Chapter 10
The Darklands
Seth sat down wearily at the table and stared at the unconscious girl on his bed. She was little more than skin stretched over bones. It was a state of starvation that was far past anything he’d seen other Undrae able to control. Typically the creatures siphoned from anything that got near them when they were hungry, yet somehow Zoelyn had managed to limit her power to touch alone. It was remarkable, really. In her current state, she shouldn’t have had the willpower to resist draining.
He knew he could get her in good condition before she woke, but it would require regaining some of his own power, first. That was the part he was dreading. It would be simple if Finn would simply grant him a soul as Death had done so often. One single spirit and he would be spared the torment of regaining his power the other way, but Finn didn’t seem to understand, and he wasn’t allowed to ask.
Frustration welled in his chest and Seth rose abruptly from the chair. His eyes lingered on the room for a long moment before he forced himself to accept the truth. If he wanted power, he had to serve penance. He had motivation for it now, though. There was an Undrae in existence. That meant someone knew the only spell to bring a soul back that Death had no way of stopping. With the proper sacrifice, he could live again, and there was nothing Finn could do to stop it. All he had to do was figure out who created the girl. With a deep sigh, Seth gave Zoelyn a final glance and headed out of the room toward his own personal hell.
Everyone who sinned had penance to serve in the Darklands. That was simply how it was. His, however, was different from most. Death had fine-tuned his penance to excruciating levels and then forced it to be his choice. He didn’t have to face the pain he was walking to, unless he wanted power. He could ignore it for years, but then, he wouldn’t have the strength to travel to the sunlit world, or to hold his status among the creatures of the Darklands, for that matter. Death had created the room as one option, the other had been to do as she wished and she would reward him with souls. Now she was dead, though, and Finn was clueless, so his only choice was the room.
Seth rubbed his face and stared hard at the door before him. Ravens had been carved into the black wood with such detail that they seemed ready to take flight. A knot coiled in his stomach as he pressed his palm against the door. A pale glow illuminated the seams for a breath and the door slowly swung open. The interior was black as pitch, and not even his eyes could pierce the shadows inside. He entered without hesitation, though. He knew nothing was waiting inside for him. The only other creature in the Darklands that could open this room was Death itself, and Finn had not yet learned that this room existed.
He could feel the magic of the room coil around him as soon as the door closed behind him. It pulled at him like a neglected child demanding his attention. With a low growl, Seth pushed it back, and tried to organize his thoughts. The magic in this room held every moment of his life that had led him to where he was now. As Death had explained it, the more he suffered, the more strength he regained. He typically spent days in this room when he served penance, slowly building his power back with the short memories that were least painful to remember. He didn’t have time for that now, though, so he really only had one option: Dashara. The knot in his stomach grew tighter as he focused his mind on her. The room began to fade around him as the room’s magic seized his focus. Walls fell way, leaving trees and green fields around him as the magic fully immersed him in a pain he never thought he would face again.
His horse pranced nervously beneath him and Seth stiffened in the saddle. His gaze swept over the surrounding forest and then to the small house. As far as he could tell, nothing was out of place. Everything looked just as it always did. His eyes swept over the yard once more, counting the scattered hens before moving to the stable yard. Dashara’s small sorrel mare stood in the paddock, eating peacefully.
“I think you are getting as paranoid as I am, Crow,” Seth murmured as he ran a hand down his black’s neck. It would stand to reason that the horse would be paranoid, he supposed. The gelding had been through every battle Seth had fought, not to mention the quieter missions in the dead of night that Dashara didn’t know about. Pushing the thoughts back, Seth pressed his heels lightly into Crow’s sides, urging the gelding forward once more. The horse snorted loudly and tossed his head before breaking into a quick trot. “Not sure what has gotten into you, but you can sort through it in the stall,” Seth grumbled as they neared the stable door.
He glanced toward the house as he dropped from the saddle. Dominic usually ran out to greet him when he returned home. The door was still shut, though, with no sign of his son anywhere. With a frown Seth grabbed the reins and led his horse toward the stable. Crow gave another loud snort as Seth pulled the door open. The gelding danced back, his eyes rolling, pulling the reins free of Seth’s hand as he whirled and ran.
With a muffled curse, Seth dropped flat against the barn wall, one hand on his dagger. He hadn’t seen anything inside, and all of the animals in the barnyard were behaving normally, but Crow had bolted. Crow never bolted.
“Smart horse you have there, Seth,” a man’s voice called from inside. It was low and calm with no trace of the Avanti accent.