The further he rides from Mythanar, the fainter my life-tether grows. Perhaps the urzul crystals sustained it, and now that I am out of their reach, it’s destined to break. Or perhaps I’m simply tired of holding onto a life I’ve already lost. Vor is nothing but a shadow. I still feel his presence, faintly. More of a memory than a reality now. My own body I can no longer feel at all.
I study the delicate filament of life-thread wound around my awareness. It’s dimming now. Which is good. I’ve already stayed too long. Time to let this final connection break, time to move on to the next part of my existence. It hurts to leave Vor behind but . . . but we had our chance. And a beautiful, glorious chance it was! I’m glad of it, even if it ended in pain. Pain doesn’t change the truth of the connection we had, the peace I knew in his presence. The joy, the glory. All of it was real. I wouldn’t trade a moment.
I watch the shadows of the world fade. A sense of tremendous space opens above me, inexplicably great. My soul is drawn to it, upward and away. Only that last little thread keeps me from floating free. I should break it. I should go. And yet . . . and yet . . .
“Well, now. You’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, haven’t you?”
My hazy perception of existence flurries in surprise. A figure approaches through the mist, parting curtains of reality before her with the end of a crooked walking stick. She wears a heavy hood, but as she draws near, throws it back to reveal a face lined with age but still striking. Straight stern brows set above well-chiseled features, and eyes, golden as a cat’s, trained on me with almost predatory intensity.
“Who are you?” I ask, surprised to find I have a voice.
“No one of particular importance.” The woman tilts her head to one side. Her eyes narrow slightly. “The more immediate question is, who are you?”
There’s something about the way she asks it that puts me on my guard. “Likewise,” I answer slowly, “no one of particular importance.”
She crooks an eyebrow. “That’s not what I hear. I hear you used the Urzulhar stones and saved the city of Mythanar from disaster. Pretty important if you ask me.”
“I did what I could. And I . . . I’m glad it worked.”
“It worked all right. But at what cost?” The woman looks me up and down. I’m not entirely certain what she’s looking at, considering I have no body here. But that doesn’t seem to bother her. “You’ve gone and overextended yourself. Now look at you!” She waves a hand, indicating my vagueness.
“As long as Mythanar is safe, I am satisfied.”
“Oh, are you?” At this, the woman snorts. An undignified sound coming from a face so regal. “You think driving a few woggha from the streets will do any good in the long run, child? What you did was like swatting the wasp on the end of the tiger’s nose. Sure, you won’t get stung; you’ll get your head bitten off instead.”
A chill ripples through my being. “What am I to do?”
“Do? What can you do? You’re dead.”
Once more, I look down at the little thread wound around my . . . well, not my finger. I don’t have a finger anymore. But my essence. I roll the thread, watch how it sparks and glitters. “What is down there?” I ask at last, looking up and catching the strange woman’s eye. “What is down in the Dark? Under the city?”
“Ah. So, they’ve not told you about the dragon yet.”
Dragon.
Somehow . . . I knew. Somehow, I’ve always known. The signs were everywhere—the dragon motif carved into every wall, embroidered on every garment. Not just any dragon, not some fire-breathing cow-chaser such as the heroes hunt in legends. This is one of the Great Beasts. The Celestial Dancers. The Breakers of Worlds. Long lost to the mists of time and myth, yet always there, always hovering on the edges of instinctual memory.
“No,” I admit. “They’ve told me nothing. But I know a little. I know it wants to destroy them.”
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
“But why?”
The woman’s brows rise. “Do you think I’m privy to the motivations of dragons?” She snorts. The next instant, however, her expression grows grim. “But make no mistake, little princess—Arraog, the Fire at the Heart of the World, is stirring. Soon, she will wake. When that happens . . .”
I turn my awareness away from the woman. Beyond her there’s a faint slip of shadow. It’s Vor. At least, I think it’s Vor. It’s impossible to discern his features. I can scarcely detect the flicker of his soul. “When she wakes,” I whisper softly, finishing the woman’s train of thought, “she will destroy his world.”
“Sooner or later. She will. She must.” The woman shakes her head heavily. “I’d hoped to make it later. Much later. And I thought you might be the one to help me.”
“Help you? How can I help you? How can anyone do anything against such a being?”
“But you’re not just anyone, are you? You’re gods-gifted. Bestowed with divine blessings intended for divine purpose.” The woman takes a step closer. Her eyes shine like two torches, burning through realities to meet and hold my gaze. “With the right training, with the right technique, you may be just what Vor needs.”
I shiver, drawing back from her. My little filament thread flickers, tenses, ready to snap. “What of the Miphates?” I ask.
“What of them?”
“Vor believes they could help.”
“Maybe they could.” The woman shrugs. “I don’t know much about Miphates magic. I know it’s big, it’s dangerous, it’s chaotic. It might be just what he needs. It might.” She takes a step forward, lifts her cane, jabs the pointed end of it straight at me. “But I know you are what he needs. So, tell me—are you willing?”
“What?”
“Are you willing?” she repeats. Those eyes of hers seem to dance like flames before my vision. “To come back? To fight for Vor? To fight for Mythanar?”
I turn away, unable to bear her gaze. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t say yes unless you mean it. Such magic always requires a price. It may be greater than either of you wish to pay.”
“What sort of price?”
“That I cannot tell you. But when it comes, it will be harsh indeed. You may wish you had made a different choice.” She tips her head, raises an eyebrow at me. “Then there’s the pain to consider. Souls are not meant to reenter their physical bodies once they’ve left. It will not be a pleasant experience.”
“I’m not afraid of pain.”
“Bravely spoken, little princess. But this is worse than you’ve known. You might not survive the process. And if you don’t, well, I cannot speak for the results on”—once more she vaguely waves a hand, indicating my non-corporeal self—“all this.”
“Do you mean . . .” I stop, uncertain I want to continue. “Do you mean I might cease to exist? I, myself? As Faraine?”
“It’s a possibility. No one knows for sure what happens to souls after a failed restoration. They don’t come back to tell the tale.”
I draw away from her, shivering. Warm light beckons me from above, from that great space beyond this mist. I could almost swear I hear the voice of my goddess singing. Calling me home. Part of me wants to answer. Part of me wants to know the comfort and safety of that voice, the wholeness of her embrace.
Am I willing to risk all hope of heaven for Vor?
I look at his shadowy image again. Even through the layers of mist, I feel his desperation. He needs me. He needs me. I don’t know if I believe everything this strange person says to me. But I do believe in Vor. In the two of us. In what we are and everything we could be. How could I abandon him, knowing I could have done more? How could I truly go on to heaven’s light, leaving him in the Deeper Dark?
I turn again, meet the woman’s strange, golden gaze. “Very well,” I say. “I’ll face both the pain and the price. And should I not prove strong enough, I’ll accept whatever end. For him.”
She gives me a narrow look. “And the dragon? Should you succeed in returning, will you face that foe?”
A shudder ripples through my essence. “I cannot say.”
“Fair enough.” The witch’s lips tip in a mirthless half-smile. “One thing at a time.”
With those words, she steps back into the mist. It closes around her like curtains, obscuring her from my view. “Wait!” I call after her.
But she’s already gone.
