Page 77

“Welcome to Zulgalros, Maeva Cale,” I whisper.

Maeva startles at the sound of my voice, as if coming out of a trance.

She’s been quiet ever since the story of the graveyard.

I feared that I’d frightened her, but it seems she’s lost in her thoughts again— always wandering in that beautifully complex mind of hers.

The hood of her cloak falls away as she tilts her head back to examine the Galrosan woods.

Wonder twinkles in her gaze as her head swivels from side to side. “I didn’t expect it to be so beguiling,” she says.

The woods in Zulgalros are covered in the same misty haze as Malvoria.

However, the stark difference is the dazzling white snow.

It glistens and scintillates along the ground, covering the canopy of trees with a magical effect.

Some of the gnarled branches adorn sharp icicles that glitter against the gray sky.

Zulgalros always resembles a winter wonderland.

A small part of me has missed the beauty of home, but I believe what I miss the most are the perfect memories made with a laughing girl…

Snowball fights.

Our tongues sticking to the icicles.

The tiny woodland faeries zooming through her hair.

“I’m going to marry you one day, Emyreus,” she laughs.

“What if I don’t want to marry you?” I tease.

“You’ll change your mind once I’m truly a woman and irresistibly beautiful,” she says confidently .

“You’re already beautiful,” I whisper .

I shake my head, forcing the memory back where it belongs.

It’s not good for me to think of such things.

It only hurts to remember her. Besides, the paragon of a woman in front of me is worthy of creating new memories.

Watching her admire the Galrosan woods is one I hope to carry with me for the rest of my days.

I want to remember how the snowflakes adorned her hair like little stars.

The rosy color of her cheeks and the way she smiles when she’s delighted.

I want to remember the way she looks back at me with such affection that my heart explodes with joy.

The Drakhul cursed two kingdoms, but Maeva’s the one breathing life back into them.

“We can’t pass through the graveyard this close to nightfall,” Laisren advises in a hushed tone.

“We’ll have at least an hour, maybe two, of daylight left,” I reply. “We’ll make it.”

“Have you lost your bloody mind?” Laisren scolds. “Perhaps if we could travel by horseback, then I wouldn’t question your judgment, but what you’re proposing is insanity, Emyr. ”

Before us, the expansive graveyard lays sprawled behind the large iron-gate enclosure.

The supernaturally blue-lit canvas is filled with endless rows of marble headstones and mausoleums along a bumpy path, overtaken by the dense brush and jutting roots of the trees along the dire scenery.

Cawing birds fill the sky with sounds of warning, while the tiniest blue faeries buzz about—awaiting the spirits to awaken for the night.

Our horses have been called back into our signets, leaving us with only our swords to shield us as we navigate through the haunted burial grounds.

It’s forbidden to use abilities within the boundary of the two gates.

If one chooses to do so, they’re cursed to remain here for a century as a corporeal spirit.

Years ago, the quickest way to Malvoria was to use the path that is now unsteady.

One could walk through the entire place in an hour.

However, now that it’s uncultivated, it’ll take longer with the slower pace.

As long as we aren’t within the gates at nightfall, none of the souls can harm us—nor can the banshee foresee our deaths.

The thought of being near this place longer than necessary fills me with unease.

At least if we make it to the other side, we can take refuge in one of the elven hollows.

The alternative is sleeping out in the open on this side where Siorai knows what creatures are roaming.

I’d rather take my chances with the Blue Lady.

“We’ll make it,” I say to the group. Each of their faces are apprehensive—sheepish even.

Maeva’s eyes remain transfixed on the grand iron gate. “What if we don’t make it?” she asks.

I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I promise that we will,” I say.

Laisren releases a bated sigh, gesturing a hand toward the gate in a sweeping motion. “After you, High General,” he barks out. “If this is your plan, then it’s best that we not dally, lest the spirits awaken before their time.”

I’m about to say something when the sound of a snapping limb echoes behind us.

With our weapons drawn, we look for the source of the intrusion, but we are met with nothing but large trees and empty woods.

This isn’t the first time this has happened since our encounter with Darach’s clan.

Every time a minute sound is heard, Maeva worries that someone (or something) is watching us.

More than likely, it’s a curious creature or even a faerie trying to scare us.

“Can we just get this bloody endeavor over with?” Riordan remarks. “This place makes my skin prickle.”

“I second that, mate,” Virgil interjects.

Maeva lightly shoves my arm. “After you, High General,” Maeva whispers.

Taking a deep breath, I step toward the looming iron gate and push it open.

The gate groans and creaks loudly as the old hinges swing wide for us to enter.

Everything about the scene feels like an omen, a warning to all who might enter.

This is no longer the place to honor the dead, but to be tormented by them.

Siorai, I hope I’m not making a mistake.

The group follows behind in a single file as the path isn’t wide enough to continue in formation. “Everyone stay close and whistle if you sense trouble,” I whisper.

Cautiously, I follow the narrow pathway through the graveyard.

The others follow suit, with only the sound of breaking twigs and crunching snow as the background noise for the next half hour.

The further we travel into the graveyard, the more difficult it’s becoming to actually see the path, as the overgrowth is thicker here than at the entrance.

In some areas, we’re having to cut through the brush to find the path, so we don’t stray or become lost. “The sky’s growing dark, High General,” Laisren warns.

“I’m well aware, Second Commander,” I retort, hacking through some of the foliage.

It’s taking several minutes to cut through the thick, decaying shrubbery—wasting precious time that we don’t have.

As the gray light in the sky cascades into darker hues and the mist thickens, the quicker my arm slashes through the branches blocking our path.

My fear grows at the thought of being here when the spirits awaken.

I’ve almost cleared another thick section when a low hum of voices rises beneath the ground as the headstones tremble.

This continues for a few moments until the graveyard shrinks back into silence. So I hasten my pace as much as possible. Before long, the voices and ground rumble again, reminding us of the quickly dwindling timeline before the tenants rise.

“Emyr, perhaps we should turn back,” Maeva stammers.

“We wouldn’t make it back to the gate in time,” Virgil interjects.

“We just need to move through quicker,” I bite out. “Come on. We’ll make it.”

Laisren moves his way up the line past the others to angle himself beside me on the narrow path, assisting in the demolition of roots and shrubbery.

In this silent dance, we finally create a clear opening and make a mad dash down the winding, unstable path until we come across the next patch of overgrowth.

We repeat this over and over again for several minutes, growing increasingly aware of how much time we’re losing.

Without warning, another series of murmuring voices and vibrations cut through the silence, but this time, both are stronger… closer.

I glance around to find everything slowly fading to black.

The luminescent glow of the burial grounds intensifies as long shadows are cast. A gnawing sensation eats at my stomach with every delayed step.

I’m beginning to lose faith in reaching the end of this purgatory when something catches my eyes barely two-thousand yards away: the towering iron gates in all their warped splendor.

The doors are open, as if waiting for us to exit.

I point toward our liberation.”The gate is just up ahead,” I say.

“Run and don’t look back!” Then, we’re sprinting with wild abandon toward the end of this potential nightmare.

The shaking ground has the vigor of a small earthquake, and the voices screech in a new frequency.

The horrendous sound makes me want to cover my ears, but I don’t—too afraid of the slowed momentum.

“Don’t stop!” I yell, hoping my voice carries over the noise .

We’re three-hundred yards away, and the tremors aren’t ceasing as they did before. “Emyr!” Maeva shrieks. I quickly glance back and see she’s pointing toward some of the graves near us. To my horror, the transparent, luminous white spirits of the dead are seeping from their tombs.

Seconds.

We have seconds left to make it.

Two hundred and fifty yards.

I force my legs to run quicker, while also not tripping along the bumpy path. “Faster!” I yell.

The gate is just ahead.

One hundred yards.

We’ll make it. I think to myself. Siorai-willing, we have to.

We duck our heads as wayward spirits descend around us from the sky above, but we never stop running.

They may not be able to touch us while we’re on the path yet , but they seem to enjoy making our journey more difficult.

Every second is now precious. Maeva pants heavily behind me, and the Cadre spews curses at the unceasing barrage of haunts that laugh and wail at our expense.

Fifty yards.

“Almost there,” I declare.

A weight is slowly lifting off my shoulders as we inch closer. We’re cutting it close on time, but that no longer matters. We’ll make it through those gates and leave all of this behind. The banshee won’t foretell our fates, nor will we have to imagine what the other fiends have in mind.

We’re going to mak?—

My heart plummets.

No!

The creaking noise carries over the breeze as the gates slowly close of their own volition.

No! No! No!

Perhaps I can hold them open long enough for the others to make it through.

Even in the unending darkness, I hold on to any semblance of hope—even as my body feels like it’s going nowhere.

I’m within arms reach of the gates as the final millimeters are closing in.

I reach out, catching one of the doors, only for the metal frame to slip from my grasp.

The door shuts with a resounding click.

I slam my fists into the bars. “No!” I yell. I pull on them, but they don’t budge. Maeva and the others help me, but our efforts are for nothing.

So close.

We were so close to the end, but I allowed my pride and fear to cloud my judgment, despite Laisren’s best efforts. I wanted to be far gone from this place before nightfall. The anxiety of being here to see the Blue Lady drove me to this madness because I don’t wish to face her.

Too late. You’re going to see her, anyway.

Taunting whispers slowly surround us. We turn to find the faces of men and women all dressed in noble clothing or armor.

They watch us, looming closer and closer, as if trying to intimidate us.

I ready myself for a possible attack, even though I have no idea how to fight a translucent spirit.

I’d rather die trying to figure it out than not at all.

A small hand squeezes mine in rapid succession. I don’t even have to look to know that it’s Maeva. “I’m with you until the end, Emyr,” she says. I squeeze her hand back, then release it, preparing for whatever is about to happen.

“I’m sorry for putting everyone in this situation,” I say to the group. “I should’ve taken your council into consideration.”

“Indeed,” Laisren smirks. “But where would the adventure be in that?”

Riordan smacks me on the back. “Until Eternity, High General,” he says.

The spirits, by the hundreds, are upon us now.

Their appearance is similar to a dimly glowing candle.

One could easily be hypnotized by their subtle beauty, were it not for their scowling and distorted faces.

Twirling my sword, I prepare to advance when a horrific, grief-riddled wail pierces the misty plane.

We cover our ears as the spirits scurry about, disappearing behind trees.

Then the wailing stops, and all is silent.

The graveyard has fallen into a somber state, causing my hackles to rise.

She’s coming.

“Holy Celestae,” Maeva breathes. Her horrified expression is illuminated as a light roams over the planes of her face.

Floating gracefully toward us—glowing with a blue iridescent light—is a beautiful woman dressed in a long silk gown with glowing red eyes and black hair that floats behind her.

She’s just as beautiful as I remember her, yet everything about her is harsh and cruel in contrast to who she was.

“Emyreus,” her otherworldly voice croons.

I dip my head in a bow. “Hello, Blue Lady,” I say.

Seeing the confusion on my companions’ faces, I mouth the word, “bow,” to which they hesitantly do. As she floats in front of us, she laughs in a way that sounds more like sob.

“Blue Lady?” she tsks, tilting my chin up with one of her cold fingers. “Is that any way to greet your mother?”