring down MagiTekk.

  Martin leaned against the model, the model shanties vibrating. “Then it seems we each have something the other needs.”

  “And what is it you need, Prince Martin?”

  “If I give you access to the catacombs, my price is simple.” He looked up from the miniature, of what his beloved Realm would become if I failed to deliver. “I need a sample of the water. From the Tributary’s source itself.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Do not be so quick to agree, Realmfarer.” Martin glanced at me warily. “For there is one other consideration.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Our kingdom cannot sustain the damage of such a siege. We will be forced to surrender and allow the forces of MagiTekk to enter the catacombs.”

  “Way to pass the buck.”

  Martin smiled grimly. “Such is the weight that comes with tremendous responsibility.”

  “Where do I sign?” I asked.

  Martin pushed himself off the table and extended his hand. “You have my word.”

  “Then we have ourselves a deal.”

  20

  “This is where we part ways, Miss Callaway.” Martin swept up his robes. The ground beneath our feet turned from stone to mud. The tunnel leading into the catacombs was dark and unlit, a musty, damp smell hanging in the air.

  As if to remind us to hurry, the watch beeped. Ten minutes left.

  “You’re not going to show us the way?” I asked with sarcasm. “What kind of service is that?”

  “I believe you already know the way.” Martin fished within his royal robes. His hand reemerged with a handful of shotgun shells. “This is all we have that fits your gun. Hopefully they serve you well.”

  I took the five shells, feeling the unfamiliar magical energy pulsating within. “What are they?”

  “Make sure you’re standing back when you fire,” Martin said cryptically. “And don’t forget our deal, when this all ends.”

  There was no undercurrent of a threat. The Fae Plains were a tiny kingdom on the verge of civil war—or total destruction at the hands of MagiTekk. Martin possessed no leverage. He merely had to rely on my conscience and our handshake.

  I nodded and took my first step into the mud.

  “And Ruby?”

  “Yes?”

  “It won’t be much of a head start.” The castle quaked, dust filtering down from the cracks in the stone ceiling. Martin gave me a curt nod before hurrying back from where we’d come.

  I glanced at Roark and said, “Not the worst basement I’ve ever been in.” The cellar where I’d found Kalos—and almost died, back in 1812—made this look like an island resort.

  “We’re so close.” I could sense the excitement in his tone—but I was pretty sure it had less to do with my agenda than his own. Harcourt’s promises of the truth had burrowed their way into his brain stem like a virus.

  Roark needed to know who had brought the necromancer up from the Underworld.

  But I had other plans for the Tributary. Pearl had prophesied that my journey would end at the source. And I intended to make sure there were no repeat trips.

  Which meant the Tributary had to go. Even if that meant robbing Roark of his pursuit of the truth.

  “Don’t speak too soon,” I said. “Things can always get worse.”

  He strode past, his posture ramrod straight. “We’ll see about that.”

  “That we will, Roark.” I stared into the dark catacombs, damp decay wafting past us. “That we most certainly will.”

  21

  As it turned out, the catacombs beneath the Fae palace were actually more of a swamp. They’d long ago been reclaimed by the elements. If the map Harcourt had stolen was valuable enough for Solon to banish him, that wasn’t reflected in this marshland. No one had poked around down here in years. My phone’s display flashed red, indicating its battery was on the verge of death. Grass-like stalks bobbed gently in the dim glow.

  “How much longer?” Roark called to me. He was running only a few steps behind, but the darkness was near-absolute down here beneath the castle.

  “Not far.” I squinted at the map in the darkness, but my voice wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence. My boots squished through the spongy mud, each step feeling like the ground was trying to swallow me whole. For all I knew, it really was—who knew what lurked down in these caverns?

  The castle shifted, sending shockwaves through the dark catacombs. Bats hissed, fluttering about in fits of pointless protest. I didn’t stop running, even with fatigue and fear settling into my bones. If the castle fell through the ground, we would both be dead.

  But there was
no turning back, now. We had minutes before our chance to enter the Tributary would be gone forever. Hesitation would result in a fate worse than death: MagiTekk emerging victorious.

  “Left turn ahead,” I called out to the darkness, waving the phone in an effort to find Roark. The ghostly beam passed over the wall, revealing human writing. Mostly incoherent messages—unsurprising, given the pitch black.

  But it made me nervous knowing that, somewhere in the murk, a colony of cave dwellers might be lurking. Like Solon’s forest dwellers, cut off from society and turned feral. I fought my way through the mud to the wall to take a closer look. Blood and sharp carvings mingled along the wall, telling a story.

  From a cursory scan of the pictograms, most of it mirrored what Martin had told me: the story of Ragnarök and the end of the gods. But my intuition wasn’t worried about what was already known.

  It was pointing to a section at the bottom, covered in overgrowth.

  “What’s the hold-up?” Roark sprinted up next to me, breathing heavily. “We gotta move, Ruby.”

  The wisps flitted around the carvings, faint due to my exhaustion. They floated around one frame, half-covered by marsh grass. I broke the rough stalks away and crouched.

  “Look at this.”

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  But I was transfixed by the frame. Everything I’d known was wrong. I wasn’t saving the world by traveling to the source.

  I was opening the portal so that evil things could float through.

  It was etched into the craggy walls, clear as a photograph. A woman running through a doorway, all manners of demonic hellfire and evil trailing behind her.

  MagiTekk didn’t need to study me at all. I’d just lead them through.

  “We need to turn around,” I said, turning the thin beam toward Roark.

  His blue eyes shone with confusion. “I don’t get it.”

  “They can’t get through without me,” I said. “And if I go through, they’re sure to follow.”

  “You don’t know that.” Roark’s jaw tensed. “And you said that we don’t have a chance without whatever lies within.”