42
MURPHY’S LAW, REDEFINED
Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong—so-called Murphy’s law.
Our early human ancestors thought the physical world was governed by vengeful, jealous gods who created storms and rained fireballs from the sky. Now our suspicions that the universe is out to hurt us are less obvious, but they’re still there, hidden away in the remnants of our myths and superstitions. They resurface from the dark, primordial swamps of our minds and make us think our toaster burned our breakfast on purpose, that misfortune attracts more misfortune, and that all it takes is one misstep to trigger a Rube Goldberg–style series of unfortunate events that will see us sliding on a banana peel straight into an open Dumpster that’s rolling off a cliff.
Despite all my love for logic and science, I’m starting to think there’s something to Murphy’s law. Based on my experience in Promise, I can even say I’ve redefined this unofficial law of the universe: Whatever you think the worst-case scenario is, multiply that by ten and brace for the storm of the century. Because it’s going to hit you and hit you hard.
Then add Nibelungs into the mix and you’re totally screwed.
* * *
I step outside the Manor and into a dark fairy tale, the world changing its color palette with every blink. The heavy rain all but ceases, turning into a light drizzle. The air carries a fragrance of exotic flowers and sandalwood, as if a giant incense stick’s been burning for hours and hours. Every shape is sharply outlined in the dark. The night’s crispness soothes my flushed skin. The woods beckon me into their living, breathing realm.
I keep reminding myself why I’m here. To find Del. But the darkest corners of my soul sing another reason. This reason has nothing to do with my lost friend.
We follow Santiago’s directions. He locates the spot where Del entered the woods, a natural archway created by two firs bent toward each other, branches meeting overhead. In more ordinary times, Del would likely want to take a photo of this spot to add to her collection of portals.
Behind me, Santiago flicks on a flashlight. I follow the light, searching for any sign of Del. For a moment I turn on my own flashlight, but I quickly realize, to my surprise, that my eyes see better in the dark unaided.
I look for any spots where grass appears flattened or a patch of moss carries an imprint of a shoe—anything that doesn’t look like the natural way of the forest. We’re getting close to the Black Clearing; I can sense the cursed place on my skin.
Fog crawls from behind the trees, licking the edges of our path. Up above, the alien lights of the auroras begin to weaken, blocked by the tightly woven canopy of trees. The untamed song of the storm rattles the skies, rain and wind working together to ruffle the tree branches and my nerves.
Upon reaching the Black Clearing’s edge, we fall back, concealed by the patchy cover of trees. From my hiding spot, I see a lone figure standing in the middle of the clearing, unmoving, her back to me.
It’s Del, clothes stained with mud and covered with leaves. And there’s blood. Del is dotted with blood, like red sprinkles on a sundae. My stomach turns.
Shannon tries to hold me back, but I shake him off and leave our hiding place, covering the space between Del and me in one fast dash. I sense Shannon and Santiago keeping close just behind me.
Putting a hand on Del’s shoulder, I immediately know something’s wrong. Slowly, she turns around, and I catch a glimpse of her left hand, cradled against her chest. Dark red with drying blood, the hand seems oddly incomplete, smaller than normal, maybe. My breath hitches when I see why. Del’s missing a pinkie. Oh no.
Frantic sound forms on my lips when I see it a moment too late: the glint of a curved blade in Del’s other hand as she slices at me.
Even with her eyes glazed over, Del’s aim is true. With an eerie sense of disbelief, I see blood oozing through the sleeve of my hoodie and feel the burn of the cut.
Growing dizzy from the surprise attack, I tackle Del, trying to keep her knife-wielding hand turned away from me, but she’s no longer dangerous—a lifeless marionette abandoned by her puppeteer. Having achieved its purpose, the knife leaves her hand and hits the forest floor without a sound.
“We need to get her out of here—” I start to say, but a blast of thunder devours my words. I take Del’s undamaged hand and pull, barely making my friend move an inch. I see them then: two figures, covered in hooded black robes from head to toe. They glide toward us across the Black Clearing. Elspeth and Gabriel.
“We need to move!” Pulling Del along, I head back the direction we came, but Santiago blocks my way.
“I’m sorry, Hayden.” His voice makes my skin prickle. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way, but there wasn’t enough time and my lords are out of patience.”
“Your lords?” I ask in an angry whisper. “What have you done?”
Santiago’s response is drowned out by a now-familiar clanging of metal followed by a chorus of subdued, guttural voices. I whirl around, looking for the source of noise, but, aside from Elspeth and Gabriel still about thirty feet away, the clearing’s empty. Yet … I know they’re here. Watching me through the thinning veil between the worlds. The Nibelungen army from my dreams. My mother’s darkest secret. Her burden. The cursed amulet in my pocket pings. Like calls to like.
I hear their presence: invisible horses letting out impatient huffs, digging their hooves into the wet soil.
I know we need to move, but my feet refuse to follow my brain’s orders.
A ghostly hand sweeps against my cheek and I spin around, bumping into Shannon and coming face-to-face with a stunned Santiago. His lips are tight, drained of blood, his eyes glued to something behind me.
A horse neighs so close, I feel hot air ruffling my hair. A loud racket makes me shut my eyes tight in a moment of blind panic. Whatever’s coming, it’s making the forest vibrate with its sheer, terrible power.
A ghostly rider swishes past me, grabbing Santiago and disappearing into the woods.
“Watch out!” Shannon brings me close to him as another rider passes by, swinging an iron mace. I bury my face into Shannon’s chest.
“What’s happening, Hayden?” Del’s shaky voice makes me regain focus. Her eyes are clear and she’s looking around, spooked. Any moment now, she’ll feel the pain of her mutilated left hand.
“You’ve been compelled,” I say. In a blink of an eye, Elspeth and Gabriel are here, their robes swirling behind them like menacing wings. We’re out of time. Before I can react, Shannon makes a rapid move toward Gabriel, but he’s thrown back by some invisible force.
“Don’t hurt him!” I scream. I want to run toward Shannon, but my legs feel like they’re glued to the ground and sinking. When I look down, nothing’s out of ordinary, but the sinking sensation doesn’t go away. It spreads up to my knees, leaving me paralyzed.
“You could’ve freed yourself easily just now, you know,” Elspeth says while Gabriel produces the three vials of blood out of his robe’s hidden pockets. “You could’ve sensed my magic on Santiago from a mile away, and you could’ve succeeded in your half-baked attempt at compelling Del to leave town this morning. If only you embraced your true nature. But alas.”
“You tried to compel me?” Del’s quiet words make me shiver on the inside. I avoid her eyes. Shannon stands up and shuffles closer to me. I exhale in relief that he’s unharmed. When he addresses Elspeth, his voice is shaking with anger. “What do you have on Santiago to make him do this?”
“Nothing.” Elspeth grins at Shannon, showing white and pointy teeth. “He wanted to serve us, just like Abigail did. There’ll always be willing humans. Their minds are so easy to corrupt.”
“What do you want from us?” I try to keep her occupied while I shift in my spot, attempting to separate my feet from the ground but failing.
“Not much now.” Elspeth shrugs, then gives her father a nod. At her command, Gabriel opens the blood vials one by one and shakes their contents out, the droplets of blood fallin
g to the ground, glowing as they disappear into the restless soil. With unnatural clarity, I recall the wording of Mom’s instructions, urging me to spill the blood from the vials in the Promise woods and then will an entrance closed as I draw my own blood. The words of Mom’s lullaby hit me hard: The blood of the first three, it’ll break down the walls. As a strange fever builds in my mind, I picture a doorway closing. But it’s not enough. I have to dig deeper.
Meanwhile, Elspeth nods at Del. “She served her purpose. Just like the amulet Gabriel enchanted with false memories served its purpose, I suppose. Just like you’re about to serve yours.” Her speed unnatural, Elspeth makes a rapid move into my personal space and grabs my injured arm at the same time that Gabriel lunges at Shannon. The two men crumple to the ground, each landing punches on the other.
I focus my will on what’s about to happen and call on whatever ancient power resides inside me. I think of a door closing, a vortex collapsing on itself, while Elspeth tears my sleeve to shreds, revealing the long cut Del’s knife left on my skin. “Did you really think I was going to let you ruin it for me? Your mother tried to close the gateway; she was willing to let her people wither and die. I won’t let you finish what she started.” My wound opens further, oozing so much blood that my vision wavers and my knees buckle. I swear in pain and watch my blood seep to the ground.
The earth shivers under my feet. I scramble to find my footing, but the ground cracks opens and the clearing breaks in half. The growing chasm separates me and Del from Elspeth, Gabriel, and Shannon. I squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate all my intent on the task of closing the portal that Elspeth’s so eager to open.
“I RELEASE YOU!” Elspeth’s scream is the roar of an otherworldly creature unleashed on this world from the bowels of hell.
Elspeth is winning. The world is changing, the interdimensional portal is opening, rearranging space-time into a new—scarier—version of reality. Somewhere beyond the forest trees, a demonic horse lets out an impatient cry.
From her side of the chasm, Elspeth screams, “Watch this, Hayden! Watch as I claim what could’ve been yours by birthright, what your mother discarded so she could live a life with humans!”
The portal opens, its vortex spinning fast, fueled by an energy that human physics could not even begin to comprehend. I take a step away from the growing portal, but Del stays immobile, pinned to her spot, so close to the spiral that its expanding reach is almost touching her feet.
“Del, move away!” I yell, but Del, still stunned from her compulsion, takes a wrong step and staggers closer to the spinning vortex.
“Control your human!” Elspeth’s words are lost in the rumble of the passage opening between worlds.
It happens fast, leaving me with only a second to react. When Del is sucked into the spiral of the vortex, I go after her.
“Hayden, don’t!” Shannon calls after me, but I’m already diving into the vortex.
The last thing I hear is Elspeth’s scream. Through the smoke of the portal I see her running toward me, jumping across the chasm, her black robe swirling around her like a disembodied dark shadow. She looks beautiful.
43
I DON’T THINK WE’RE IN PROMISE ANYMORE
My body loses shape and importance. Only my consciousness remains as I wade through the fog that seems to fuel the portal. I absorb the fog, welcoming it into my bloodstream, where it attaches itself to my cells, forever altering me and filling me with a power that can destroy planets and send galaxies spinning and colliding into one another.
In this moment I cease being, and I don’t feel particularly sad about it.
* * *
When I regain my physical shape, I see the rain and hear the thunder.
I float through space in a bubble that gleams and shivers but does not break, the downpour bouncing off its transparent walls, leaving me dry and warm inside.
* * *
There’s no time to speak of in here. No space, either. I can’t see the world beyond the wall of rain. I can no longer tell the difference between up and down, left and right. I’m suspended in nothingness.
But the longer I stare into the space outside the bubble, the more I see it’s not as empty as I originally thought. On the contrary, it’s full of incorporeal shapes—beings roaming just outside my reach.
* * *
My bubble bursts.
My stomach contracts as I rocket down (or is it up?), wind making my hair flap around my head. I scream, but the cottonlike fog and ravenous wind eat up all sound.
* * *
As far as my perception of reality goes, there are only three things I’m absolutely certain of in this moment: my wildly beating heart, the impenetrable whiteness around me, and the swishing sound my body makes as it falls with ever-increasing speed.
My thoughts as I plummet are of Shannon and quantum physics.
* * *
When I first register a glimmer of light beneath my feet (or above them), I could’ve been falling for seconds, or hours, or days. Like a drowning woman holding on to a piece of driftwood, I cling to this first ray of hope, a break in the monotony of my strange new existence.
As the light approaches, I brace for impact, readying myself for bones breaking, anticipating pain and death. Every question I’ve ever had about the afterlife is about to be answered.
But when I hit the ground, I land on my feet with an unfamiliar yet natural grace.
The fog clears and I find myself in a small grotto, moss-covered walls glittering and the ground squishy to the touch. An opening several feet above my head is the source of the vague light I saw as I was traveling through the vortex.
With the protective warmth of the bubble gone, the temperature drop is dramatic. Each exhale releases a visible cloud from my mouth. Shivering and frantic, I search for something to use to climb out.
The walls around me are wet and slippery. I doubt I can climb my way out of here. So I jump, reaching out high with my hands, aiming for the overhead ledge.
A surprised gasp escapes my lips when my body lifts off the ground. I hover in the air, international-space-station style. Without much effort, I pull myself through the gap and float out of the cave.
In this state of weakened gravity, I bring myself into a vertical position and eventually find my footing. The cut on my arm has opened up again, leaking fresh blood. I wipe it against my torn jeans and shove the dull pain to the back of my mind.
I look around me. The grotto I just floated out of is nestled in a cliffside at the foot of a giant, silver-gray monolith that stretches up high, disappearing into the bloated clouds. Down below, opaque fog carpets the ground for as far as the eye can see. And far ahead, where the horizon meets the rose-tinted skies, clusters of spiral aurora borealis rule space. This world, alien yet familiar, takes my breath away.
I focus on what lies right before me. From my elevated platform and through the mantle of fog, I can make out uneven ground about ten feet below. Moving carefully, I come to sit on the edge of the slippery rock. Then I take a leap of faith and slide off, legs first, till I land on the rubbery terrain. Jellylike, it wiggles under my feet.
Surrounded by the fog, I extend my hands, feeling my way forward. When I yank my hands back, a ghostly shimmer is left as a residue on my skin. Like fairy dust. Mesmerized, I blow on it and watch the glittery powder scatter, becoming absorbed back into the fog.
I detect a distant chatter of voices. They’re approaching fast. I knew this world was inhabited, but I’ve yet to see its denizens in the flesh. The anticipation of that encounter makes my toes tremble.
The thought of Del—alone, vulnerable, thrust into this foreign world—is the only thing that keeps me from turning back and crawling into the cave where I entered this dimension.
From above, a raven caws. Once. Twice. I look up. A splash of pure white is circling me. Randy?
The white raven’s presence warms me in an unexpected way, and I face the inevitability of meeting this land’s inhabitan
ts with renewed courage. When the voices draw close enough for me to distinguish words, I recognize the language from my dreams. “Who’s there?” I ask, but the fog remains silent. “I’m only here to get my friend.”
My words are met with hushed whispers, which are followed by a tense silence. Whoever’s out there in the fog may not speak English, or any other human language for that matter. Seconds stretch into minutes and nothing happens. They’re waiting. I’m waiting. The fog listens.
I decide to try something different and begin singing Mom’s lullaby. I hum it at first, hoping that the uneven tune will travel through the fog, reaching the ears and minds of my silent observers. The fact that I’m still alive makes me bolder, so I add the lyrics. “The first one was a warrior, the second a handmaiden; their queen who led the army was third. They’ll save their people! The blood of the first three, it’ll break down the walls—it’ll set their people free, and the new world will emerge.…”
A single voice picks up the melody, singing Mom’s lullaby in that ancient language—the language of the Nibelungs. Another voice joins in and then another and another, till I lose count and the song seems to come at me from everywhere.
Their tall, distorted shapes appear out of the fog. I make out the silhouettes of warriors. Most sit atop horses though a few move on their feet, but they do so in a sliding motion, as if not touching the ground. The foot soldiers as well as the riders and their beasts are clad in silver armor decorated with dark runes.
My eyes search for Grane, the battle horse from my dream. But he’s not with this group. Instinctively, I focus on his name and let my mind conjure up Grane’s image the way I keep seeing him in my dreams and visions. I reach out to the beast and, from a distance, he answers.
He’s on his way.
My little experiment with telepathy appears to have agitated the shadow knights. The whispering intensifies, and I can feel their attention; it’s making me break into a cold sweat. But when I focus on the knights’ faces—or, more correctly, on what lies beyond their open-visor helmets—I shiver.
What the Woods Keep Page 25
