“He’s alive.” Lothar cut Ceren’s question off. “Barely.”
Letha watched as Evelayn knelt by Lorcan’s side. “He drew too much power for too long.” The queen’s voice shook. “He’s Flared—he is being consumed by the power. If we don’t find a way to call him back fast enough, it will kill him.”
“What do we do now?” Letha looked around at their haggard group, trying to ignore the horrific creatures still circling the slight clearing around the ruins, waiting for them. She’d never seen anything so terrifying, with their partially exposed skulls and their glowing red eyes and black fangs as long as her fingers. The pain in her foot was nearly unbearable. She was certain the Dheagmadra had crushed the bones with its jaws. And a burning sensation had begun to climb up her leg, making her afraid that there was more than just saliva in their mouths.
“Can you walk?” Tanvir’s question was quiet, as if he was still nervous about attracting the attention of the Dheagmadra.
Letha shook her head. “No. Not without help at least.”
Lothar glanced over at them from where he crouched beside his brother, his eyebrows drawn together, Evelayn by his side. The young queen’s lips were nearly bloodless, her face stark white and tear-streaked as she tried to wake Lorcan. Letha had been certain Evelayn was about to be killed when that Dheagmadra had pounced on her, but somehow they’d all made it—thanks to Lorcan, who had used too much power to save them and now had lost himself to it.
“Should we go inside?” Ceren suggested from behind them. “It looks abandoned. Perhaps we could try to help him in there …” She trailed off.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” Tanvir said, staring out at the Dheagmadra, which had fallen silent but stalked back and forth at the edge of the stone steps, their fangs bared.
“Can you help me carry him?” Lothar looked up at Tanvir, his coppery skin gone pale and his face drawn as he gestured to Lorcan, who hadn’t responded to either of them.
“I have to help Letha. She can’t walk.”
“I’ll help her,” Ceren quickly offered, coming back down the steps to reach out and pull Letha to her feet—well, her foot. She couldn’t put any weight on the injured one. Ceren helped Letha place an arm around her shoulders, and together, they slowly moved toward the darkened doorway of whatever the structure had once been. The outer edges of it had crumbled into ruin, but the main section directly above them seemed to be mostly intact.
Lothar and Tanvir were right behind them, hefting Lorcan off the steps—one lifting him by his torso, careful to avoid his shoulder, and the other lifting his legs. Evelayn trailed behind them, visibly shaken and upset.
Letha and Ceren reached the opening first but paused before entering.
“I hope the reason those things didn’t follow us isn’t because there’s something worse hiding in here.” Letha suppressed a shiver of fear as they stared into the shadowed room. It was extremely large, with a ceiling that soared far above them; she could make out vague shapes but nothing definite.
“What’s wrong? Why did you stop?”
Letha turned to see Lothar right behind them, straining to hold Lorcan as they climbed the stairs.
“Nothing, sorry,” she answered, and hopped forward, Ceren assisting her wordlessly.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but Lothar didn’t seem fazed by the darkness one bit. His Dark Draíolon sight was much better suited to low light than hers. He continued confidently right on past them, Tanvir following his lead. The females all trailed behind, Letha trying to ignore the pain that had become excruciating, spiking with each painful hop.
As her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, she realized where Lothar was headed. In the center of the large room, there was a round cistern full of water, with hulking slabs of marble at evenly spaced intervals encircling it like benches of some sort—or altars. As they got closer, Letha had to blink a few times to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.
“Is it just me or is that water … glowing?” She was a little afraid that perhaps whatever poison was working its way up her leg was making her delirious.
“I see it, too,” Ceren said, her voice shaking slightly as they approached the cistern and Letha let go of the other female to clutch the stone edge with both hands. It wasn’t strong, but there was definitely a faint light emitting from the water, or from the cistern holding it. The surface was as smooth as glass, not a ripple to be seen.
“It’s as clear as a mountain stream,” Tanvir commented, sounding slightly awed. He and Lothar had gently laid Lorcan down on one of the marble slabs. “How is that possible when it has to have been sitting here stagnant for ages?”
“I don’t know, but I ran out of water hours ago.” Letha’s mouth had gone bone dry and her stomach clenched with thirst.
“Letha, don’t—”
But she’d already cupped the water and brought it to her mouth. It ran down her throat, cool and delicious. She’d expected it to be warm and to taste of dirt, or at least like the stones it sat in, but she’d never drunk anything so fresh and delicious. When it hit her belly, a wave of energy cascaded over her, revitalizing her so thoroughly, she hadn’t realized just how worn down she’d been until the exhaustion was gone. She reached out to get another handful when someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
Letha whirled to see Tanvir glaring at her, but before he could say anything, Lothar spoke up.
“Letha, your foot!”
She looked down to see what he was talking about and realized she was standing on both feet with no pain, and the burning sensation that had been traveling up her leg was gone.
“You … you’re healed.” Ceren’s shock was unmistakable.
Letha looked back up at Lothar, whose dark-gray eyes were wide. Then they both looked to Evelayn, who sat beside Lorcan.
She blinked, and her eyes, which had been frighteningly empty, sparked back to life. “The water healed you?”
Letha took a hesitant step, but again there was no pain whatsoever. “Yes, it did,” she confirmed.
“If we can get him to drink some …” Evelayn trailed off, and Lothar jumped to action, grabbing his waterskin. He pulled the cap off as he hurried over to the cistern and plunged it in.
The moment he lifted it back out, Evelayn took the waterskin from him. “Can you open his mouth?”
Lothar nodded and reached out to gently pry his brother’s lips apart. “His teeth are clenched,” he said in frustration, trying and failing to get them to open.
“Maybe if we can even get a tiny bit to go in …” Evelayn bent and tipped the waterskin into his mouth. The water ran right back out again, dribbling down his chin and cheek to soak into his blood-streaked hair.
“It’s not working!”
“I know it’s not working,” Evelayn snapped while Lothar pushed at Lorcan’s teeth, desperately trying to force them apart.
Letha watched, battling internally with herself. She’d dealt with many different kinds of injuries on the battlefront, and she knew a tactic that could possibly work to help open a seemingly stuck jaw. But did she want to save him? He wasn’t his father, she knew that. He had never hurt her during her imprisonment; however, he had used her, manipulated Tanvir and caused him immeasurable suffering … but he’d also saved all of them on this trek, more than once.
He’d been completely motionless the entire time, but suddenly the king’s whole body began to tremble, his head thrashing.
“What’s happening?” Ceren’s question was fraught with fear.
“Lorcan, don’t you dare leave us now. You are stronger than this. Fight it!” Evelayn cried out. “Don’t let it take you!” Something inside Letha cracked open at the expression on the queen’s pale face, as she frantically tried to get the water into Lorcan, to save him. She didn’t understand what was happening, and she didn’t hold any affection for the king, but she recognized the look on Evelayn’s face, the panic in her eyes as she kept commanding him to fight the pull o
f the power that was consuming him.
“I might be able to help,” she found herself saying as she stepped forward. “If you push on his jaw, there and there, it might release.” She pointed, but Lothar moved, turning beseeching eyes to hers. Letha took a deep breath and forced herself to reach out and take the king’s face in her hands. His hairline was damp with sweat, yet his skin was as cold as ice when she attempted to find the two trigger points she’d once been shown by a Draíolon gifted with healing, even as he continued to thrash, fighting her efforts.
“There!” she finally announced, pressing down as hard as she could on what she hoped were the right spots. “Do it now!”
Lothar grabbed his chin and pulled. The king’s jaw released just enough for Evelayn to pour some of the water into his slightly opened mouth. Letha watched his throat to see if he swallowed any before it came trickling back out, despite their efforts.
“Did any go down?”
Letha could sense the strain in Lothar’s body as he stood beside her, his arm crossed over hers to continue trying to keep his brother’s mouth open, and she could scent his fear.
“I don’t know.” Evelayn tipped the waterskin once more, letting the clear, cool liquid run into Lorcan’s mouth.
Letha watched it go in and then come back out again, and had a sudden burning urge to grab the waterskin for herself. If he was going to keep wasting it, she deserved it—she needed it—
And then Lorcan coughed, a brief choking noise, and Letha saw his throat move. He’d swallowed some. His thrashing stopped as quickly as it had begun. They all stared, waiting and watching in silence.
“Should we give him more?”
Before anyone could answer Lothar, Lorcan gasped and his eyes opened.
“Oh, thank the Light,” Evelayn breathed.
And then a voice thundered from behind them:
“You have desecrated the Water of Life.”
EVELAYN’S OVERWHELMING RELIEF WHEN LORCAN’S eyes opened shrank at the unfamiliar voice.
At first she could barely see the being, but as she watched, he became more corporeal, taking on a definite form. He looked like a Draíolon in shape—but one composed completely of light and shadow. His hair was made of sunbeams and flowed in an unseen wind, his skin glowed with starlight, and his eyes bore through her—one as bright as day and one as dark as night.
“Why have you come here and defiled sacred ground with your unclean hands?” His voice was the sound of thunder on a summer’s night, and it shook Evelayn to her core.
“We didn’t know it was sacred, please forgive us,” she said when all the others seemed too terrified to respond. “We were attacked by the Dheagmadra and we were told they would not follow us here.”
“Knowledge learned only through our previous leniency. He was warned never to return. And now he has not only returned, he has consumed the Water of Life.” The being seemed to grow even larger and brighter, so that it was painful to look at him.
“He is not responsible for what has happened. He was nearly Consumed protecting us from the Dheagmadra—we brought him here and gave him the water. The fault is mine.” Evelayn bent her head in supplication. “If there is a price to be paid, I will pay it.”
“No …” The moan came from Lorcan, but she placed her hand on his shoulder—which had healed completely—and hoped he would be silent.
“I drank first. If there is a price to be paid, I should pay it.”
Evelayn turned in shock to see Letha step forward.
“I asked for them to use it to save my brother. I will pay the price,” Lothar said, moving in front of Letha.
“You have no knowledge of the price of which I speak, and yet you so willingly offer yourselves in the stead of others.” The being regarded them silently for a long moment. Evelayn tried to hold on to her courage, to keep from quaking before him, but she was certain if Lorcan was still conscious, he could feel her hand trembling. “The price owed a Spirit Harbinger is often steep indeed.”
A Spirit Harbinger. Evelayn’s stomach dropped. She should have recognized what he was immediately—but she’d thought them no more than a bedtime tale. Yet here he was, undeniably real. A Being of Eternity, one who ferried souls to the Final Light and guarded the Gateway that could allow the living or the dead to cross barriers meant to be left alone.
“This is a temple,” she breathed, the stories she’d heard as a youngling coming back to her in sudden realization. “The Temple of the Living Waters.”
“A temple lost to time and memory,” the Spirit Harbinger confirmed, his voice changing to the melodic sound of a river flowing over rocks made smooth from eons of wear. “Where Spirit Harbingers rest in this world. A sacred place where demons may not tread. You are neither sacred nor demon, so you may pass the threshold, but for drinking the Water of Life without sanction, the price must be paid.”
Lorcan’s hand closed over Evelayn’s, and she looked down to see him staring up at her, his silver eyes bright. Then, in one fluid movement, he sat up and faced the Spirit Harbinger. “No debt shall be paid by any other than I. I am the one who knew this was hallowed ground and still led them here. However, I beseech you for mercy, as I only did so that I might save their lives.”
The Spirit Harbinger’s burning gaze fell upon Lorcan. “Never considering that perhaps by so doing, you upset the natural order of life and death.” His words boomed through the temple and yet still held such an infinite amount of sorrow—as if he knew exactly the desperation that had led them here—that it nearly brought Evelayn to tears.
“If there is a life to be taken, take mine. They have done no wrong, except to have had their destinies altered by my actions.” Lorcan stood and walked toward the Spirit Harbinger without an ounce of fear, his shoulders back and his head high. Evelayn’s heart leapt into her throat, and she had to smother the instinct to cry out for him to come back. She already thought she’d lost him once today and she’d been shaken at the sharpness of the grief and fear she’d felt. Had they found a way to save him only to have him taken as payment for that very miracle?
The Spirit Harbinger’s unearthly eyes met hers, and she had the uncanny feeling that he’d somehow heard her unspoken thoughts.
“The bonds of loyalty and love among you are complex and yet admirable. They cross boundaries of power and prejudice that have slowly been built up in this world through eons. Power has corrupted some, but there are those among you who have fought back and tried to replace the pain with hope. I see you—the real you, beneath your flesh and bone. Spirits that shine more brilliantly than you might suppose.” The Spirit Harbinger slowly looked at each one of them in turn. When his eyes fell on Evelayn’s again, something sparked inside of her—a pull that filled her with warmth, reminding her of drowsy summer evenings, lying in a field of wildflowers with her father and mother, watching clouds drift past on a tapestry of brightest blue above them. When his gaze moved on, taking the sensation with him, she felt desolate, a barrenness of feelings that made her miss them more intensely than she thought possible.
“I have looked on your hearts and agree upon this mercy. One chance will I give you to return that which was stolen in the beginning, that which has led to death and grief in the past and will again if not returned. Choose the right path and you will find help when you need it most. If you do this, your debts will be repaid.”
“I don’t understand,” Evelayn said.
“You may rest here for a night in peace, but then you must leave,” the Spirit Harbinger continued. “And remember, if the price is not paid, I must claim the debt owed. The answers you seek can be found here for those who know how to see.”
“Here, meaning in this temple?”
But he had already begun to fade from view before he disappeared entirely, leaving them standing in bewilderment, staring at the empty air where he’d hovered only moments before.
Lorcan couldn’t bring himself to turn and face the other Draíolon yet, not when he’d failed them so
completely. He’d been severely injured and weakened, he’d felt the power overtaking him, but when that Dheagmadra had leapt onto Evelayn, sending her to the ground and preparing to go in for the kill, he hadn’t even thought—he’d merely reacted. Holding up the wall of shadowflame and protecting her had been too much. He’d made it to the steps, but just before he reached them, everything went blank. The well of power he had access to as the king, as the conduit for his entire kingdom—that he risked being consumed by if he called upon too much of it at once—had done exactly that. He’d been trapped, enveloped by the power, slowly being absorbed into it, when he’d dimly heard Evelayn’s voice. It had only been enough to pause his descent, though; he’d been too weak to break free.
Until, suddenly, he’d surfaced. The Spirit Harbinger’s voice had been audible through the haze of the power still leeching out of his body, gradually releasing its grasp on him. Though he tried to hide it, he was deeply shaken by how close he’d been to succumbing. If they hadn’t brought him the Water of Life and forced some into him …
“Is anyone here any good at deciphering riddles? Because if not, I have a feeling we’re doomed.”
Lorcan stifled the urge to send a blast at Tanvir that would knock him to the ground. He scented Evelayn moments before she stopped by his side, sliding her hand into his. He looked into her weary, dirt-and-blood-streaked face and nearly shuddered in relief that the Spirit Harbinger hadn’t taken her from him. She squeezed his hand once, softly, then turned with him to face the others.
“We have to return something that was stolen. It can’t be the Water of Life,” she mused, steadfastly ignoring Tanvir. “So it must be something else equally powerful.”
“He said the answers we seek can be found here if we know how to see … so maybe we should split up and search the temple?” Ceren suggested.
“I think that’s an excellent suggestion,” Evelayn said. “Ceren, why don’t you come with me and Lorcan. Lothar, you can go with Letha and Tanvir, so there is someone with power in each group?”