[Asterion] Book Two, Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
Violet was no illusion.
Finley would’ve dispelled any magic, would’ve seen the real and the unreal all at once. Violet stood before her in the flesh, so perfectly timed that if Finley was not imagining her, divinity itself must’ve intervened to place her there.
“Violet, I’m—” Finley began.
“And Rydal, too!” Violet said, gaze darting over Finley’s shoulder.
Finley pressed close to Violet’s side. Rydal and Princess Rada were but a handful of feet away, Princess Rada pulling a thin veil of curiosity over the gnawing impatience driving her, Rydal staring blankly.
“No, that’s not—yes, but it’s not the Rydal you know,” Finley said.
“Are you acquainted with this witch, Finley?” Princess Rada asked. “I don’t recognise her as one of our castle regulars, though naturally, all are welcome here.”
People slowed their morning walks to pay attention to them. The Princess of Sine, her personal knight, and an unknown witch were quite the sight to see. Finley prayed she wasn’t trembling.
“This is—this is…” Why was Finley stuttering? What could Rydal or Princess Rada do to her in front of a crowd? “Violet. Violet Oban. Princess Alexandria’s aunt.”
Princess Rada was so taken aback by the answer that she almost looked like herself again, like the self Finley had never known. Rydal folded their arms over their chest, frowning.
“That’s right,” Violet said. She wrapped an arm around Finley’s shoulders, wordlessly acknowledging her fear. “My companions and I heard tell that my niece was enjoying Sine’s hospitality, but sadly lost one another in the city. Happily, Finley will have no trouble escorting me to the princess. I take it you’re a princess yourself, aren’t you? It’s a pleasure to meet you. What beautiful grounds your castle has!”
“I—yes, thank you, it’s an honour to meet you,” Princess Rada said, flustered by her frustration. “I’d be happy to have someone take you to Princess Alexandria. It’s only that Finley has somewhere to be right now. There’s an urgent matter and her help is crucial.”
Violet was not swayed by royalty or rank. She recognised no authority but that of the world around her.
“I don’t think she does. Finley here was rather heading in the opposite direction when she ran into me. Shall we, Finley?” Violet said, turning her towards the castle.
“You don’t understand,” Princess Rada protested. “Finley has to—”
“Rada,” Rydal warned.
They held out an arm, stopping her from rushing forward. Seeing the gathering crowd for what it was, Princess Rada pursed her lips closed and followed Violet towards the castle.
She could not drag Finley to the crystal mines but she would not let her out of her sight, either.
Violet walked briskly. She kept an arm around Finley, easy but protective, and did not stop to take in the sights of the foreign castle, did not delay with questions and observations. She wore a smile but knew something was amiss.
Finley practically fell into Alexandria’s chambers.
Alexandria was on the settee, Luna to one side of her, Rydal and Ibis on the other. Their conversation had filled the room until Finley stumbled in with her heavy, panicked footsteps.
“Finley,” Alexandria said, sitting straighter. “And… Aunt Violet. Well. I daresay there’s a story and a half behind this. What trouble have you brought me, hm? Don’t tell me there are chickens at your heels.”
Excitement spread across Luna’s face. Never before had she wanted to meet a member of Alexandria’s family, not until Violet came back into her life. Rydal’s eyes warmed with recognition and Ibis lifted his head, chirping in greeting.
Usually a quiet cat, Ibis indulged in a few more creaky meows. Ignoring her niece and the witch at her side, Princess Rada and the Rydal behind her, Violet hurried to Rydal’s side and knelt to cup Ibis’ face.
“Hello, my beautiful boy. Look at you. Look how shiny your eyes are!” Violet said, pressing her face to Ibis’. “You’ve done such a wonderful job with him, Rydal. I haven’t seen him so happy since—oh, goodness, he was my wife’s cat. Did you know that? He spent the first decade of his life ever at her side. I won’t say he succumbed to complete and utter misery after her passing, not once a few years had elapsed, but I’ve never seen him look so much like himself.”
“Alexandria’s maid fixed up his basket,” Rydal said, pointing to the straps woven into it. “He gets to see the whole world from my back.”
“Wonderful! And look at you, Rydal—I’d no idea you had a twin. That makes three of us in this very room,” Violet said, kissing Ibis’ head half a dozen times before returning to her feet. “And you must be Luna. My dear, I’ve heard so much about you. I daresay I have you to thank for my niece turning out so well.”
Beaming, compliment accepted without hesitation, Luna got to her feet and rushed over to accept Violet’s embrace. As witches’ power dimmed before foils, their eyes no longer glowing, hair falling still and heavy, it sparked with renewed vigour in the presence of their kin. The room thrummed around the pair of them, lighting every distant corner.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet an aunt of Lexi’s I actually like,” Luna said.
“Lexi? My. Isn’t that curious,” Violet said.
Finley had caught her breath. He pulse had steadied. She appreciated Violet giving her time to collect herself, but her surroundings grew more surreal by the second.
“Yes, yes, very good, now we’re all introduced to one another. Now, would you be so kind as to tell me how and why you are in Waterdeep, aunt, and not some five-hundred miles away in Obanwye?” Alexandria asked.
“Oh. That. My goodness,” Violet said.
Finley saw through Violet’s smile. Whatever news she had brought was difficult to tell and she was doing all she could to buy herself time. As she began removing her scarf and loosening her boots, Princess Rada darted across the room to take Finley’s hand.
“Please?” Princess Rada near-pleaded. “The princess and her aunt have a lot of catching up to do. Let’s give them a moment to themselves, shall we?”
Finley tore her hand away and stepped back. What was she so scared of? Princess Rada was no witch, no knight. She had neither magic nor weaponry and Finley did not doubt that she could outrun her. She could fight if she had to.
Finley simply didn’t understand why she would need to.
Before Princess Rada could close in on her again, Alexandria got to her feet and stood between the pair of them.
“And what is this all about, Princess? It appears I have missed a great deal by choosing to remain in my chambers this morning,” Alexandria said.
“Princess, it’s just that Finley was going to help me with something. Weren’t you, Finley?” Princess Rada said, catching Finley’s eye as though they were allies in this.
“No,” Finley said.
“Well, there it is. Now, my aunt and I do have rather a lot of catching up to do, and Finley is a good friend of hers. Perhaps you would be good enough to allow us a little privacy while we clear up this sorry situation,” Alexandria said.
“No, it’s not—” Princess Rada threw her hands out in frustration, taking a wide step around Alexandria. Alexandria moved to the side, making a shield of herself. “I’m afraid I must insist upon this, Princess. This has been so very long in the making and Finley’s presence is absolutely vital. I do not wish to involve the king, but if you do not allow me to—”
“You do realise the agreement we made was put into writing, do you not? That it is legally binding?” Alexandria interjected.
She did not let Princess Rada’s rambling get the better of her. She stood to attention, hands clasped behind her back, ready to refuse Princess Rada over and over.
“Pardon?”
“The agreement we made regarding our upcoming union. You wished for the Thisian outposts to be dismantled, land returned to Sine, and so on. My first stipulation was for Finley; therefore, I would consider it bad form if you were to demand her compliance. A threat to the treaty, even,” Alexandria said.
Princess Rada’s entire face flushed. She looked as though she might cry. Her knight stepped in, taking her by the arm and gently prying her away. They spoke to her under their breath and Princess Rada nodded and nodded, gaze always skirting back to Finley.
TWO RYDALS. TWO PRINCESSES. TWO WITCHES. BUT THERE IS ONLY ONE OF YOU, FINLEY, AND ONLY YOU HOLD THE KEY TO THE LABYRINTH.
“We will—we will give you they privacy you require. I do apologise, Princess, but I…” Princess Rada did not search for the words. She trailed off, having no way to explain the urgency of the matter. “We shall wait outside.”
Magpie-Rydal left the chamber with a bow, as though they were corralling Princess Rada and had played no part in this. But Finley would not soon forget what they had done. They had taken her arm under the guise of friendship and led her to Princess Rada. They’d walked her into a trap and tightened their hold. They would’ve dragged her to the mines had Violet not been there.
Alexandria ensured the door was locked. Violet had already made herself comfortable between Rydal and Luna, and Alexandria led Finley by the hand to an armchair they both more or less fit in. Alexandria clung to her hands, clearly wanting to ensure all was well, to understand what had happened between Finley, Princess Rada, and Magpie-Rydal, but knew there would be time for that later.
Alexandria had protected Finley. That was enough.
Alexandria needed answers from her aunt before she could begin to understand the rest.
“Now. Out with it, aunt. I see the guilt buried under that smile of yours,” Alexandria demanded.
Knitting her fingers together, Violet said, “I will tell you everything. All of it, Alexandria, I promise you. But it is going to make you extremely angry with me and I need you to contain that anger until everything is told in full.”
“Good god, woman. I am a princess. I can repress anything for as many years as you like,” Alexandria said, voice sharp with impatience. “Why are you in Waterdeep, aunt? Surely it isn’t for the wedding celebrations.”
“It isn’t,” Violet said. “Sparrow wanted to come and I chose to accompany her.”
Had the conversation not been preluded by an altercation with Princess Rada and her Rydal, Finley might’ve laughed in shock, in disbelief. She’d be certain she’d misheard Violet or scramble to convince herself Violet knew a different Sparrow. Yet all Finley could do was stare, convinced Violet spoke the truth. Rydal tightened their hold on Ibis and Luna tilted her head.
Alexandria shot to her feet.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded.
“Just that,” Violet said, voice quiet but steady. “Sparrow felt compelled to head here and I didn’t have the heart to refuse her. Honestly, it was the excuse I needed to see a little more of the world. Do sit down, dear.”
“Sparrow is dead,” Alexandria said.
“Sparrow is feeling better than she has in a long time.”
“Sparrow is dead. I saw the labyrinth in ruins. I felt her absence,” Alexandria protested.
“You saw what Delphine did to the labyrinth. You felt Sparrow’s absence. This is all true, my dear. But Sparrow isn’t dead, I can assure you of that. Sparrow was taken from the labyrinth before Delphine could bring down its walls,” Violet said.
Rydal closed their eyes. They gently placed Ibis in Violet’s lap, putting theirself at a distance from his purrs so they could hear the voice that never wasn’t there. Finley silently joined their prayer, hoping beyond all sense and reason that Violet spoke the truth.
“Taken,” Alexandria repeated flatly. “Somebody took Sparrow from the labyrinth between my visiting it and my aunt destroying it, did they? And Sparrow went willing with them, did she? Make sense, aunt. Do not taunt me. Who could possibly have done such a thing?”
The answer burnt in Finley’s throat.
“I’ll tell you, Alexandria, but you really ought to be seated,” Violet said.
“Tell me,” Alexandria demanded.
Finley took Alexandria’s had and guided her back to the armchair. Here was the answer Alexandria had longed for those last months, yet she would not allow herself to see the truth.
“Amarata,” Violet said.
The name brought tears to Luna’s eyes. She gripped the front of her dress and murmured her thanks to the universe.
Alexandria grew rigid against Finley. The tension holding her captive was worse than that which pain brought; this was not born of her scars but fated to score deeper wounds across her.
“Kiln. My knight. My knight took Sparrow from the labyrinth, disappeared without a word, and sought your aid, did she?” Alexandria asked.
“You more or less have the gist of it. Amarata has struggled to live with herself these last seven years, wanting nothing but forgiveness from you and your sister. The truth Delphine revealed almost destroyed her. The only clear path she could see was to free Sparrow, to make it so no one ever hurt her again, but Sparrow is—oh, she’s an interesting girl. She’s as unpredictable as you are, Alexandria. Part of her – or all of her – clung to Amarata, making her into what she needed. It was Sparrow who led them to Obanwye, to me. I wonder if she remembers what I did for you as a baby,” Violet said.
Violet spoke Amarata’s name with such ease, with an innate understanding of the woman whose secrets she now shared. Finley thought to the crystal she had kept close for Violet, the one carved like a blade, but did not know why.
Alexandria pressed her palms together.
“Then do you mean to say that after we departed Obanwye, my knight and a manifestation of the night sky turned up at your door?” Alexandria asked, sounding out each word between gritted teeth. “That seems rather unlikely timing.”
“No,” Violet said. “Amarata and Sparrow turned up before you did.”
Though she clung to Alexandria’s hand, Finley could not stop her from shooting to her feet.
“Then you knew of it all along? You knew exactly where Kiln was and had the gall to sit there nodding sympathetically as I let myself be cracked open and confess my concern for her? You heard all that and let me remain ignorant? What’s more, you knew Sparrow was alive even as we mourned her!” Alexandria said, voice rising. Princess Rada and Magpie-Rydal surely heard every word in the corridor beyond. “God. And you knew the truth of the labyrinth, of the Renshaw bloodline, and pretended to be outraged when I shared the secret with you. Well done, aunt. That was quite the act you put on.”
Finley had seen too clearly what Delphine had done to Alexandria and Briar both, how lies and omissions had ruled their lives for decades. Alexandria had allowed herself to trust Violet and the perceived betrayal was sure to break her.
Violet lifted her hands.
“I won’t deny it. Not all of it, that is. Amarata had sworn me to secrecy. She begged me not to tell you where she was, terrified of being seen so weak, so altered, by you. I chose to keep that secret. After all, Amarata came to me for help before you did. Do not think yourself so hard done by, Alexandria. I was helping you cover up a death, wasn’t I? Do not think I wasn’t putting myself at great risk for you, my dear,” Violet said. “But I did not know the truth of the labyrinth, or what was done to you and your kin. I hardly knew anything. Amarata and Sparrow had been with me for but a handful of days when I heard tell that you were coming to Obanwye, and it rattled the pair of them. Amarata’s fear bled into Sparrow and Sparrow’s unsteady influence spread and grew. They had not the sense to tell me anything. All I could do was promise to protect them.”
But Alexandria could not tear herself free from the fact that Violet had kept so much from her. She had been used so poorly by her family all her life and could not divide Violet from Delphine or her father in that moment.
“You ought to have told me,” Alexandria said.
“Why? Amarata came to me first. I had already made a promise to her.”
“But I am—you are my aunt.”
“And what does that count for, Alexandria? What does that mean? When I made that promise to Amarata, there was nothing but blood between you and me. I did not know you. I had pieced you back together as a baby, had held you in my arms and my magic until you could breathe on your own again; what more could I possibly owe you? What more did I have left to give you? I owe you nothing, Alexandria. And if we are to lend importance to blood, then look at Sparrow; surely she is my niece as well,” Violet said, words low and gentle. “I kept my word to Amarata. I shall never apologise for that. It was only made complicated when I got to know you, when I saw who you truly were. I love you as your own person, Alexandria, not merely the concept of my sister’s daughter.”
Alexandria said nothing for a long time. She did not flinch or pace and barely seemed to breathe.
When she finally spoke, there was a peal of victory in her words. Surely she had her aunt beaten now; surely she had found a question she could not answer, a way to prove that Violet peddled nothing but lies.
“And where are Sparrow and Kiln now, aunt?” she asked.
“In all honesty, I don’t know,” Violet said, tapping her chin. “We travelled together all the way to Waterdeep, but Sparrow became frantic as we reached the capital. It took all of mine and Amarata’s combined strength to rein her in, to keep her comfortable. But once we were in the city itself, I lost the pair of them to the crowds. Sparrow gets so excited whenever she sees something new, and almost everything is new to the poor dear. I’d heard rumours on the road that the Thisian princess had taken a delegation to Sine, and so I headed to the castle, hoping to enlist your aid. That’s when I ran into Finley.”
“Convenient, that. You cannot produce either of them,” Alexandria said. “I suppose we are to simply take you at your word.”
Finley prayed the chamber door would not open. Princess Rada and her knight surely knew what Finley did; they could not doubt where Sparrow had gone, what had lured her close. The door could not open. It could not, could not. Once it did, Finley would not be able to ignore them any longer.
It was Rydal who got to their feet and approached Alexandria. They placed two grounding hands on her shoulders and stood in silence until Alexandria deigned to meet their gaze.
“Alexandria,” Rydal said. “Hey. She’s telling the truth. The Sunless is alive. She’s close.”
“You were told, were you?” Alexandria asked, sneering.
“Yeah.”
Alexandria scoffed, shaking her head.
“You feel it, right?” Rydal asked, searching her gaze again. “You said you felt her absence. But it’s not there anymore, is it? That emptiness is gone.”
Alexandria exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. Luna hurried over to put an arm around Alexandria.
Rydal left Alexandria in her care. They took Ibis into their arms, held him close, then gently lowered him into his basket.
“We’ll be back soon,” Rydal promised, kissing the top of his head.
They stepped around Alexandria and Luna to kneel before Finley, gently placing a hand on her knee. They did not grasp her, did not try to lead her anywhere. They only wished to be guided.
“You know where they are, right?” Rydal said.
“I do,” Finley said, sucking in a breath. “I do. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Finley took Rydal’s hand between her own. She nodded, centring herself, and understood what she must do as you can only hope to. There has only ever been one end awaiting you, one central point luring you towards it. You, certain your faith would manifest with patience and understanding, help Finley to her feet while you, having traded all your humanity for piety stand on the other side of that door, knowing you shall fulfil your purpose this day.
All shall come together.
You. The witch who poured herself into the crystals around the labyrinth and the witch who pieced together what was left of the princess, pried from the Sunless’ claws. The Sunless, held together by mere illusion, blood long since run dry. The knight who took her head, who paid a price beyond reckoning, and the princess deaf and blind to the divine, yet obedient to its every command. Finley, that void, that absence, pulling in all light, all magic, and turning it to nothing. You.
The carriage is called for. There is reluctance. Silence. You have followed these words for thirty-four years, for all of the two lives that you remember, yet you fear it is too soon. You fear it is too close. What will become of you after this, Rydal, once your duty is done? What will become of you when there is no path laid before you and the Eyes of God turn dark and blind?
You will have your freedom, terrible and whole. You will be forced to reckon with your own continuity, with the soul that does not fit in this distant world, and you will realise each lie told came from your own lips. You will be forced to face yourself more literally than you do now.
But fear not, Rydal. You will be forever loved. Will it not be a balm to know that the flesh you wear and the tar that shapes you are almost as vital as the blood of the Sunless? You will be the first to see that shadow stretched thin over the hole it has created.
You will stand before the crystal and you will descend into the labyrinth with them all. With the Sunless, the knight, the princesses, the witches, yourself. With Finley! She has been with you all this time, Rydal, and it has only taken her mere months to do what you have striven for over decades.
But do not loathe yourself too deeply for it. Months, years, centuries, are nothing to the bones of a nascent god.
The carriage rattles over the ground. Nobody speaks, not anymore. The other princess tried to, did her utmost to thank Finley for finally understanding, for finally seeing things in their true light, but was silenced with a mere look. All exit the carriage without seeming to breathe. The princess will not allow herself hope, even as she feels the Sunless like a fluttering of wings against her scars.
In you go, Rydal, leading the way and keeping to the very back. You wield your authority well, parting the miners, having them down tools and walk out into the sunlight as Finley dims every crystal that dares to shine its light upon you.
And there it is.
The crystal, the bones within. The roots that reach down, down, twisting into the dark carapace no iron or magic can break through. Oh, do not think of that, Rydal. Never think of that. It is only a contingency, should you fail once more. You are here before a mimicry of god. You stand in the presence of what divinity must stoop to in order to be perceived by minds so frail, making itself into a mockery of idolatry.
You are here because the stories will say you were here. In the decades to come, scribes will write how all the distant pieces came together and how it was enough to open the way to a new labyrinth. They will write of this syzygy, turning time flat and linear in ink, and if it is true then, so too must it be true now.
Even as the final page is inked, the book bound, the first page happens over and over, never escaping the future already decided for it. You are not yet at the beginning, Rydal, but you cannot imagine this is an end.
Look upon the Sunless. Look how her horns shine almost as brightly as the crystal she sits atop! The skeleton within looks up at her as all gathered do. The illusion that binds her to herself threatens to wither in Finley’s presence, but the light of her eyes will remain long after the last star cannibalises itself, growing colder than the dead of space around it.
The Sunless’ knight stands below, staring though the crystal, through the bones, to watch her. When she dares close her eyes, she still fears she will see the world as the Sunless does. She fears she will understand too much yet only offer as little as any mortal can.
“Kiln!” the princess cries. It is the first word spoken clearly enough for you to bother hearing. “Kiln, what are you—oh, god help you, Kiln. I will have your knighthood rescinded, every portrait of you burnt, and that is before I—”
“Stop,” you say.
Which you? The you who guards the princess, who calls theirself knight, who thinks theirself capable of loving the witch? Yes. It is that you, isn’t it?
You step forward. Salamanders weave into the leather of your armour, silver threads shining by crystal light. You watch as this iteration of you takes Finley by the wrist, leading her to the crystal. You would never grasp her like that. You would never force her towards faith. But you do not stop yourself, either. You stand as the others do, as if in a trance, watching as you press her hand to the crystal.
The crystal darkens.
You pull her hand back.
The skeleton moves.
It does not move in the dark. It moves through something humanity cannot comprehend, something you can only imagine as a darkness, an absence. A lack. It is a kindness that the skeleton waits for the cover of darkness to move, lest you be forced to reckon with the paths it takes.
You press Finley’s hand to the crystal. Darkness. Release. The skeleton moves.
The skeleton moves.
Finley understands the truth of this darkness. She understands it as worms know they must burrow through the earth, that they must feed on the paths they take; it is innate. It is what she is. That hunger, the wish to consume all the world enveloping the worms, is vindicated by the rich soil they burrow through.
What does light and darkness mean to them? What good is faith? They consume, and so too are they consumed.
The skeleton moves.
The skeleton moves.
Its fingers press to the surface of the crystal, as though against a pane of glass.
The skeleton moves.
Its fingers meet the air.
The skeleton moves.
You drop Finley’s hand.
Finley moves.
She clutches the amulet that hangs from her like a noose as she reaches out, pressing her palm to the bones that slip from the crystal.
The skeleton need not move.
All else does.
Darkness does not fall but the Eyes of God flicker and falter as Finley’s boots hit the salt and sand. The momentum that brought her there was so far beyond comprehension that she did not stumble forward, though she threw her arms out for balance.
This was no dream. The other world surrounded her, stretched out from the very point she stood, but Finley knew it was no dream. There was a clarity to it that dreams so often denied her and she knew without question that every fibre of her being was under her command.
No mask of bone clung to her face.
Great salt crystals lined the horizon in all directions. The sand, salt, shell, and bone shifted under her feet and the heat of the sun struck her back. Finley had never contended with the likes in a dream. Sweat beaded down her face, autumn left behind in another world.
“Alex?” Finley called into the endless expanse around her. “Rydal?”
No answer came. Finley shielded her eyes from the sun and squinted at the empty miles around her. All she had for company were the skeletons of whales and the husks of sunken ships. With no voice answering her own and nothing to guide her, Finley did what she always had in that strange place: she walked.
The knuckles of the fist she could not loosen turned white with the strain. The sand shifted beneath her feet, harder to walk in than it ever had been in a dream. Already her thighs ached. How long had she been there? A moment, surely only a moment, yet she could not quite recall when and how she had ended up in that desolate ocean.
It was the crystal. The god-crystal. They’d visited it, all of them, because what else could’ve lured Sparrow to Waterdeep? Finley had been so relieved to see her, to know that Sparrow and Amarata were both alive—hadn’t she? They’d been all she could look at, surely they were, only the skeleton, the god-crystal, had been in the way. It had blocked her view of Sparrow and Amarata, not her feelings towards them, and the crystal had wanted her to touch it.
She hadn’t need Rydal’s fingers about her wrist. She hadn’t needed her own will.
She had touched the bones of its hands and then—how long had she been there? Long enough to become lost. Had she not passed that skull hours ago? There could not be two the size of her body, not so close. Her throat was parched and her clothes stuck to her skin with sweat.
Water.
She needed water if she had any hope of thinking straight.
As if answering her prayers, a small oasis appeared amongst the litter of bones and driftwood. It had not taken more than an hour to reach, certainly not more than a day, and though it was little more than a puddle, the water was clear and fresh.
Finley fell to her knees. She scooped the water into her mouth, tasted not a single grain of salt, but it wasn’t enough. She submerged her head in the water, desperate to free her skin from the salt, to dissolve some of the heat emanating from her, and drank deep.
Finley opened her eyes.
The mask of bone pressed to her face.
She tore herself from the water, stumbled back, and hit the solidity of flesh.
Hands clasped her shoulders and a woman’s voice said, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Finley had felt that touch before. Even now it lingered between her shoulder blades. Leaping to her feet, Finley saw a woman knelt in the sand, looking up at her with a cautious smile. She was striking, dark amber-brown skin breaking up the monotony of the world around her, and her eyes glowed as Rydal’s never truly had. Flames danced within them, light never repeating itself, never extinguishing.
“I—what?” Finley said, finding her mouth as dry as it had been before she drank deep. “What do you want with me? It’s you bringing me here, isn’t it?”
The woman slowly rose to her feet and shook her head, laughing a little. Wherever life had led her, it had often been to places stranger than this.
“I don’t have that kind of power, I’m afraid. Or any sort of power. Honestly, I don’t think I’m here at all. Not in the body,” the woman said. “If anything, you brought me here. Or opened the path, at the very least. What do you want with me?”
“I want—” But Finley could not let her guard down. She glanced over her shoulder, certain the woman knew that dreadful bird. “I want to know where I am. I want to know how I got here.”
“Well, that’s easy. This is the Empty Ocean in all its glory,” the woman said, glad to have an answer to offer. “As for how you got here, I expect it’s a lot like how I got here: beyond the minds of mortals like us.”
The woman smiled. Finley bristled with the pull she felt towards her, with the certainty she could trust her, stranger that she was. The light in her eyes did not burn as if to ravage, but to guide the way, to warm the hearth.
“Who are you?” Finley asked weakly.
“Another one I can answer! My name is Braith. I think you’re Finley, aren’t you?”
“How do you know that?”
Finley took a step back, bone cracking underfoot.
“A friend told me. He knows—well, not you, but He knows what’s needful to know. He’s been watching you for a while, Finley, and trying to help you.”
“The bird?”
Braith nodded.
Finley dared not look over her shoulder again, knowing the tar-drenched bird would be behind her. She did not have the strength to run from it, not in the waking world, and her need to understand anything that was happening outweighed any survival instinct left to her.
“I don’t think you’re from this world, are you, Finley?” Braith asked. Finley shook her head, feeling the bird’s dreaded presence behind her. “I’ve met a lot of interesting people in my life, some of them giant lizards, some of them gods, and some both, but I’ve never met someone from another world. I’m not sure why I’m here to help you, but I’ll do my best. All of this around you, all of the Empty Ocean, used to be a real ocean, brimming with life and salt, oh—so long ago I’m not sure there’s a number big enough to express it.
“But something terrible came from the black of space. It wasn’t a creature, wasn’t something we’d understand as having a mind, desires, or intentions; it was all hunger. It moved from star to planet to star, consuming all it could, growing ever hungrier. When it reached this world, it drained the seas dry, eroded the land, and consumed all life. It took everything, everything but the divinity it could not devour: the First God.
“The First God mourned the loss of the world it had created. It slept, It dreamt, and Its body became a continent where life sprang anew. Well. That’s the long and short of it, Finley. Does any of that make sense to you?”
Braith imparted the truth of her world as though she had told the story a hundred times over.
“My—my world has an ocean,” was all Finley could say. The bird was behind her, melding with her shadow. “Nothing ever ate it. But there’s a hole in space where the lining between worlds wore thin. That must be this world and my world, right? I have a friend who’s from here. Or their soul is, at least. Their body is from my world.”
Why was she saying this? Why did it matter?
Tilting her head to the side, Braith said, “That must have taken a lot of residue to bind both parts together.”
“Residue?”
“The tar of ghosts.”
“Braith?”
“What is it?”
“Is it behind me? The bird?”
Smiling, Braith held out a hand and gestured for the dreaded thing to come closer. Finley dared not breathe as the bird stepped around her, moving to Braith’s side and standing almost as high as her hip. It looked straight Finley, looked through her, and began to blossom before her eyes.
The tar dripped from its body. It pooled around its talons and the feathers beneath were a vibrant orange-gold-purple, as though made in the image of Braith’s burning eyes.
“Don’t be scared, Finley. This is Fih Bryn. He’s my friend, but more importantly, He’s a god,” Braith said.
Braith spoke easily, as though god was something that took such a distinct, clear form, as though god moved amongst the mortal world; as though god was not the very world itself.
She said it easily because it was the truth.
The creeping dread retreated. Finley could not deny a word Braith had breathed.
“You’re a god,” Finley murmured.
Why had she ever feared him? How had she feared him? Was it the tar that covered him that frightened her so, or what he had tried protecting her from?
A strip of turquoise light ran across his chest, starting as two interlocking circles over his heart and reaching across his wing feathers.
“What’s that?” Finley asked, kneeling before the god and the familiar light. “I’ve seen this before. The tar – the ghosts – light up like this, don’t they?”
only by the light of the moon. or a god
do they glow
this is the Mark of the Gods
in this world. unlike yours. the gods have form
they walk amongst humanity. we are born
thinking ourselves human
until this Mark shows through our skin. and we
finally take our true forms
magic here belongs only to the gods. it does not spring from crystals
and none may mute that magic
honoured Finley. in this world there are none like you
and in your own world
still you remain a marvel. listen well
beloved Braith has told you of the dread that fell upon this world
there is nothing good here
but your world. holds fast to the truth of itself
it is divinity. like the First God it cannot be consumed
but a hunger unsated is the most dangerous of all
still the teeth gnash
the fabric between our worlds wears thin
and i begin to see your world through eyes
embedded in no skull. i see through the fibres of divinity
as the fibres of divinity themselves
and know there is nothing good here. nothing good could bring such insight
the rift must heal. but
the dread of this world has already made its way through
Finley brought her fist to her chest. Fih Bryn spoke so gently, so softly, that understanding spread through her every nerve. He did not need to shout to be heard. He only confirmed what Rydal had tried telling her of their purpose; the Sunless needed to return between the stars, for Asterion was being suffocated. That dread, the hunger from space, had forced them to take a form, to communicate in a way humanity could understand.
“What do I do?” Finley asked.
“What’s that in your hand?” Braith asked.
Finley’s grasp finally loosened.
The labyrinth key rested heavily in her palm.
“Oh,” she said. “What do I do with this?”
Braith placed a hand on Finley’s shoulder and gently turned her on the spot. Salt and sand rushed beneath her boots, giving itself over to the darkness beyond, sinking into the cavern beneath the labyrinth.
Fih Bryn’s wings spread wide behind Finley and beat alongside her heart. Braith pressed a hand between Finley’s shoulder blades, returning her to the labyrinth between worlds.