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CHAPTER SIX

M y boots sank into deep snow as I dropped from the sky on the edge of the mountain where Moya resided in the Cavern of Lost Souls with the rest of the Sages who were well versed in the arts of ether.

I glanced up at the yawning mouth of the cave, taking in the runes which had been carved into the black rocks lining the entrance and the talismans hanging from the top of the archway.

There were bones, both animal and Fae, hollow wooden tubes and slivers of ice and metal mixed among them so that each gust of the harsh wind sent a chorus of noise ringing out across the mountainside like a haunting call to the powers of the world.

I took a dagger from my belt as I strode towards the entrance, slicing into the pad of my thumb just enough to release a few drops of blood. I smeared it across the dark stone in offering for it to allow me passage.

A groan rippled up from the bowels of the mountain, the deep magic which had been bled into this place over hundreds of years of offerings such as mine awakening to greet me.

A surge of energy passed over my body as I stepped out of the snow and onto the dark stone of the cavern’s floor, my boots scuffing against the runes carved there.

Radio, shaped like a jagged letter R for travel, and Perth, which was shaped somewhat like a letter C with sharp edges curving back on themselves, for the things which were hidden within this sacred place.

No one greeted me as I moved deeper into the cavern, following the well-worn path across smooth stone until I reached a wooden bench which spanned at least ten meters in length.

Along the simple wooden structure lay boots, cloaks, bags and most of all, weapons.

No blade was permitted within the Cavern of Lost Souls barring one intended for use in the blood rites which took place here.

I repeated the process which was as familiar to me as my training exercises in the arena, stripping my sword and daggers from my body and leaving them on the bench beside my pack and cloak.

I unlaced my boots last, removing my socks too so that I could tread the hallowed path in the proper manner, even if I wasn’t dressed in the correct attire in any other way.

The sound of the wind chimes followed me into the dark as I started the sloping descent into the heart of the mountain; wood, bone and metal clanking together in a mournful melody which replicated the ache in my heart.

All lingering light from the outside world was lost, the twisting path leading me away from both the glow of moonlight on snow and the rush of the wind.

I didn’t slow my pace nor hesitate in my steps, the familiarity of this route making it as simple as breathing to traverse in the pitch black.

In any other part of the kingdom, silence might have greeted me at this time of night, but the servants of the dark were well accustomed to practicing their arts throughout the smallest hours and beyond.

The faint flickering of firelight greeted me first, then the low murmur of voices, a soft groan of someone in pain.

The passage continued to turn, the walls closing in until they surrounded me tightly. My path was illuminated at last as I stepped out into the wide cavern which housed the central gathering place for the Sages who lived here.

The warmth of the cavern swept over me, a combination of the constantly burning fire and air magic which was used to seal the place off from the frigid temperatures outside meaning that I was far too hot in my battle leathers.

A few of the Sages glanced my way, one waving while another simply locked his eyes on me and stared without moving at all. Ether came at a cost, and those who wielded it as often as the Sages were altered by it in ways that made their presence disconcerting to many.

“Black as a raven but still sweet as a cherry,” a female voice hissed, and I almost flinched as the woman lunged at me, a pair of rusted scissors in her grasp.

She caught a lock of my hair and snipped several inches from the end of it, grinning at me through crooked teeth while backing up with her prize.

“You object?” she asked, and I sighed, shaking my head.

“Have it,” I said, knowing it mattered little. The length of my hair, much like the colour, would return in a matter of days. “But buy me some mercy from the forces beyond while you work. Assuming they have any to spare.”

The Sage’s grin widened and then she was gone, the layers of green silk which clung to her thin frame whipping around her legs as she scurried away.

“Moya is waiting for you, child,” a rough voice called from the fire, and I moved over to greet the man who was as close to a ruler in this place as any might be.

“You’re looking well, Tifon,” I said, bowing my head to him respectfully.

This was possibly the only place in the kingdom where I had never felt an inch of resentment for showing deference to its citizens.

The Sages had traded and bled for their power and the respect it had earned them was well deserved.

“I look like the slapped ball sack of a three-week dead bison, but I thank you for your pretty lies, Sky Witch,” he replied, reaching out with a draining dagger in hand and casually slicing into the forearm of the man who was suspended from a wooden stake behind him.

The prisoner groaned, his head lolling, his bare skin marked with countless cuts and runes which had been painted upon him with soot. He blinked at me through dazed eyes, seeming to realise I wasn’t like the others here who were all dressed in silks and gauzy fabric.

“Help me,” he pleaded, and my steely heart hardened.

“I take it this one didn’t volunteer?” I asked Tifon who was now collecting blood from the wound he had given the man in a stone bowl.

“No,” he grunted, spitting in the bowl before crumbling a twig of rosemary into it. “Deserter. He killed three of his own, stole a horse and fled the battlefield. Princess Laurena caught up to him and kindly delivered him to us instead of the executioners.”

“A kindness indeed,” I said, my eyes moving back to the murdering coward who was now begging me for mercy with tears staining his cheeks.

I ignored him. The Sages would keep him here, making use of his blood in small rites and spells for a few days or weeks – he’d get his death soon enough when one of them required a bigger sacrifice for a more powerful magic.

The darkness gives and the darkness takes.

“Is Moya in her chambers?” I asked, glancing over the fire towards the towering wall where around fifty openings marked the stone like holes in a giant beehive.

Each was a window looking out from the chambers which belonged to the individual Sages.

There was a hierarchy involved in the allocation of them, but I had never figured it out, and even an apprentice in the dark magic of ether wasn’t given knowledge of such things freely.

I may have been permitted to train in the use of ether for battle, but I was not gifted all the knowledge they had to offer, nor would I ever be unless I chose to follow the path of the Sages and submit myself to the darkness in hopes of being selected for their ranks.

Most who chose to attempt that path were consumed by the magic, corrupted and devoured by it instead of gifted their place as a Sage - though there were many who elected to take the risk.

That path had never appealed to me. I wasn’t interested in losing myself to the dark and forever existing here within the mountain, a slave to its ecstasy-inducing power.

“She is,” Tifon agreed, though his focus was far from me already, his gaze fixed on the bowl he held before him and the magic he was calling on with its deadly concoction.

I inclined my head in thanks and paced away from him, my bare feet silent against the stone floor, the murderer’s pleas for my help falling on deaf ears.

A curving path sloped up towards the wall pockmarked with the Sages’ chambers, guiding me through a doorway which led into them. I took the stairs past flickering torches that were bracketed along the walls and weaved through narrow corridors until I made it to Moya’s home.

There was no door to keep me out, but runes marked the threshold, keyed to recognise those she wished to allow inside and bar those she didn’t from entry.

The familiar magic raked at my skin as I passed over it but only silence awaited me within.

I didn’t bother calling out. She knew I was here. Instead, I strode through her living quarters, knowing her well enough to bypass the round bedchamber and narrow dining area before slipping through the slim entrance which led to what she called her Close Space.

As expected, I found her sitting cross legged on the cold stone, a small fire burning purple and green to her right while she held a closed fist out above the six-inch hole in the ground which fell away endlessly beneath us.

Moya had often told me that the hole allowed the whispers of the earth itself to echo up from the abyss so that she might be able to interpret them fully.

I wasn’t sure what to think of what lurked in the dark beneath her home.

But I did know that the one time I had dared toss a stone down into it, I had not only failed to hear it hit the bottom but had also been consumed by the most intense sensation of dread taking hold of my being that I had ever experienced.

Safe to say, I had never again toyed with whatever mysterious force lingered there.

“Sit,” she commanded, her voice a soft purr which suggested the action might lure me to my death.

I sat.

Moya’s hair was a mess of pale red curls and tangles which knotted around her face and trailed down her spine.

I wasn’t certain I’d ever gotten a look at her face without a veil of twisted strands covering some part of it.

Her eyes were a bright and almost alarming shade of blue, studded with silver specks which shifted in the light.