Page 23 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Thirteen

The descent to the basement was more daunting for Ingrid the second time around.

The path seemed darker, those odd trinkets and ancient antiques lining the shelves of the fortress giving it an eerie feeling, and where the fear of the unknown had clouded her first visit, a clear and pressing dread of what she knew for certain now took its place.

That first meeting with a Wrane, before she even knew what to call it, her eyes had been spared. But now she would have to face it head-on, flesh out the image she’d painted just from hearing its crackling voice.

“It’ll be okay,” Dean whispered preemptively. The series of locks had just been opened and Ingrid had slightly jumped at the loud sound of it.

“I know,” she said. She took in a satisfying breath. “But could you tell me what to expect? What it looks like?”

The twins turned their heads in unison, surprised at the question. Maybe they’d assumed she could somehow see the Wrane that had attacked her? Or maybe they weren’t used to such inexperience? Either way, she felt another pang of alienation.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.

Tyla was the first to speak up. “To put it simply, Wranes are hideous.” She said it as playfully as she could manage. “Truly, think of the ugliest thing possible, then hit it with a shovel and deny it even the most basic skin care, and you have yourself a Wrane.”

Ingrid laughed nervously, the muscles in her neck relaxing.

“But it’s not the look of it you need to worry about right now.” Raidinn looked to Dean quizzically, almost in disbelief he hadn’t warned her yet. “It’s the mental torment.”

“Well that was unnecessary. Are you trying to scare her?” Dean asked the question sharply, but turned his attention back to Ingrid before he got any answer.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s nothing worse than what you’ve already experienced.

Just do what you did during the Shade attacks, and you’ll be fine. ”

Ingrid nodded at him, putting on a brave face. After only one night without the Shades attacking her, the thought of submitting herself to that sort of pain again felt impossible. But she’d have to.

“We’ll help in any way we can,” Tyla said. “And if it becomes too much, I’ll walk you out immediately.”

She hooked two of Ingrid’s fingers, softly squeezing before letting go.

It was a simple kindness that felt monumental in the moment, and Ingrid was again astonished at herself for feeling anything other than annoyance at the physical touch.

Tyla, after all, was a stranger. And paired with the comforting hand she’d offered in the kitchen, it was by far the most intimacy Ingrid had allowed in years.

“Right,” Raidinn said, slicing through the introspective silence. “So a quick rundown. This thing will lie. It will try to get inside your head. Make you see things. Make you question your reality. But you’re not going to let it, are you?”

“No, sir.” Ingrid saluted, still trying to fool herself into believing she knew what that entailed.

Raidinn nodded and took three steps forward. He stood tall with his back against the door as Tyla walked fearlessly inside, leaving Ingrid there alone with Dean for a moment.

“You got this,” he said. “Do what you’ve always done—fight.”

“I will,” Ingrid said.

He gave her a subtle wink, then held the door open for her to glide in on light, nearly numb feet.

She continued to move slowly until she had full view of the control panel, where Raidinn and Tyla now stood.

Further in, she noticed the monitors and plated boards were lit up and humming now, displaying numbers and symbols Ingrid couldn’t even begin to decipher.

They might as well have been a foreign language, but her eyes lingered on the strange digital signs anyway, delaying the inevitable confrontation with the Wrane.

The night before, between the chaos and exhaustion, Dean had briefly spoken about the assembly of these machines.

How they were initially created to destroy portals—something about electromagnetic waves and quantum mechanics—but ended up, along with Karis’s exceptional abilities, being the secret ingredient to creating the portal sitting above the jail cell.

Ingrid began to wonder if the machines could also be used to contain the Wrane’s power, or to close other portals, or?—

“You’ve brought a new companion.”

She was interrupted by a cold, snarling voice.

Her head swiveled, gaze lifting until she saw the cage, the rusty iron bars, and the shadows and dark crevices of the stone wall behind.

“How delicious,” it said.

Like a starving wolf emerging from a dark forest, the ghastly skeletal creature appeared to her.

Black, nearly imperceptible beady eyes peeked out from a thin, angular face.

A hairless skull and sunken-in eye sockets seemed to fade into the black flowing cloak it wore.

And the hands were not just bony, they were bones, but not like any she’d seen in textbooks or movies.

Sharp spikes jutted out where knuckles and joints should’ve been, and the tips seemed to have been sharpened like steak knives.

Miraculously, Ingrid didn’t flinch. She was almost relieved at the sight of the Wrane, even with how undeniably horrifying it was. Because, in many ways, this creature was familiar to her. She’d seen it before. In her visions. Just never this detailed, or for this long.

“Hello,” Ingrid replied calculatedly. She could already feel the cold ripple of power trying to sneak into her mind.

“Are you the shaded world-walker?” it asked Ingrid, but didn’t wait for an answer before hissing out another. “The damsel I sniffed out in the woods?”

She started to answer it, but was cut off.

“We’ll be asking the questions now,” Raidinn growled. “Shutting up and listening is all we need from you.”

At the command, the Wrane cowered ever so slightly, shrinking into the black cloak draped over its shoulders.

Ingrid tried to imagine what Raidinn had possibly done to frighten a creature like this, but was at a loss.

If neither of the twins possessed any of the gifts the powerful Viator possessed, then what other tricks did he have?

“Ask your questions,” the Wrane replied, still with that twinge of fear.

“Why did your Master send his top general to a place like this?” Dean asked simply.

Silence.

“Why is Sylan Aloris on Earth? Why?” Dean sounded as if he were talking to a child. “And in this town, of all places?”

The Wrane only stared back at him with a black grin, flashing its small but sharp teeth.

Raidinn watched the silent exchange for a moment before stepping forward, a menacing scowl on his face. He cocked his head. Then, just by reaching into his pocket like he might pull out some ancient weapon, he caused the Wrane to stiffen again.

“Stop!” the Wrane pleaded, “There’s no need! I will answer your inquests, Viator.”

“Why is Sylan Aloris here?” Dean repeated.

“I do not know,” it said, voice losing all luster.

“You are misguided if you believe our blessed King Makkar would trust anyone with such information, let alone a lowly servant like myself. I know nothing, nothing, I told you! It was merely a coincidence I happened upon the general’s retinue.

” It let out a sharp series of clicks and grunts.

“Give us your best guess, then. And be quick about it.” Raidinn’s hand was fully submerged in his pocket now, taunting the bony prisoner.

The creature made no indication he wouldn’t comply, but twisted its long neck to Dean first and asked, “If you remove the brute, I will do as you wish. But please, no more.”

“Fuuuuck that.” Raidinn looked to Dean expecting to find an agreeable nod, but only found his old friend waving him over.

He did so, head hung, and Dean held his hand out, waiting for Raidinn to retrieve the object from his pocket.

They made a discreet exchange, then Dean inspected the contents for a moment, holding it up to the light where all could see.

To Ingrid’s disappointment, it was only a small kitchen bag. Just a common plastic bag, containing three small seedlings inside.

“What is that?” Ingrid asked.

“Nothing. Not a damn thing! Just Wrane nonsense.” Raidinn flipped a vulgar gesture at the prisoner and slammed the door on his way out.

“They are seedlings from their sacred Lyperion tree,” Tyla said after a moment.

“There are few left in Ealis. And the tree these seeds belonged to, it was the oldest of them. It was so resilient that the Wranes worshipped it for thousands of years.” She looked at the bag Dean was holding in his hand.

“Raidinn and I took those off a few particular stingy Wrane corpses. They’re among the last remnants of the original tree, which died many years ago.

Just like the dying forest they used to?—”

Clank.

Clank.

Clank clank clank.

The Wrane thrusted its blade-like hands against the metal bars with all its strength.

The cell rattled viciously, making it feel like the room itself shifted, and causing Ingrid to take a cautious step back.

Where the first moments in the presence of it felt like prodding, this new sensation felt like the Wrane was sending a barrage of arrows at Ingrid’s mind.

Her vision went slightly blurry.

“You ignorant Earth-scum!” The Wrane growled, “Heartwood Forest is not dying. We will return to it long before this war ends. It grows by the hour. With every life we give to Ealis, it repays us tenfold!”

The phrase was familiar. Ingrid had seen something like it on the loose piece of parchment Dean pulled from Karis’s notebook.

Though still focused on closing the walls of her mind, Ingrid couldn’t help recalling the moment from the night before, when Dean had spoken about the old traditions of Makkar and his followers.

How they viewed humans as food for their world—sacrificial flesh.