by Rebecca Ross
He finally did, and they carefully untangled themselves from each other and their blankets, as if nothing had happened. They ate a quick meal, drank from their water flasks, and while Damon prepared their horses, Evadne bundled their bedrolls, drawing stray grass from her hair.
He sang his charena spell over them once more, and then they were off, galloping to the south.
Their second night of camping was the same as before, only Mount Euthymius had crept into view. Evadne felt uneasy at the sight of it, a peak that rose higher than all others. Damon still insisted that they should burn no fire yet, but when he lay down next to Evadne, he set two ember stones near them. To be breathed upon and sparked in an instant, should they need fire.
“Do you think Ivina will send our fears to oppose us in the mountain?” Evadne wondered as Damon set his back to her, drawing their blankets over them. The wind blew harsher that night, bitterly from the mountains. And there were no stars; the clouds veiled them. Evadne missed their presence.
Damon was silent for a moment, pensive. “Yes. I expect she will.”
She wondered what he feared, what sort of phantom haunted him, a ghost that Ivina could raise with a mere swipe of her fingers. But Evadne did not ask, remembering Toula’s reprimand from weeks ago. To reveal a fear was to be vulnerable.
And she dwelled on her own fear, pulling her right ankle farther beneath the blankets.
If Ivina resurrected the phantom dog again, Evadne would think of Arcalos. Sweet, gentle Arcalos.
“Have you ever seen Ivina?” Evadne asked.
“No. But I have heard her laughter on the wind,” Damon answered. “She takes delight in tormenting others.”
“I wonder if she was always like that, even when she was a mortal mage.”
“I suppose it is possible that she was different before Euthymius granted her immortality,” Damon said around a yawn. “Being alone in a mountain and guarding a trapped god for hundreds of years surely takes a toll.”
“Do you think she can be killed?”
“Maybe. But one would have to get close enough to her to even attempt it. And as far as I know . . . that has never happened.”
Evadne slept uneasily that night, waking frequently. Damon’s back remained to her, and this time Evadne turned to him, her face and hands freezing until she pressed against him and stole his warmth.
They were up again at dawn, riding the final approach to Euthymius. When darkness fell, Damon led them on a deer trail among the foothills, and they battled rocks and tangles of shrubs, but he claimed it would be the safest way to approach the mountain door.
This had been the path that Xander and Halcyon had once planned to take.
Damon eventually brought them to a cleverly hidden grotto. They fed and watered their mounts, leaving the horses hobbled in the safety of the shadows. Damon mixed Cosima’s herbs into both of their water flasks, to ward off exhaustion as they approached.
They took the mountain path beneath their feet, quietly carrying their swords on their backs and the Song of Stars in their minds. The horses would have drawn Ivina’s attention, he claimed as the way soon grew steep and treacherous. Several times, Damon crouched behind a rock, pulling Evadne with him, as if he could feel the immortal mage’s eyes sweeping the mountainside. But nothing came for them.
Dawn arrived with a sigh. Evadne watched the light increase breath by breath, turning the rocks and shale around her to rosy hues. Mount Euthymius seemed to be a pillar of fire against the brightening stars, catching the light of both sun and moon. Despite the beauty of the summit, Evadne did not let her gaze linger upon the slope, for fear of drawing Ivina’s attention.
She was drenched in sweat, cold and hot all at once, soft with exhaustion in the rare moments when the fear did not sharpen her, her ankle singing in pain. And then Damon came to an abrupt halt; she narrowly avoided stepping into him, peering over his shoulder to see what had brought him upright.
The threshold of the mountain was paved as a courtyard. One great door was hewn in the rock, arched and carved with the nine symbols of the divines.
“How do we gain entrance?” Evadne whispered, and even with her voice lower than a hum, it seemed far too loud.
“Entrance is simple,” Damon whispered in return.
He reached for the coil of rope he had fastened to his belt. Evadne watched as he bound the rope about his waist, knowing the other end was for her. They would tether themselves together, to keep from being separated. She stepped closer to him, and Damon carefully brought the cord about her waist, knotting it with trembling fingers. It was the only evidence of his fear.
“Come, let us go now.”
She felt his every step. The rope between them yanked, but it kept her close to him. She could smell the earth and salt on his skin, the wind in his hair as they approached the door. No matter the position of the sun, the door of Euthymius was always draped in shadow. Only the carvings caught the light.
Damon stared at them a moment, as if he was lost in thought. Evadne waited, feeling the sun rise with each haggard breath.
“Damon . . .”
“If my voice should falter,” he said, continuing to stare at the divine symbols, “if I should forget the words, above all else, do not cease your singing. Your voice will be my guide, Evadne.”
He turned and looked at her. She could see herself reflected within his eyes: the sunlight sat upon her hair like a crown; the hilt of the sword smoldered like a star on her shoulder.
She must have appeared ready, because Damon withdrew a kopis from his belt. He sliced his palm in one fluid motion, laying his bloodied hand upon Ari’s carven symbol. His ancestor.
The door shuddered. It was too loud, Evadne thought with a wince, preparing to see the wild-eyed Ivina emerge at any moment.
But no one came to greet them.
The door fully opened, and Evadne smelled the cold heart of the mountain. Slick white stone. Creeping moss. Endless water. The rot of something dying.
If not for the tether, she would have lurched back.
She wanted to run. But Damon stepped forward.
Evadne followed him into the mountain, the light from the open door waning the deeper they ventured. They were walking in a tunnel, the floor beneath them gradually declining. The walls on either side of them were damp; water dripped from the ceiling, beading in their hair, on their shoulders. Evadne imagined Euthymius and Loris carving their way into this mountain, long ago. One by earth, the other by water. Both divine, both smoldering with the intention to trap their brother.
Soon, there was no light. The darkness was supreme, permeating. Evadne could not see her hand when she held it before her face, and the air boasted a brutal chill. It was a dank cold, a cold to sink deep into bones. Evadne began to shiver, and they had not even reached the first tier of the cistern.
“Evadne,” Damon whispered, slowing his pace.
She wondered if he wanted to turn back. She wondered what she would say if he asked her to.
She wanted to turn back, too. But she needed to fulfill this mission. For Halcyon.
“I am here,” she said, touching his back in reassurance.
He continued to lead her, and soon she felt the ceiling heighten, the tunnel widen. They were almost at the cistern. She could hear the trickle of water; she envisioned the map in her mind. There would be a stone arch that marked the stairwell. That is how they would be able to find the safe way down the first waterfall.
She heard Damon step into the water.
He stood for a moment, the water lapping at his ankles, and then he began to sing his enchantment, to light their way and ward off phantoms. Evadne merely listened at first, transfixed by the haunting beauty of his voice. It echoed along the water of the cistern, taking her back to a tender moment when life was sweet, gentle. It stirred a nameless thing within her, a flame that burned in her lungs. She watched as he summoned the fire. A star bloomed, inspired by his voice and his magic, and it floated in the air bet
ween them. She could see the planes of his face, limned in silver, and his voice grew stronger, braver.
She stepped into the water with him, and joined his song. Her voice soft where his was rough. She was his balance, his accompaniment. And the stars began to multiply; they gathered around them and lit their path, their reflections just as luminous on the trembling surface of the water.
Ivina would know they were here. She would hear their song, and yet they did not sing meekly. They sang to defy her, to announce their presence. They sang without fear, walking through the cistern. With each stanza Damon sang, more and more stars gathered until Evadne could see the mountain ceiling, white and glittering. She could see the pillars Euthymius had shaped, narrow and sleek, blooming from the floor like trees to uphold the dome, and she and Damon wove among them.
The resistance did not come until they had sung through the entire song, their voices circling back to repeat it.
Evadne felt Damon tug on their tether as he stumbled, losing his breath. He hunched over, and Evadne worried he was bleeding. His song was slowing, and she knew his magic was thinning. And yet the stars continued to unfold around them, incandescent. And Evadne continued to sing, her voice a guide for him.
Damon straightened and rejoined her in song, and they struggled to walk and sing through the frigid water, following the draw of the currents. Sweat began to bead her brow; surely, they were close to the first waterfall. In between breaths, she listened for it—the distinctive roar of rushing water.
“Eva! Eva, where are you going?”
Evadne stopped, shocked to hear a beloved voice echo across the water to her, cutting through Damon’s enchantment. She nudged past him to see Halcyon standing a few paces before them. Her older sister was decked in armor—it was brilliant, as if she was dressed in every color of earth and sky. She smiled, and her eyes were mirthful, as alluring as molten gold. Halcyon radiated strength and health and beauty; her hair was long and iridescently dark in the firelight, brushing her collar.
“Halcyon?” Evadne cried, astonished. “Is it truly you?”
“Yes, Little Sister,” Halcyon said.
“But I thought . . .” Evadne suddenly struggled to remember. Where was she? What was the annoying tug at her back? “But I thought you were somewhere else.”
“Where else would I be?” she countered with a laugh. The sound only heightened Evadne’s desperation to reach her, to throw her arms about her sister. “I have been with you all this time. Not once have I left you. Now follow me and let us go home. Let us return to Isaura.”
“Yes, I have longed for it, more than anything!” Evadne almost wept, the desire threatening to burst in her chest.
“Come, then! Follow me.” Halcyon invited, but she turned be-fore the words had fully left her lips, striding away into the darkness.
“Hal, wait!” Evadne was terrified of losing her. She rushed forward to chase after her sister, only to discover something was resisting her. It almost felt like hands on her waist, hands rushing along her arms, hands cupping her face . . . She struggled against them, but there was such gentle persistence within that haunting touch. “Hal! Halcyon!” Evadne shouted, dragging the mysterious weight behind her. Everything felt muddled in her mind, in her heart. It was dark, and yet there was light. She could not remember where she was. All she knew was her sister was about to abandon her. Halcyon at last paused, casting prisms on the stone pillars. “You are stronger than that, Little Sister.”
“Something is holding me back!”
“It is yourself, Eva. You have a sword at your back, remember? Unsheathe it and cut away the part of yourself that is hindering you.”
Her order bewildered Evadne. Why would her sister tell her to wound herself?
But Halcyon was not waiting for her to decide. Unusually impatient, Halcyon pressed on again. She was about to disappear in the darkness, and Evadne would not lose her.
She rallied her strength and dragged that encumbering weight behind her like it was a mere grain sack. She thought she heard her name, as if shouted from a long distance. But she was too focused on her sister to stop and heed it.
She felt the water rushing faster at her ankles. It was guiding her to her sister; it was aiding her. And then she realized Halcyon had brought her to the first waterfall.
Halcyon stood at the very edge, the water roaring down the long drop behind her. She seemed utterly unaffected by it. She stood upon the foaming surface and held her hand out to Evadne, smiling.
“The only way out is down,” she said. “Follow me, Eva.” And she stepped over the edge.
Evadne rushed to follow her, but the weight she had been battling finally overcame her. It pushed her to her knees in the shallow water, and her head caught the edge of a nearby pillar; the jarring pain sent a spasm through her, as did the freezing water, which swelled about her, drenching through her tunic, soaking her hair.
She gasped, suddenly aware that she was on her back, her head just above the surface as she divided the current, and a man was all but lying on her, his body speckled in fading starlight.
“Evadne,” he breathed. “Return to me. She is not real . . . She is not real.”
She recognized him slowly, her eyes adjusting as if she had just stepped from sunlight into a shadowed room.
“Damon?”
“Yes! Yes, I am here, and I am the only one with you.” His relief was so sincere it brought tears to her eyes.
She realized what had just happened. Halcyon had been a phantom, one of Ivina’s enchantments. And Evadne had almost dragged her and Damon over the edge of the waterfall, chasing after it.
She trembled as she tried to calm her pulse. The fire of the song was fading, withering without Damon’s voice. But the stars were slow to burn out; the silver light continued to illuminate them, and Evadne watched as Damon reached for her, threading his fingers through her hair to find the wound on the back of her head. It was not deep, but his fingers came away bloodied.
“I am fine,” she said. “Help me stand.”
Damon found her hands and drew her up. They leaned on the pillar that had almost knocked Evadne unconscious—which, she now realized, had saved their lives by bringing her senses back—and they sought to reconcile what had just happened.
“You saw your sister,” Damon stated.
Evadne nodded. A lump suddenly formed in her throat, and she blinked away her tears. “Yes. And it was as if I completely forgot myself as soon as she called out to me. I couldn’t hear or see you.” She looked at him and his dying stars, a few constellations fading in his damp hair. “It was not a fear, though. As we were expecting.”
“No, but it was something just as sharp and visceral,” Damon said. “You saw what you wanted.”
And it had been more painful than the phantom dog encounter. Because Evadne ardently longed for it to be true. To return home to Isaura with her sister. To see Halcyon whole and well and laughing and joyful.
And then a thought crossed her mind, rendering her numb.
“You do not think that something has happened to Halcyon. That she is . . . dead, and Ivina has resurrected her as a phantom, and . . .”
He drew her close, and his touch was confident, reassuring. “No, Evadne. My mother said your sister should make a full recovery, that she will be caring for Halcyon. Your sister is well.”
Evadne inhaled a deep breath. She nodded, and Damon waited to move until she was ready to find the stairwell.
He began to sing his enchantment, and the stars flared to life again. Together, they carefully skirted along the waterfall until they saw the stone arch that marked the beginning of the stairs. At first, Evadne was relieved to be standing on something solid. Until she saw how long the stairwell was—it seemed to plunge endlessly—and the stairs were carved from stone, treacherously slick from the mist of the falls.
Every step was painful to her. Her right ankle throbbed, and she did not know how much longer she could endure it. Her voice thinned, and it w
as fortunate that Damon seemed to be slaying the enchantment’s discomfort on his own, because Evadne would not have been much help to him.
She heard Straton’s voice behind her, speaking into her ear. Evadne can hardly walk without limping . . . The chances of her being a successful partner for this mission are very slim. She almost believed he was a ghost, too, stalking her steps to pour hopelessness within her. But when she glanced over her shoulder, there was no ethereal commander. Only the stairs she had conquered.
They finally reached the second tier of the cistern.
Evadne’s legs trembled as she followed Damon into the knee-deep water. The cold was like a balm to her aches and pains; her ankles and feet soon went numb as she labored to cut through the currents.
Damon stopped abruptly, in movement and song. Evadne worried he was feeling another bout of pain until the tether between them went taut.
“Xander?” he cried, his voice rising in joy, in disbelief.
Evadne’s heart constricted. “No, Damon!”
“Xander, wait! Where are you going? Where have you been?” And just like that, Damon began to drag Evadne through the water.
“Damon!” she screamed, desperate for him to hear her, for him to slow. “Damon, he is not real! Stop!”
“Arcalos and I have been watching the door, waiting for you to return,” he said, charging onward as if the water were nothing, as if Evadne were weightless. “Yes, Arcalos is still alive! I have taken good care of him, as I vowed. Wait, slow down!”
The stars began to burn out, one by one. And the water began to deepen and pull harder. Soon, it was lapping at their waists, and Evadne’s pulse throbbed as she reached out to wrap her arms around Damon, frantic to stop him before he dragged them over the second waterfall.
“Damon, please,” she panted, her fingers curling into his chest, her heels trying to find purchase on the slick floor. She could feel his heart beating, a drum of doom.
