by Ryvr Jones
“We need to go,” he growled against her lips, “before I forget about the end of the world.”
She nodded, unable to say anything.
This is it.
Tamerah called the Shadows and took them, one at a time, to the place where she’d seen Rhys die.
Caeron was watching over the field when Tarani left Rhys by his side. She squeezed Rhys’s hand and went back for the historian.
Taking a deep breath, Rhys surveyed the landscape. A tenuous moonlight illuminated the expanse of wild grass. Farat was just as he remembered, and yet not the same at all.
There was something missing—the magic that hummed in Terahmaht, permeating everything like a soft, translucent mist. Today there was only fog, deadness, an oppressive quiet shrouding the field and the distant trees.
The few trees that were the meager remains of what had once been Ryannan, the Sacred Forest of Terahmaht.
His gaze wandered to the hill at his left, and the absence of the familiar silhouette of Faruhan-Aleth hurt, opening another gash in his soul. He was part of the reasons why the castle wasn’t there anymore, why Terahmaht had vanished into oblivion. The darkness he’d brought to the world had been another leap into the decline started long ago.
Fury, regret, sorrow and misery bubbled inside him, corrosive poison boiling and exploding to the surface, unstoppable.
“I’m here!” Rhys thundered to the dark, starless sky. “I’m here, you fucker!”
The wind rose and ran through the land, rushing around them like the lament of restless spirits. This was the same as before—the Goddess making her displeasure known, nature protesting the evil that walked over the earth.
After a few minutes, the shadows under the trees curled, unfurled, unleashing dark tendrils towards them.
“Come and get me, asshole!” The darkness moved inside him, clawing at his soul, wanting out. “Come, so I can kill you!” Rhys didn’t know if he could kill the fucker, but he sure was going to try.
Kill, the darkness whispered.
“I hope those shadows are not like Death’s Shadows,” Caeron muttered, “or we’re going to be screwed really fast.”
Kill. Kill them all.
As soon as she got back to Caeron’s library, Tamerah felt something was wrong.
“Nell?” she called, but the historian was nowhere to be seen.
“The human is not here.” Seersha stepped out of the Shadows, startling her. “We need to go.”
Tamerah blinked. “What do you mean, she’s not here? What happened?”
“I don’t know, but we need to go.”
Seersha’s tone was urgent, and panic rose inside Tamerah’s chest. She wanted to go back to Rhys as soon as possible, but what if something bad had happened to Nell?
“Listen to me.” Seersha grabbed her arms, staring into her eyes. “We don’t have time. You’re his last hope, Tamerah. Our last hope. Only you can save him.” Her eyes turned completely black. “Don’t let Rhys die.”
“I won’t,” Tamerah said, and called the Shadows.
“Where’s Nell?” Caeron asked when Tarani emerged alone from the Shadows.
She shook her head, sadness and fear glowing on her face. “She wasn’t there.”
Had the rotten souls managed to capture Nell while she was alone? Rhys tried to control his rage, but the darkness surfaced, drawing black lines on his skin once again. It burned, expanding over his arm, mimicking the poisonous vines from the Abyss.
Seersha appeared beside them. “We’ll worry about the historian later. You have more pressing matters to attend.” She nodded towards the fields and retreated to hide in the Shadows, letting him know she was still there. “Just in case.”
A hundred feet away from Rhys, the shadows stopped, writhed, contracted, and solidified into an army. The decaying army.
The stench of putrefaction surrounded them, making Tarani heave.
“Gods, these fuckers are a stinking bunch,” Caeron quipped.
Thousands of walking corpses, in various stages of decomposition, stood in front of them. Wherever Rhys looked, all he could see was putrid flesh and torn skin, dried blood and shredded muscles, slashed mouths hanging like open wounds below empty eye sockets.
We’re really fucked. Rhys had expected to face some rotten fuckers, not an army of thousands. There was no way they could battle that many soldiers and win. Their only hope would be Seersha and Tarani taking them away before things got too bad. Rhys wouldn’t go without getting some answers, though.
From amidst the standing corpses, a man limped forward.
Tall and thin, pale as if he were dead, even though his body wasn’t rotten like the rest of them. He wore a gray shirt and black breeches similar to the ones Rhys had owned centuries ago. His face was scarred, especially the left side, where the scars formed some kind of symbol, and his colorless eyes seemed to be almost transparent.
“The Blind One,” Tarani whispered, clutching Rhys’s arm in a death grip.
“You can call me Dallan.” The stranger dipped his head a fraction. “Don’t mind my soldiers. They’re just insurance. No one will touch you unless I say so.”
Right. “What do you want?” Rhys stepped forward, pushing Tarani behind him.
“I want what you want, Rejan-Ashen.” The bastard met his gaze head-on. “Oblivion. Vengeance.”
“Do not use the Sacred Language,” Rhys spat. “You don’t have the right.”
“Nothing is sacred, not anymore.” Dallan bared his teeth in a mocking smile. “The Gods don’t care about this wretched world, about you or me. They have forsaken us.”
The wind howled around them in a pitiful cry as the darkness climbed up Rhys’s arms, lighting fire in its wake. Kill.
“Rhys,” Tarani called from behind him. “Don’t give in.”
“Ah, the demon.” Another repulsive smile curled Dallan’s lips. “I must thank you for the blood you so graciously provided.” He unsheathed the Black Dagger from a strap on his chest.
Kill. Kill them all, the darkness cackled, the fire of the vines covering his shoulders and descending over his chest and his back. “Shut up, asshole.” Rhys took another step forward.
“You have to fight it,” Tarani pleaded.
“Caeron, don’t let her get closer.” Knowing his friend would protect her, Rhys closed his eyes and let his true form take over. Once the change was complete, he could feel the darkness etched in his bones, the black lines moving, creeping all over him. Kill.
He gazed at his opponent. To his dullahan eyes, normal souls appeared nearly solid, surrounded by a faint glow. Dallan’s soul was weird. It showed the same brand and scars his body did, but it wasn’t rotten. It was translucent, almost completely transparent, almost…not there.
Whatever. Unsheathing his sword, Rhys advanced on the bastard, who didn’t recoil, but took a sword from his own back and lunged for him.
Their swords collided. Both of them attacked, retreated and went forward again, in a deadly dance. The rotten army stood still, while Caeron clutched a struggling Tarani and tried to reason with her.
“Keep them away,” Dallan said.
A few corpses stepped forward and stood near Caeron. Rhys had a second to see him let his dullahan form out and Tarani grab a dagger from her waist, before Dallan took another swing at him.
“Rhys, are you with us, man?” Caeron asked.
“Protect Tarani.” That was all that mattered. “If things get out of hand, ask Seersha to take both of you away.”
“As much as I enjoy sparring,” Dallan said as he took a step back, “we need to get rid of that soul of yours.” He swung his sword to the right and Rhys blocked the blow, but the movement gave Dallan an opening to plunge the Black Dagger into Rhys’s ribs.
Dallan stepped back and Rhys looked at his own torso. The dagger was stuck between two of his ribs. He gazed up at Dallan, wishing he could arch a brow.
“I know,” Dallan said almost cheerfully, “it won’t kill you.”<
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Rhys clutched the dagger and ripped it off his chest. The fucking thing had nicked his ribs. The black lines rushed to that spot, burning his bones, the inexplicable pain so fierce he wanted to vomit.
“No!” Tarani screamed while Rhys fell to his knees, his sword going to the ground, useless. She turned around, ducking the rotten soul she was battling. Caeron jumped in and beheaded the corpse, helping her escape and blocking the path of the other fuckers.
Tarani ran to Rhys’s side and pried the Black Dagger from his numb fingers. No, don’t touch it. She couldn’t hear him, and he was too weak to fight her.
Pain. All his being had turned into excruciating, pure pain. His body burned, his bones crushed under the vines, darkness, darkness and misery, filling his lungs, blinding his eyes. No escape. He couldn’t breathe.
Despair engulfed him, an oily poison contaminating his blood, his thoughts. He tried to fight it, to remember something good, but it was useless.
There was never anything good in my life.
Only sorrow, regret, loneliness.
Consumed by the darkness, Rhys drowned.
Absolute darkness. Silence. Nothingness.
Like being dead.
I’m not dead. It hurts too much.
The smell of putrefaction, so strong it was a living thing, hanging in the air.
Dizzy from the searing pain, it took Rhys a moment to recognize where he was. The Abyss.
Almost as if his recognition had called it, the now familiar, tenuous red haze illuminated the place. He found himself kneeling in the same corridor as always, his body already rotten, worse than the corpses he’d left on the field.
His hands had lost all flesh and skin, and his arms were blue and black, his tattered shirt and the wide gashes in his muscles showing the bones beneath. As his stomach split open, his guts started to slowly slide out. His vision went black and he roared, screaming until his throat was raw and he was spitting blood.
Tarani. You promised.
But she wasn’t there, his silver light wouldn’t save him.
Another wave of pain sliced his chest, his flesh was torn open and his ribs poked through, broken and blackened where the dagger had nicked them.
As more and more gashes opened, Rhys’s soul bled. His guts spilled over his thighs towards the floor, but he was hurting so bad he barely registered the horror of it all. The muscles of his back split open, and more blood trickled down what was left of his rotten skin. I’m dying.
A noise, a slight rush of air. Steps.
They’re coming to devour what’s left of me.
A warrior emerged from the darkness. “We have been waiting for you.”
More warriors ambled behind him, pale and translucent, some bloody and wounded, others with broken bones and missing limbs.
These weren’t ghosts from his past. A new kind of torture.
“We are Andirah-Merah,” said the one that had spoken first. “We await your call.”
“Andirah-Merah,” Rhys gurgled, trying to understand. “Restless souls.”
When the words spoken in the Sacred Language left his bloody mouth, the souls lunged for him. He waited, almost hoped for a death blow, but they morphed into a black fog and entered his body through his open wounds, burrowing under the remains of his skin, clinging to his bones, dissolving into his blood, hiding inside his skull.
Thousands of them, screaming inside him, hurting him, and he roared again. The darkness laughed, laughed, delighted in his misery and suffering.
Die. Please, let me die.
“Rhys!” Tarani’s voice cut through the fog of pain. “I used the dagger. A slash on my arm was enough.”
Tarani. You came.
“Oh Gods…” Her words died on a sob. “I’ll take you back. I won’t let you die. You’re mine.”
Her arms embraced him, touching his open wounds, making them hurt even more. He tried to speak, but only blood came out of his mouth.
“Shh, it will be over in a second,” she whispered.
The souls inside him screamed, banging his skull and rattling his bones. They were…happy?
This was Dallan’s plan, he realized. The fucker wanted Rhys to take the restless souls back to the world.
Tarani, no!
The Shadows enveloped them, and they were back in Farat.
Rhys pushed Tarani away from him. He lay on the ground, back in his human form, dark blood seeping from the wound on his ribs. It was already healing, and yet he knew—his soul was fading fast. Dying. I have failed again.
Over his skin, the vines writhed, squirming, boiling, burning. He wanted to scream but his throat was raw, he didn’t have any voice left. The souls shrieked and laughed inside his skull, battering the remains of his control. After a moment, they exploded from him in a black fog, and their cries of victory tore through the air, carried by the wind.
The fog seeped from him and covered the field, spreading fast as a flood, crossing through the rotten army, going away from them. To the small city that slept some miles away.
“Well done, Night Spirit,” Dallan said, standing beside Rhys. “The restless souls have tasted your darkness, and now they carry it. You can rest now.”
Rhys closed his eyes. No. But he knew it was true. The darkness had been unleashed. He felt in his bones how the evil poured from him, spreading over the fields, devouring the night.
“Get away from him.” Tarani stepped between them, the Black Dagger in her hand. “I can use the Shadows. I’ll stab you in the back before you can say ‘free trip to the Abyss’.”
The fucker laughed and bowed before her as if she was his Queen. “As you wish. My work is done, anyway.” He took a step back and disappeared among the rotten soldiers.
Those who had been fighting Caeron retreated after their master and stood back with the others. What the fuck?
Tarani knelt beside Rhys and cradled his head on her arms, tugging him until he was partially resting over her lap. She had the Black Dagger tucked on her belt.
“Tarani,” Rhys murmured, spitting more blood. “Don’t.”
“I won’t use it,” she whispered to his ear. “Not unless I have too.”
At that moment Rhys felt it. The souls had arrived at the village and started to kill people. Using the fog to strangle and suffocate everyone in their path, on the streets, in the taverns or inside the houses.
Andirah-Merah. Restless souls, damned souls. Multiplying as they killed, because the darkness tainted each soul it touched, turning it into one of them.
I have unleashed another horror upon the world.
Rhys heaved.
Kill, the darkness cackled. Bring them to the darkness.
Two forces warred inside him. What little was left of his soul, a meager sliver of humanity, tried to think of a way to stop them. And failed.
The other part, the one that had become darkness, laughed and took pleasure on the killing, in the damned souls, in the hopelessness and carnage of it all.
The pain in Tamerah’s chest expanded to her arms, her stomach, her legs. Rhys’s pain.
He’s dying.
She’d seen his soul in the Abyss. A jumble of rotten flesh, open wounds and spilled guts. She gagged, still cradling his head on her lap.
“Stay with me,” she whispered, tears falling from her eyes to his ashen face. His eyes were closed, his breath shallow. “Just a little longer. I’ll find a way.”
Seersha crouched at her side and let out a heavy, tired breath. “We have failed.”
“His soul is almost dead.” Tamerah sobbed. “Please, help me.”
“I don’t know how.” Seersha pursed her lips. “He’s lost to us. The darkness has been unleashed.”
“There must be something we can do.” How could Seersha give up so easily? She was the strongest person Tamerah knew. She’d even given Tamerah a piece of her own soul, when it would have been so much easier to just quit.
A piece of her soul.
Tamerah gasped. Yes. “I’
ll give him a piece of my soul.” Rhys coughed blood, and she held him tight. “I’ll give him all of it. I don’t care. Just tell me how.”
“It won’t work.” Seersha shook her head, her voice dripping with regret. “Only vessels and Bridges can receive a piece of soul. You’re a vessel. He’s still mostly human. Furthermore, you didn’t have one when I gave you a piece of mine. He still has a sliver of his, and you can’t mesh two souls together. ” Infinite sadness filled her eyes, softening the sharp lines of her face. “I’m sorry.”
“I need to try. I have to do something. I can’t let him die.” Tamerah swallowed the violent sobs that shook her body and rocked Rhys like a small, frightened child.
“You can’t do it.” Seersha touched her shoulder, speaking softly. “Your soul is not strong enough to withstand being ripped apart. You’d probably die along with him.”
“I don’t care.” Tamerah recoiled from Seersha’s touch. “I will not watch him die again. The Sheramath created me to save him. And I will.” She had to believe it. “The Sheramath gave me...she gave me her blood and her memories.”
Once again Tamerah remembered the Thousand Deaths Battle. Rhys dying, lying on the ground, his soul was gone, he was almost dead, but the Sheramath wasn’t there to say the word and bring him back…
Don’t go, stay with me, don’t die…
The memory blended with reality, and instead of Tamerah she was Brianna, bent over Ryanne’s lifeless body, whispering the word that would bring his soul back...
The Shadow Word. The word of Life and Death. The word Tamerah had used at the ruins, the word the Sheramath had used to bring Ryanne’s soul back from the Abyss.
Tamerah knew the Shadow Word.
It had brought his soul back, maybe it could heal it. At least enough to keep him alive.
Please, Goddess, Tamerah prayed, let him stay with me.
“I remember the word,” she whispered, bending closer to him. Rhys convulsed, his body tensed and twisted, but she kept his head still. “You’re mine, Night Spirit. You’re mine, Rejan-Ashen, Ryanne. Rhys. My soul is yours. Take what you need.” Tamerah fused their lips together and breathed the word into Rhys’s mouth.
