The new Count Pickering was on his knees, holding Alric and brushing the king’s hair from his face. Alric was unconscious. A large amount of dark blood pooled on the ground around him.
“The fool,” Mauvin said. “He put his arm up to block, like he had a shield—’cause he always practiced with a shield. The blade cut his arm open from the shoulder to the elbow. When he tried to turn, they sliced open his stomach.” Mauvin wiped tears from his eyes. “He fought well, though—really well. Better than I’ve ever seen—better than I thought he could. It was almost like… like I was fighting beside Fanen again.” The tears continued to run down Mauvin’s cheeks, faster than he could brush them away.
Alric’s chest was moving, struggling up and down. A terrible gurgle bubbled up his throat with each raspy breath.
“Give me the lantern.” Hadrian rapidly bent down over the king. He tore open his shirt, revealing the wound. The moment Hadrian saw it, he stopped. “Oh dear Novron,” he said.
“Do something,” Arista told him.
“There’s nothing I can do,” he told her. “The sword—it went through. I’ve seen this before—there’s just nothing—The bleeding won’t stop, not the way he’s—I can’t—Damn, I’m so sorry.”
His lips sealed together and his eyes closed.
“No,” Arista said, shaking her head. “No!” She fell and crawled to Alric’s side. Placing her hand on his head, she felt he was hot and drenched in sweat. “No,” she repeated. “I won’t allow it.”
“Arista?” She heard Hadrian, but she had already closed her eyes and began to hum. She sensed the dull solid forms of the old walls, the dirt and the stone, the air between them, their bodies, and the flow of Alric’s blood as it spilled on the ground. She could see it in her mind as a glowing river of silver and the glow was fading.
“Arista?” The sound of Hadrian’s voice echoed, but it was faint, as if coming from a distance.
She saw a sliver of darkness that appeared as a tear, a dark rip in the fabric of the world. She reached out and felt the edges, pulling them wider until she was able to pass through.
Inside it was dark—darker than night, darker than a room after blowing out a candle—it was the darkness of nothing. She peered deep into the void, searching. Alric was there, ahead of her, and drifting away, pulled by a current, like some dark river. She chased after him.
“Alric!” she called.
“Arista?” she heard him say. “Arista, help me!”
Ahead she saw a light, a single point that glimmered white.
“I’m trying. Stop and wait for me.”
“I can’t.”
“Then I’ll come and get you,” she said, and pushed forward.
“I don’t want to die,” Alric told her.
“I won’t let you. I can save you.”
Arista struggled forward, but progress was hard. The river that pulled Alric away pushed her backward and confounded her legs. She fought, driving against the wash even as Alric glided across the surface.
Despite the difficulty, she was getting closer. Her brother looked back at her, his face frightened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better brother, a better king. Arista, you should have ruled instead of me. You were always smarter, stronger, more courageous. I was jealous. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
She reached out and almost caught hold of him, their fingertips touched briefly, then he slipped away. She watched as he picked up speed. The current grew stronger, pulling him away, rushing him forward, stealing him from her.
Ahead the light was closer, brighter, and in it, she thought she saw figures moving. “Alric, you have to try and slow down, you’re moving too fast, I can’t get—I can’t grab you. Alric, you’re speeding up! Alric, reach out to me! Alric! Alric!”
She dove forward but her brother rushed away, washing toward the light at a speed she could not match. She watched as he grew smaller and smaller until he was lost in the brilliance of the light.
“No! No!” she cried, staring forward, blinded by the whiteness.
“Arista.” She heard a voice call—not Alric’s, but familiar. “Arista. Your brother is here with us now. It’s okay.”
“Daddy?”
“Yes, dear, it’s me. I’m sorry I have no hairbrush to give you at this meeting, but there is so much more, so much more than a hairbrush waiting. Come join us.”
“I—I shouldn’t,” she told him, although she was not certain why.
The light did not hurt to look at, but it made it impossible to see more than vague shapes, all blurred and hazy, as if they moved on the far side of a frosted glass.
“It’s all right, honey,” her father said. “And it’s not just us waiting. You have other friends here, others who love you.”
“My burns are gone,” Hilfred told her. “Come see.”
She saw their wispy outlines before her; they were growing clearer and more defined. The current was no longer fighting against her and she was starting to pick up speed. She needed to stop, she needed to go back, there was something that—
“Arista my love.” This was a voice she had not heard for a long, long time and her heart leapt at the sound.