The Barrow Mounds had once been the home of an oracle. A seer, she walked in shadows, they said. Half elf, half Svartan, she was caught between worlds, both in lineage and in vision. But bandits had killed her during a raid. It was rumored that she had predicted her own demise. Now, her spirit haunted the mounds, and no grass grew over the dirt, nor plants of any kind. Stark, barren, the hill stood a solemn memorial to the unpredictable nature of life, and the oracle walked in the mists there, forever watching over her people.
Because of Sharah’s condition, Trenyth had a carriage waiting for us. We piled in, and I felt a weariness that crept through me every time we portal jumped. It might not be hard on the body, but it still took its toll.
Sharah was looking anxious. Chase wrapped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a little squeeze. Camille and Trillian held hands, and I turned to Shade, who smiled and offered me his hand. I took it, leaning back in the carriage, staring at the open sky.
Here, it was autumn, like it was over Earthside. But it wasn’t raining . . . yet. The night was overcast and the scent of wood smoke filled the air. The noblas stedas—horses that were originally from Earthside but had been bred in a different direction once they were imported into Otherworld—clopped along, their hooves clogging a steady tattoo against the cobblestones.
We passed through the city square, where the vendors were closing down their stalls and trailing home for the night. Eye catchers lit the streets, glowing orbs of light that were formed from the very magic of the air itself. They existed everywhere in Otherworld, and we thought they might be related to the will-o’-the-wisps over Earthside. But unlike the volatile ES Fae, these orbs silently held vigil, appearing at dusk, summoned by witches and sorcerers, to light the way through the darkness.
We had been over Earthside long enough now that every time we returned home, it was like moving from one lifetime to another. Regardless of their common origin, the worlds had evolved vastly different paths since their genesis brought about by the Great Divide.
At one time, the worlds had been united. There had been no Otherworld, merely Earthside with all the realms merging together. But as the demonic force rose from the Subterranean Realms, the great Fae Lords made a decision to divide the worlds and seal off the Sub-Realms. They created the spirit seal, an incredibly powerful artifact. And with their combined magic, the worlds began to fracture and split. A massive civil war broke out between the Fae who did not want this and those who did.
Known as the Great Divide, the fighting and the magic burrowed through the land like a juggernaut, severing realm from realm as it ripped through space and time to calve off Otherworld and the Sub-Realms. The upheaval created floods and set off volcanoes, and basically tore the psychic structure of the Earth apart. On the physical level, Earthside didn’t look much different, except for the damage caused by the quakes, flooding, and volcanoes, but its very essence had shifted, and the world would never be the same.
Some of the Fae and elves chose to stay Earthside, while a majority moved to Y’Eírialastar, our name for Otherworld. Once the move had taken place, a vast array of city-states began to rise out of the wild lands.
From the icy Northlands to the sands of the Southern Wastes, from the rolling waves of the southwestern Mirami Ocean to the northwestern shores of the chill Wyvern Ocean, Y’Eírialiastar formed a macrocosm. And within that macrocosm, microcosms arose, containing every environment from desert to swampland to waving plains of grass to boreal forests.
Once the worlds had fully separated, the great lords broke the seal into nine pieces and entrusted each one to an Elemental Lord. Nine gems that—as long as they were kept hidden and isolated—would prevent the worlds from merging. It was an unnatural division, bridged only by the portals, and those were kept heavily guarded and closed. But through the millennia, the seals were lost and forgotten. They stayed hidden and safe, until the Otherworld Intelligence Agency decided to open up some of the portals on a limited basis.
Shortly after that, the spirit seals started working their way to the surface, seeking to reunite. Like twin souls hunting each other down through the world, they did their best to reunite.
So far, we’ve located eight of them, but have only managed to keep six of those out of Shadow Wing’s grasp. Every spirit seal he possesses means bad news for everybody. The problem is, if all of the spirit seals are reunited, every portal will rip open, and travel between the realms will be easy access. But even just possessing two of them means that Shadow Wing and his demons have an edge we’d rather he didn’t. Every advantage they manage to attain ups the ante that the demons will be able to break through en masse. And that would be a very bad thing.
Queen Asteria’s palace held an austere beauty. Its alabaster façade gleamed under the crescent moon, rising into a dome from which spiraling minarets overlooked the court. The intricate stonework of the walls was built to stand the tests of time; the stones mined from a quarry high in the Tygerian Mountains. There, the Tygerian monks walked barefoot over hot coals, and every rock, bough, and body of water contained a deep, resounding magic.
The elves were closer to the woodland Fae of Earthside than to our father’s people. Slow to anger, but dangerous and fierce when roused, they blended in with their lands in a unification that was almost frightening in nature.
The gardens buttressing the palace surrounded the Court: rose gardens and topiaries and wild meadows where the grass grew knee-length. Now, during late autumn, the bushes were devoid of foliage. Every gust that blew past seemed to susurrate through the barren tress, rustling the skeletal branches. The scent of a storm loomed on the horizon. Even I could smell it.
“A storm’s on the way in,” Camille said, as if reading my thoughts. She looked uneasy and her voice began to tremble. “A bad one. Lightning and thunder . . .” Her Moon magic connected her to the weather in some ways, and she could sense storms and call on the lightning.
My stomach lurched. Panther rose up, her nostrils flaring, and I suddenly wanted to flee. I forced myself to remain in control. “Something’s wrong. Can you feel it? Panther is prodding me to shift.”
Camille leaned against one of the nearby trees, lowering herself into trance. A moment later she gasped and her eyes flew open. “This storm, it’s alive and it’s huge. I sense . . . a presence . . . a fury that rages forward.”
Trenyth paled. “The seers have been predicting an event that will shake Elqaneve to the core, but they’ve been unable to pierce the veil of what shadow looms over the city. If this is that threat, then why haven’t they sensed what you are picking up?”
Camille shook her head, pressing her knuckles to her mouth. Fear welled in her throat. “I don’t know—maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m picking up on something else and projecting it.”
I broke in. “No. Panther is pacing. I’m doing my best to hold on, but it’s not easy. Trenyth, listen to Camille. I don’t know exactly what she’s feeling but I know that she’s right—something is coming and it’s coming fast.”
Trenyth leaned toward the driver. “Faster.”
The driver picked up the pace as Camille closed her eyes again and held out her hands. They were shaking. “I’m crackling. I can feel the lightning on the horizon.” She frowned. “Trenyth, could it be something other than a storm? Something . . . I don’t know. Magic?”