Chapter 30
Autumn walked slowly along the mountain paths. Her once-magnificent white gown was in tatters around her, leaving her skin exposed to the frozen air. Her hair hung loosely down to her waist, streaming out behind her and whipping her bare face and shoulders. She didn’t care. She knew what she had to do.
The blood trail was still leading her forward. Autumn did not waver from the path it showed up the mountain. The howl of the freezing wind meant nothing to her. No trace of fear touched her blank expression. She was utterly committed to what she planned. I’m only sorry it took me so long. How many died while I sat in that tower because I decided not to kill that bastard when I had the chance?
The dull heaviness in her chest made her breath catch in her throat. A single tear ran down her cheek, only to freeze there in the chill air. Autumn felt it burn against her skin but did not brush it away. I deserve it. I deserve all the pain I feel right now. If I’d been stronger, so many deaths could have been prevented. But I was weak.
Her right hand clenched into a fist as she forced herself to walk faster. I won’t be weak anymore.
She didn’t know how long the climb up the mountain took. She didn’t see another living soul, not so much as a rabbit, on the path. The sun rose and set and rose again. She did not stop to eat or rest. Days and nights passed as she kept walking. Autumn didn’t know what was keeping her standing, but she continued on until she came to the end of the blood trail.
She looked around the clearing, remembering the first time she had seen it. She’d been a child then, cold and afraid in the chill spring air. The bandits had taken her father away, taken her from her home. She grimaced bitterly at the irony. If they hadn’t brought me here, I wouldn’t know the place existed. I wonder, if they knew what I was capable of, would they have taken me at all?
The thought of her father brought another tear down her cheek, where it froze with the first. He’d always told Autumn she was special, but he couldn’t really have known. Or could he? She bit her lip, thinking. He never mentioned magic at all. But then, he never really had the chance.
Thinking of her father made her remember Kasrian, and her tears began to flow freely. So many people loved me. They trusted me. How could I be so weak? It might have been better if they’d never met me at all. Then maybe Lyall . . .
Autumn shook her head angrily. No. I can’t think of him. I need to do this. Now.
She reached up and rubbed the frozen tears from her cheeks. The blood trail had faded, but she was where she needed to be. The shadows on the cliff before her shifted, converging into the form of the massive temple she had seen as a child. Autumn swallowed hard, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Forcing down the rising tightness in her stomach, she began to walk toward the massive stone door.
The sound of her heart drowned out every other sound on the mountain. The howling wind was gone, the sound of her gentle footsteps on the ground silenced. For Autumn, there was only the quick pounding in her ears and the feel of the blood rushing through her body. Another step, then another. She finally stood at the doorway.
Before she could even reach out to touch it, the door swung slowly open.
Autumn stepped back quickly. She glared at the opening of the door as it grew wider. Finally, a black-robed man with a long, white beard stepped forward from the shadows. He was not looking at her, but down to the ground between them. Autumn straightened her back, her eyes fixed on the man before her. As if he had been pushed down by a heavy weight, he fell to his knees. Then, to her shock, he bowed.
Autumn stared for a moment, considering what to make of this. He was silent, but she saw drops fall from his face to the ground below. Tears. He’s crying. Why?
Her gaze shifted to the open door behind him. Inside was the small antechamber filled with candles. But there was something else. A vibration that she could just barely feel. She stepped forward. Her whole body tingled. It was the feeling of being caught outside just before lightning struck the ground. There was a low hum just beyond the door, like the beginning of a chant. Ignoring the bowing man, Autumn stepped forward.
The wind and cold felt like a distant memory from inside the small room. The candles did not flicker. They burned steadily, lighting the room with a gentle glow. If Autumn didn’t know better, she might have thought it was part of a different, less frightening temple. The smell of incense crept in from the ornate wooden door on the other side, making her stomach lurch. She remembered the scent and the smell of rotting flesh behind it. It was like she had been here yesterday.
The stone door closed, and the old man had stepped inside. He was still looking at the ground. Autumn suddenly shivered, realizing that the last rags of her wedding gown had begun to freeze to her. With a glance at the old man, she pulled them off, revealing her pale, scarred skin. If I’m going to do this, I might as well be comfortable. She reached up to her hair, where the copper comb still shone from within the tangled strands. With a last, long sigh, she removed it and placed it reverently on a shelf near a candle. It glittered mournfully in the dim light.
The old man knelt down and picked up her discarded clothing, holding it as though it were a holy relic. He stepped around her to the ornate wooden door. Autumn drew in a breath and held it, straightening her back and staring straight ahead. The old man looked back at her, still averting his eyes. Her hand reached up to the vial of Essence of Life that hung around her neck and clasped it tightly. She nodded.
The door opened.
All at once, the vibration from inside the temple flowed around Autumn, seeming to pierce into her very soul. The smell of incense and death was overpowering. Her stomach turned, and her head ached from the echoing sound of the low hum around her. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. I was right. This place is overflowing with power from all the deaths. That should be enough for this. When her stomach stopped churning and her ears had adjusted to the sound, she opened her eyes.
The temple was just as she remembered, yet it was different. The bone floor was the same, as was the dark altar in the center. The sky was overcast, but bright light still streamed down from the opening at the top of the mountain. The vine-like lights still wrapped their way around the sides of the cavern, casting an eerie glow on the bodies in the bone cages.
So many bodies. Far more than before. So many children have died since then, and I did nothing to stop it. I knew what was happening to them. I should have tried harder . . . Tears were running down her face again. Her knees weakened. She almost fell but forced herself to remain upright. No. It’s not about me. I have to do this now, or everything will just get worse.
Autumn took slow, measured steps toward the altar. Other cultists were approaching, forming a circle around the dark slab of stone. She gathered her strength as she reached it. The cultists closed the circle around her. Eight of them, she noticed. Is that all that are left? She realized how many of their numbers had been caught and dealt with over the years. Despite the reality of where she was, Autumn couldn’t help but feel proud.
The details of the ritual turned over in her mind. Eternal life. A place of power and a willing sacrifice. I have both. After so little training, it seemed strange to be altering spells the way that she intended to. The spells she had read had precise recipes and instructions, much like the cookbooks in Harriet’s kitchen. She smiled sadly at the thought of what the old cook had always said. ‘Good cooks follow the recipe to the letter. Great chefs know that a recipe is just a starting point. If you ever want to create something extraordinary, you can’t stop at what’s been done before. You have to trust your instincts to take you the rest of the way.’
Autumn sighed. She doubted that Harriet had ever considered something like this. Still, the truth of the statement was solid. The recipe gave immortality to one person. She lifted the vial, admiring how it reflected the light. I’m going to make sure no one ever has to die again.
Her resolve set, she unstopped the vial and drank it. It burned like liquid fire a
nd seemed to course through her veins a moment after it touched her lips. She dropped the bottle on the ground and laid down on the altar.
The stone was warm, far warmer than she expected. It was actually quite comfortable. The cultists around her gathered closer, forming a tight circle. Autumn closed her eyes and concentrated. The light from the top of the mountain intensified, and the white glow of her own magic began to take hold of her vision. She was concentrating so hard that she barely heard when the cultists began to chant in unison around her.
“Hear now the terms of our Covenant.”
I’ve never heard any of them speak before. What is this?
“Black we shall wear, for dark is our task.”
Autumn’s concentration wavered, then focused back in on the task at hand.
“Hidden we shall stay, for our secrets must be kept.”
Secret temples and murderous cults to tend to be hidden. Why is this one so special?
“Silent we shall be, until our purpose is fulfilled.”
Purpose. What purpose? What possible reason could there be for all this?
“Innocent souls we shall sacrifice, for the way must be prepared.”
They . . . were preparing the way? For a ritual?
“Those who would stop us we shall destroy, for our cause is worthy.”
A worthy cause . . . Was this always what they intended?
“On the final day, a being of great power, with a pure soul tormented by love for a world gone mad, shall come to us.”
A being of great power? They can’t mean me, can they?
“We shall speak the words of the Covenant with our dying breaths.”
Autumn’s attention almost wavered as the sounds of crumbling stone and small explosions began to echo around her. Terror gripped her heart, but she forced herself to stay calm.
“And on that day, our end shall herald the beginning of a world without death.”
A world without death. Autumn couldn’t contain herself. She laughed. It was the wild, insane laugh of someone whose world has just shattered in around them. She was laughing so hard that she didn’t even realize that she was laughing out loud for the first time in her life. All this time, they were waiting for this. They were waiting for me.
She laughed as the glowing vines wrapped their way around her body. She felt them begin drawing the life out of her. Autumn understood now. She could see them. The vines weren’t just in the temple, they were everywhere. They had spread under the mountains and the fields, wrapping around Nor and Katrell and enveloping them, drawing the life they were pulling from her out into the entire country. They were still growing, still spreading. They would eventually stretch over the whole world, bringing life to everything they touched.
“A world without death.” They were the first and only words she ever spoke.
For the first time, Autumn briefly wondered who her mother was. She drew in a deep breath as she realized it didn’t really matter.
Her world went white.
Epilogue
The light streaming from the mountain was visible from every corner of Katrell and Nor.
Soldiers on the battlefield shielded their eyes from the blinding light, momentarily distracted from their fight. The battlemages braced themselves for a shockwave from what they assumed was an explosion. No shockwave came. As quickly as it appeared, the light died away, leaving all the soldiers bewildered. There was no fighting for a moment while each man and woman checked themselves and their comrades for injuries. The light seemed to have left no mark on them. The battle resumed and raged on through the night.
In Nor, Lyall saw the light from the window of the planning room. He didn’t look for long, his attention wholly consumed by the battle report he was reading. He felt strangely calm, though for some reason his heart sank at the sight of the light. It felt familiar, bittersweet, like an old friend saying goodbye for the last time.
Lyall looked up again just as the light faded, his eyes brimming with tears. He looked like what he was, a young man desperate for guidance. His love had turned the friendship between two nations to war. How did this happen? What can I ever say or do to make this right?
Lyall’s brow furrowed. He spoke out loud, though there was no one in the room with him. “I can’t believe I’m even thinking this but . . . So many have died. Maybe it’s time to stop. My father and Autumn . . . they wouldn’t want this.”
At the thought of his beloved Autumn, Lyall’s hands balled into tight fists. His face reddened with anger, then relaxed. He set the report aside, tears streaming unchecked down his face. “Autumn would do anything to keep people safe.”
Every muscle in his body tensed. Autumn’s power . . . He remembered the bright light she had used to destroy the shadow dragon at the tournament. Walking quickly to the window, he stared out at the mountains with his jaw slack. I knew that light looked familiar. Autumn, was that you?
With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Lyall slumped forward onto his desk. He looked down, surprised to feel the knife in his back. The cloaked assassin behind him had a look of remorse as he reached forward to draw the blade out. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”
The guards rushed in, swords in hand, and ran the assassin through. The assassin’s final gurgle was drowned out by the rushing blood in Lyall’s ears. His eyes grew dim. Autumn. I’m so sorry.
“Sir?” Another guard rushed into the King’s study. “Sir, the soldiers near the wall are saying that the men they’ve killed . . . that they’re coming back to life and fighting again.”
The guard captain was checking Lyall’s pulse. “That doesn’t make any sense. How can the dead . . .” his voice trailed off as Lyall stirred in his arms.
Lyall’s hand reached out for the letter opener that was laying on the desk. The last thing the guard captain saw before his King plunged the thin blade into his neck was the bright light burning where the young man’s eyes used to shine.
The blood drained quickly from the captain’s wound. His eyes darkened. Lyall felt as if someone had grabbed his heart and was forcing it to beat. Rage overtook him. Life surged through his veins, but all he could feel was anger. He had been about to sleep, but someone brought him back into this life of fear and pain. Someone had to pay.
He picked up the letter opener. As he watched, the guard captain stood and took up his sword. The assassin was rising as well, dagger in hand. Their eyes both burned with the same bright light. They’re not alive. We’re not even human anymore.
Before the last of his own will left him, one final thought echoed through Lyall’s broken mind: Autumn, what have you done?
About the Author
Genevieve Dickinson has tried a dozen career paths but always ends up coming back to her first love: telling stories. She currently lives and writes in the Shenandoah Valley, where she and her husband run a game store. The Silent Pact is her debut novel.
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