What Dusk Divides

by Clara Coulson

  A ball of fire formed on the back of the shield and ignited like a rocket meant to sling astronauts into deep space. We all tumbled backward in a huge pile as the spherical shield shot forward at breakneck speed, the g-forces so intense that I nearly blacked out and lost my hold on the spell.

  Barely able to lift my head, I watched as we zipped past the Ellén Trechend. It was blinking its assortment of eyes, trying to rid itself of the afterimages left by the now fading firework spell.

  We entered the cave, the subdued light of the forest falling to an inch above pitch black as the stalactite-covered ceiling took the place of the leafy canopy. At the back of the cave, there was a set of stone doors. Both doors lay open, inviting us into the underground domain of the Morrígan.

  The invitation, of course, was conditional.

  The condition was that we survive getting past the Ellén Trechend.

  And to our merit, we almost made it.

  We were twenty feet from those open doors when the bird monster rammed one of its heads into our shield-veil, the illusory magic rendered completely useless by some unknown sense the creature possessed. The strike was so strong that the shield shattered instantly, and we lost the surface upon which we’d all been bearing down for the rocket ride.

  I cut the combustion spell immediately—but it wasn’t enough.

  The force of the shield breaking, combined with our momentum, ripped us all away from each other. We each flew onward at a slightly different trajectory. Since I was at the front of the group, I sailed right on through the doors, with Indira, Drake, and Boyle on my heels.

  Using whatever spells we had on hand, we each brought ourselves to a halt. Some of us more gracefully than others.

  As soon as the four of us stopped bouncing off the walls, breaking bones, or skidding along the rough floor, peeling skin off in bloody sheets, we scrambled up and doubled back to try and retrieve our three missing allies.

  Orlagh, Odette, and Graham had missed the doorway by a matter of inches.

  Odette had collided with the doorframe, and though she was dazed by the impact, she’d managed to cushion herself with an air spell just quick enough to prevent serious injury. She stumbled into the corridor, and Boyle grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her deeper inside, beyond the reach of the Ellén Trechend’s heads.

  Orlagh and Graham weren’t as lucky. They’d rebounded off the walls, back toward the creature. Which had now shoved the rest of its heads into the mouth of the cave. The beak that had broken the shield-veil struck out a second time, slamming into Orlagh’s personal shield.

  That shield imploded like it was made of cardboard, but Orlagh raised her sword and threw all her strength against the broadside. The beak hit the sword with a deafening clang—and inadvertently threw Orlagh backward, through the open doors.

  Which had been her plan.

  The creature, realizing its mistake, stretched its neck to the limit to snap at her. But it came up short, the beak barely nipping at her left leg. She soared back into the hall and landed on her toes. Staggering to a stop beside Boyle, she clutched her right shoulder, the joint dislocated by the force of the creature’s blow.

  Graham, who’d been thrown farther away from the doors, swept her sword in a long arc and raised a tall, thick wall of ice that intercepted two streams of fire spewed from the mouths of the

  other heads. Then she made a mad dash for the doors, swinging her blade at the third head’s neck and rending a long line of flesh.

  The head sprang back, away from the doors. But it did so at an angle that allowed it to ram Graham in the chest, knocking her off her feet. She skidded to a stop on her back less than five steps from the doorway, and Boyle lurched forward to grab her before the head could come back for another round.

  He would’ve made it too—if the doors hadn’t slammed shut.

  A stunningly powerful set of wards flared to life, cutting us off from Graham, trapping her outside with the Ellén Trechend. And trapping us inside with whatever lurked within the dark winding corridors of this underground complex.

  Boyle beat his fist against the door, and the wards hummed in warning. “Damn it,” he growled in his native fae dialect. “That thing is going to kill her.”

  Orlagh hissed as she popped her shoulder back into place, then replied, “There is a chance she will escape.”

  A grim silence fell across the corridor in the wake of that halfhearted comment. We all knew how low that chance was.

  Tossing aside the expended rock charm, I said, “Every step closer we come to the Morrígan, I want to punch her in the face that much more.”

  Odette, peering down the dark corridor, spit on the floor in disgust. “Get in line, pal. I got first dibs.” She clenched her metal fist. “And I’m going to make it hurt.”

  Drake muttered, “You guys are aware that the Morrígan is almost definitely eavesdropping on us, right?”

  “Let her hear us.” I set off down the hall at a hard march, each step echoing off the damp stone walls. “She’s a war goddess. She probably loves the idea of a good old-fashioned brawl.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Four Hours Till Dusk

  Two miles into a cramped and musty cave that wound through veins of glittering minerals, Orlagh Maguire collapsed.

  At the sound of her body slumping into the wall and sliding to the floor, the rest of us spun around, the small magic lights floating over our palms bobbing up and down.

  Orlagh’s skin had gone white, and a sheen of sweat clung to her forehead and neck, strands of gray hair plastered to her face.

  Her hands shook uncontrollably, and her own light flickered a few

  times before dissipating entirely, lengthening the shadows around her. As if the unseen dangers we all knew lurked in this cave were trying to take their first victim.

  Boyle backpedaled and crouched beside Orlagh. “You seem very ill.

  What’s wrong?”

  Orlagh pressed a hand to her forehead, the universal sign of someone trying to assuage a building migraine. “I…I’m not sure,”

  she said, a slight slur on the words. “Thought I was just nearing my physical limit, but I’m starting to feel rather unwell.”

  “Were you injured by the Ellén Trechend?” I asked, positioning my light closer to her to better highlight her body.

  “I don’t recall taking any serious damage.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, her pupils didn’t retract as fast as they should have. “Although, there was a small cut to my leg, from the beak. But it was less than an inch long.

  Should’ve already healed.”

  Boyle searched her pants legs until he found the corresponding tear. Using a knife, he made the hole wider, revealing Orlagh’s calf. Sure enough, the area of skin that had lain directly beneath the tear was smooth and unbroken, no cut in sight.

  Unfortunately, it appeared that the minor flesh wound had been used by the bird monster to deliver a much more dangerous blow.

  All the blood vessels in Orlagh’s lower leg had turned dark purple, and a web of spindly lines was creeping up and up toward more vital parts.

  The Ellén Trechend’s beak had been coated in venom.

  “Fuck,” Odette said. “I thought sídhe healing factors could filter out poisonous substances.”

  “They can,” I replied. “But there are exceptions to that rule, and I’m pretty sure one of them is guarding the entrance to this cave.”

  “What do we do?” Indira asked, pacing back and forth across the width of the corridor. “None of us have the requisite skills to remove poison from a person’s veins. That’s healing magic of the highest order. If we screw it up, she dies.”

  “Leave me,” Orlagh rasped. “Continue with the mission. I am no more important to our success than Graham or Kavanagh or McDermott, and Eamon is senior enough to take charge of the team.”

  Boyle shook his head. “I’m not leaving you here to die alone.”

  Orlagh smile
d. “And if I order you to do so, Captain Boyle?”

  “Then you will have to formally reprimand me for insubordination when we return to Fort Drochrath.” Without waiting for her rebuttal, he tossed his light into the air, where it stayed, hovering near the ceiling, and scooped Orlagh into his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

  “You know she might die before we get”—Odette looked down the seemingly endless corridor—“wherever the hell we’re going.”

  “I wonder about that,” I muttered, then turned and marched off at a brisk pace, urging everyone to follow me with a wave of my hand.

  “What do you mean?” asked Drake, matching my stride.

  “When the Ellén Trechend tried to prevent Orlagh from reaching the doorway, it had ample opportunity to shoot a stream of fire at her.”

  “You think it chose to poison her for a reason?” Indira asked.

  “I think…” I flung my light down the hall. It came to a stop some seventy feet farther on, floating in front of yet another set of stone doors. “That Orlagh’s condition might be one component of our next test.”

  Odette groaned. “How many tests is this lady going to hurl at us before she’s satisfied that we mean business?”

  “However many she pleases,” growled Boyle. “She will play with us as long as it amuses her, and only then will she lend us her ear, or crush us underfoot.”

  “The latter isn’t an option.” I gripped the hilt of Fragarach, a warning to the woman I knew was watching us from every angle, her presence hanging like a ghost in the corner of my eye, never quite materializing. “She’ll listen to what we have to say, even if we have to make her.”

  “Careful, Whelan,” Odette warned. “Your determination is starting to border on arrogance.”

  Was it?

  I didn’t think so.

  Rather, that sense of cold righteousness was growing in my heart again, ice like fire running through my veins.

  Frost crawled across my skin, crackling loudly in the quiet of the corridor. I wanted to punch the Morrígan with all my strength, like I had punched McCullough. And I would do it too, damn the consequences, if she was anything but obliging once we finally climbed over the last of the hurdles she’d placed in our way.

  Marching up to the doors, I pressed my ear to the damp stone and listened. No sounds emanated from the other side.

  Inactive wards lined the arched doorframe, so many layered atop one another that it would take hours to figure out what each one did. Since I didn’t have the time or the patience for that, I simply pressed my hands against both doors and gave them a push.

  They swung open soundlessly, revealing a large, dark room beyond.

  The instant my foot crossed the threshold, light flared within the room. Light from a hundred candles, soft and yellow, giving the entire room, the entire banquet hall, the atmosphere of a clandestine meal shared between members of a secretive cult in some bygone age.

  Shadows danced along the walls, moving to the ripples of the flames. Gold candelabras glinted brightly from their places between silver platters on the long oak dining table. Fresh food of every kind, cooked meats and sliced fruits and roasted vegetables, sat piled high on fine china plates. And each morsel of that food was lifted to a waiting mouth by a fork or spoon made of the purest platinum.

  Every seat at the table was occupied, and each occupant was on the verge of death.

  Men and women in formal evening wear sat ramrod straight in the tall-backed chairs. Their bodies were no more than skin and bones, no fat to be found, all sharp angles and sunken cheeks.

  The only exception was a bulge in their throats. Every person had one in the same place, and there was no mistaking them for any sort of tumor or other growth. Because the bulges squirmed .

  If someone stopped eating, the bulges squirmed. If someone took too long between bites, the bulges squirmed. If someone tried to speak, the bulges squirmed.

  The diners were only allowed to eat, and eat, and eat, to satiate whatever creatures had burrowed into their throats.

  “What the fuck is this?” Odette hissed in my ear.

  “The dinner party from hell, it looks like.” I took a cautious step into the room. Some of the diners, the less emaciated ones, tracked me with their eyes, silently pleading for help. But most of them just stared blankly at their plates, mindlessly eating, having long given up hope of being rescued from this slow and tortuous death.

  And a death it would be eventually, no matter what, judging by the innumerable skeletons piled up in the corners of the room.

  “So what exactly is the test here?” Drake said through the corner of his mouth, his skin ashen. “Are we supposed to save these people or something?”

  “I don’t think so.” I surveyed the room and located no exit other than the doorway we’d come through. “I think they’re a warning.”

  “These are people who sought out the Morrígan before us,” Boyle guessed. He still stood at the threshold, unwilling to fully enter. It was a given that the doors would slam shut and seal us in the moment we were all in the room. “This is what will become of us if we do not pass the remaining tests.”

  Indira gagged. “What’s in their throats?”

  “Don’t know.” I rocked back on my heels. “And I don’t want to find out, but…” I looked to Boyle. “We have to press on with the tests, no matter how stupid or pointless we think they are.”

  Boyle glanced at the ailing Orlagh. If her condition was part of the next test, then the only way to save her was to keep playing the game, at risk to himself and the rest of us. Sighing in frustration, he took five steps into the room.

  The doors closed behind him, and the ward array activated with a flash.

  One of the wards, it turned out, projected a glowing message across the doors:

  The cure you seek is behind you, hidden among the mourners. Robed in white and filled with gold, its spirits will heal what ails you.

  Odette glowered at the words, which were written in a very old fae dialect. “Okay, I can’t read that shit, but I’m going to go out on a limb and guess it’s some kind of obscure riddle?”

  “You guess correctly,” Boyle said, irate. “I loathe word games.”

  Indira faked a cough. “Can we get a translation for the less linguistically inclined among us?”

  I relayed a fair translation of the words in English. “Sounds like we’re going to have to tear the room apart to find something that matches the description.”

  “Presumably something Orlagh can ingest.” Boyle gently set Orlagh against the wall near the doors. “And we must find it quickly.

  Her pulse is growing erratic, and her breathing is beginning to sound harsh. I think there’s fluid collecting in her lungs.”

  “All right. Let’s work it out then, piece by piece.” Odette scanned the room. “First off, what are the ‘mourners’? The people

  at the table seem too simple an answer, and they don’t really look like they’re in mourning.”

  “No, they look like they’re terrified,” Indira murmured. “Is there nothing we can do to save them?”

  “If we try,” I answered, “the Morrígan might stop us. Violently.

  These are people she’s already passed judgment on, and this is what she’s decided they deserve.”

  Odette huffed. “I didn’t like the bitch to begin with, but this is dragging dislike real close to hate.”

  “I don’t disagree with you.” I shuffled closer to the dining table, examining the elaborate dinner setup. “But you can express your hatred with a flying fist after we save the world from the Wild Hunt.”

  Odette’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “Ugh, if you say so.”

  “I do say so.” I gestured to the table. “Now help me look through all this stuff. There might be something in here that could conceivably be called ‘mourners.’”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked Drake, eying the morbid dinner party warily.

  “Star
t at the other end of the table, with Indira. We’ll meet in the middle, and then keep on going, so everything gets scrutinized multiple times.” I glanced at Boyle. “You should hang back. Keep watch over Orlagh. And have your sword ready in case something goes south.”

  Boyle rested his hand on the hilt. “I concur.”

  Methodically, the four of us scoured the table for something that might fit the riddle’s parameters, steadfastly trying to ignore the suffering of the people forced to eat in perpetuity. Every time one of their plates emptied, more food magically appeared to replace it. If the people hesitated to dig in to the next course, for even a moment, the things in their throats would writhe again, clearly causing them intense pain.

  To inflict such a cruel and unusual punishment on someone…what does that say about the temperament of the Morrígan? And what does it say that Mab and her counterpart want the Morrígan on their side for the war to come with the Enemy from Beyond?

  After two complete passes around the table—which included Drake and me crawling underneath it, searching the underside of the table, the dusty floor, and the legs of each and every chair—all four of us came up empty. None of the meats, fruits, vegetables, plates, cups, forks, knives, spoons, candelabras, or anything else on or around the table even remotely qualified as

  “mourners,” in a literal or figurative sense.

  And yes, I checked for puns.

  Wiping the dust from my knees, I said, “Nothing. We’ll have to search the rest of the room.”

  Indira frowned at the skeleton piles. Some of the bones were still fresh enough to be gooey. “Great. Just great.”

  Despite the reservations, we all went about the morbid task quickly and efficiently, digging through the bodies of the dead to try and save someone who was still clinging to life. Orlagh was deteriorating by the minute, her ragged breathing audible in every corner of the room. Each time I looked her way, her skin was paler, her eyes more glazed, and her full-body tremors all the worse.

  She was running out of time.

  That seems to be a theme lately, I thought angrily. Adversaries putting me on ridiculous deadlines to save the things I care about. One day soon, I’m going to turn that pattern on its head.