Page 55 of Return of the Darkness (The Lost Kingdom Saga #3)
Soren
S oren shielded her eyes against the stark light, a shock from the dimly lit throne room from moments ago.
Her heart quickened, and her palms clammed with sweat.
Was she hallucinating? While the rulers discussed the mirror, she did exactly as Farid had asked—standing silently at his side without moving a muscle.
Yet as she blinked now, Soren was not in the throne room, and Farid and Nyzaia were nowhere to be seen.
Birds chirped overhead, and she looked into the tree, where a nest was buried amongst the branches.
Yet the shade of green seemed wrong; it was not luscious or full of life.
Had Caligh learned to infiltrate her mind in new ways?
She frantically scanned the trees, where above, the bluebirds had an unusual brown tinge to them.
Soren lowered her gaze to where she brushed the rough bark of the tree trunk, where the brown was faded.
This was Garridon, she realised, while beginning to navigate the roots and fallen branches.
Antor Castle could be spotted through the last trees, towards the end of the sandy path.
It was the route she had travelled with Sadira when arriving, except there was a wrongness to it.
As Soren broke through the final row of trees, she took in the landscape.
It was like someone had taken a paintbrush and coated the land in pale sepia, tinging her entire vision a warm brown.
Soren took a deep breath. The air felt stale and lacked Garridon’s usual freshness and scents, devoid of sap from the trees and pollen from the flowers.
As she approached the castle wall, laughter sounded from within.
Children's laughter. Soren halted to listen, reminded of when she and Sadira were young. The fallen queen blinked, realising how clearly she recalled memories and the absence of the dark shadows. The sound of howling wolves had Soren spinning in the opposite direction and quickening into a jog to the city’s entrance.
Something was freeing about this place, even though she had no idea how she ended up here.
All worry left her, the weight lifting from her chest and shoulders.
Still, she felt the darkness, dormant in the corners of her mind.
It seemed afraid to come out and taunt her.
Soren slowed, panting from the exercise.
She had not trained since the end of battle and was weak because of it.
She wished Nyzaia could see her like this.
Normal. They had exchanged only a few words since that night at the tavern when Soren had let the darkness creep in.
Yet she couldn’t control when it reared its ugly head and demanded a return to her old ways of pleasing Caligh.
But now, wherever she was, her mind was quiet.
She wanted to apologise to the queen while she was of sound mind.
Maybe Soren would never leave this place and would learn to live in peace with her mind.
Her footsteps slowed as voices drifted through Antor’s streets.
Soren stilled when rounding the corner, staring wide-eyed at the city square.
It was filled with people, though she recognised none of them, and their clothes seemed older than the styles worn in Garridon now.
Two little girls ran past, giggling, like Soren and Sadira so often had; their hands grazed Soren.
Cold. As cold as death. Mumbling began as the people looked at her, forming a crowd.
Soren peered down at her clothing; she donned the same brown trousers, green shirt, and boots—the colours a stark contrast to the sepia world.
Soren backed up and hit a wall as the figures drifted towards her, still talking.
With her head pounding, she was unable to focus on their words.
Instead, she forced her eyes shut as darkness crept into the corners of her mind, slowly waking and stepping into the light.
Before she could worry, a rough voice called across the square.
“Soren Mordane.” She opened her eyes at the parting crowd and immediately knelt, bowing her head.
He wore a deep green jacket, crisp trousers, and freshly polished shoes.
He clasped his hands behind his back and turned from the crowd, heading down a street that led to the edge of Hybrooke Forest. “Walk with me,” the God of Earth, Garridon, called in a rough accent.
Soren wasted no time in rising and hurrying past the crowd behind her god.
He was taller than she remembered, his stance wider and presence more demanding.
Soren recalled their last meeting, the way he sensed Caligh’s presence in her mind and stopped her killing Caellum.
In a clearer state of mind, she realised how grateful she was for his interference.
She could not bear to think about the look on Sadira’s face had she followed through with it.
It was not what Soren wanted. Caellum protected her sister and made her happy when Soren could not.
“You seem in calmer spirits,” Garridon said, slowing his pace for Soren to catch up as they exited the city and strode for the forest.
“There is something about this place that repels the darkness in my mind,” Soren said, stealing a look at her god.
“That does not surprise me. Caligh may hate me, but power has a trace, Soren. It remembers things, and his darkness in you remembers the past. Being here, the darkness is both curious and scared.” As Garridon walked, the trees shifted for him, clearing a path as a hawk landed on his shoulder, watching.
Soren tilted her head and smiled. Before Caligh, she always had a natural calling to animals.
“My guardian. Pay him no attention,” Garridon said, stopping in a small clearing in the woods. Moss coated the floor and ivy climbed up the tree stump in the centre where Garridon perched on the edge and crossed his legs.
“If I may, how did you know Caligh?” Soren asked, bowing her head. Garridon smiled and glanced down, tapping his thigh.
“Caligh was a friend once. Well, he was more than that at another point in time.” Soren raised her eyebrows at the thought of being romantically involved with someone so evil.
Garridon patted the spot on the stump beside him, and she hesitated.
It seemed so informal to sit next to the god she had been raised to respect.
Yet when Garridon paused his story, she sat.
“We have a long and sordid history—I will spare you many of the details. But I discovered Caligh was using my people in ways I did not condone. It divided us and my lands. The Wiccan people, once a great race, have since halved and are now embroiled in war.”
“War? Where?” Soren asked, oblivious to any discontent between the Wiccan she had known. Wolves howled in the distance, and Soren straightened, searching for Seiko or Varna.
“They are not your wolves,” Garridon said, ignoring her question.
“They are my first wolves, the oldest.” Garridon tapped his fingers again.
“Where was I? Ah! Yes. When I found out he was using my people, I banished him from my lands and cut off his access to the things he had created. He never forgave me; he has a bitter heart.” Garridon turned to face his descendent, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“It is sadly why he targeted my realm for his corruption and why he targeted you. I am sorry for that, Soren.” Emotion overcame Soren, who swallowed her tears at his sincerity, surprised he would care for one small person in the blip of his existence.
“Is that why you stopped me in the temple from killing the king?” Soren asked. “You knew it was not truly my action or will.” The god nodded and extended his arm for the hawk. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I would have ever come back from that.”
“Eventually you would have, especially if you ended up here. But your relationship with Sadira would not have survived.” Garridon whistled, and the hawk took off. A lump rose in Soren’s throat at the idea of never making amends with her sister.
“Why do you care about me?” Soren asked, and the god chuckled. She hoped she had not offended him.
“Besides feeling a sense of duty to you after Caligh’s revenge, I am also the creator of life,” he said, letting a flower blossom in his palm. “It is natural I should care about my creations. It is why I tethered past souls here.” Soren frowned, recalling the bodies drifting through the city.
“There are no souls from the other realms?”
“Not a single one. It took a great deal to get away with this, but there are some people who are not ready to move on, people I allow to stay until they are ready to leave.” Soren peered down at her hands; anxiety sat in her stomach as she tried to voice her next question.
Garridon patiently waited and tucked a flower behind her hair.
“Are my parents here? My grandmother?”
He smiled. “Perhaps. If you journey further through the forest, you might find them.”
“I do not know if I can face them after all I have done,” she murmured. Garridon squeezed her knee.
“I can take it away, if you wish.” Soren stilled, watching him.
“I can remove the remnants of his power lingering in your mind, the power that resurfaces and strangles your spirit. I can take it away, but heed my warning, it will worsen before it gets better. It is the consequence of disturbing such power.”
“Do it,” Soren said without a single doubt in her mind. She wanted it gone, no matter the pain or hallucinations she might experience in the meantime—none of it mattered if it meant ridding his power completely.
“Very well.”