35. Owen

Owen

"You are nothing."

Owen woke with a chill late in the afternoon. Rem had let him sleep all day after enduring a full vial of Mordren's blood the day before. He sat up now and reached for his cup of water, drinking thirstily, but it didn't quench his thirst. The room was cold, but the shaking that took over his body was different, uncontrollable, going so deeply within him that it made him feel sick.

As he stood, nausea washed over him, and he rushed to the waste bucket and vomited. He felt slightly better afterward, but now his head hurt from heaving, and a dull, sharp pain ran through his temples. Strange, needle-like sensations crawled over his body. He had never felt anything like it before.

What is happening to me?

Unable to keep his mind clear, he made his way back to his bed and wrapped himself in his blanket. When he swallowed, he could taste Mordren's blood on his tongue. The memory of it overwhelmed him, and suddenly he knew it was the only thing that would quench his thirst. To feel the smooth red blood flow so darkly in his veins, to ward away the ache.

He shivered in the dim light, curling into a ball as he tried to push past his craving for such a thing. He moaned in agony for a while, until finally the chills stopped, and he was able to breathe a little steadier. He had been sweating, but he felt so cold.

When the door unlocked and opened, Owen sat up on his elbow and prepared to face Rem. But the man only walked to his bed with the usual tray of supper and a cup of water. Rem set the tray on the end table and peered down at Owen.

"You look ill," he said.

Owen closed his eyes and buried his face in his pillow. "I feel so cold, but I'm sweating." He gave a huff as he sat up and reached for the cup of water. He downed it, then wiped his mouth.

"You're craving his blood." Rem sat on the end of the bed, and Owen curled his fists in frustration. Why did the man have to act so comfortable around him? "It can make you feel sick when you don't have it. I'm not sure what makes it addictive. To think that something such as a god's blood can make one feel so empowered and… good. It makes me curious as to what yours is like."

Owen jumped up from the bed and backed away as he glared at Rem. "Do you realize how distasteful you are?"

Rem raised his chin. "Yes. Now eat your food. I'll be taking you to Mordren soon, but you need to get over this sickness." He got to his feet. "There's a place I want to show you. We can talk more there."

Sighing, Owen took his plate of food and ate very little, as the queasiness in his stomach still churned. When he was finished, Rem placed the shackles around Owen's wrists and attached the chain.

The citadel was quiet, just as it was yesterday. They made their way across the grand hall, where the stairs wound up on either side to the enormous double doors of the central chamber, where Mordren's throne was. When they came to a smaller set of wooden double doors along the east wing of the citadel, Owen wondered what lay behind it.

Rem opened the doors, and when Owen stepped inside, his eyes widened. Rows of bookcases lined the walls all around the immense room. Leather lounge chairs were set around a table, and there were cushioned seats set within the tall windows that overlooked the veranda and courtyard outside.

"Do you like it?" Rem asked.

Rather than say anything, Owen walked to one of the shelves and glanced over a few book titles. A sign was nailed to the bookcase that read Animals .

"Are these all organized by letter?" he asked.

"By subject," Rem corrected. "Whatever you wish to read, tell me, and I'll find it."

He didn't want to say it, but already Owen was feeling slightly better. The library was a good distraction for him. It was also a source of information that could potentially give him answers about a few things that lingered on his mind.

"Are you going to give me free rein here?" Owen asked.

Rem cocked his head and smiled crookedly. "If you ask nicely."

If Owen wanted anything, it was to punch him in the face. But he needed to get away from this man, to be able to look over books in peace. "Please…" Owen said, trying to keep his icy voice steady, "will you take my chain off?"

Something in Rem's eyes flashed. He stepped forward and unhooked the chain, then held his hand out for Owen to look around without him. Owen made his way around the stack of bookcases in the middle of the room. He looked back at Rem to make sure he didn't follow, and the man smiled back at him. Turning away, Owen made a face.

I hate him.

He read every sign that pointed out the subjects of the books until he stopped at folklore and mythology. He now knew anything he found in those books could possibly be real. It made him wonder, with so many things that had been real in Creatures of the North , if Mordren had used such books as inspiration to create his own creatures. Or had the books simply recorded what Mordren had created?

As much as Owen loved folklore, it wasn't the information he needed. Instead, he looked around until he found a section about the gods and rituals. He ran his fingers over a few titles and inhaled. The air held an aroma of woody scent mixed with frankincense. He glanced around, seeing the dust floating in the air from the dreary light shining in from the massive windows. Further down, Rem looked over a book as he sat in one of the chairs.

Turning back to the bookshelf, Owen looked carefully over each title and grabbed three books. Then he sat in one of the many cushioned window seats and opened one up. All About the Gods talked in depth about Alenar, Aleana, and Mordren. Alenar was righteous, but at times prideful. Aleana was kind and understanding, but she also was full of greed, for she wanted the attention of her people constantly. Mordren was hardworking and confident, but he too suffered a flaw… envy.

A shard of fear struck through Owen's heart at how right the book was. The envy that dripped from Mordren every time he spoke was encapsulated in hatred. It was clear the god wanted everything Alenar and Aleana had, even their relationship .

He closed the book and pushed it away. Then he brought up Rituals and Practices. It was a thin book that laid out how Cleansings worked, but Owen was disappointed when there were no pictures drawn of the symbols used in the rituals. It went on to talk about two other rituals besides the Cleansing: Soul Sacrament and Transcendence Rite. Soul Sacrament involved creating a ritual to give up one's soul, while Transcendence involved sacrifice.

Owen's heart sped up in both excitement and dread.

This was it, the information Owen needed. He knew there was another rite, as Elian had told him as much. Only brief sentences explaining what they were and how they were banned by the Legion. Anyone who conducted them who weren't Legion were put to death.

He thought about Quinnby Kingsland. The madman had created his own Cleansing ritual based on the Legion's, but Owen recalled some of the symbols he'd used had looked slightly different from the ones Elian had used in Covehaven.

When a shadow fell over Owen, he looked up and gasped when he saw Rem standing before him. He let out a breath and said, "I didn't even hear you coming."

Rem stared at him, arms behind his back. "What are you reading?" he asked.

"What does it matter to you? Aren't I supposed to have free rein?" Owen pulled his legs up into the seat and shifted away from Rem. He was still sore from where the man had beaten him.

To his dismay, Rem sat beside him, much too close.

"I see you're interested in learning more about the ritual Mordren wants to put you through. "

"They're not outlined in here." Owen sighed in frustration as he flipped through the book. He no longer felt sick or cold, but he did have a pounding headache.

"None of these books will detail the Transcendence Rite nor the Soul Sacrament. The Legion would never share that information."

"But it's clear you figured it out." Owen sneered at him. "You sold your soul to Mordren. You had to have done that with this… Soul Sacrament."

"Being a Wielder has its advantages. Access to scrolls and texts kept beneath the citadel, where no light breaches. It's there I learned of the symbols, how to use my family's blood to contact Mordren."

Owen pressed his palms to his temples and rubbed them, but the tension would never leave, not while Rem was around him. "How could you do that to your family?"

"Because I craved something more. I wanted to be like the Astrans, like you."

"You could have just kept using your Core." Owen shook his head. "You were a Wielder."

"I wanted the real thing. I envy you, Owen."

There was that word again.

Owen winced and looked up at the man. "Is that why you enjoy tormenting me so much? You want something you can't have? Both in mind and body?"

Rem smirked as he took Owen's right arm in his hand, and Owen tensed. "The Transcendence Rite needs three steps. It is a combination of the Cleansing and the Soul Sacrament. In the Cleansing, an Astran's Essence is taken from them, their body preserved. With the Soul Sacrament, a soul is taken, but the body remains as well. With Transcendence, your soul, Essence, and blood are all taken from you. The symbols Mordren carved into your arms is the first part. The Cleansing and Soul Sacrament symbols will connect you to Mordren's power. It's much like how the Wielders used blood on their Cores to extract Essence from Astrans. The second step is creating the symbols of all three rituals, making them whole."

It dawned on Owen, as if the cold wick of his mind had suddenly been lit.

Seek the burning embers. They will shatter the heart and halt the three made whole.

The phrase Grutwyr had spoken to him in the Vale finally came to fruition. The dagger, he had found out early, was the burning embers. Using it to pierce Mordren's heart would kill him and stop the Transcendence Rite.

Rem suddenly cleared his throat and said, "We should clear this all away and get going now."

Owen got up from the window seat and put his books back with shaking hands. Then Rem attached the chain to Owen's shackles and looked down at him.

"Whatever you discuss with Mordren today, remember the deal you made with me. I already have a plan in the works. I want you to trust me."

Trust him?

No, Owen didn't trust Rem, but what choice did he have? Still, Owen nodded at him, and Rem patted his cheek.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," Owen whispered.

"Good, let's go."

They left the library, and Rem led the way back down to the dungeon again. Owen was afraid Mordren would make him do something else sinister in the torture room, but Rem led him instead to the left tunnel, opposite where he'd been taken yesterday. Before them, a set of stairs spiraled downward. Owen's emberstone collar glowed, lighting the space around him. Then Rem produced a torch, and the light bounced off the narrow walls.

"Watch your step," Rem told him. "This tunnel is very old."

It was easy for Owen to watch his steps, but with Rem pulling him along, it was hard to keep up. When they came to the bottom of a long set of steep stairs, Rem pulled him along a passage lit with purple-glowing torches.

Owen began to sweat, his heart beating more frantically and his throat closing up. His head hurt, and he still craved Mordren's blood, but not as much now. He hated underground tunnels. He'd faced grotesque creatures within the caves coming out of Covehaven, he'd been hunted in Quinnby Kingsland's tunnels, and he'd nearly died when the emberstone cave had collapsed.

If he came out of this alive, he never wanted to see another cave again.

When Owen heard rushing water, he narrowed his eyes. The rocky walls shimmered in the torchlight, and as they came around a curve, the tunnel suddenly opened up to a narrow balcony. As Owen approached the balustrade, his eyes widened as he took in an enormous room.

The ceiling stretched high, soaring like the drawings of cathedrals Owen had seen. He looked below the balcony to see a stream of water flowing down a series of rocks before it disappeared into darkness below. A narrow set of stairs carved into the stone curved away from the balcony to a small bridge crossing the stream. Lanterns were set up along the way, but only a few were lit, as if someone had forgotten to light them all. Beyond the bridge were other paths made from the stone; raised platforms with benches or other sets of stairs that led to other balconies. Others led to nowhere or drop-offs into the murky depths. Everywhere through the cave, mushrooms glowed blue in corners and in alcoves.

"It's magnificent, isn't it?" echoed Mordren's voice.

Owen's heart jolted, and he looked over to see the god standing a few feet away, his hands on the balcony.

"You may go," Mordren told Rem, and the man removed the chain from his shackles before leaving Owen and Mordren alone.

Owen's breath hitched as he walked over to the dark god.

"It was built under my sister's authority," Mordren continued, nodding at the staircases and pathways. "The labyrinth beneath Luthien. A world wonder that few knew about. It was a way to get her people to safety in case of a siege. It was meant to confuse the enemy. But… it isn't very wise to hide your people from a god who designed such a place."

"You… designed it?"

Mordren stared darkly at Owen and leaned against the railing. "I had it excavated. I oversaw the stonemasons building it. And how did Aleana repay me? By telling our father that it was all her idea. Alenar showered her with praise."

Owen didn't want to know the whole story. He didn't want to know all the jealousy and envy Mordren went through, nor the sadness and anger. It was clear this god was full of it. But he did want to know one thing.

"Why… did Alenar leave the world?" he asked.

When Mordren laughed deeply, the sound of it chilled Owen's spine.

"Alenar never left this world. I killed him. Him and Aleana. "

Fear wrapped around Owen, keeping him in place as he waited for Mordren to go on.

"I'm aware the legend is told much differently in the living world. That after Aleana died, Alenar banished me away into the netherworld with the help of Astrans. But no… Alenar sacrificed himself to banish me instead, and many of those Astrans went into the Vale with me."

Owen's eyes widened. Those Astrans had to be the ones who were buried in the graveyard in the Unseen Vale. The ones who whispered to him to avenge them and release them from Mordren's hold.

"Still, some semblance of the other two gods remains." Mordren drew the dagger up from his belt and turned it around in the dim blue lights of the cave. "They can never truly wither away. Their energy somehow transcends time, space." Mordren glanced at Owen and smiled.

"What do you mean, when you say transcendence? What is the Transcendence Rite?"

Mordren turned to face Owen, and for the first time, the god regarded him softly, calmly. "When you ask about things I can explain, it stirs a strange feeling in me. One that ventures far back in time. I understand you're fond of poetry. In the times I've watched you when you thought I wasn't there, I saw you writing. I saw your tears, your sadness, your… longing."

Owen's body flushed, and he stiffened. "What do you mean?" he whispered. "When I was traveling through Avathon?"

"Mostly, but also before that. When you were younger. A child, and later on, a man." Mordren cocked his head. "I was that whisper in your head to take things that didn't belong to you. You never listened. And again I told you to hurt those who hurt you. Again, you didn't listen. But, when I told you to fear the dark, you did. And when I told you to embrace your role as Shadowborn against Quinnby Kingsland…" The god gave a sinister smile and whispered, "That was me."

Owen's heart shuddered. He had done horrible things at the suggestion of this god. His shame enveloped him. Below the shame, though, was a tiny and surprising feeling of relief. Owen's hatred had been fueled by Mordren.

"You never opened up to your power until you used the dagger on the Horwolf. It glowed, and you began opening your mind, so I let myself in, and once you acknowledged me, I knew I had you. It wasn't until I appeared to you as the shadow man that you paid attention to me. Perhaps it was your love for strange creatures. I should have known. You trusted me so easily. And so, when I told you to open the Gate, you finally listened to me."

Anger coiled around Owen's heart, burning his stomach. "You deserved your exile…" Owen spat, his fists clenched so tightly, he quivered. "You aren't good enough for the ordinary world. All you do is taint it!"

Mordren grabbed Owen's collar, and Owen clawed at the god's massive hand that wrapped almost around his whole neck. It cut just enough of his air off that he could barely breathe, but he sneered at him.

"The Transcendence Rite, Owen, is the last step in my plan. By using your soul, body, and blood, I will transcend this ordinary world." The red color of Mordren's dark eyes sparkled. "I will rise beyond this filthy world you hold so dear. I have no desire for it. I seek higher planes, so that I may transcend the gods there, to govern not only this puny world, but all of them . The gods of this universe are many, and it's not enough for me to simply watch over this one planet. I will take other worlds—better worlds than this." He pushed Owen back into the balcony, making him wince. "And I will be their one true God."

When Mordren released his hand and turned away, Owen sucked air into his lungs and coughed against his arm, panting, and closed his eyes. He put a hand to his throat and rubbed his bruised skin.

"What…" he croaked, "is the point of being a god over so many worlds?"

Mordren placed his hands on his hips, his back to Owen. "Being a god in charge of the afterlife is a lonely path. It's wrought with darkness, misery, pain… there are other gods with power over me. They do not reside in this world. My only way to reach them is through a Transcendence Rite. But I need fresh, divine blood." Mordren turned to Owen. "Yours is good enough. And I have more than enough souls to sacrifice if needed, to open the portal into that higher plane. A place of beauty and intelligence so vivid and deep, no human can comprehend it. And once I'm there, I will navigate the universe to take all the worlds I want. Our paths have reached their destiny, Owen. You will open the portal for me."

Grutwyr had spoken of such a thing in the Vale. It seemed that the time had come for Owen to choose his path. The shadow, or the light.

He looked past the balcony at the labyrinth of stairs, bridges, and walkways that extended far beyond the cave. No doubt the passages went further into the darkness for miles. After a long moment, Owen turned back to Mordren.

This man, this god , was fearful indeed, speaking of grand plans of invading a higher plane of the universe. Owen couldn't fathom a world governed by the evil of Mordren, much less an entire universe. Owen's mind raced as he imagined the pathways before him. He could try and take the dagger from him, but how far would he get? Mordren may force him to drink more of his blood, and for a moment, Owen took a small joy in the idea, but he quickly warded those thoughts away.

"You have nothing to lose, Owen," Mordren said. "All your friends and family are dead, and any who possibly remain aren't coming for you." He shook his head. "And even if they did, they would only die trying."

Owen closed his eyes and saw each of his companions in his mind, from Amias, who was locked away, to Gilda, who was dead. Colt and Brom, the only two people who would be willing to come after him, were gone now.

Who else would come after him? Who would save them all?

Seek the burning embers. They will shatter the heart and halt the three made whole.

He knew what he had to do. Looking upon Mordren, Owen kneeled before him and bowed his head. "I am here… to serve you, my one and only god."