Chapter 19

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew we were in the Between.

I expected to see my little house, the copse of pink-flowered trees, but Merrick had brought us somewhere new. There was a vast body of water before us, its beach made up of icy green sea glass. Shallow waves lapped at the shore, making the glass sing like ringing crystal. At the far end of the lake, tall boulders rose like a mountain and roaring cascades of water ran off their edges.

Merrick headed toward those falls now. A narrow path wound through the rocks. The stones were slick with mist, and I slipped twice as I climbed after him. He ducked behind the rapids and I paused, eyeing the gap warily, unsure if I could make the leap. I landed clumsily on a wet ledge, and Merrick had to grab my waist to keep me from plunging to the rocks below.

"What is this place?" I yelled, shouting to be heard over the roaring water, but Merrick, hunched low against the cave's ceiling, didn't answer. He dodged stalactites as he headed toward a slit in the rocks, opening before us like a puckered wound. Something about its narrow darkness sent a cold stab of total dread down my chest, settling into my belly like a pickaxe. The darkness was alive somehow, watching us with an ancient interest.

If Merrick felt any of the malignant energy, it didn't affect him. "Come," he urged.

Stomach clenched, I shook my head. There were some secrets of the universe mortals were not meant to know, and whatever lay down that path was one of them. I felt the wrongness of being here. It pinged off my teeth like lightning crackling through a storm-lit sky, throbbed through my veins, and set my very blood on edge.

I was not meant to see this.

"Hazel."

He held out his hand, and against my better judgment, I took it. As his fingers closed around mine, I felt as though I'd just made a gravely important bargain but was uncertain of the exact terms. Glancing back at the falls, I longed for the breezes and light gray sky of the world beyond, the forests of my home, my little cottage. Even Kieron lying unconscious on my table, surrounded by bone chips and blood. Anything but this.

Without hesitation, he led us into the void.

Trickling water echoed off stones I could not see. The air around us was surprisingly clean, fresh, with a mineral bite strong enough to make my throat heave. I tightened my grip on Merrick's hand, terrified of losing him. If he were to leave me alone in this darkness so complete, I feared I'd go mad.

"Where are we going?" I dared to ask, and my whisper carried up and down the tunnel, returning to us over and over, until it broke apart into a barrage of words, out of order and without sense.

Merrick said nothing but quickened his pace. He never tripped, never faltered on a rise in the ground or a bit of rock poking into the path. I tightened my grip, grateful for his lead.

After a time, my eyes adjusted, picking up bits of light down corridors we didn't take. The ceiling rose to a steep point above us, like the nave of a great sanctuary. To our right, through arched windows, was a yawning cavern. Dim light filtered down, illuminating lengths of bridges that spanned the wicked chasm.

The air grew colder. Puffs of breath steamed from my mouth, clouding the passage.

"Every year I tell you the story of your birth," Merrick began, picking his words with care. His voice creaked, as if he was holding back a deluge of emotions, a crumbling dam about to collapse and ruin everything. "Every year I tell it to you, and there's a question I always expect you'll ask, but you never have."

The tunnel forked and he pulled us to the left. The air softened, scented with wafts of smoke and wax. We entered a chamber and I paused, wonder radiating from my core.

The room was full of candles.

Some were tall and fat, their flames steady and strong. There were skinny tapers, with trickles spilling down their sides. Some were small votives. Others were great pools of liquid, entirely melted, their lights about to sputter out. They were perched along rows of wooden tables, stacked plinths, and rocky outcrops. Above us, the chamber's ceiling vaulted to a wide curve. Polished by eons of rainwater, it reflected light from the hundreds of thousands of candles.

"What is this place?" I whispered. I didn't want to break the hypnotic beauty of the flames.

The fires highlighted the folds and sharp curves of Merrick's face, shrouding his eyes in deep shadow. He looked out over the vast cavern. "This is my home."

Home. The Dreaded End's home.

That could only mean…

"Are those lives?" I guessed, studying the candles.

"Mortal lives," he clarified. He pointed to hollow niches across the cave, near the swell of the ceiling. In each nook, a ball of light hovered, flames flicking over themselves, consuming the air with colorful light. "Up there are the gods."

There were hundreds of them, each burning their own unique shade.

"They have no wicks," I observed, squinting.

"We don't burn out. Not like them." He gazed back to the floor. "Each of these is one life. When the flame goes out, that life is over."

He glided down the shallow steps, walking deep into a row.

I trailed after him, lost in the sea of glimmering lights. "They're all so different."

"Some lives are long," he said, gesturing to a fat, round pillar. "Others are short. Some are over before they even have the chance to begin."

A series of tiny tea lights stabbed at my heart. They were small, so small, some just minutes from flickering out.

"Can't you do anything for them?" I asked, my gaze drawn to one writhing wick. The flame hissed and sputtered, meeting a swift death in the pool of wax. It was gone before I could offer it something to feed on. A wisp of smoke curled from the blackened filament, shimmering memories of a life burned out too quickly.

Merrick's eyes fell on me, heavy with sadness. "I do. I send their souls to an eternal rest."

"That's not what I meant."

He squeezed my shoulder as he passed me, going deeper into the chamber. "I know."

"Where is Kieron's candle? That's why you brought me here, isn't it? To show me his?"

He let out a short sigh darkened with resignation. "This way."

I followed him carefully, wary of creating a draft. I'd never forgive myself if I extinguished someone's flame with unchecked haste.

Merrick came to a stop in front of a bank of lights. I found I couldn't tell which one was Kieron's. I'd expected it to be a puddle of wax, entirely spent. But all the candles here burned tall and strong.

"Where is he?"

Merrick pointed to a taper, fat with wax.

I frowned. "Then…I was right to save him?"

He blinked at me.

"He has more life to live. So, so much more life." I leaned over, trying to somehow feel his essence, but it was just a candle. Nothing about it spoke of Kieron's being.

"Look closer," Merrick instructed, pointing.

There, at the base, was a slick of melted wax. It dripped from the sides of Kieron's candle and pooled across the table. It grew larger as I watched, spreading to its neighbors. I was horrified to see the hot wax begin to melt another candle, causing it to teeter precariously.

I grabbed the second candle before it could fall over and die out, but the wax spread, threatening more.

"What's going on?" I asked, swooping up another endangered flame. And another and another, until my hands were full of burning candles. The wax from Kieron's candle continued to pool. I couldn't save them all.

"Not all candles are made correctly."

The flames I held licked at my face, and I so desperately wanted to put these candles down. I didn't want to be responsible for their continued existence, but there was nowhere safe to store them. Kieron's candle was ruining the entire table.

"What does that mean?"

"Some candles must be extinguished before their time. For the good of others. For the good of those you hold now."

"Then why do you let them live?" I asked. My arms quivered under the weight of so much wax and fire. "You're the Dreaded End. Can't you stop the candle before it ruins the others?"

He shook his head. "There are limits to what even a god can do. I only collect the souls of those departed flames. I cannot blow them out myself. That's what you're meant to do. That's why you see the deathshead. You can act where I cannot. Your hands can carry out the work I wish I could do. But this is what happens when you don't."

His long fingers swept over the table.

"Couldn't we light another candle? For Kieron? One that's made right and will burn the way it's supposed to?" I asked, a stupid burst of hope rising in my chest.

"One candle for one flame. One life. That's how it's meant to work."

"You could change it, surely."

His shoulders dropped. "I can't."

"Then why did you bring me here?"

One of the candles I held sparked, singeing my arm with its embers, and I let out a cry of pain, almost dropping the dozen I held.

A noise of horror choked me as I realized what chaos that would cause.

"I wanted you to see and understand. I'm not doing this to punish him. Or you. The shape of his life was determined before he was born. It was written in the make of that candle. I can't change that. I thought you of all people would grasp this, Hazel. But you still see everything through mortal eyes, terrified of losing your tiny wisp of existence."

Merrick wiped his face. His voice creaked, and I realized he was close to tears.

"How else should I see it?" I demanded. "I am a mortal. I have mortal eyes. I don't…I don't understand what you want me to…" I froze, fear snaking into my belly and leaving me cold despite the thousands of flames surrounding me. "What question am I meant to ask? When you tell my birth story, Merrick…what question am I supposed to ask?"

He shook his head, disappointed. "We're going now. This was a mistake."

My mind raced through the birthday story, glancing up to the orbs of fire. One of them was the Holy First, and the others—the many, many others—must be the Divided Ones.

"Tell me, Merrick," I called after him, desperate to understand. "Tell me, please !"

He continued stalking away, his robes fluttering behind him like the wake behind a ship.

I thought through his story, the iteration he told year after year. He always said it the same way. I had it memorized word for word, practically tattooed on the back of my mind.

"?‘Give the babe to me,' the Dreaded End said," I recited aloud, nearly shouting at him, "?‘and she will never know want or hunger. Let me godfather her and she will live lifetimes, learning the secrets and mysteries of the universe. She'll be a brilliant healer, the most powerful in the land, with the power to hold back sickness, disease, and even me with her hands.'?"

Merrick stopped walking and I knew I was on the right path. But what was I meant to ask?

"Lifetimes," I called out with sudden triumph. "You told them lifetimes. I always thought I'd just live a long life, but now, after seeing this…" I gulped, terror staking my middle. "Merrick, how many candles do I have?"

He remained still, his back to me. I was overwhelmed by the sudden and irrational fear that when he finally turned, it wouldn't be Merrick's face I'd see, but something else. Something sinister and profane. Not a human, not a god, but the terrible darkness that had been at the start of the caves. That ancient, evil void.

With the utmost care, I placed the rescued candles on other tables, far from Kieron's.

I swallowed the vision and placed a shaky hand on Merrick's shoulder. He turned, and when I spotted the familiar lines of his face, I released my breath.

"How many?"

"Three." His eyes shifted away, as if he was ashamed. "While your mother was pregnant, I had three candles dipped for you. Solid, strong tapers that would last many decades. I used the finest beeswax, the sweetest lavender for scent."

Three candles.

Three lives.

It was bewildering, too horrifying to wrap my mind around.

I would live out three lifetimes, long and full.

And alone.

I looked at the cavern of candles, every one of them a solitary taper. Each person was granted just one life. Except me. Every candle I saw now would be snuffed out and melt before my final one would. No person here now would be with me at the end of my life.

I felt numb with shock. It was too big a thought to take in. I'd go through life meeting people, making friends and connections, and none of them would matter in the long run. None of them would grow old with me. None of them would last.

Not my family. Not Kieron. Not anyone I'd meet in the future, twenty years from now, sixty, a hundred.

I wanted to throw up, wanted to give in to the rising terror that clouded my vision and sent tremors through my body. Instead, I met Merrick's mournful gaze and took a deep breath.

"Show me?"

He bowed his head and wandered down a path of flames. We turned along another lane, then another. Reaching the outskirts of the tapers, he stopped at a dark granite plinth.

A single candle, placed with care and encircled by a delicate silver wreath of flowers, burned brightly. At its base rested two identical tapers, unlit but ready to be called upon when needed.

They were so very, very tall.

I looked back at the thousands of other candles covering tables and stands. They were all so far away, a huddled mass of humanity that I would never be a part of. "I'm all by myself."

His bony fingers reached out toward the light with a tender affection before pointing to the god's flame above us. "You're withme."

I studied the slate-colored fire. Even Merrick's flame seemed to be in shadow. "That's you?"

He nodded. "I wanted…I wanted to always be able to watch over you." His back teeth clicked together, and he considered his next words with care. "Do you see now? I know this moment with the boy feels important to you, but in the whole of your life…this is just a brief breath. Oh, my darling Hazel. You'll go on and do more things. Bigger things. Without him. Let him die. Before he can hurt anyone."

"He would never!" I exclaimed. "I know Kieron. He'd never hurt anyone."

"He hurt you already," he pointed out, gently picking up my hand and examining the ring of bruises winding round my wrist.

"That doesn't…He didn't…he didn't mean to do that. He didn't know what he was doing. I fixed him. You saw I fixed him."

"I saw you stopped the swelling," Merrick allowed. "But there was damage done. Too much damage that you could not right."

"But I did the surgery," I insisted. "I did everything right."

"Oh, Hazel," Merrick said. I'd never heard him so sad before. "You were flawless. But some things cannot be fixed. You saw the changes in him already. The burst of anger, the surprising rage. Think of what that rage is capable of. Think of how many people he can hurt."

The shattered window echoed through my mind. Cosmos's yelp of fear. The memory of Kieron's hands wrapped painfully tight around my wrists.

"Isn't there something I could do to change it? If we retreat, if we go somewhere far from others? I can take care of him and keep him from hurting anyone else, and that will change everything, won'tit?"

Merrick shook his head. "He'd burn through your candles without a second thought. He wouldn't mean to, but he'd hurt you, Hazel. And he'd go on to hurt so many others. More than you could ever treat, more than you could ever save."

"How do you know all this?" It was a foolish question. He was a god. He did not operate on linear time. He knew every possible future there was, could see them shift as we mortals wandered about in darkness, making dozens of decisions that altered every second of the yet-to-be.

Merrick only sighed.

I remembered the terrible thought that had come to me just moments before I began the surgery. An echo of it rang through me now, sneaking its treachery up my throat to wait on my tongue until I was stupid enough to speak it aloud. "And you…you're not behind all this?"

Merrick's eyes flashed. "How could you think that?"

"It's just…with this…with all of this…you get exactly what you want." I wanted to throw the accusation with anger and force, but it was too sad for me to speak it any louder than a whisper. "You get what you want and I get nothing."

Merrick took a step closer but stopped short of touching me. "This is not what I want. I don't want to see you in pain. I'd never want that." He reached out, and his fingers danced before me as if he were too scared to bridge the final gap. "Hazel, you are my daughter. My heart breaks when yours aches. If there were a way to spare you this pain, I would. But I can't. I'm so sorry."

"There are limits, even for gods," I muttered, echoing his earlier sentiment.

Miserably, he nodded.

I dared to glance back toward Kieron's candle. "I can't do this," I admitted. "I've killed so many others, just like the deathshead wanted. Please don't ask me to do this."

My plea broke his spell of stasis, and Merrick held out his arms.

I fell into them, letting myself be folded away in his embrace, and I cried. I cried great fat tears of grief and pain. For Kieron. For our future. For my future, which I was only now beginning to understand. I cried until I no longer had any tears within me and felt dry and miserable.

"Three lifetimes, Hazel," Merrick whispered into the top of my head. "Remember that. This moment hurts, and I'm sorry, but it's only a moment. Only one tiny moment."

I broke away from him, stumbling down the rows of candles to find Kieron's.

His wax had covered the entire table now, sinking other candles into its liquid heat. I tried to pick them up, tried to free them from being devoured, but it burned at my fingers, leaving angry red welts.

"Every choice we make alters the present and the future," Merrick said, coming up behind me. "By choosing to operate on him, by choosing to save him, you've put all these lives in jeopardy. Perhaps it won't be today, but they will eventually meet their ends far sooner than they should."

"I only thought I was helping," I murmured. "I didn't know."

With a twist of his fingers, he plucked a slender piece of silver from midair. "You do now," he said, offering the trinket to me. "And it's what you do now—in this moment—that matters."

When placed in my hands, the snuffer felt unnaturally warm, as though it had just come out of the forge, newly hammered and shining. Turning back to the bank of lights, I watched as Kieron's flame danced at the top of its wick, writhing and reaching out toward me. Begging for me to leave it be, to not listen to Merrick, to let it burn.

I thought back to Kieron, lying spread out across my worktable, sleeping and warm and whole.

Would he feel this?

I glanced at the other candles, weakened and wilting, their lives already altered because of me. I couldn't bear to hurt them any further.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered as I brought the little dome down upon the light, dousing it, Kieron's life, and all my earnest hopes in one fell swoop.