Chapter 40

Karys

In the shadow of gathering storm clouds, pressed against the weather-worn outer walls of my old house, I was waiting.

After giving the tellesk—and all their previous visits—some more thought, a pattern had occurred to me: I realized these creatures almost always appeared during the moments when I was at my weakest, emotionally or otherwise. They could read emotions and thoughts, Valas said; it seemed to me that they were feeding off these things, as well.

So I'd been making sure to give them plenty to eat.

After every trip to check on my sister, I walked back outside and made certain not to try and calm myself down for once. Like throwing bait into the water, I let my confusing thoughts and emotions cast off me without any attempt to reel them in.

On my third trip outside, it had finally happened: I spotted another shadowy creature slinking through the bushes, its shining eyes fixed in my direction.

Mairu had been by my side, too, her controlling magic ready to seize the beast and hold it still.

It remained in her hold, now, while I braced myself against the wall and soaked up all the knowledge she could give me about the place I was attempting to reach—and the upper-god who would hopefully be there to meet me.

"Are you certain about this plan?" she asked, for what might have been the twelfth time.

I nodded confidently, showing none of the trepidation I felt. "I'm going. And I'm ready to do this."

She studied my face, searching it for lies, before eventually relenting with a sigh. "I'll pull my magic away quickly so it doesn't interfere with yours. You'll have to be swift to catch the creature."

I thanked her and started creeping my way toward the rustling bushes. I couldn't see the creature itself, only its movements and the few scraps of energy that managed to escape Mairu's hold.

"Be careful," the Serpent Goddess called softly—and then released.

The spidery tellesk let out a terrible noise as it finally skittered entirely free of her spell. It tumbled and spilled from the shelter of the bushes, all long legs and swirling, chaotic energy.

That shadowy energy cocooned around the creature the way my threads of fire often surrounded my body before whisking it to somewhere else, leaving nothing behind as they unraveled.

I dove before it could completely disappear, catching it around the middle, trying to ignore the brutal chill of its shadows and the way its spindly legs flailed and scurried against my arms. Its body gave in an unsettling way—I thought maybe it was made purely of shadows until a tighter squeeze had my arms finally closing in on something solid.

Its legs continued to creep and crawl against my body, scrambling for grip. The chaotic energy around it exploded outward, enveloping me in a cloud, as if I was squeezing a powderpuff.

I held in a cough, eyes watering, but managed to call forth my own magic and surround myself in ropes of flame.

While I surrendered to the weight and pull of these ropes, I simultaneously focused on the tellesk's energy, thinking of nothing else except finding more of it—the greatest concentration that existed in this realm or any other.

I pictured that energy sinking into my own. Willed my fire to use it as a guide until, finally, I felt myself being lifted away from the mortal realm.

The chill of the tellesk's power overtook my warm magic more completely. It was so overwhelming that I could no longer think of anything else, even if I'd wanted to. I felt nothing, touched nothing, breathed in nothing except the dark bits of energy. The more I inhaled, the more my awareness slipped. The more weightless my body seemed to become.

I reached a state of complete surrender that lasted for perhaps a heartbeat, or maybe for a lifetime—however long it took, I eventually tumbled from the embrace of the transporting magic and into someplace new.

I landed on my hands and knees upon sandy black ground.

Straightening, I gasped, eyes widening at the beauty before me.

I was standing in a garden awash in a pale, silvery glow, surrounded by blooms of every shade of white and blue imaginable. Trees with gnarled trunks and tangled branches towered above. A stream ran through it all, its waters milky and shimmering. The scent of spice and jasmine filled the air.

The darkness was lit only by a smattering of star-like dots in the dusky purple sky. After my eyes fully adjusted to the low lighting, I noticed a narrow path edged by smooth, perfectly circular stones that glowed with a soft white light.

I followed this path out of the trees and into a bright field covered in long, swaying blue grass.

As I inhaled the crisp air above this field, I knew I'd made it to Valla; the feel of magic was the same as in the middle-heavens, only magnified a hundred times over. It was enough to crush me if I stood still too long and focused on it too much—I understood now why the Winter God said most visits to this realm were short ones.

But I wasn't afraid.

The power here was overwhelming, yet I'd been prepared for far worse, based on what I'd seen of the God of the Shade and the creatures he created.

Instead of terrifying shadows and scores of creeping, threatening beasts, the field I pushed my way through was bright and full of docile life, teeming with curious, firefly-like insects and swirls of sparkling, beautiful magic that made me feel perfectly aware yet entirely calm whenever I passed through them.

I kept walking.

A house soon materialized at the end of my path. Its design was relatively simple, featuring stacked stone and wood beams reminiscent of the small cottages that dotted the human villages around my old home in the mortal realm. Except there was nothing small about it; it sprawled as far as I could see in both directions, and the closer I came to it, the taller it seemed to loom.

By the time I reached the front door—which was partially ajar—I was certain it was magic making the dwelling grow.

A twinge of doubt struck me as I stared at the warm light slipping through the cracked door. But I'd already come this far, so there seemed no point in hesitating now.

I let myself inside.

Only to immediately freeze at the sight before me.

The interior looked exactly like my old home, down to the scent of cooking spices, woodsmoke, and freshly-tilled earth. I could hear familiar laughter, too. My father's. My sister's.

I tucked my chin toward my chest and shut my eyes.

Opening them again, I lifted my head, and the scenery had changed—now it was the tent where I'd last seen Cillian. Except it was empty. Sounds of a battle rose at my back. It smelled of blood and dust, metal and fire.

Another blink, and it was all gone.

Over and over, my surroundings flashed before me, changing with every blink, becoming all the places I'd been, all the memories that haunted me.

" Enough ," I said into the churning scenery.

I was here, now, and I would not be defined by those past places, those memories, any longer.

As soon as this thought crossed my mind, I tightly closed my eyes again. The house grew quiet. I peeked and saw it had changed yet again. But it was an unfamiliar sight, now; still quiet, and with a settled feeling about it—blinking no longer shifted any of its pieces.

The permanent design it had taken on was made up of wooden walls, narrow corridors, and shelves lined with both books and trinkets of all kinds, from crowns and goblets featuring shining gemstones, to small, intricately detailed figurines made of all different varieties of wood and stone, to some objects I couldn't readily name.

I itched to organize the decor according to their colors and shapes, but I kept my hands to myself and continued walking.

I moved deeper inside, choosing hallways mainly based on how brightly they were lit. My Fire magic didn't seem to have any effect on the torches that lined the halls, even when I tried to brighten them. My feet made no noise against the plush, silver-white carpet. The smell of leather and books slowly overtook the spaces around me, and I heard soft music playing from some distant room that I never managed to find.

After several minutes of exploring, I reached the end of a hallway and found myself stepping into a vast space. Not a proper room with a door or windows, but simply an expansion of the hall itself—one with curved walls and yet more shelves filled to the brim with a wondrous amount of different objects.

A man sat in a large, straight-backed armchair next to a fireplace filled with white flames, clutching a silver cup. Black, raven-like birds hopped around his feet, leaving shadowy trails in their wake. Feathers drifted about the room, along with bits of shining ash that seemed to be originating from the white flames dancing in the hearth.

The man spoke without taking his eyes from this strange fire: "Karys of Mistwilde. Elf. Rebel. Mortal…" He lifted the cup in his hands toward his lips, inhaled from it, but didn't sip. "Or…Karys, Goddess of Fire and Forging. Immortal being of the Shade Court." The cup stayed poised just out of reach of his mouth as he slowly cut his gaze toward me and asked, "Are you here to ask me which one of these sides you belong to?"

"No."

"No?"

"I'm here to tell you that I don't belong to either of them."

He lowered the cup, staring into the shining eyes of the bird closest to his boot as if he was consulting the creature.

Then he gestured to a chair across from him—one that I was almost certain hadn't been there before—and said, "Sit down, won't you?"

Phrased as an invitation, yet it sounded more like a command in his quiet, powerful voice.

I gathered every scrap of courage I could and made my way to the chair.

The fireplace brightened as I sat down, fully illuminating the man— the god— across from me. Malaphar. The Dark God. The Moraki responsible for enlightening the world with all shades of knowledge, blessing its creatures with souls.

I'd seen him before, but never quite like this. He looked slightly more approachable than in the past—or maybe it was me who had changed, who was no longer content to cower at the sight of him.

He was—predictably—beyond beautiful in a terrible, otherworldly kind of way. His face looked as if it had been hewn from a slab of white marble; strong, smooth, its pale color oddly multifaceted in the light of the fire. The shade of his eyes reminded me of the stream I'd seen when I first arrived in this realm—a milky sort of blue with iridescent qualities. His usual black wings were missing, but the feathers drifting around the room seemed eager to be made into those wings; they kept gathering at his back only to be dismissed by a subtle shake of his head or a twitch of his hand.

He appraised me for a long moment. Sipped from the silver cup he held. Dropped it. Snapped his fingers, and it disappeared in mid-air, leaving behind nothing but purplish-grey smoke. Weaving his fingers in and out of this smoke, he said, "Explain yourself."

I stared into his unsettling eyes, gripping the leather armrests for support.

Slowly, my tongue loosened, and I began to unleash it all—all the steps that had led me to this moment. All the things that could have stopped me, had I allowed them to.

I told him the words his servant, the Death God, had spoken to me weeks ago—words I finally understood.

But death must come first. I wonder; could you wield that, too?

Death. Destruction. Rebirth. Change.

I was all of the gods of the Shade Court. But more than that—I was all the things I had survived, all the things I'd learned to rise above and to let go of. I still carried these things, but I commanded them, now, and not the other way around.

And I still believed I could use them to build a bridge.

I'd failed my first attempt at this in Altis, but it was not the end of me. That failure had only strengthened my resolve.

I could be the golden bond that brought the jagged pieces together, messy and slippery as they might be. I could connect it all, make it into something new. Guide it with whatever divine ability I possessed.

And this—all of this—was what I told the dark, terrifying being who sat across from me.

He listened without interrupting, rarely blinking his unsettling eyes.

When I finally finished, he leaned back in his chair. Swirled the silver cup back into existence with a precise flourish of his hand. Took a few sips, and then finally asked, "And what is it you want from me ?"

I didn't hesitate. "You've been watching me closely since the moment I emerged from the Tower of Ascension. Sending spies and servants to trace and manipulate my steps—the tellesk. The Death God. And who else? You had some scheme in mind when you allowed me to ascend; I know you did."

His pale lips pulled into a clever smile, revealing a flash of sharp teeth.

"I can only assume you intended for me to fall into this role of the mediator between realms," I pressed. "I understand now that this is what I'm meant to do—so I only ask for the power to do it. I know you're capable of granting it, whatever it might look like. You and your fellow Moraki can build and level realms at will. I will protect the things you built, if only I—"

He held up a hand.

I sucked in a breath and held it, forcing myself to stop talking as I braced myself for his answer.

It was a long time before it came.

He continued to study me as he held out his hand, encouraging the black bird at his boot to hop into his palm.

The bird swiveled its head between the two of us, beady black eyes alert. Judging, it felt like.

"Yes—you have always been a link between the realms," Malaphar finally said, while scratching under the bird's chin. "I was only waiting for you to realize it."

The space around us seemed to shrink to a much less intimidating size.

Malaphar, however, remained intimidating, becoming even more so as he stood and rolled his shoulders—an action that drew the swirling feathers of the room toward him, gathering them across his back.

He crossed the room, heading to one of the many shelves, eyes narrowed on an object in the very center of it. When he walked, some of the feathers at his back rearranged themselves, tumbling downward and forming a cape that fluttered out behind him.

"We made a mistake, trying to crush the Velkyn so quickly and completely," he said.

I had to work hard to keep my jaw from dropping.

I couldn't believe he'd just admitted to making a mistake.

"My brethren will not admit to it, but myself…I am the god who imparted knowledge upon the world—all shades of it, good and bad—so how could I not speak up about such problems? How could I not—to use your word— scheme up some solution to fix things?"

It seemed like a rhetorical question, so I didn't reply.

We stood silently for a long moment. The shining ash and dark feathers continued to swirl around the room, continuously reminding me of where I stood, and who I stood with.

I wondered over and over again at the absurdity of it all—how I had gone from setting rebellious fires in mortal temples to here in the highest of heavens, standing before one of the most powerful beings in our known world, asking for his help and guidance.

Malaphar tilted his face toward me and said, "I do, indeed, have something to give you."

I should have been wary, a small voice in the back of my head reminded me—yet I felt nothing except a buzzing, purposeful exhilaration.

"It is a kind of magic that the majority of elves could never comprehend on their own. Nor humans, for that matter." He returned his attention to the shelf before him, reaching for the small, unassuming object he'd been staring at earlier.

It was a dagger.

A wave of his hand brought more feathers toward him, swirled them around the sheath, making the patterns on it glow with a silvery light for several seconds before the weapon moved of its own accord, slipping free of its casing and floating for a moment before gently rocking back down to the shelf.

It was a beautiful dagger, shining and black, with subtle etchings in the blade that matched the ones upon its sheath.

"This dagger is called Antaeum ," Malaphar said, picking it up and offering it to me.

I took it with trembling hands.

It was nearly weightless and bitingly cold to the touch.

"It is a gift. A carrier of restorative, protective power created by all three of the Moraki. We perfected it some time ago; we only needed somebody willing to wield it. To plant it in the heart of the elves' rebellion. I've had my eye on you as a potential vessel for some time. The other two were less convinced. But you've proven them wrong. They didn't expect you to survive the trials set forth by the Marr, to begin with. And when you managed ascension, they expected you to become a slave to the divine magic you'd been granted, to turn your back entirely on the elven race you rose above."

It would have been easier to do that. Countless times, I'd wished I could turn a blind eye to everything I'd once known. But I never could manage it.

A weakness, I'd always thought—my need to remember every side.

Yet the upper-god before me clearly thought otherwise.

He replied as though I'd spoken out loud. "To see all sides of things is a rare gift."

I clutched the dagger more tightly. My Fire magic rumbled in response to the questions piling up in my mind, but it didn't rise to the surface; the dagger's power seemed to be placating it.

"If I wield this…if I plant it, as you said…what happens next?" I couldn't help but ask. "Will I remain as I am now?"

"Not as a middle-goddess, no. But a divine being, nonetheless. The Arbiter of Realms , I will call you. Born of earth, forged in divine fire, tempered by your own knowledge and experiences, by the blood you've spilled, and by the things you've carried—the anger, the hope, the trials, the failures, the triumphs. All of it."

All of it .

All the mistakes I thought I'd made….even those had helped bring me to this moment, shaping me into the unique being capable of this task before me.

Now I simply had to see things through to the end.

Easier said than done, I was sure.

"You would not have been able to pick up Antaeum without being ready to do so," said the God of the Shade, his quiet, authoritative voice rumbling through my mind, drowning out some of my lingering doubts. "I would not have been willing to give you its power until I was certain you were the balance point our world needed."

I turned the dagger over and around in my hands, trying to get used to the feel of it.

Determined to get used to it.

"Now: There is a specific task you must complete in order to fully awaken the power of Antaeum. Consider it your final trial before your true ascension can take place."

I'd expected no less.

I stared at my reflection in the shining black blade as I calmly said, "Whatever trial awaits, I am not afraid of it."

"Good."

I took a deep breath and lifted my gaze to his.

"Wherever you plant this dagger will be a point of new life," he explained. "It is potential power. It is potential peace. It is up to you what ultimately is allowed to flow from it, and over it, and who is allowed to take from its energy. It has the power to save the Velkyn, both from themselves and others, but it will need to be planted in the heart of their rebellion, as I told you—allowed to finish killing off that which must die to allow for new growth."

"But the anti-divine runes, and all the poisons they've created…"

"The dagger's power, once awakened through the proper ritual—and wielded properly by you—will render all they've created useless."

"Useless?" I repeated, breathlessly, awestruck again by this tiny dagger and the apparently limitless power it contained.

The quiet voice in the back of my mind was back, telling me to be wary once more.

I no longer hated or feared the gods as I once did, but could I trust everything Malaphar was telling me—and the things he almost certainly wasn't?

"It will also return to them some of the divine blessings they seek," he said, again answering me as though I'd voiced my concerns aloud. "Not all they had before—which is why they will need a divine leader to look to. To guide them as they rebuild their lands into something different, something better. With you as their goddess and guide, the lands around the Antaeum's Point will flourish. You have my word on that. And, if all goes well, we may see fit to establish other points like it."

I could see it, almost—a world where my sister and the other elves had a true place to belong again, rather than merely a cursed hiding place. A world where they had power equal to the other mortal beings of Avalinth.

Would it be enough to calm the rebels and the rising tides of war?

"Can you do this?" Malaphar asked.

Goddess. Guide. Balance point.

The expectations were high.

But I had not come here expecting low ones.

So I managed to swallow down my doubt and give him a firm answer. "I can."

He bowed his head in acknowledgment—an almost reverent gesture that seemed strange from one so much more powerful than myself.

I secured the dagger in its sheath and clutched it to my chest. Bracing myself, already, for the days ahead.

"One last thing: You may not speak of this gift to any other divine being. Not even to him."

I didn't have to ask who he meant.

But the thought of keeping such a secret from Dravyn made my stomach curl.

"This weapon will change the course of history in all realms. The Marr are better off not knowing about it, or the plans we have for it. Do you understand?"

I didn't want to agree, but felt I had little choice. "Yes."

"Good," he said, gesturing toward a narrow wooden door on the opposite side of the room—one I knew for certain hadn't been there a moment ago.

I couldn't help hesitating and looking back one last time before I went through it.

"You have more questions, Arbiter?"

I was almost afraid to ask them. But I couldn't get myself to move while they were still in my heart, weighing me down. "If my power shifts into this different form, this different kind of goddess, what becomes of the God of Fire?"

What becomes of us if I step into this role? Of the magic he gave me? Of the home I found with him? Will we ever see each other again?

I didn't ask these last questions out loud. I didn't have to. This god before me was the keeper of all knowledge, which included every secret I might have tried to bury—reading minds and emotions was as effortless as breathing to him.

He turned away, his attention again on one of his raven's, which was pecking out one of the loose feathers on the floor.

"Focus on the final trial I've given you," he said, more to the bird than me, "and I trust you'll know the path you must walk when you come to it."