Duessa plunged the needle into Una's other arm. This time the pain was more acute, but Una tried to maintain her composure as the unnatural liquid spread through her body. The effect was instantaneous. It started as a cold tingle in her left arm, but soon that tingle turned to a numbness that began to spread.
"You do not know how precious your blood is, Una," said Duessa as she watched the reaction take place. "The old blood in your veins is stronger than anyone on this continent has seen in a thousand years. Not even Merlin can boast the potential you have. Or the potential you had, I should say. You threw all of that away when you rejected your father, the only person who has ever truly loved you.”
"My…mother," Una managed to say, her speech was beginning to slur.
“Your mother wanted this." Duessa's smile grew cruel. "She willingly joined with the devil to create you, the key.”
"No," Una tried to shake her head but the motion would not come.
"And now your blood will open the door, whether you want it to or not."
29
Britomart’s eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself lying on her chest against a cold, tiled surface. She tried to move but groaned as every muscle in her body protested. Her face felt swollen, and she was reasonably certain that she had at least a few cracked bones. But her arms and legs responded to her commands, albeit painfully. Pain was good, it told her the most important piece of information that she needed to know.
She was still alive.
Groaning once more, she pushed herself to her hands and knees and looked around. Her surroundings were much as they were before, with huge columns and large mirrors on all sides. But she could no longer see Wrath, either in his regular form, or as the giant monster she'd seen towering above her. Had he simply forgotten about her? Perhaps she disinterested him so much that the act of toying with her had resulted in boredom.
A fresh warmth filled her face, and she thought of all the things she wished to do to him. But she forced those feelings down. He was the Sin of Wrath after all. Perhaps she should watch her anger.
That thought surprised her, as it wasn't an idea that had occurred to her earlier, in her enraged state. Very little could reach her when she was angry. In moments like that, her temperament was more like drunkenness. But for some reason, her head was clear. It was about the only part of her that felt normal and undamaged.
She did her best to stand, blowing out slowly as she raised herself to her feet, gingerly checking her legs and arms for any serious injuries. She appeared to have none, save for what might be a small fracture in her right arm. And she was certain that multiple ribs were cracked, and perhaps her collarbone too. But she was alive, and that was what mattered most.
Certain that she could at least walk, Brit switched her attention to the space she occupied. At the far end of a row of columns she spied a door that she hadn't noticed before. Either it somehow appeared just now, or Brit simply hadn't noticed it in her rage when confronting Wrath.
Curious, Brit stepped forward, closing the distance between herself and the doorway. It was an ordinary door, made up of wooden planks with a brass handle and no other distinguishing features. Reaching one hand forward, she grabbed the handle and turned. The door swung open easily, and Brit stepped through. On the other side was a room much like the one she had left. In fact, it might as well have been the same room, except there were multiple tapestries now adorning some of the pillars and covering up many of the mirrors.
Brit drew closer to one of them, but soon took a step back in horror. The tapestries were depicting horrible scenes, scenes of rape and carnage, of destruction and death. Every figure on the tapestry had a face contorted with rage.
Brit looked away, feeling her own anger rise. And yet that still, small voice in her head warned her again of the dangers of becoming too angry. These tapestries were clearly something belonging to Wrath. They showed just the kind of scene he would delight in. Well, she would not let that get the better of her. Better to use the tapestries as a warning of the dangers of her own anger.
She paused again. Since when had she cautioned herself against the dangers of anger? Anger was a tool, a drive to help her win at any cost. But even she had to admit, now was not the time for that approach.
Ahead was another door, identical to the one she had just come through. With a cursory glance at the rest of the space, there didn’t appear to be anything else to capture her attention, other than those horrible tapestries. Well, there was nothing for it.
She covered the distance between herself and the door and opened it. On the other side...was the same scene, a series of impossibly high pillars, with tapestries and mirrors standing between them, and an ordinary door at the other end.
Brit bit down a flash of annoyance and continued her advancement.
No matter how long she tried, every door led to an identical room, as if she had never left the place. Though occasionally the tapestries appeared different, depicting new and sometimes even more horrible scenes. After some time, Brit refused to even look at them.
Yet despite that, her anger was rising, even as she tried door after door after door. Was this some new method of toying with her? Was Wrath, even then, sneering down on her from some unknown position, laughing as she struggled? The very idea caused her jaw to lock. She would find him and make him pay, no matter what. She would triumph.
She screamed in frustration as she passed through another door into the same, exact scene. “Why don’t you come and face me like a man?” she yelled into whatever passed for open air in this place. “Are you a coward?”
Nothing but stillness was her reply, unnatural quiet. Grunting, she ran to the next door and pulled on the handle, not to open the door but to rip the instrument out of its place so she could hurl it at a mirror.
She stopped even as her hand wrapped around the simple brass handle. There was something written there, something that could not have been there before. She would have noticed.
Forgetting her anger in the relief to find a change, she bent low to get a good look at the writing. The words, “Be Bold,” stood out in fine, clear lettering. They would have appeared written by hand if they were not a relief against the brass.
“Be bold?” she said aloud. What was that supposed to mean? She had been bold this entire time, from the moment she jumped into the portal after Una. She was nothing if not a bold person.
But it was the first glimpse of something new since she had begun roaming through the identical rooms. It had to mean something.
Straightening, she stared straight at the planks of wood that made up the door. Well, perhaps if she tried to be more conscious of her boldness, there might be something different on the other side. It wasn’t as though she had many options available.
Turning the inscribed handle, she proceeded, boldly, through the door.
She immediately knew she was not in the same space as before. The light was colder, dimmer. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but she quickly made out a dungeon-like enclosure. That stench of overpowering rose petals was there once again, and Brit buried her nose in the crook of one arm. A dim light permeated the entire room as though coming from all directions. There were forms in the center of the room, and Brit blinked several times before making out two figures, a man standing with his back to Brit, and a woman with her arms tied above her head to a large stone column in the center of the chamber. There was blood covering the girl’s garb, and judging by the man’s hair, Brit surmised that it must be Wrath.
She reached one arm to her hip for a weapon that was not there. As if sensing something, Wrath cocked his head but did not turn. “Something has changed,” he intoned softly.
Then he spun, facing her, and their eyes locked. There was...confusion in his gaze.
Brit did not waste any time, she charged. Though she had no sword, she would crush the life out of him with her own hands if she had to. She would make him scream for her mercy, she would…
Wrath cas
ually waved his hand and she was immediately picked off her feet and hurled sideways by the infinitesimal motion. She cried out as her body impacted the stone wall with such force that the stones broke apart and she continued backward until she fell to the ground, debris and dust peppering her skin.
How was she still alive? That impact alone should have killed her, and that didn’t even take into consideration the many falls she had suffered earlier. Yes, her back now ached worse than before, and she anticipated a mass of bruised flesh once this was all over, but Wrath had not managed to kill her so far.
“Where are you?” came Wrath’s voice. Brit blinked through the dust to stare back through the great hole in the wall. To her surprise, she saw nothing but a long hallway. Wrath was gone, as was the cavernous chamber where he had tortured the young girl, likely Belphoebe’s sister.
Brit rose to her feet, brushing the debris from her shoulders and wincing as the motion caused every inch of her to protest. She had been stupid to get angry again. If she had to guess, that momentary flash of heat in her heart had given Wrath the power to force her through the wall. Now that she was calmer, something had changed.
Perhaps Wrath truly was weaker here, as Guyon had surmised. She would have to reconsider her options. This place was strange. It seemed power came not from one’s physical strength, but by something within. Her own anger, when harnessed by Wrath, gave him power over her. What then could she use to gain power over him?
“Where are you?” Wrath’s voice repeated. “Why can’t I see you?” The sound seemed to come from far away, echoing down the long hall where Brit now stood.
She took a moment to examine the new chamber. Like many of the rooms she had been in, this one held long columns with no ceiling to support, but unlike before these were covered in gold and carved into various shapes. As Brit walked closer, she made out the faces of monsters, some of dragons, some of devilish imps, many of which appeared similar to the foes she had defeated at Castle Silene shortly before coming here.
Instead of mirrors, the place was littered with spoils of war: spears, shields, great swords. Perhaps these were tokens of the things that gave Wrath his name, of the wars and rumors of wars that fueled hatred among mankind. Even as Brit watched, the weapons and armor began to rust. The corrosive materials ate at the steel until every item in the room was consumed in a layer of reddish-brown.
Brit watched with fascination as time seemed to accelerate, consuming every weapon, shield, or plate armor until it had blown away into dust.
What was she to make of that? Was this yet another lesson she was required to learn?
With the steel reduced to nothingness, a new object grabbed Brit’s attention, yet another door at the end of the long hallway. She hadn’t noticed it earlier because it had been covered up by spears and armor.
She took a deep breath and drew closer to the door. If this was anything like the previous doors, she was not sure she would like what was coming. She would either walk into an identical chamber, or she would burst in on Wrath once again, unprepared as she was.
As she walked, her eyes focused on the handle, searching for any other hidden message like the last door had provided. When she glimpsed something there, she hastened her pace to make it out sooner.
“Be not too bold,” she read aloud as she came near enough to read, the letters clearly marked on the brass knob.
Normally, a statement like that would have done nothing but frustrate her. But this time, she paused to think it through.
Brit had no idea where these messages were coming from, but something about them made her suspect they were not part of the malevolent air that permeated this place, but that they were from outside somehow, like a ray of sunlight shining through the smallest gap among the clouds. Last time she had followed its advice and did her best to be bold as she walked through the door only to face Wrath directly. What did it mean to be bold, but not too bold? And what did that have to do with defeating Wrath, if anything?
She thought back to the time when she and Una had first faced Wrath, when she had scored the slightest scratch against the Sin’s cheek. At that time, she had tried her best to calm herself, to remove all anger from her mind and act instinctively as Una had suggested. It had been the closest either of them had come to gain the advantage. If she had to pick one instance of being bold, but not too bold, that was it. Forceful, yet controlled. Vengeful, yet calm.
That’s it, Britomart, a voice seemed to whisper into her head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Guyon. Control is the only real weapon against Wrath.
Brit glanced upward, as if searching for the source of the whisper. Had that been in her head or audibly voiced somewhere?
Focus, came the voice again. You do not have much time. No, not the same voice. This one was was gentler, more feminine, quite similar to the way Belphoebe spoke. Was she hallucinating her friends’ voices now? Or had her two traveling companions managed to find their way into the Shadow Realm?
We are with you. At first Brit thought Guyon’s voice had returned, but though this one was male, the feeling behind it was different, as though there was a third person speaking to her. She thought she recognized the voice but couldn’t quite place it.
Focus, came Belphoebe’s distant voice again.
Yes, she had speculated too long. The Shadow Realm was strange, there could be no denying that. It would not serve her to spend idle time marveling at its oddities.
Be bold, but not too bold. She had boldness in abundance. That was not an issue. But it was the restraint that she lacked, the ability to confidently hold herself back when required. It could be that what she needed was to simply hold herself back when tempted to strike, to allow Wrath to attack her first, to practice patience rather than move aggressively.
It had worked before, when she and Una had faced Wrath together. And in the Shadow Realm, where the world around her was dictated more by the mind than by physical elements, her need for self-control could be even greater.
Be bold, but not too bold.
She raised one hand towards the brass handle, readying herself to step through the door as she had done before, and face whatever Wrath would throw at her with as much calm as she could muster.
Her hand froze even as it touched the handle. Maybe even that was too much? What if even passing through the door, and thereby choosing to move forward, advancing on Wrath was also the wrong tactic? After all, every attempt she had made against him had resulted in a new broken rib or two. What if instead, she waited for him to come to her?
Her body filled her with warmth at the thought, as though she had stumbled on something important. Yes, she could not advance on Wrath without strategy. And while sometimes a good strategy involved a good offense, oftentimes the best strategy was to wait for your opponent to make the wrong move. This was the case in siege warfare, and frequently showed itself on the battlefield as well.
Brit let her arm fall back to her side, and she took one step away from the door. Yes, she would use a different strategy here.
With a low groan, Britomart lowered herself to a sitting position on the stone floor, situated perfectly between the golden columns on either side, facing the wooden door. She would try one thing that had never come naturally to her, but now every particle of her soul confirmed was exactly the tactic she needed: patience.
Brit took a deep breath and waited.
She waited for what seemed like hours, possibly days, though she grew neither tired nor hungry as she maintained her cross-legged position. She kept her eyes closed but every sense remained on high alert.
"How have you eluded me for this long?" Brit's eyes shot open as she finally heard Wrath’s voice. And there he was, standing in front of her, an enormous club in one hand which he pointed straight at her. Brit fought back the urge to scramble to her feet. Now above all, she needed to remain calm.
"Someone's been helping you, haven’t they?" Wrath snarled. "Tell me! Tell me who it is. I've been searching for you
for days, and yet your anger eludes me. Is it the Faerie Queen? Has she somehow found a way to reach you here?"
Brit slowly rose to her feet, taking great pains not to appear flustered in any way. "Perhaps the Faerie Queen has helped me," said Brit as she rose, keeping her voice level. "But I'm sure you know well enough that her help means nothing when you have my anger to feed upon."
Wrath took one step back, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "How is it you've managed to control yourself so thoroughly? You have long been a trusted source of my power. You must have help, something hiding your emotions from me."
"Now there you are wrong, silly Sin." Brit took one step forward, and Wrath responded by taking another step back, this time halting as his back met the door behind him. "I may not be well practiced in continued patience, and it may take me time to master my emotions fully but master them I shall. I will do whatever it is necessary to defeat you, Duessa, and all the remaining Sins. And if that means ridding myself of anger, then that is what I will do.”
A gust of wind flew down the hallway, and something like thunder rolled overhead. Wrath glanced skyward, confused. Brit also stared at the sky, but unlike Wrath she did not fear the rolling clouds above, just as a farmer did not fear the coming of rain to his crops. She had stumbled upon a solution here, and she would find a way to take advantage of it.
A feeling of cold metal touched one hand, and she glanced down to see her sword had returned. She did not know by what miraculous means it had come, but Wrath immediately saw it and snarled at her.
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