Umbra, p.13
Umbra, page 13
In silence, they trudged together through the forest. Jess led the way while Rune followed with the Storm-born. When the trees thinned out and the mountainside opened out, Rune realized they’d already ascended much higher than he’d thought. The Grian Turris was visible. It was the heart of Seelie territory, from where King Imber ruled. It lay many miles to the east, amidst the plains and rolling valleys. It was a testament to its size that it could be seen at such a distance. For centuries, Rune had thought it foolish that the Seelie monarchs hadn’t relocated their stronghold to these very mountains. To somewhere that would be much more defensible against the many Unseelie attacks that they had to keep at bay. But Imber and all those who reigned before him prioritized the conservation of the land above reaping a tactical advantage.
“What’s that?” Jess asked, her gaze also tracking the view of the distant Seelie keep amidst its patchwork of luscious grasses and hills.
“That’s Grian Turris—the Sun Tower, where the Seelie king, Imber, rules from.”
Jess paused a beat, then asked, “Greine? As in Sunny? That’s what his name means…?”
Rune nodded. “Sunny’s originally from Ireland. In Gaelic his name means sun. Hence Sunny.”
“And there I was thinking it was just because of his infuriatingly chipper attitude,” Jess commented dryly.
Rune’s lips twitched but it was forced.
Jess’s interjection set off a remembrance for Rune. Language was one of the tools that Cuill had attempted to use to piece together the unknown past from before the Great Divide. He’d theorized that there must have been a more ancient tie to Earth before the rupture, where the Celtic influence in Umbra’s language had come from. As if part of Umbra’s language had its basis from a completely different place to the Latin that made up its majority. He pictured the rugged vamp hunched over lists of words. Cuill had always been as drawn to them as he had been in his human life. Searching for meaning in their roots; another method that had failed to bear fruit.
Jess drew Rune’s attention once more. “What are those hanging there?”
His gaze ran to the few hebena trees standing on the cliffside. Their branches were strung with triticum fae dolls made from the crop the Seelie grew in the plains below.
“They’re Silva dolls, offerings to the goddess, left by pilgrims in her honor,” he explained. Sometimes Rune forgot how new all this was to Jess. It was strange to think this was her first time in Umbra. While he had had five hundred years to become acquainted with it…and even more when one took into account Alba’s consciousness that he’d possessed.
“You can tell these dolls are of Silva because of the arced wings, symbolizing the seed pod, and her dispersal of pods upon her winds,” Rune continued. “It’s why Alba called the memory of her scattering magic—seed magic.”
Jess only nodded, looking as if she wasn’t entirely listening. He took in the slight tension in her shoulders, the angle of her head a little too high as well. There was the sense that her wolf was bristling beneath her skin, ready to show itself in a heartbeat. Was it the mention of Silva that had caused it?
They hadn’t spoken properly since he’d admitted that he’d been too inflexible. After learning how little he knew about this place, despite having sought answers here for centuries, it was fair to say that a sense of humility had settled over Rune. Now that he had the expectation of finding real answers about the Great Divide, he admitted that he might have been wrong in part. After all, whatever deep-rooted belief Jess held about Silva had brought them here.
Jess fell back into step beside Rune as if seeking comfort. Then he noticed that her hands were balled into fists. He hadn’t expected her to be this nervous, given what he’d admitted yesterday. He probed their tether—guilt and shame lashed him. Their bond had been awash with the same feeling yesterday, just before he’d taken leave of her. He’d suspected that she’d been about to broach the subject of her using their blood bond to command him. He hadn’t been able to bear talking of it because… he didn’t know if he could forgive her. Still didn’t know. But sensing Jess’s clamoring anxiety, he vowed not to walk away again. This time he’d hear her out. Even if he had to hurt her by admitting he didn’t know whether they could come back from this.
The shadows darkening the ground before them seemed to shiver with the same palpable tension that now wound through Rune.
But Jess surprised him when she recoiled from the shifting shadows. He realized that her nerves were caused by them. By their surroundings.
“You’re uncomfortable with Umbra?” Rune asked.
Jess’s gaze darted to him. “I guess.” With effort, she loosened her fists. “I mean, can you blame me with all of Skiron’s fun facts?”
His lips twitched. This time genuinely. The fae had expounded on some of Umbra’s predators last night, such as the mountain cu—a fiercer feline compared to its Umbran grassland cousin. Skiron had told them all about the creature’s two sets of teeth, the upper and lower not meeting, acting like scissors before Astra had thrown him a look to stop running his mouth off. Skiron had spoken as a scientist might, admiring the workings of its body, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Jess was getting freaked out at the thought of the predators stalking the dark slopes.
Jess’s jitteriness had perplexed Rune last night, too. Given how competent and confident a hunter she was in her wolfish form, it hadn’t seemed to make much sense. But sitting around the campfire, watching her hug herself, he’d had to stifle the urge to go to her, to wrap an arm around her, and hold her to him.
Jess’s cheeks flushed, informing him that his wayward spurt of emotion down their tether hadn’t gone unnoticed.
But determined to understand what it was that troubled her, Rune said, “I don’t believe Skiron’s wildlife lectures can account for how you’re feeling.”
She shot him an uncertain look but taking a deep breath, explained, “It kind of is, though. It’s this place. It’s as if it senses how dark I am. As if all the bonds that I have—that which allowed Theo to make the blood sluagh from Lorenzo, even the blood command I wield over the Rem Clan, and…”
Rune felt her squirming sense of shame flood the bond before she spoke.
“The blood oath between us…”
She’d finally spoken of the weight between them. Rune’s attention sharpened, unsure of whether he longed for her to speak or stop.
“It’s as if Umbra can sense it all over me and doesn’t like it.”
Rune frowned, confused as to the direction this conversation had taken. He was even more bewildered by the way she spoke about Umbra as if it were something sentient. “What do you mean, Umbra doesn’t like it?”
Jess shrugged, but her knotted brow showed Rune how entrenched in her worries she was. “I can’t help thinking about what Skiron says about the gods communicating through the animals and land itself.” She paused. “I think the pheist attacked me because of how darkened I am by the blood oaths and blood sluagh on me.”
The Seelie did read meaning in everything—in the number of birds they sighted, in the direction the wind blew, in the color of the sky. This tendency to interpret meaning in everything seemed to be having a negative influence on Jess.
He shook his head. “The pheist attacked you because it’s a predatory animal–”
“No,” Jess interrupted. “It attacked me and no one else because of the blood bonds darkening me.” Now begun, she plowed on. “I’ve done a lot of reading about blood oaths over the last month. In theory, it’s possible if the two parties subject to it agree, to dissolve it.”
Rune’s expression slackened. Anger bit at him. She’d brought up the blood oath again. The oath she’d used against him, but instead of apologizing, she was talking about dissolving it. Yet not because of the wrong she’d committed against him or her fear of using it again on him. But because of some inkling that these blood bonds were somehow corrupting her. It was too much. This feeling Jess had voiced reminded him of the way she’d spoken about the Sidhe after she’d almost died.
Rune exclaimed, “And is this all the discussion I am to expect concerning the blood bond between us? That you want it dissolved? Is there nothing else you want to say about it? Such as how you used it against me?”
He knew enough about blood bonds from his five centuries of existence and then Alba’s thousands to know that they could be undone with the agreement of both parties. If an oath was broken by the one bound then they’d die. But Jess was right, if they mutually agreed, the oath could be dissolved without harm. But all he felt at her proposal was outrage and hurt. He reeled at the thought of what she was asking of him.
Jess’s crystal eyes filled with anguish. “You said that the blood bond between us forced you to save me from the pheist. I thought this was what you wanted. You said you were compelled–”
“Was it so wrong of me to claim such a thing when the love that presses upon me—” he pressed his hand to his heart—“only serves to remind me of how it wasn’t enough for you?”
“Rune–” She tried to reach out to him but he recoiled, forcing the pucca back, who whinnied nervously.
Ire fueled his words as he threw them at her. “Besides, I swore that blood oath to keep you safe from my blood brothers. Even with one dead, I assure you, that oath is still necessary. For you are utterly mistaken if you think you’re any safer from Sunny now than the day he chased you through the woods.”
Jess flinched but argued, “Sunny’s a resource. I’m well aware of his danger–”
“A danger, I might add, I must be inclined to share anew if our blood bond was dissolved. For Alba’s consciousness would no longer be suppressed in me. You would have me endure that torment again—house a god’s consciousness? One who wants to harm the one I love?”
Rune couldn’t hide how cold she’d left him. And he realized that despite all the painful feelings that had constantly been leaking down their tether since they’d been reunited here in Umbra, he didn’t want their bond gone. Because even if he couldn’t ever forgive Jess, she was still an essential piece of him. The idea of not feeling her anymore tore at him. And that’s what she was proposing…
Once again, the fact that Jess’s lofty considerations were so removed from anything to do with them rent something in him. An ache rose in the back of his throat but he managed to intone, “I didn’t think you could undo me more than you already have.” A bitter smile crossed his face. “But how many times did you speak of these blood bonds darkening you, yet said nothing of how compelling me had darkened you?”
Refusing to entertain anymore of Jess’s insights or proposals, he tugged the pucca into a trot, desirous to leave her and his anguished thoughts in the dust.
13
KILL YOUR DARLINGS
The light was falling over the Cairngorm Mountains, mottling the snow-clogged rocks with fuchsia and pinks. The violet glow along the horizon, around the dipping sun, was the same hue as summer heather. The sky seemed to tease the land with the memory of what it had lost throughout the cold winter months.
Coire An Lochan was a small loch high up in the mountains. The natural buttresses of the ridge towering over the lochan made it feel enclosed. Thrill-seeking skiers descended its gullies in the milder months, but now in the thick of winter and with recent storms, the ravines were blockaded with deep snow, ensuring this place was cut off.
To ordinary folk.
Theo sauntered along the edge of the lochan. Slabs of ice floated in the shallows from where he’d exited—the furnace of his soulfire easily punching through the natural obstacle.
Anticipation climbed through him. Theo had left a letter in Sergio’s room, requesting he meet him here. Theo flexed his hands, wishing he had worn gloves. Despite having just left the ice-cold water, he was bone dry. But even the slow burn of his sluagh horde within didn’t stave off winter’s chill entirely. He slid his hands beneath his pits, the black cashmere coat affording some warmth.
In the early hours of this morning, Theo had taken out the nail clippings Bad Ju-Ju had scavenged for him. Knowing Sergio would likely be sleeping, he’d cautiously let his sluagh creep towards the mage. As hoped, Theo’s sluagh had wafted through the mage’s dreamscape with ease; his father’s bodily tissue made sleuthing into his soul all too easy.
It hadn’t taken long to sift through his dream and subtly shape it, seeking to dig out what was at Sergio’s heart. In the dreamscape, Theo had been privy to Sergio instructing a bunch of fledgling Enodians. For a moment, Theo had been nostalgic, watching the fledglings learn how to tether the animals’ souls. He’d watched Sergio hold down a wriggling hare on the moorlands, highlighting the soulfire that lingered after the hare gasped its last. The fledglings were all bright-eyed as they drank in the hare’s soul, burning off in the air like mist in the sunshine.
So cute—witchlings and magelings thirsting for that first taste of power.
But the bone-tiredness infusing the scene had soon sullied Theo’s enjoyment.
Theo had wanted to stab his own eyes out as he’d watched the weariness of the scene etching itself into Sergio; he understood that the man’s fear was that this was it. This…was his life. Nothing but teaching these youths the means of tethering. This was his peak. He wouldn’t amount to anything more. He was…done.
Disgust for the man’s lack of drive cloyed at Theo. To think that this man had fathered him. He’d watched in the wings of Sergio’s mind with utter contempt. But thankfully, things had gotten a little more interesting. Theo watched as none other but he—and Jorah—arrived through a portal. The High Mage proclaimed to Sergio and his students that he was bringing Theo around all the fledglings to show as the finest example of what an Enodian could aspire to. From the wings of Sergio’s subconscious, Theo smirked, wondering where this was going. Was it that the lowly mage whose dream he was plumbing was jealous of the success Theo had claimed? Then he felt the warmth spreading through the dreamscape. A puff of pride engulfed the space.
He could feel Sergio’s sentimentality leaking into the vision. Disdain prickled through Theo. How dare he! How dare this pitiful man lay claim to any of his achievements.
Theo could feel the inflated sense of worth that he gave to this man. That’s my boy. My boy’s alliances are putting this coven at the top of everything.
That’s when Jorah plunged a scian into the dream Theo. It had been strange to watch this illusory version of Theo fall to his knees, his hands clutching the hilt buried in his chest. Theo felt the ripple of anguish tear the vision apart, and he was forced to vacate the dream. Drenched in fear, Sergio had been on the cusp of waking from the nightmare.
So, Theo had furled in the wisps of his sluagh from the sleeping mage, letting them billow back along the passages of Castle Nox. For a moment, he’d digested what he’d witnessed. What he’d dredged up. Sergio’s blaring despair that had frayed the nightmare when the fantasy Theo had collapsed. Sergio’s deepest fear was to live to see his greatest accomplishment come to nothing. His greatest fear was to see Theo die.
Within Theo’s vast bedchamber, his laughter had filled the high-ceilinged space. With a rush, he felt more than ready to face the middle-aged mage, who was probably now waking in a cold sweat, trembling with ill-fated portents concerning his greatest accomplishment.
Theo was drawn from his reflections back into the now as the surface of the lochan broke with flame. Excitement burgeoned through him as he caught sight of the thin gray hair atop the head that surfaced. The slightly worn chiseled features followed. Theo crushed the feeling as Sergio strode out onto the bank, the smoke of his sluagh curling around his legs as his soulfire protected him from the cold water.
Theo strained to keep a solemn expression on his face.
Sergio’s face was taut with uncertainty. He’d played into Sergio’s fears in the letter he’d left him, sowing the first seed.
I need to talk to you about Jorah. Please.
That was it. Other than to meet him here at sundown. Best for Sergio’s fears to fill in the gaps.
Plenty bait with the nightmare Sergio had had. The nightmare that had confirmed Sergio was everything that Theo could have hoped for. Yes, Enodians were taught to forgo emotional attachment and weakness, but that was the thing about a parent, even an absent one. They had an intrinsic attachment to their offspring. Theo had felt it in Sergio’s dream. A concern for his son’s welfare that was part of his very soul.
His soul’s weakness.
“Thank you for coming…” Theo softened his voice. “I didn’t know who else to turn to.” He toed the pebbled shoreline with his boot as if seeking a distraction.
“Theo,” Sergio greeted, confusion flitting over his face. “Who could refuse Nox’s celebrity?”
So, he was going for nonchalance. Theo smiled but let it become strained as if he was troubled. He cast a preoccupied gaze out over the lochan.
“So,” Sergio said uncertainly. “You wanted to talk about Jorah? I must say… I was surprised you sought my advice.” He added quickly, “Not that I’m not honored. It’s not every day that one is asked for advice by Enodia’s rising star.”
Theo hid his disdain for the mage’s repellant humility. Instead, he said, “I know this is against our customs, but I came to you because of something Jorah told me… something about who you are to me…” He let his words hang between them, his gaze straying to the mage.
Sergio’s green gaze brushed him with intensity. Theo could see the mage barely breathing he was so absorbed.
“Well… I-I…” the middle-aged man stammered. Collecting himself, he asked, “What exactly did Jorah say?”
Theo took a deep breath. “That you’re my father.”
Sergio’s eyes widened and color stained his cheeks, giving his aged features an even more weathered look. Theo could see the ripple of shock, anger, and confusion warring. Then it transformed into something else…something warmer as his focus met Theo’s own. “High Mage or not, he shouldn’t have broken coven law like this,” Sergio objected.
