Chapter 18

CHAPTER18

The sun warmed Myth’s face, waking him. An unfamiliar black coat lay across his body. The outer layer of it had a thin sheen of morning dew on it.

Not as nice as waking up with Callan still there, but better than being cold and alone. Myth yawned and sat up, wrapping the coat around his shoulders.

He frowned when he realized there was something underneath one of the coat tails.

It was Callan’s book—his original version of Theories on Transformational Magics.

Myth opened it up, surprised that Callan had left it for him, but curious to see what else Callan wanted him to see.

Last time, Myth had been focused on all the stuff around shades. But after the conversation last night… He paged through the book until he found a different section.

On Phoenixes.

Unlike the chapter about shades, this one was mostly neat, with only a few words crossed out and corrected. The various properties of phoenixes themselves, the power contained in a single feather, the purposes of a phoenix.

A lot of care had gone into this part of the book. It was mostly clinical, but some of the word choices…

Phoenixes are creatures of wondrous beauty, whose very being cannot be contained by a mere human shape. Just one glance, and a person knows they are facing a creature better than themself.

Myth got lost in the words, trying to imagine just what a phoenix looked like even as bitter jealousy nipped at him. No one would call Myth beautiful, especially not from the inside out. He was a thief, something common and jealous of a creature Callan had sworn he didn’t even want any longer.

When he hit the end of that section, he was almost disappointed. There was something missing, something that was written between the lines and he couldn’t quite see it yet. What had attracted Callan to Athan? Had it only been the quest for information, or had it been something more?

He didn’t have time to worry about that now, though. He needed to get rid of the damn amulet before… something.

Myth’s stomach roiled uneasily. Callan had insisted the altar was the only way to destroy the amulet, yet he had a phoenix feather. One that he, himself, had written contained enough magic to fuel hundreds of spells.

Myth pulled on Callan’s coat and ate the last of his food before packing up and marching on. There had to be another solution.

Callan returned to Myth at the forest’s edge, while Myth was lost in thought..

“Where have you been?” Myth asked, annoyance and hurt lacing his voice.

“Taking care of an errand,” Callan said, raising his hands in apology. “The altar isn’t too far now. You’ll know you’re close when the trees give way to ash.”

An errand? After the way they’d connected last night, Myth thought Callan would trust him more.

Maybe it was just the timing, though, that felt strange to him. It wasn’t the first time Callan had disappeared with only vague comments on where he’d gone off to. Myth took a few steps past the tree line and stopped as a small, insidious thought that had been tucked into the corner of his mind finally burst out. “You aren’t going to try to free the demon, are you?”

Callan slid to Myth’s other side, smoothing his hands over the coat. “No. I got what I wanted from him. It’s better for me if he stays locked up forever.” He draped an arm across Myth’s shoulders. “Besides, to unlock the altar, I would need the blood of the one who cast the spell. Or one of her lineage. Quite a lot of blood, in fact, and I’d be loath to lose you after we’ve bonded so wonderfully.”

Myth shuddered, but he didn’t start moving again. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice as quiet, as uncertain, as he felt. He unconsciously gripped the amulet in the coat pocket. “Callan… the king was going to unlock the altar, and he definitely wasn’t going to sacrifice himself. He didn’t want me around, so he had to have another way. Do you?”

“King Eoghan knows less about magic than you do,” Callan said far too easily. “He didn’t know what was required to unlock the altar. But to dismantle the amulet, we can simply place it on the altar and draw the spell around it.” Callan mimed the spell symbol in the air, and Myth cataloged it in his mind. He didn’t even know why; it wasn’t like he could cast the spell. But it felt… important, somehow, that he memorized it. “We’ll channel the magic still lingering here, the magic of your royal ancestor, and force the amulet to disperse once more.”

Myth bit his lip, hating how much the doubt clawed at him now. It was a bit late to be worried about things when he was this close to the end goal.

He startled when Callan shoved a different book under his nose. The binding was familiar, though. “Isn’t this… the one Eoghan had in the vaults? The one his great-great-grandmother left behind? How did you get it?”

“I told you, I was running an errand.” Callan flipped the book open and held it out for Myth to see.

The handwriting was barely legible, a crooked script written in haste. The only thing that stood out was a drawing of spell lines, very similar to what Callan had mimed earlier. It was a pity he didn’t know what the page said, but even squinting, he couldn’t make out more than a few of the words. Weren’t royals supposed to have neat handwriting?

“Salt to strengthen the magic,” Callan said, pointing to a line, “and the shape to channel it. Raniya used many of the theories from my studies for her spellwork.”

Myth eyed the page, but even if he could read the text, he doubted he would understand it. He didn’t have any magical training, as Lore and Callan had reminded him often enough. “Okay,” he said after a pause. “So we can cast this spell to destroy the amulet, then the demon is trapped forever?”

“Exactly so.” Callan extended his hand to Myth. “Do you have much of a choice, anyway? You’d end up here one way or the other. The amulet would have it no other way.”

Would he have? He might not have traveled this far trying to find someone to buy it. Then again, Eoghan’s guards might’ve continued to chase him until he ended up near the altar anyway—fate, maybe, or something more.

“But what would I have done with it by myself…” Myth shook his head, grimacing. “Never mind. I have a headache just from trying to figure out any of this.” He took Callan’s offered hand despite his misgivings. Callan dropped Raniya’s book into the shadows, and it sank into the forest floor.

They walked in relative silence, the forest growing quieter the closer they got to the altar. The tree canopy thickened, blotting out more and more light.

“I was thinking,” Myth whispered, half afraid to break the silence but unable to keep the words back any longer. “That feather.”

Callan stopped and released Myth’s hand. “What about it?”

“You said the warmth was placed inside you to weaken you. And the phoenix gave you the ring, too. To make you… less dark.”

Had it worked? Was Callan lighter, for the ring and the warmth? Myth didn’t think so, which made him wonder why he was so trustingly walking toward this altar with a shade, with the amulet that could be used to free the demon in his pocket. He gripped it more tightly, his thoughts starting to spiral out of control.

He kept thinking about a boy getting whipped bloody with a belt.

“How very astute of you. Yes, Athan wished, desperately, that I was not the sort of creature to prefer the shadows.” Callan pointed in the direction of the altar. “Let’s keep moving.”

“But you sacrificed him.” Myth placed his hand on Callan’s chest, where a heart might once have been—where the feather was now. “And your book said—”

“My book?” Callan asked, confused.

“Your book, the one you left with me this morning?” Myth reached into his pack to pull the book out.

Callan stared at it, and for the first time, he seemed actually speechless—almost like he hadn’t expected Myth to find the book… or to read it.

“It has a chapter on phoenixes too. About how much power they have, and how beautiful their flame is. And that a feather is a gift given only to those the phoenixes deem worthy.” Myth clutched the book tighter to himself. “Maybe he loved you too. And he still believed in you even after you sacrificed him.”

It was the only thing that made sense. The only reason to try to help Callan, knowing what kind of creature he was…

Myth was helping Callan too, though, and he didn’t… He probably didn’t…

Callan stared down at him, quiet for a long moment. “Athan loves everybody,” Callan finally said, far too bitterly. “He has a thing for causing himself the worst pain imaginable. What’s the point of this, anyway? Are you trying to force me to admit I prefer you over the phoenix?”

“No. I just thought…” Myth made a frustrated noise. Of course he wasn’t trying to do that. All right, so maybe it would’ve been nice if Callan did say he liked Myth better, but it wasn’t like he expected it. “It’s dumb, but you have an entire phoenix feather in you! And that’s a lot of magic, and I don’t know that much about magic, but your past self thought it could do… a lot. So why didn’t you just destroy the amulet with the feather? Why does the amulet have to be destroyed so close to where it might unleash evil instead?”

Callan laughed and spread his arms out. “All right. Go ahead, try to take the feather. If you can reach it, we can certainly attempt to destroy the amulet with it.”

“Maybe this is what he gave it to you for. Something like this.” Myth swallowed down his emotions and placed his hand against the warm spot on Callan’s chest. Then he pushed, and his hand sank into Callan, reaching deeper and deeper. He groped for the warmth, for the light, yet no matter how much Myth strained, the feather was always just out of reach. It brushed against his fingertips a few times, as if taunting him.

I’m staying right here. I’m a part of Callan forever.

That was good, right? That there was one warm part inside Callan? But Myth needed that feather out. It wasn’t supposed to be there, it wasn’t supposed to be more important than…

No, this was about the amulet and the demon and that altar, not Myth’s feelings.

Myth pulled back after a few more frustrating attempts. “I swear I felt it on my fingertips. Why can’t I touch it?”

“If I knew how to remove it, don’t you think I would have already?” Callan sighed and made a dismissive gesture. “I can’t travel the distances I once could, and my powers have been unfairly limited by this feather. It washes out my shadows before they can grow too strong. So, you see, it was not a gift. It’s a curse. Now, if you’re satisfied? I’d really like to get this all over with.”

No, Myth wasn’t satisfied, but he started walking anyway. He slowed when the forest started to turn to ash, only blackened and cracked tree stumps remaining where they’d once stood tall. It was a scene of terrible destruction, like a great fire had ravaged the area. “I don’t want to go there,” he admitted. “I have a terrible feeling, Callan.”

Every step Myth took sent ash rising from the forest floor. The beautiful black coat ended up a dismal gray. It even clung to Callan’s body, although Callan left no footsteps behind.

“The site of a great battle,” Callan announced, making a grand gesture. Behind him stood the burnt remains of a stone temple. “A battle between two monsters, and the shining beacon that saved the world.” Callan burst out laughing. “Something like that.”

“Were you there?” Myth asked quietly. “Were you one of those monsters?”

“Hundreds of years ago, when Raniya first chose this as the place to seal a demon…” Callan slid up the dais and over to the altar, placing his hand on the cracked stone. “She chose this place because the temple already existed, and its followers were so devout, they were willing to give their lives to seal away the evil that ravaged the lands.”

Myth looked around the barren wasteland, shuddering at the destruction he saw. “That’s horrible. And nothing has grown back since?”

“Oh, no. That damage is new. I almost killed Athan again a few months ago, right here.” Callan swept his hand over the altar and drew the familiar lines of the spell. “One phoenix feather is nothing, my pretty thief. You can do a lot more with an entire phoenix.”

Myth paled, and he stared at Callan in growing horror as something began to dawn on him.

Callan had been here with the phoenix. The phoenix had given him a feather as a curse, as a punishment. Callan…

“Unfortunately, the monster at his side grew a conscience.” Callan sat down at the altar and rested his hand on his chin, oddly distant all of a sudden — nothing like the man who had shared stories of his past so recently. “I was honestly rolling my eyes at how very trite the whole display was. True love, bright shining warmth, the power of friendship and whatnot. If I was a demon of tar and bile instead, I would have eroded myself in nausea.”

Callan spoke so blithely about it, like it was nothing, but to Myth, it was nearly everything. Myth could barely even breathe as the realization swept over him. Callan had been here. Callan had brought the phoenix here. There had been a battle because Callan had brought the phoenix here to die, to—

To free the demon.

“You tricked me,” Myth said, the anguish in his voice nearly choking him. “You lied to me. You didn’t bring me here to destroy the amulet, did you?” He backed away from Callan, as though that would do any good.

As if on cue, like Callan had planned it, Eoghan stepped out of the shadows of the temple.

“No. He brought you here to return to me what is my due. Guards! Seize him!” Eoghan shouted. The guards rushed toward Myth.

Myth began running immediately, like he should’ve done when he’d first realized Callan’s plans. It didn’t matter, though, because a shadow lashed out in front of him, entangling his feet and sending him flying into the ash.

The guards caught up to him quickly and grabbed him by the arms and legs, while Myth flailed and attempted to free himself.

Betrayal and pain raced through him, and Myth thought he might be sick. He stared at Callan, uncomprehending at first, then the words seemed to rip their way out of his throat. “I trusted you!”

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke, because… he meant the words. He was telling the truth. Despite all the warnings everyone had given him, despite even Callan’s cryptic tales and disappearances, Myth really had trusted Callan.

Eoghan headed over to the altar with his sorceress in tow. “Apparently you are a good friend to have. You’ve earned your reward, shade.”

Reward. Of course there was a reward. Myth sobbed helplessly, going slack in the guards’ arms for a moment. They didn’t fall for the trick and loosen their hold on him. If anything, their grasp tightened.

“Oh, yes. I am just very eager to see my master released,” Callan said. “You’ll have to retrieve the amulet yourself. I, unfortunately, can’t seem to touch it.”

Eoghan waited for the guards to carry Myth closer before he approached him and began rifling through the pockets of the coat Myth was wearing.

Callan’s coat.

“Fuck you!” Myth shouted, starting to fight again, unable to keep himself from struggling with Eoghan’s hands so close to him. His mere presence felt foul. “Don’t fucking touch it! Don’t you get it? Raniya sealed the demon for a reason!”

Eoghan lifted the amulet from the coat with a chuckle. “My dear great-great-grandmother didn’t see how much more she could have done. But we’ve got new spells at our disposal now, and we know so much more about the demon than in the past.” He went up to the altar again, placing the amulet around his neck as he walked. “All right. How do we begin?”

“We’ll need a bit of royal blood,” the sorceress began.

Callan hopped off the altar and glanced at Myth. Their eyes met, but Myth saw nothing in them, just the cold, harsh black. “Yes. Royal blood, enough to fill all the lines here. And look, we have the perfect candidate.”

Myth sobbed, sagging in the guards’ arms as they held him still—for real this time, not as a potential lure for the guards to relax a little. He stared down at the ground, unable to continue to meet Callan’s eyes.

How had he been so fucking stupid? How had he not realized Callan would betray him? Lore had told him, and he’d ignored his best friend—who, despite his prejudices, always had Myth’s best interests at heart.

How could a man who had suffered such abuse do the same to others?

Eoghan turned around to face Myth. “Who would have thought you’d be useful after all?”

“One more thing,” Callan said nonchalantly.

Myth wondered if he was about to get some mocking goodbye, reminding him of what a desperate idiot he was, and he looked up in resignation to take it head-on instead of being a coward.

Eoghan looked over his shoulder at Callan. “What?”

It happened so fast that Myth didn’t really comprehend what he was looking at. One moment, Eoghan was standing next to Callan. The next, Eoghan’s throat erupted in a fountain of blood.

The sorceress screamed. Callan stepped aside as Eoghan stumbled into the altar, his body slumping over it. The blood spilled over the side of the stone and pooled onto the dais.

The stone altar rumbled, and cracked, and split apart.

The scent of decay rose up. A foul, dark liquid oozed out of the cracked stone and dripped across the dais. Eoghan’s body smoked and sizzled as acid dripped onto it.

The sorceress shouted a spell, but the decay absorbed it and rushed at her, rising up in a wave of acid and crashing down, completely consuming her.

Myth yelped as he was unceremoniously dropped to the ashy ground.

“Well done,” the demon’s voice rumbled across the ruin clearing. “And you’ve brought meals.”

The guards ran in every direction like decapitated chickens, kicking up the ash. Myth didn’t bother moving. He got onto his knees, fists clenched, and watched in horror. Shadows darkened the sky, tendrils reaching out to stop the progress of each guard in turn.

Tears rolled down Myth’s cheeks.

He’d done this. He’d helped Callan unleash this demon. There would be another era of darkness, and now there was no great sorceress to lock it away again.

Another guard screamed in agony as the acid wrapped around his legs and pulled him under the decay.

All actions have consequences, Callan had said, and once again Myth had acted without understanding what he was doing.

Callan slid over to Myth and sat down beside him. “It was a bit of a hassle getting both you and Eoghan here at the same time,” he said cheerily. “But it was either that or sacrifice you, and I wasn’t ready to do that.”

Myth looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes, uncomprehending. Even if he hadn’t wanted to sacrifice Myth, he’d still done the unthinkable. “Callan… it doesn’t even matter. Don’t you understand? You’ve freed the demon. Nothing will survive. No one will survive. Not me, not anyone else. It’ll absorb everything until there’s nothing left.”

“Oh, it’s not that dire.” Callan pointed at the ground around them. His shadows kept the acid at bay, a small barrier against all the death and decay. “I’ll keep you safe in the dark, my pet.”

Pet.

The word seemed especially gruesome right then, nipping at him like the acid at the base of the shadows. He was the pet to someone who had started this, who was willing to do so much evil for the sake of his own desires. For the sake of… what, exactly, Myth didn’t even know.

Myth looked at Callan, still feeling dazed, dizzy and lost. “But you’re sacrificing the whole world. And for what?”

“For freedom.” Callan wrapped an arm around Myth’s shoulders and rested his head against Myth’s. Myth froze, not relaxing into the embrace but not pulling away, either, for reasons he didn’t even understand. “It was either this or have him slowly erode me for all eternity. The choice was easy.”

Myth hesitated, trying desperately to find the words that would make Callan see reason—for all that there was little enough that could be done now that the demon had been released. “Freedom is important, Callan, but the cost—”

“One last morsel,” his master said, and the acid lapping at Callan’s shadows began beating stronger, so strong that even Myth could feel it. The decay rose up in front of them, becoming an amorphous shape that blotted out what little light was left. “I will end her line here. Give him to me, Callan, and our business will be done.”

Myth blinked back tears. Well. This was it. It had been a good time, but at least he wouldn’t have to live to see the mess his own decisions had wrought upon the world. He waited, tense and afraid, yet so fucking resigned to this.

Callan only stared up at his master. Myth didn’t understand why he was hesitating. It was clear this would be the end of him. Callan had made this happen. He wouldn’t go against his master.

Then Callan spoke, and it took Myth a dizzying moment to even comprehend the response… because Callan said, “No.”

Callan denied his master.

Callan, who had so casually sacrificed Eoghan and unleashed this evil onto the world, was refusing to turn Myth over to the demon—the demon who roared and grew, sending a wave of bile crashing down around them.