Page 10

HARROWING

“ W elcome, citizens of the mortal realm!” The woman’s voice echoed through the Great Hall, bouncing off the metallic arches weaving intricately throughout the crystallized cathedral ceiling. Instantly, the whispers buzzing through the crowd were silenced. Impressive, considering there were hundreds of us clustered in the massive space. Luckily, Kaden, Letti, Breena, and I had found each other, a unit once more. Everyone’s faces were rapt with interest, our collective breaths held.

Most of us wore outfits made of the same white fabric. There were those scattered throughout the masses dressed in similar clothing but in shades of red, blue, green, or yellow. Breena wore a tunic and loose breeches in a ruby shade, the color of astra poppies. I glimpsed a faint cherry glow dancing around her. I surveyed the room, spotting several other auras, their colors corresponding with each Druik’s attire.

Draumrs lined the walls, encircling the crowd. Their spines were stacked in sturdy lines as if made of immovable stone. Gavrel stood at the front of the crowd, guarding the stairs leading up to a substantial platform.

Akridais lurked in every corner, their pewter robes shimmering. Each of their necks was branded with a matching geometric tattoo that extended from the line of their jaw to their collarbone. The intricate runes—for that is what I now realized they were—sank into the shifting shadows cast upon them. A few of the enforcers’ symbols were glowing, an eerie yellow smoldering behind the black ink.

Acid boiled within my belly at the sight of them. I breathed through my nose and exhaled from pursed lips, willing my body to calm, trying not to recall Hestia’s culling.

My attention diverted to the polished stage. It had been carved directly from the cliff rock the palace melded with. The obsidian of the platform crept into the shadows, then surged diagonally up the back wall. The blackened stone was cut jaggedly, fusing with the moonstone of the palace.

Down the center of the two-toned surface were seven windows aligned vertically, their shapes depicting phases of the moon—a waning crescent at the top to a waxing crescent at the base. Beams of orange and pink filtered through the moon-shaped windows, the full moon at the center filled with a glowing, neon blush.

I looked back at Gavrel. His face was so impassive that it made me want to touch him to see if he was still in his body. I clutched my fingers into the fabric of my skirt instead, feeling the stone talisman resting in my pocket. I pulled my shoulder blades together and regarded the five figures atop the gleaming dais.

The woman who had called out the greeting was perched on a grand, black throne. It was also carved directly from obsidian, its base a part of the stage. Intricate swirls and etched adornments embraced her lithe figure, the room waiting with bated breath for her to speak again. The four other people on the platform also sat, two flanking each side of her. Their Gothic wooden chairs looked out of place, less spectacular than the throne.

Shining orbs floated along the walls with the help of an enchantment. Amber fire licked over them from their bases, providing gentle illumination throughout the hall. The flames flickered over the woman’s face, making her gray eyes flash.

She was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. Her nose was straight and regal, her red lips supple. Not a strand of her platinum hair was out of place as it cascaded in sleek lines down her back. The sunset’s rays draped over her, making her pearly hair glow.

She wore a gorgeous raven-colored gown. The glossy bodice clung to her breasts and thin waist. Sheer pewter-colored fabric draped from her bare shoulders, flowing past her wrists to the ground. Her skirt was made of layers of wispy fabric, melting away from her hips and flowing to the stone below her feet. A wide, shiny black ring circled her thumb, almost touching the joints it sat between.

When the shuffling of fabric and feet crescendoed throughout the hall, she finally broke the suspense. “Congratulations on surviving the Stygian Murk and finding your way to Surrelia. That alone is a feat worthy of your presence here for the next six months.” She clasped her delicate hands in front of her. “I’m sure each of you has questions, and I’m here to give you a brief introduction to the expectations of your stay.”

She stood from the intricately carved throne, moving as if she were made of honey wine being poured slowly into a delicate goblet. Opening her arms wide, the fabric around her wrists dripped to the platform. Her smile was broad and taut, incisors glinting in the radiance from the hovering firelight. “We are your Elders.”

The sounds of choked breaths and gulps fluttered throughout the room as everyone bowed or crumbled to their knees. Our small group followed everyone’s example, lowering our upper bodies respectfully. The majority had never had the chance to see the Elders despite them being in power for almost two centuries. The elusive oligarchs were rumored to rarely leave Pyria Island—an untamed, volcanic landmass sitting in the southern sea, far from Pneumali City.

Kaden scoffed under his breath, his whispered words skimming my shoulder. “I know Druiks age way more slowly, but this is ridiculous.”

“You may rise,” the woman instructed after a moment.

He was right. Druiks aged significantly slower than mortals. Our ember burrowed deep within us, fusing with our breath, blood, and bone—delaying death’s march. The oldest Druik ever recorded was a shocking three hundred turns.

Each of our Elders didn’t look a day older than fifty. It was … odd. The woman in black didn’t look as if she had yet crossed thirty; her unlined skin was milky and lustrous.

“To my left is Elder Ryboas Ash, representing Pyria Island.” She flicked her fingers toward the man wearing thick crimson robes. Breena stiffened, her hands fisting at her sides. As the male elder stood, his look of disdain was palpable, pale lips twisting within a neatly trimmed red beard. His short, swept-back hair had probably been the same reddish shade at one point but was now ashen with flecks of orange, as if all the color had seeped into his beard.

She waved toward the man next to him in a robe of lemon yellow. “And Elder Endurst Guust of Pneumali.” He rose from his seat but with more effort, his dark, wavy hair swaying just below his clenched jaw. He nodded once, his dark eyes distant and uninterested.

“On my right is Haadra Elder, Marah Strom.” She wiggled her fingers toward a fidgeting woman in royal-blue robes next. Her limp and disheveled light-brown hair gave me the impression of a nervous mouse. The woman’s mouth twitched as she pulled her body up jerkily. I wasn’t sure if her lips were attempting to smile or escape from her face.

“And Elder Lucan Craven of Evergryn.” She clasped her hands in front of her again as the man in dark-green robes dug his ornate wooden cane into the platform, his eyes boring into the crowd while rising. Lucan’s gaze landed on Kaden, a flash of jade flickering in his pupils. Kaden coughed as his soft clover aura shimmered over him briefly, and he shifted his eyes to the ground.

“I am Elder Melina Harrow of the Perilous Bogs.” She seemed to glide to the edge of the stage, her movements as fluid as the fabric of her dress. She dropped the volume of her voice, everyone going still so as not to miss a word. “Let me be clear. There are rules. Follow them. Otherwise, the Stygian Murk will claim you once more.” Her lips stretched again, hanging off her perfect teeth.

A dark, smoky aura languidly drifted around her body before dissipating into the air. Her pewter eyes flashed once before her mellifluous voice rang above us. “This is for your safety. The survival of Midst Fall depends entirely on your complete adherence to Elder Laws.”

Breena crossed her arms across her chest, exhaling her breath in a slow, controlled stream. Kaden’s shoulders became frigid boulders under his tunic. Letti glanced at me; her eyes wide. I tilted my head, pressing my lips together in a firm line. She blinked a few times, and we both paid attention to the Elders.

“Over a century ago, the Elders knew our lands were dying, the Withering sinking in. We tried everything but learned we needed more than our combined embers … no matter how mighty they might be.” Her delicate hands hung in the air. She curled her nails into her palms and remained standing. The other Elders returned to their armchairs, the wood groaning as they settled.

“We appealed to the Ancients for a miracle. Morpheus, Ancient of Dreams, agreed to an arrangement offering our domain relief from the burden—the strain we put on its resources by simply living. He granted us access to the limbo realm and Surrelia. To his palace. He guided us through how the Dormancy would operate,” she went on.

This wasn’t new information, at least not to those who went through primary education. Thank you, Magister Barden . Scanning the crowd, though, there were enough expressions of confused wonder to conclude not everyone had the opportunity or access to such teachings. Regardless, it probably wasn’t surprising to anyone that Morpheus would agree to help our realm. He was said to be a benevolent Ancient with a fondness for humans, unlike his brother Phobetor, Ancient of Nightmares.

“In return, Morpheus was offered unlimited access to our collective, extended dreams. For this is what the Dormancy essentially is … a living dream fueled by celestial power. Our astral bodies are but guests roaming this dreamland. The Ancients call this “soul-wandering”. Your physical flesh, muscle, and bone rest safely in your pod.” She paused, scanning the crowd as a thick wave of gasps permeated the air. “Thrilling, isn’t it?”

My eyes caught Gavrel’s for a moment, his face unreadable. If I didn’t know him so well, I would’ve missed his head shift subtly from side to side, a pulsing vein ticking on his temple. I relaxed my scrunched forehead, mirroring his expression.

“To honor the sanctity of this divine gift, you won’t recollect anything upon waking from the Dormancy with two exceptions: Druiks will retain the knowledge of their abilities and must register if not already.”

She pressed her red lips together. Her pink tongue darted between the seams, making them look glossy with claret. “Second, few have been granted the privilege of keeping their memories throughout the turns.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Continue to follow the Elder Laws, and you never know if you’ll be granted such a boon.” She paused, her voice lifting and her arms sweeping in front of her in a fanlike arch. “Through Dormancy, we blossom!”

A few people began chanting, “Dormancy! Dormancy!”

One woman near the front clutched her hair, shouting frantically, “Bless the Elders!”

Kaden choked on his next intake of breath. I patted him on the back, glaring daggers at him so he’d shut up and not do anything obnoxious.

Melina held up one finger, dipping her head a fraction and closing her eyes. The chanting ceased. “If you've displayed recent signs of ember and are wearing white, never fear.” I was startled when she made direct eye contact with me, her metallic gaze boring into my icy blues. “You’ll be provided with identifying attire once we learn more about you and your gifts.” Her eyes released mine as she scanned the hall again.

“Last, you will each be assigned daily chores while residing in Surrelia. Think of it as your privilege—a way to earn room and board in such an enchanting plane of existence. In your free time, you can do as you please. If you attempt to leave the grounds … it’ll be clear if you’ve gone too far.” A giggle slipped from her lips.

“Dinner will be served in this hall in a couple of hours. Although your astral forms don’t require it, you may eat and drink if you so wish. If you have questions, please direct them to the Draumrs. Dismissed!” Melina clapped her hands together once and spun, her gown twirling around her legs. The other Elders departed abruptly behind her, disappearing through a door at the back of the platform.

The crowd stood together in a stupor before a wave of bewildered murmurs spilled across the hall.

“Fecking raven shite on a twig,” Breena rasped.

“So many words. So little information,” Kaden groused.

“What? Are your ears stuffed with wool? She just told us we’re spirits stumbling around willy-nilly.” My voice squeaked as I poked him in the arm, his biceps a stone wall.

“This doesn’t make any sense. I don't feel any different,” Letti grumbled, running her hands over her arms, her eyes dazed.

“I mean, ember and Elders … We’re not meant to understand how it all works. Keep the masses ignorant. Wiggle your fingers over here. Shoot off some ember over there—we’ll stay in line. Am I right?” Kaden’s wry chuckle slipped off his last word.

Gavrel made his way through the dispersing crowd, ushering us out. His harsh whisper was low. “Not here. Be careful what you say and who you say it around.”

Kaden rolled his eyes and breathed in. He swallowed his retort, noticing the interested glare of a male Akridai shuffling closer to us, pewter cape slithering along the dark floor behind him, his neck glowing. The Akridai toyed with a long strand of his dark hair, licking his lips as he slunk closer. Kaden snapped his mouth shut, retreating down the hall with the rest of us.