by Anthea Sharp
Now, facing the blank expanse of air between the standing stones, Anneth tried to shake off her fear. So much could go wrong—starting with the gate refusing to open, and ending with her trapped in the mortal world with no sign of Bran and Mara.
But she must not give in to such dark contemplations. Surely fate would not allow their tale to end so grimly.
“Link hands,” Hestil said to the assembled warriors. “We must channel our power to Anneth.”
It was new, this linking of power, but Mara had been able to draw upon the combined strength of the Dark Elves in order to open the gate. Surely Anneth could do the same. She bit her lip, battling back the panic that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Steady,” Hestil said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
Prince Deldarinnon stood on the other side of the commander, one hand clasped in hers, the other linked to Brethil.
“When you feel ready,” Hestil said to Anneth, “speak the rune of opening. When you see the mortal world between the stones, take up your pack and run through.”
Anneth nodded, heartbeat pounding in her ears.
“Ready?” Hestil called.
The assembled warriors nodded. and Prince Deldarinnon gave her a grin. He was the only one truly enjoying this adventure. Anneth would have liked to, but her mind was too clenched with fear. Everything rested on her shoulders.
At first, she felt nothing. She closed her eyes, summoning her own wellspring of power.
Unlike Bran, she had not spent years honing her use of magic, and she now regretted it. Although her brother had been single-mindedly focused on his prophecy to the point of obsession.
Warmth trickled into her from where Hestil’s hand rested, and with a brief thrill, Anneth realized it was the sensation of the others’ power flowing to her.
But would it be enough?
She opened her eyes and focused on the gateway. It looked no different than before. The glimglows that had accompanied them through the forest floated overhead, and then suddenly descended. They whirled about the stones, top to bottom, and back up, a golden blaze of sparks trailing in their wake.
When they rose again, Anneth gasped to see that the faint, silvery runes inscribed on the rock were now glowing brightly. A humming noise rose around her, and she realized it was the sound of their combined magics.
Her body flushed with heat, Anneth drew in a deep breath. It was time.
“Edro!” she cried, speaking the rune of opening.
The air between the stones flickered, and for an instant, she caught sight of a different forest. Then the image faded, and Anneth’s heart sank.
“More!” Hestil commanded. “We must not fail.”
Prince Deldarinnon furrowed his brow. A moment later, Anneth felt a bright zing of power fill her.
“Edro!” she called again.
The strange forest appeared once more. This time, it held. The glimglows danced in a wild, erratic flurry above that dark doorway.
“Quickly, my lady,” Hestil said, her voice strained. “Go.”
Anneth took a firm grip on her pack and dashed forward. As she entered the space between the stones, her entire body shivered—first with flame, then frost. Her breath caught, and for an interminable moment she was falling, impaled by shards of ice, scorched with heat…
Then, miraculously, she was through, sprawling on hands and knees while the pack went tumbling to the ground before her.
She turned her head and tried to call her thanks back through the stones. Her voice came out a weary croak, and she was certain they could not hear her.
For a moment she saw the trees of the Erynvorn reaching majestically into the star-streaked sky, Hestil’s expression of exhausted triumph, Prince Deldarinnon cheering. And then the gateway closed with a thunderous clap, cutting her off from Elfhame and everything she had ever known.
Leaving her alone in the strangeness of the mortal world.
11
The Parnesian sunlight was warm, the air scented with herbs as Mara made her way through the crowded marketplace square. She was glad to leave the fish smell of the harbor behind. Bran didn’t seem to mind it, but the aroma made her slightly queasy.
She’d left him behind, too, with stern instructions to rest. Whether or not he’d comply, at least he’d agreed to stay inside instead of stalking the streets.
Besides, she’d meant it when she said he was too intimidating. His features might appear human now, but there was no disguising his height or the breadth of his shoulders, or the princely way he carried himself. There would be no casual gossip to overhear if he were striding at her side.
The Parnesians spoke with a slight, lisping accent, but she had no problem understanding. In one corner of the market, a knot of women were discussing possible suitors for their daughters, while at a nearby stall filled with ceramics, the conversation centered on the more sobering subject of Athraig pirates.
“Come summer, the Strait will be more dangerous,” said a man with a short-clipped beard. “Their ships will be hiding behind every island, waiting to pounce.”
“I’m not worried about our trade,” the merchant said. “The Athraig have their eyes on Raine. Ever since their queen died—”
“I wager that wasn’t an accident,” his young assistant said, but the merchant continued as if the boy hadn’t spoken.
“—the country has been ripe for a coup. The king isn’t the leader his wife was, and the prince is untried. No, any Athraig incursions will be focused on that kingdom.”
Mara shivered at his dire prediction. She hadn’t even known the queen was dead. Was her country truly in danger? Could she and Bran do anything to help?
No.
Not while the Void shard was unaccounted for somewhere in the depths of Parnese. Despite the lovely, warm day, she pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders.
She paused at a spice seller’s to admire the bright yellows and reds and vibrant greens of flavorings she had no name for, let alone their uses. In the center of the square, a troupe of acrobats were performing to the shouts and applause of the crowd. She dropped a copper in their basket, then moved on, drawn by the scent of fresh-baked bread.
She’d purchase a loaf or two to take back to Bran to add to their dinner.
Outside the bakery, she joined the line of women waiting with their market baskets slung over their arms.
“The power came down from the Twin Gods themselves,” the stout woman in front of her was saying, her voice full of earnest fervor. “It’s a mark of divine favor.”
A gray-haired woman further up the line shook her head. “So say the priests—but they spin whatever tales they think will draw people to their temple.”
“It’s true, though,” a third lady commented as the line shuffled forward. “My Alejandro saw the relic with his own eyes. It glowed, he said, with the light of the Gods.”
Mara leaned forward, her attention caught. Objects glowing with divine power? She didn’t think such things were usual, even in Parnese. Could it be connected to the Void? Was it possible for that dark force to lodge itself inside an object?
She supposed so. If it could animate creatures like spiderkin and lumberers, and insinuate itself as a tiny sliver of ice into her husband’s wellspring, of course the Void could imbue an inanimate thing.
“Excuse me,” she said, touching the stout woman’s elbow. “May I ask where this relic is located?”
The woman turned and eyed Mara up and down. “Are you a believer?”
“I’ve only just arrived in Parnese,” Mara said. “I’m a… seeker. I’d like to view this glowing relic you’re talking about.”
The group moved into the bakery, but Mara’s attention was focused on the women ahead of her, not the plump golden loaves on display.
“Only the followers of the Twin Gods are allowed into the temple’s inner sanctum,” the third woman said, her voice pious. “For the nonbelievers to behold the relic would profane its sacred power.”
/> The first woman nodded emphatically, but the gray-haired one gave her companions an exasperated look. “Not everyone is as enamored of the priests as you two. If this object is so powerful, you’d think they’d let everyone see it, so that they could convert even more followers.”
“The priests follow the will of the Twin Gods,” the devout woman said. “It is not ours to question.”
She made a sign with her fingers, and the woman in front of Mara mirrored the gesture. Then they reached the counter and turned to give the clerk their orders, dismissing her from the conversation.
They had said enough, though, for Mara to piece together the basics. Somewhere in Parnese was a temple dedicated to the Twin Gods, and hidden inside was some object that glowed with magical power.
According to rumor, at any rate. It was a thin clue, but it was better than nothing. And it made a kind of twisted sense. The Void was gathering its powers. Why not place itself where willing supplicants would come to it, instead of hunting the streets?
Mara paid for two loaves and headed back to the inn, and Bran, mulling over what she’d heard. She knew little of the Twin Gods—just that they were worshipped on the continent and, presumably, there were two of them.
It seemed a visit to the temple was in order.
When she returned to their rooms, Bran sat up groggily from the bed, and she was glad to see that his mortal illusion hadn’t yet faded. With luck, it would last the rest of the day, if not longer.
“Is everything well?” he asked, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Yes.” She tucked the loaves with the rest of their supplies. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” He stretched, then rose.
The light sleeping tunic and pants he wore revealed his muscular body, and she blushed and busied herself with the foodstuffs.
“I discovered something,” she finally said, glancing up at him. “At least, I think so.”
He grabbed a water skin and took a long drink, then slung himself into the closest chair, his raised brow inviting her to explain.
“According to street gossip, one of the religious temples here has acquired some kind of powerful relic. The timing is… suspicious.”
“You think it might be the Void shard?”
“Well, I certainly think we need to investigate further. Apparently they keep it hidden away in the depths of the sanctuary.”
“Hm.” He rubbed his chin. “Probably well guarded. When we reconnoiter, I’ll bring my sword.”
“We can’t just charge into the temple, fight our way past the guards, and grab the relic.” She shook her head. “For one thing, we don’t even know if it is the Void. And for another, we’d need an escape plan. The priests won’t be happy to have their object of power stolen.”
“We could simply destroy it in place.”
“Maybe.” She frowned and rubbed her eyes as weariness tugged at her. “But that means we’ll both be distracted while potentially surrounded by enemies. No—we don’t know enough at this point.”
He gave her a close look, concerning shadowing his expression. “Rest, beloved. Recover your strength. I have a feeling we’ll need it when we discover whatever awaits us at the Temple of the Twin Gods.”
The words rang true, and Mara couldn’t repress a shiver. Peril lay ahead. For them, and for her entire world.
12
The ground of the mortal world felt foreign under Anneth’s hands—coarse with grass, and cool to the touch. Slowly, fighting off dizziness, she pushed herself up until she was kneeling before the gateway stones. Two glimglows circled her head, their light casting wavering shadows on the hummocks of plants growing all around her.
Strange—the clearing on Elfhame’s side was smoothly carpeted with moss. She hadn’t expected to arrive in the middle of a meadow filled with foliage. Tentatively, she reached out and brushed a nearby leaf with her finger.
A sweet scent rose from even that light contact. Anneth brought her hand up to her face and sniffed. Perhaps this was one of the herbs she should bring to Avantor. Mara would know.
And speaking of Mara…
Anneth reached for her pack, surprised to see her hands were trembling. The effort to cross through the gate had taken its toll. Indeed, when she closed her eyes and attempted to draw upon her wellspring, all she felt was a hollowness where her magic ought to be.
It was not dangerously drained, she could tell that much. But there would be no scrying to Bran and Mara until she regained her strength.
She glanced up. The sky seemed far away, the stars distant, cold specks making patterns she did not recognize. A sharp-edged moon silvered the forest around her, and things rustled in the underbrush. Small scuttlings, but she couldn’t help a twinge of alarm. Using the nearest stone for balance, she rose unsteadily to her feet, then pulled her bow off her back.
“Is anyone there?” she asked, her voice raspy. “Ondo?”
No answer, except the insistent thud of her heartbeat as she retrieved an arrow from her quiver.
She stood quietly, arrow nocked to the string, but nothing rushed out at her from the darkness beneath the trees. After several moments, she decided there was nothing to fear from the shadows. At least, not imminently.
Keeping her bow close to hand, she pulled her pack over and rummaged through it for a bit of hard bread and smoked cheese. Even though she didn’t feel hungry, she knew she must eat and drink in order to help replenish her wellspring.
And sleep.
Mouth set, she turned to survey the clearing. The plants grew thickly clustered nearest the standing stones of the gateway, but near the edge of the forest, there seemed to be clear spaces where she might pitch her small tent.
Where was Ondo?
She turned, scanning her surroundings once more, but there was no sign that anyone, Dark Elf or human, had passed by recently. Let alone taken up residence nearby.
Her chest squeezed with a sudden pang of fear. What if something had happened to Ondo? And Bran and Mara? Was that why they hadn’t returned? What would become of Lord Calithilon then? And herself, if she could never return to Elfhame?
Stop it, she told herself. There was no point in letting fear muddle her thinking.
The tent was awkward to set up by herself, but she managed. There was just enough room for her to pull the pack and her bow in. Unfortunately, casting wards of protection wasn’t possible with her depleted power. But she would sleep lightly, with her weapons at the ready.
She wrapped her cloak around her and used a spare tunic for a pillow, then lay staring up at the dark green silk of the tent.
It was not the arrival she had hoped for, tumbling exhausted and alone into the human realm. But on the morrow, surely things would be better.
Fierce brightness woke her. She blinked, sliding her shadow-lids across her eyes to protect them from the glare.
According to Mara, the Dark Elves’ ability to modify their vision depending on the amount of available light was a trait unheard of in humans. Mortals had eyes and eyelids, and no inner membranes that could regulate brightness. Perhaps it was because Elfhame was sometimes darkly moonless and at other times the doublemoons shed brilliance over the land, that the Dark Elves had developed this ability.
Anneth was grateful for it. Even the strongest foxfire could not match the intensity of the illumination she now encountered. This, then, must be the day that Mara had spoken of so fondly. If it was so light inside the tent, what must it be like outside?
Carefully, she pulled open the flap, then let out a yelp when she caught sight of someone sitting cross-legged on the ground outside. Quickly, she dropped the fabric and scooted back, catching up her knife.
“Who’s there?” So much for sleeping lightly.
“Your pardon, my lady. It is I, Scout Ondo. I did not wish to disturb your slumber.”
Ondo. She let out a relieved breath. “When did you arrive?”
“A few turns before sunrise. I am sorry I was not here to greet you wh
en you passed through the gateway. I came as soon as I was aware of a disturbance.”
“You had no way of knowing I was coming,” she said, lifting the tent flap and crawling outside. “I’m glad to see you.”
It was good not to be alone, though she was proud that she’d made her own camp. And even if Ondo had sneaked up on her in the night, he was a scout. It was his job to be stealthy.
She pulled her cloak over her shoulders, then settled beside him. After a few moments, her eyes fully adjusted to the light, and she glanced about eagerly.
The clearing by day was a different place than the strange, uncomfortable meadow she’d fallen into. The plants were a rich green hue, with the beginnings of flower buds showing between the leaves. A soft wind whispered through the branches, bringing intriguing new scents to her nose.
But the most amazing thing was the sky overhead. A great, blazing orb took up one part of it, so intensely bright that she could not even look directly at it. And the rest of the sky was a vivid blue! She’d never imagined such a thing.
“Where have the stars gone?” she asked, squinting. It was disorienting to not have those pinpricks of light shining above. “Did the sun burn them away?”
“Lady Mara told me they are still there, behind the sun’s brightness. Once it sets, the stars will return. I have seen it myself.”
“How strange.” She stopped looking for the invisible stars and returned her attention to Ondo. “What of Bran and Mara? They are nearby, I hope?”
“Sadly, no.”
Her spirits plummeted at this news. “Please, tell me they’ve come to no harm.”
Ondo shifted uncomfortably. “They are across the water, in another land. Unharmed, to the best of my knowledge. I believe the final Void fragment is proving elusive, thus the delay.”
Anneth swallowed back her rising panic. “But they’re needed in Elfhame! That’s why I came—to tell them the news and bring them home.”
This was dreadful. How could Bran and Mara not have eliminated the Void threat yet? She certainly could not ask them to abandon their quest and leave the human world to the mercy of the darkness. And yet every moment that passed took a greater toll on Lord Calithilon, and threatened the stability of the Hawthorne Court.
